“Shall I take them away for a few hours?” Gallowglass asked after getting a good look at Matthew’s stormy face.
“Is Baldwin’s house empty?”
“There are no tenants in it, if that’s what you mean.”
“Take everybody.” Matthew lifted my cloak from my shoulders.
“Even Lobero?”
“Especially Lobero.”
Jack chattered like a magpie throughout supper, picking fights with Annie and managing to send a fair bit of food Lobero’s way through a variety of occult methods. Between the children and the dog, it was almost possible to ignore the fact that Matthew was reconsidering his plans for the evening. On the one hand, he was a pack animal and something in him enjoyed having so many lives to take care of. On the other hand, he was a predator and I had an uneasy feeling that I was tonight’s prey. The predator won. Not even Tereza and Karolína were allowed to stay.
“Why did you send them all away?” We were still by the fire in the house’s main, first-floor room, where the comforting smells of dinner still filled the air.
“What happened this afternoon?” he asked.
“Answer my question first.”
“Don’t push me. Not tonight,” Matthew warned.
“You think my day has been easy?” The air between us was crackling with blue and black threads. It looked ominous and felt worse.
“No.” Matthew slid his chair back. “But you’re keeping something from me, Diana. What happened with the witch?”
I stared at him.
“I’m waiting.”
“You can wait until hell freezes over, Matthew, because I’m not your servant. I asked you a question.” The threads went purple, beginning to twist and distort.
“I sent them away so that they wouldn’t witness this conversation. Now, what happened?” The smell of cloves was choking.
“I met the golem. And his maker, a Jewish weaver named Abraham. He has the power of animation, too.”
“I’ve told you I don’t like it when you play with life and death.” Matthew poured himself more wine.
“You play with them all the time, and I accept that as part of who you are. You’re going to have to accept it’s part of me, too.”
“And this Abraham. Who is he?” Matthew demanded.
“God, Matthew. You cannot be jealous because I met another weaver.”
“Jealous? I am long past that warmblooded emotion.” He took a mouthful of wine.
“Why was this afternoon different from every other day we spend apart while you’re out working for the Congregation and your father?”
“It’s different because I can smell every single person you’ve been in contact with today. It’s bad enough that you always carry the scent of Annie and Jack. Gallowglass and Pierre try not to touch you, but they can’t help it—they’re around you too much. Then we add the scents of the Maharal, and Herr Maisel, and at least two other men. The only scent I can bear to have mixed with yours is my own, but I cannot keep you in a cage, and so I endure it the best I can.” Matthew put down his cup and shot to his feet in an attempt to put some distance between us.
“That sounds like jealousy to me.”
“It’s not. I could manage jealousy,” he said, furious. “What I am feeling now—this terrible gnawing sense of loss and rage because I cannot get a clear impression of you in the chaos of our life—I cannot seem to control.” His pupils were large and getting larger.
“That’s because you are a vampire. You’re possessive. It’s who you are,” I said flatly, approaching him in spite of his anger. “And I am a witch. You promised to accept me as I am—light and dark, woman and witch, my own person as well as your wife.” What if he had changed his mind? What if he wasn’t willing to have this kind of unpredictability in his life?
“I do accept you.” Matthew reached out a gentle finger and touched my cheek.
“No, Matthew. You tolerate me, because you think that one day I’ll manage my magic into submission. Rabbi Loew warned me that tolerance can be withdrawn, and then you’re out in the cold. My magic isn’t something to manage. It’s me. And I’m not going to hide myself from you. That’s not what love is.”
“All right. No more hiding.”
“Good.” I sighed with relief, but it was short-lived.
Matthew had me out of the chair and up against the wall in one clean move, his thigh pressed between mine. He pulled a curl free so that it trailed down my neck and onto my breast. Without releasing me, he bent his head and pressed his lips to the edge of my bodice. I shivered. It had been some time since he’d kissed me there, and our sex life had been practically nonexistent since the miscarriage. Matthew’s lips brushed along my jaw and over the veins of my neck.