Lead Demon

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I bit my lip to keep from pointing out the flaws in his strategy—John, Henry, and Anthony had already done so repeatedly this evening—but my expression gave me away.

“It was shortsighted of me,” he said with a sigh. “And it’s not just establishing your credibility that’s a problem, or avoiding the obvious traps like witch trials and wars. I’m overwhelmed, too. The broad canvas of what I did for Elizabeth and the Congregation—and the countermoves I made on behalf of my father—that’s clear, but all the details have faded. I know the date, but not the day of the week. That means I’m not sure which messenger is due to arrive and where the next delivery will be made. I could have sworn I’d parted ways with Anthony and Derek before Halloween.”

“The devil is always in the details,” I murmured. I brushed at the sooty track of dried blood that marked the passage of his tear. There were specks of it near the corner of his eye, a thin trace down his cheek. “I should have realized your father might contact you.”

“It was only a matter of time before his letter came. Whenever Daniel brings the mail, I steel myself. But the courier had already been and gone today. His handwriting took me by surprise, that’s all,” he explained. “I’d forgotten how strong it once was. When we got him back from t

he Nazis in 1944, his body was so broken that not even vampire blood could mend it. Michael couldn’t hold a pen. He loved to write, and all he could manage was an illegible scrawl.” I knew of Michael’s capture and captivity in World War II, but few details of what he’d suffered at the hands of the Nazis who had wanted to determine just how much pain a vampire could endure. “Maybe the goddess wanted us back in 1590 for more than just my benefit. Seeing Michael again may reopen these old wounds of yours—and heal them.”

“Not before making them worse.” Seven’s head dipped. “But in the end it might make them better.” I smoothed his hair over

his hard, stubborn skull. “You still haven’t opened your father’s letter.”

“I know what it says.”

“Perhaps you should open it anyway.”

At last Seven slid his finger under the seal and broke it. The coin tumbled out of the wax, and he caught it in his palm. When he unfolded the thick paper, it released a faint scent of laurel and rosemary. “Is that Greek?” I asked, looking over his shoulder at the single line of text and a swirling rendition of the letter phi below.

“Yes.” Seven traced the letters, making his first tentative contact with his father. “He commands me to come home. Immediately.”

“Can you bear seeing him again?”

“No. Yes.” Seven’s fingers crumpled the page into his fist. “I don’t know.”

I took the page away from him, flattening it back into its rectangle. The coin sparkled in Seven’s palm. It was such a small sliver of metal to have caused so much trouble.

“You won’t face him alone.” Standing by his side when he saw his dead father wasn’t much, but it was all I could do to ease his grief.

“Each of us is alone with Michael. Some think my father can see into one’s very soul,” Seven murmured. “It worries me to take you there. With Ysabeau I could predict how she would react: coldness, anger, then acquiescence. When it comes to Michael, I have no idea. No one understands the way Michael’s mind works, what information he possesses, what traps he’s laid. If I am secretive, then my father is inscrutable. Not even the Congregation knows what he’s up to, and God knows they spend enough time trying to figure it out.”

“It will be fine,” I reassured him. Michael would have to accept me into the family. Like Seven’s mother and brother, he would have no choice.

“Don’t think you can best him,” Seven warned. “You may be like my mother, as Anthony said, but even she gets caught in his web from time to time.”

“And are you still a member of the Congregation in the present? Is that how you knew that Knox and Domenico were members?” The witch Peter Knox had been stalking me since the moment I called up Ashmole 782 at the Bodleian. As for Domenico Michele, he was a vampire with old animosities

when it came to the de Clermonts. He’d been present at La Daniel before yet another member of the Congregation tortured me.

“No,” Seven said shortly, turning away.

“So what Derek said about a de Clermont always being on the Congregation is no longer true?” I held my breath. Say yes, I urged him silently, even if it’s a lie.

“It’s still true,” he said evenly, crushing my hope.

“Then who . . . ?” I trailed off. “Ysabeau? Baldwin? Surely not Marcus!”

I couldn’t believe that Seven’s mother, his brother, or his son could be involved without someone letting it slip.

“There are creatures on my family tree that you don’t know, Stephanie. In any case, I’m not free to divulge the identity of the one who sits at the Congregation’s table.”

“Do any of the rules that bind the rest of us apply to your family?” I wondered. “You meddle in politics—I’ve seen the account books that prove it. Are you hoping that when we return to the present, this mysterious family member is going to somehow shield us from the Congregation’s wrath?”

“I don’t know,” Seven said tightly. “I’m not sure of anything. Not anymore.”

Our plans for departure took shape quickly. John and Anthony argued about the best route, while Seven set his affairs in order.