"Hell, Auntie. Looking the other way does no good." Gallowglass unclipped his seat belt and crouched by her leather recliner. He patted Diana on the knee. She grasped his hand. The power pulsed under her skin. It had abated somewhat since the astonishing moment when she'd wrapped the sire of the de Clermont family in a briar patch, but it was still all too visible. Gallowglass had even seen it through the disguising spell Diana wore until she boarded the jet.
"How was Marcus with Jack?" she asked, her eyes still closed.
"Marcus greeted him as an uncle should and distracted him with tales of his children and their antics. Lord knows they're an entertaining bunch," Gallowglass said under his breath. But this wasn't what Diana really wanted to know.
"Matthew was bearing up as well as could be expected," he continued more gently. There had been a moment when it appeared Matthew was going to strangle Hubbard, but Gallowglass wasn't going to worry about something that was, on the face of it, an excellent notion.
"I'm glad you and Chris called Marcus," Diana whispered.
"That was Miriam's idea," Gallowglass admitted. Miriam had been protecting Matthew for centuries, just as he had been looking after Diana. "As soon as she saw the test results Miriam knew that Matthew would need his son at his side."
"Poor Phoebe," Diana said, a note of worry creeping into her voice. "Marcus couldn't have had time to give her much of an explanation."
"Don't fret about Phoebe." Gallowglass had spent two months with the girl and had taken her measure. "She's got a strong spine and a stout heart, just like you."
Gallowglass insisted Diana sleep. The aircraft's cabin was outfitted with seats that converted to beds. He made sure Diana had drifted off before he marched into the cockpit and demanded to know their destination.
"Europe," the pilot told him.
"What do you mean 'Europe'?" That could be anywhere from Amsterdam to the Auvergne to Oxford.
"Madame de Clermont hasn't chosen her final destination. She told me to head to Europe. So I'm headed for Europe."
"She must be going to Sept-Tours. Go to Gander, then," Gallowglass instructed.
"That was my plan, sir," the pilot said drily. "Do you want to fly her?"
"Yes. No." What Gallowglass wanted was to hit something. "Hell, man. You do your job and I'll do mine."
There were times Gallowglass wished with all his heart he'd fallen in battle to someone other than Hugh de Clermont.
*
After landing safely at the airport in Gander, Gallowglass helped Diana down the stairs so that she could do as the doctor had ordered and stretch her legs.
"You're not dressed for Newfoundland," he observed, settling a worn leather jacket over her shoulders. "The wind will shred that pitiful excuse for a coat to ribbons."
"Thank you, Gallowglass," Diana said, shivering.
"What's your final destination, Auntie?" he asked after their second lap of the tiny airstrip.
"Does it matter?" Diana's voice had gone from resigned to weary to something worse.
Hopeless.
*
"No, Auntie. It's Nar-SAR-s'wauk--not NUR-sar-squawk," Gallowglass explained, tucking one of the down-filled blankets around Diana's shoulder. Narsarsuaq, on the southern tip of Greenland, was colder even than Gander. Diana had insisted on taking a brisk walk anyway.
"How do you know?" she asked peevishly, her lips slightly blue.
"I just know." Gallowglass motioned to the flight attendant, who brought him a steaming mug of tea. He poured a dollop of whiskey into it.
"No caffeine. Or alcohol," Diana said, waving the tea away.
"My own mam drank whiskey every day of her pregnancy--and look how hale and hearty I turned out," Gallowglass said, holding the mug in her direction. His voice turned wheedling. "Come on, now. A wee nip won't do you any harm. Besides, it can't be as bad for Apple and Bean as frostbite."
"They're fine," Diana said sharply.
"Oh, aye. Finer than frog's hair." Gallowglass extended his hand farther and hoped that the tea's aroma would persuade her to indulge. "It's Scottish Breakfast tea. One of your favorites."
"Get thee behind me, Satan," Diana grumbled, taking the mug. "And your mam couldn't have been drinking whiskey while she carried you. There's no evidence of whiskey distillation in Scotland or Ireland before the fifteenth century. You're older than that."
