“Dinner and a date?” Matthew was aghast. “Do you mean . . . ?”
“Uh-huh. You should see what Sarah’s friends in the Madison coven read. Vampire meets girl, vampire bites girl, girl is shocked to find out there really are vampires. The sex, blood, and overprotective behavior all come quickly thereafter. Some of it is pretty explicit.” I paused. “There’s no time for bundling, that’s for sure. I don’t remember much poetry or dancing either.”
Matthew swore. “No wonder your aunt wanted to know if I was hungry.”
“You really should read this stuff, if only to see what humans think. It’s a public-relations nightmare. Far worse than what witches have to overcome.” I turned around to face him. “You’d be surprised how many women seem to want a vampire boyfriend anyway, though.”
“What if their vampire boyfriends were to behave like callous bastards in the street and threaten starving orphans?”
“Most fictional vampires have hearts of gold, barring the occasional jealous rage and consequent dismemberment.” I smoothed the hair away from his eyes.
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Matthew said.
“Why? Vampires read books about witches. The fact that Kit’s Doctor Faustus is pure fantasy doesn’t stop you from enjoying a good supernatural yarn.”
“Yes, but all that manhandling and then making love . . .” Matthew shook his head.
“You’ve manhandled me, as you so charmingly put it. I seem to recall being hoisted into your arms at Sept-Tours on more than one occasion,” I pointed out.
“Only when you were injured!” Matthew said indignantly. “Or tired.”
“Or when you wanted me in one spot and I was in another. Or when the horse was too tall, or the bed was too high, or the seas were too rough. Honestly, Matthew. You have a very selective memory when it suits you. As for making love, it’s not always the tender act that you describe. Not in the books I’ve seen. Sometimes it’s just a good, hard—”
Before I could finish my sentence, a tall, handsome vampire flung me over his shoulder.
“We will continue this conversation in private.”
“Help! I think my husband is a vampire!” I laughed and pounded on the backs of his thighs.
“Be quiet,” he growled. “Or you’ll have Mistress Hawley to contend with.”
“If I were a human woman and not a witch, that growly sound you just made would make me swoon. I’d be all yours, and you could have your way with me.” I giggled.
“You’re already all mine,” Matthew reminded me, depositing me on the bed. “I’m changing this ridiculous plot, by the way. In the interests of originality—not to mention verisimilitude—we’re skipping dinner and moving right on to the date.”
“Readers would love a vampire who said that!” I said.
Matthew seemed not to care about my editorial contributions. He was too busy lifting my skirts. We were going to make love fully clothed. How deliciously Elizabethan.
“Wait a minute. At least let me take off my bum roll.” Annie had informed me that this was the proper name for the doughnut-shaped thing that kept my skirts respectably full and flouncy.
But Matthew was not inclined to wait.
“To hell with the bum roll.” He loosened the front ties on his breeches, grabbed my hands, and pinned them over my head. With one thrust he was inside me.
“I had no idea that talking about popular fiction would have this effect on you,” I said breathlessly as he started to move. “Remind me to discuss it with you more often.”
We were just sitting down to supper when I was called to Goody Alsop’s house.
The Rede had made its ruling.
When Annie and I arrived with our two vampire escorts and Jack trailing behind, we found her in the front parlor with Susanna and three unfamiliar witches. Goody Alsop sent the men to the Golden Gosling and steered me toward the group by the fire.
“Come, Diana, and meet your teachers.” Goody Alsop’s fetch pointed me to an empty chair and withdrew into her mistress’s shadow. All five witches studied me. They looked like a bunch of prosperous city matrons, with their thick woolen gowns in dark, wintry colors. Only their tingling glances gave them away as witches.
“So the Rede agreed with your initial plan,” I said slowly, trying to meet their eyes. It was never good to show a teacher fear.
“They did,” Susanna said with resignation. “You will forgive me, Mistress Roydon. I have two boys to think of, and a husband too ill to provide for us. A neighbor’s goodwill can be lost overnight.”
“Let me introduce you to the others,” Goody Alsop said, turning slightly toward the woman to her right. She was around sixty, short in stature, round of face, and, if her smile was any indication, generous of spirit. “This is Marjorie Cooper.”
“Diana,” Marjorie said with a nod that set her small ruff rustling. “Welcome to our gathering.”
While meeting the Rede, I’d learned that Elizabethan witches used the term “gathering” much as modern witches used the word “coven” to indicate a recognized community of witches. Like everything else in London, the city’s gatherings coincided with parish boundaries. Though it was strange to think of witches’ covens and Christian churches fitting so neatly together, it made sound organizational sense and provided an extra measure of safety, since it kept the witches’ affairs among close neighbors.
There were, therefore, more than a hundred gatherings in London proper and a further two dozen in the suburbs. Like the parishes, the gatherings were organized into larger districts known as wards. Each ward sent one of its elders to the Rede, which oversaw all of the witches’ affairs in the city.
With panics and witch-hunts brewing, the Rede was worried that the old system of governance was breaking down. London was bursting with creatures already, and more poured in every day. I had heard muttering about the size of the Aldgate gathering—which included more than sixty witches instead of the normal thirteen to twenty—as well as the large gatherings in Cripplegate and Southwark. To avoid the notice of humans, some gatherings had started “hiving off” and splitting into different septs. But new gatherings with inexperienced leaders were proving problematic in these difficult times. Witches in the Rede who were gifted with second sight foresaw troubles ahead.
“Marjorie is gifted with the magic of earth, like Susanna. Her specialty is remembering,” Goody Alsop explained.
“I have no need of grimoires or these new almanacs all the booksellers are peddling,” Marjorie said proudly.
“Marjorie perfectly remembers every spell she has ever mastered and can recall the exact configuration of the stars for every year she has been alive—and for many years when she was not yet born.”
“Goody Alsop feared you would not be able to write down all you learn here and take it with you. Not only will I help you find the right words so that another witch might use the spells you devise, but I’ll teach you how to be at one with those words so that none can ever take them from you.” Marjorie’s eyes sparkled, and her voice lowered conspiratorially. “And my husband is a vintner. He can get you much better wine than you are drinking now. I understand wine is important to wearhs.”
I laughed aloud at this, and the other witches joined in. “Thank you, Mistress Cooper. I will pass your offer on to my husband.”
“Marjorie. We are sisters here.” For once I didn’t cringe at being called another witch’s sister.
“I am Elizabeth Jackson,” said the elderly woman on the other side of Goody Alsop. She was somewhere between Marjorie and Goody Alsop in age.
“You’re a waterwitch.” I felt the affinity as soon as she spoke.
“I am.” Elizabeth had steely gray hair and eyes and was as tall and straight as Marjorie was short and round. While many of the waterwitches in the Rede had been sinuous and flowing, Elizabeth had the brisk clarity of a mountain stream. I sensed she would always tell me the truth, even when I didn’t want to hear it.