Lead Demon

MiMix

“Yes, Stephanie. I will marry you. I already have, but I’m happy to do it again to please you.”

“I was satisfied the first time. This is for your father.” It was impossible to think any more about marriage when my legs were still shaking and there was blood on the floor.

“Then we are all agreed. Take Stephanie to her room. It would be best if she remained there until we are sure Champier’s friends aren’t nearby.” Michael paused on his way out the door. “You have found a woman who is worthy of you, with courage and hope to spare, Matthaios.”

“I know,” Seven said, taking my hand.

“Know this, too: You are equally worthy of her. Stop regretting your life. Start living it.”

The wedding Michael planned for us was to span three days. From Friday to Sunday, the château staff, the villagers, and everyone else for miles around would be involved in what he insisted was a small family affair.

“It has been some time since we had a wedding, and winter is a cheerless time of year. We owe it to the village,” was how Michael brushed aside our protests. Chef, too, was irritated when Seven suggested that it wasn’t feasible to produce three last-minute feasts while food stores were running low and Christians practiced abstemiousness. So there was a war on and it was Advent, Chef scoffed. That was no reason to refuse a party.

With the whole house in an uproar and no one interested in our help, Seven and I were left to our own devices.

“Just what does this marriage ceremony involve?” I wondered as we lay in front of the fire in the library. I was wearing Seven’s wedding gift: one of his shirts, which extended to my knees, and a pair of his old hose. Each leg had been ripped along the top inner seam, and then Seven had stitched the two legs together into something vaguely approximating leggings—minus the waistband and the spandex. Some gesture toward the former came from a narrow leather belt fashioned from a piece of old tack that Seven found in the stables. It was the most comfortable clothing I’d worn since Halloween, and Seven, who had not seen much of my legs lately, was riveted.

“I have no idea, mon coeur. I’ve never attended an ancient Greek wedding before.” Seven’s fingers traced the hollow behind my knee.

“Surely the priest won’t allow Michael to do anything overtly pagan. The actual ceremony will have to be Catholic.”

“The family never puts ‘surely’ and ‘Michael’ in the same sentence. It always ends badly.” Seven planted a kiss on my hip.

“At least tonight’s event is just a feast. I should be able to get through that without too much trouble.” Sighing, I rested my head on my hands. “The groom’s father usually pays for the rehearsal dinner. I suppose what Michael is doing is basically the same thing.”

Seven laughed. “Almost indistinguishable—so long as the menu includes grilled eel and a gilded peacock. Besides, Michael has managed to appoint himself not only the father of the groom, but the father of the bride.”

“I still don’t see why we have to make such a fuss.” Sarah and Em hadn’t had a formal ceremony. Instead an elder in the Madison coven performed a handfasting. Looking back, it reminded me of the vows Seven and I had exchanged before we timewalked: simple, intimate, and quickly over.

“Weddings aren’t for the benefit of the bride or the groom. Most couples would be content to go off on their own as we did, say a few words, and then leave for a holiday. Weddings are rites of passage for the community.” Seven rolled over onto his back. I propped myself up on my elbows.

“It’s just an empty ritual.”

“There’s no such thing.” Seven frowned. “If you can’t bear it, you must say so.”

“No. Let Michael have his wedding. It’s just a bit . . . overwhelming.”

“You must wish Sarah and Emily were here to share this with us.”

“If they were, they’d be surprised that I’m not eloping. I’m known for being a loner. I used to think you were a loner, too.”

“Me?” Seven laughed. “Except on television or in the movies, vampires are seldom alone. We prefer the company of others. Even witches will do, in a pinch.” He kissed me to prove it.

“So if this marriage was taking place in New Haven, who would you invite?” he asked sometime later.

“Sarah and Em, of course. My friend Chris.” I bit my lip. “Maybe the chair of my department.” Silence fell.

“That’s it?” Seven looked aghast.

“I don’t have many friends.” Restless, I got to my feet. “I think the fire’s going out.”

Seven pulled me back down. “The fire is fine. And you have plenty of Sebastianh and kin now.”

The mention of family was the opening I’d been waiting for. My eyes strayed to the chest at the end of the bed. Marthe’s box was hidden within, tucked into the clean linen.

“There’s something we need to discuss.” This time he let me go without interfering. I pulled the box free.

“What’s that?” Seven asked, frowning.

“Marthe’s herbs—the ones she uses in her tea. I found them in the stillroom.”

“I see. And have you been drinking it?” His question was sharp.

“Of course not. Whether we have children or not can’t be my decision alone.” When I opened the lid, the dusty aroma of dried herbs seeped into the air.

“No matter what Marcus and Miriam said back in New York, there is no evidence whatsoever that you and I can have children. Even herbal contraceptives like these can have unsafe side effects,” Seven said, coolly clinical.

“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, one of your scientific tests revealed we could have children. Would you want me to take the tea then?”

“Marthe’s mixture isn’t very reliable.” Seven looked away.

“Okay. What are the alternatives?” I asked.