Gallowglass smothered a sigh of relief at her historical nitpicking.
Diana drew out a phone.
"Who are you calling, Auntie?" Gallowglass asked warily.
"Hamish."
When Matthew's best friend picked up the call, his words were exactly what Gallowglass expected them to be.
"Diana? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"I can't remember where my house is," she said in lieu of explanation.
"Your house?" Hamish sounded confused.
"My house," Diana repeated patiently. "The one Matthew gave me in London. You made me sign off on the maintenance bills when we were at Sept-Tours."
London? Being a vampire was no help at all in his present situation, Gallowglass realized. It would be far better to have been born a witch. Perhaps then he could have divined how this woman's mind worked.
"It's in Mayfair, on a little street near the Connaught. Why?"
"I need the key. And the address." Diana paused for a moment, mulling something over before she spoke. "I'll need a driver, too, to get around the city. Daemons like the Underground, and vampires own all the major cab companies."
Of course they owned the cab companies. Who else had the time to memorize the three hundred twenty routes, twenty-five thousand streets, and twenty thousand landmarks within six miles of Charing Cross that were required in order to get a license?
"A driver?" Hamish sputtered.
"Yes. And does that fancy Coutts account I have come with a bank card--one with a high spending limit?"
Gallowglass swore. She looked at him frostily.
"Yes." Hamish's wariness increased.
"Good. I need to buy some books. Everything Athanasius Kircher ever wrote. First or second editions. Do you think you could send out a few inquiries before the weekend?" Diana studiously avoided Gallowglass's piercing gaze.
"Athanasius who?" Hamish asked. Gallowglass could hear a pen scratching on paper.
"Kircher." She spelled it out for him, letter by letter. "You'll have to go to the rare-book dealers. There must be copies floating around London. I don't care how much they cost."
"You sound like Granny," Gallowglass muttered. That alone was reason for concern.
"If you can't get me copies by the end of next week, I suppose I'll have to go to the British Library. But fall term has started, and the rare-book room is bound to be full of witches. I'm sure it would be better if I stayed at home."
"Could I talk to Matthew?" Hamish said a trifle breathlessly.
"He's not here."
"You're alone?" He sounded shocked.
"Of course not. Gallowglass is with me," Diana replied.
"And Gallowglass knows about your plan to sit in the public reading rooms of the British Library and read these books by--what's his name? Athanasius Kircher? Have you gone completely mad? The whole Congregation is looking for you!" Hamish's voice rose steadily with each sentence.
"I am aware of the Congregation's interest, Hamish. That's why I asked you to buy the books," Diana said mildly.
"Where is Matthew?" Hamish demanded.
"I don't know." Diana crossed her fingers when she told the lie.
There was a long silence.
"I'll meet you at the airport. Let me know when you're an hour away," Hamish said.
"That's not necessary," she said.
"One hour before you land, call me." Hamish paused. "And Diana? I don't know what the hell is going on, but of one thing I'm sure: Matthew loves you. More than his own life."
"I know," Diana whispered before she hung up.
Now she'd gone from hopeless to dead-so
unding.
The plane turned south and east. The vampire at the controls had overheard the conversation and acted accordingly.
"What is that oaf doing?" Gallowglass growled, shooting to his feet and upsetting the tea tray so that the shortbread biscuits scattered all over the floor. "You cannot head directly for London!" he shouted into the cockpit. "That's a four-hour flight, and she's not to be in the air for more than three."
"Where to, then?" came the pilot's muffled reply as the plane changed course.
"Put in at Stornoway. It's a straight shot, and less than three hours. From there it will be an easy jump to London," Gallowglass replied.
That settled it. Marcus's ride with Matthew, Jack, Hubbard, and Lobero, no matter how hellish, couldn't possibly compare to this.
*
"It's beautiful." Diana held her hair away from her face. It was dawn, and the sun was just rising over the Minch. Gallowglass filled his lungs with the familiar air of home and set about remembering a sight he had often dreamed of: Diana Bishop standing here, on the land of his ancestors.
