Lead Demon

Doorway

“Stay there,” he whispered.

I did stay, until Seven woke me hours later. He made love to me again in the quiet before the dawn and held me as I underwent the metamorphosis from fire to water to air and returned once more to dreams.

Friday marked the shortest day of the year and the celebration of Yule. The village was still recovering from Saturnalia and had Christmas yet before them, but Michael was undeterred.

“Chef butchered a hog,” he said. “How could I disappoint him?” During a break in the weather, Seven went to the village to help repair a roof that had collapsed under the weight of the latest snowfall. I left him there, throwing hammers down a ridgepole to another carpenter and delighted at the prospect of a morning of grueling physical labor in freezing temperatures.

I closeted myself in the library with a few of the family’s finer alchemical books and some blank sheets of paper. One was partially covered with doodles and diagrams that would have made sense to no one but me. With all that was happening in the château, I’d abandoned my attempts to make spirit of wine. Thomas and Étienne wanted to be running around with their friends and sticking their fingers into Chef’s latest cake batter, not helping me with a science experiment.

“Stephanie.” Michael was moving at great speed and was halfway into the room before he noticed me. “I thought you were with Seven.”

“I couldn’t bear to see him up there,” I confessed. He nodded in understanding.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Trying to figure out what Seven and I have to do with alchemy.” My brain felt fuzzy with disuse and lack of sleep.

Michael dropped a handful of small paper triangles, scrolls, and squares onto the table and pulled up a chair. He pointed to one of my sketches. “This is Seven’s seal.”

“It is. It’s also the symbols for silver and gold, the moon and the sun.” The hall had been decorated with spangled versions of these heavenly bodies for Saturnalia. “I’ve been thinking about it since Monday night. I understand why a witch might be symbolized by the crescent moon and silver—they’re both linked to the goddess. But why would anyone use a sun or gold to denote a vampire?” It went against every bit of popular lore.

“Because we are unchanging. Our lives do not wax or wane, and, like gold, our bodies resist corruption from death or disease.”

“I should have thought of that.” I made some notes.

“You have had a few other things on your mind.” Michael smiled. “Seven is very happy.”

“Not only because of me,” I said, meeting my father-in-law’s gaze. “Seven is happy to be with you again.”

Shadows scudded through Michael’s eyes.

They have their own lives, but it doesn’t make their absence any easier to bear.”

“And today you are missing Anthony, too,” I said. Michael seemed uncharacteristically subdued.

“I am.” He stirred the folded papers with his fingers. “It was Hugh, my eldest, who brought him into the family. Hugh always made wise decisions when it came to sharing his blood, and Anthony was no exception. He is a fierce warrior with his father’s sense of honor. It comforts me to know that my grandson is in England with Seven.”

“Seven seldom mentions Hugh.”

“He was closer to Hugh than to any of his other brothers. When Hugh died with the last of the Templars at the hands of the church and the king, it shook Seven’s loyalties. It was some time before he was able to free himself of his blood rage an

“Anthony is not yet ready to leave his grief behind, and until he does so, he will not set foot in France. My grandson exacted retribution from the men who betrayed Hugh’s trust, as did Seven, but revenge is never an adequate remedy for loss. One day my grandson will return. I am sure of it.” For a moment Michael looked old, no longer the vigorous ruler of his people but a father who had suffered the misfortune to outlive his sons.

“Thank you, Michael.” I hesitated before covering his hand with mine. He clasped it briefly and stood. Then he took up one of the alchemy books. It was Godfrey’s beautifully illustrated copy of the Aurora Consurgens, the text that had first lured me to Sept-Tours.

“Such a curious subject, alchemy,” Michael murmured, flipping through the pages. He found the picture of the Sun King and the Moon Queen jousting on the back of a lion and a griffin, and he smiled broadly. “Yes, this will do.” He tucked one of his paper shapes between the pages.

“What are you doing?” I was overcome with curiosity.

“It is a game that Ysabeau and I play. When one of us is away, we leave messages hidden in the pages of books. So much happens in a day, it is impossible to remember everything when we see each other again. This way we can come upon little memories like this one when we least expect it, and share them.”

Michael went to the shelves and picked out a volume in a worn leather binding. “This is one of our favorite stories, The Song of Armouris. Ysabeau and I have simple tastes and enjoy stories of adventure. We are always hiding messages in this.” He stuffed a scroll of paper down the spine between the binding and the gatherings of vellum. A folded rectangle fell out of the bottom as he worked it into the tight space.

“Ysabeau has taken to using a knife so that her messages are harder to find. She is full of tricks, that one. Let’s see what she says.” Michael opened up the paper and read it silently. He looked up with a twinkle in his eyes and cheeks that were redder than usual.

I laughed and rose. “I think you might need more privacy to compose your reply!”

“Sieur.” Alain shifted in the doorway, his face serious. “Messengers have arrived. One from Scotland. Another from England. A third from Lyon.”

Michael sighed and cursed under his breath. “They might have waited until after the Christian feast.”