"Aye." He turned and marched toward the jet. It was waiting on the taxiway, lights on and ready to depart.
"I'll be there in a minute." Diana scanned the horizon. Autumn had painted the hills with umber and golden strokes among the green. The wind carried the witch's red hair out in a streak that glowed like embers.
Gallowglass wondered what had captured her attention. There was nothing to see but a misguided gray heron, his long, bright yellow legs too insubstantial to hold up the rest of his body.
"Come, Auntie. You'll freeze to death out here." Ever since he'd parted with his leather jacket, Gallowglass had worn nothing more than his habitual uniform of T-shirt and torn jeans. He no longer felt the cold, but he remembered how the early-morning air in this part of the world could cut to the bone.
The heron stared at Diana for a moment. He ducked his head up and down, stretching his wings and crying out. The bird took flight, soaring away toward the sea.
"Diana?"
She turned blue-gold eyes in Gallowglass's direction. His hackles rose. There was something otherworldly in her gaze that made him recall his childhood, and a dark room where his grandfather cast runes and uttered prophecies.
Even after the plane took to the skies, Diana remained fixed on some unseen, distant view. Gallowglass stared out the window and prayed for a strong tailwind.
"Will we ever stop running, do you think?" Her voice startled him.
Gallowglass didn't know the answer and couldn't bear to lie to her. He remained silent.
Diana buried her face in her hands.
"There, there." He rocked her against his chest. "You mustn't think the worst, Auntie. It's not like you."
"I'm just so tired, Gallowglass."
"With good reason. Between past and present, you've had a hell of a year." Gallowglass tucked her head under his chin. She might be Matthew's lion, but even lions had to close their eyes and rest occasionally.
"Is that Corra?" Diana's fingers traced the outlines of the firedrake on his forearm. Gallowglass shivered. "Where does her tail go?"
She lifted his sleeve before he could stop her. Her eyes widened.
"You weren't meant to see that," Gallowglass said. He released her and tugged the soft fabric back into place.
"Show me."
"Auntie, I think it's best--"
"Show me," Diana repeated. "Please."
He grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His tattoos told a complicated tale, but only a few chapters would be of interest to Matthew's wife. Diana's hand went to her mouth.
"Oh, Gallowglass."
A siren sat on a rock above his heart, her arm extended so that her hand reached over to his left bicep. She held a clutch of cords. The cords snaked down his arm, falling and twisting to become Corra's sinuous tail, which swirled around his elbow until it met with the firedrake's body.
The siren had Diana's face.
"You're a hard woman to find, but you're an even harder one to forget." Gallowglass pulled his shirt back over his head.
"How long?" Diana's eyes were blue with regret and sympathy.
"Four months." He didn't tell her that it was the latest in a series of similar images that had been inked over his heart.
"That's not what I meant," Diana said softly.
"Oh." Gallowglass stared between his knees at the carpeted floor. "Four hundred years. More or less."
"I'm so sor--"
"I won't have you feeling sorry for something you couldn't prevent," Gallowglass said, silencing her with a slash of his hand. "I knew you could never be mine. It didn't matter."
"Before I was Matthew's, I was yours," Diana said simply.
"Only because I was watching you grow into Matthew's wife," he said roughly. "Granddad always did have an unholy ability to give us jobs we could neither refuse nor perform without losing some piece of our souls." Gallowglass took a deep breath.
"Until I saw the newspaper story about Lady Pembroke's laboratory book," he continued, "a small part of me hoped fate might have another surprise up her sleeve. I wondered if you might come back different, or without Matthew, or without loving him as much as he loves you."
Diana listened without saying a word.
"So I went to Sept-Tours to wait for you, like I promised Granddad I would. Emily and Sarah were always going on about the changes your timewalking might have wrought. Miniatures and telescopes are one thing. But there was only ever one man for you, Diana. And God knows there was only ever one woman for Matthew."
"It's strange to hear you say my name," Diana said softly.
"So long as I call you Auntie, I never forget who really owns your heart," Gallowglass said gruffly.
"Philippe shouldn't have expected you to watch over me. It was cruel," she said.
"No crueler than what Philippe expected from you," Gallowglass replied. "And far less so than what Granddad demanded of himself."
Seeing her confusion, Gallowglass continued.
"Philippe always put his own needs last," Gallowglass said. "Vampires are creatures ruled by their desire, with instincts for self-preservation that are much stronger than any warmblood's. But Philippe was never like the rest of us. It broke his heart every time Granny got restless and went away. Then I didn't understand why Ysabeau felt it necessary to leave. Now that I've heard her tale, I think Philippe's love frightened her. It was so deep and selfless that Granny simply couldn't trust it--not after what her sire put her through. Part of her was always braced for Philippe to turn on her, to demand something for himself that she couldn't give."
Diana looked thoughtful.
"Whenever I see Matthew struggle to give you the freedom you need--to let you do something without him that you think is minor but that is an agony of worrying and waiting for him--it reminds me of Philippe," Gallowglass said, drawing his tale to a close.
"What are we going to do now?" She didn't mean when they got to London, but he pretended she did.
"Now we wait for Matthew," Gallowglass said flatly. "You wanted him to establish a family. He's off doing it."
Under the surface of her skin, Diana's magic pulsed again in iridescent agitation. It reminded Gallowglass of long nights watching the aurora borealis from the sandy stretch of coastline beneath the cliffs where his father and grandfather had once lived.
"Don't worry. Matthew won't be able to stay away for long. It's one thing to wander in the darkness because you know no different, but it's quite another to enjoy the light only to have it taken from you," Gallowglass said.
"You sound so sure," she whispered.
"I am. Marcus's children are a handful, but he'll make them heel." Gallowglass lowered his voice. "I assume there's a good reason you chose London?"
Her glance flickered.
"I thought so. You're not just looking for the last missing page. You're going after Ashmole 782. And I'm not talking nonsense," Gallowglass said, raising his h
and when Diana opened her mouth to protest. "You'll be wanting people around you, then. People you can trust unto death, like Granny and Sarah and Fernando." He drew out his phone.
"Sarah already knows I'm on my way to Europe. I told her I'd let her know where I was once I was settled." Diana frowned at the phone. "And Ysabeau is still Gerbert's prisoner. She's not in touch with the outside world."
"Oh, Granny has her ways," Gallowglass said serenely, his fingers racing across the keys. "I'll just send her a message and tell her where we're headed. Then I'll tell Fernando. You can't do this alone, Auntie. Not what you've got planned."
"You're taking this very well, Gallowglass," Diana said gratefully. "Matthew would be trying to talk me out of it."
"That's what you get for falling in love with the wrong man," he said under his breath, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
*
Ysabeau de Clermont picked up her sleek red phone and looked at the illuminated display. She noted the time--7:37 A.M. Then she read the waiting message. It began with three repetitions of a single word:
Mayday
Mayday
Mayday
She'd been expecting Gallowglass to get in touch ever since Phoebe had notified her that Marcus had departed in the middle of the night, mysteriously and suddenly, to go off and join Matthew.
Ysabeau and Gallowglass had decided early on that they needed a way to notify each other when things went "pear-shaped," to use her grandson's expression. Their system had changed over the years, from beacons and secret messages written in onion juice to codes and ciphers, then to objects sent through the mail without explanation. Now they used the phone.
At first Ysabeau had been dubious about owning one of these cellular contraptions, but given recent events she was glad to have it restored to her. Gerbert had confiscated it shortly after her arrival in Aurillac, in the vain hope that being without it would make her more malleable.
Gerbert had returned the phone to Ysabeau several weeks ago. She had been taken hostage to satisfy the witches and to make a public show of the Congregation's power and influence. Gerbert was under no illusion that his prisoner would part with a scrap of information that would help them find Matthew. He was, however, grateful that Ysabeau was willing to play along with the charade. Since arriving at Gerbert's home, she had been a model prisoner. He claimed that having her phone back was a reward for good behavior, but she knew it was largely due to the fact that Gerbert could not figure out how to silence the many alarms that sounded throughout the day.