“And you think an atlas and de Crèvecoeur’s account of life in New York are going to help?” Matthew looked skeptical.

“It’s a start,” I said. “Otherwise I won’t be able to fit Marcus’s story into the big picture.”

“I thought the goal was to help Marcus cope with his memories,” Matthew said, “not write the definitive account of eighteenth-century America.”

“I’m a historian, Matthew. I can’t help it,” I confessed. “I know the small details of life are important, but Marcus lived during an exciting time. There’s no harm in trying to see how his experiences illuminate it.”

“You might be disappointed by how little Marcus remembers that historians consider important,” Matthew warned. “He was still in his teens when the war started.”

“Yes, but it was the American Revolution,” I protested. “Surely he remembers that?”

“What do you remember about the invasion of Panama, or the first Gulf War?” Matthew shook his head. “My guess is very little.”

“I didn’t participate in either of those conflicts. Marcus did.” So did Matthew, come to think of it. “Wait. Did you write to Philippe while you were in America with Lafayette?”

“Yes.” Matthew sounded wary.

“Are the letters here, do you think? I could use those to flesh out the details that Marcus might not remember.” The prospect of examining primary sources further sparked my historical curiosity. I specialized in an earlier period, a different country, and was not a military or political historian, but being a student again was thrilling. There was so much to learn.

“I can look, but it’s far more likely they’re at Sept-Tours along with the records of the brotherhood. I was in the colonies on official business.”

The Knights of Lazarus, the de Clermont family’s supposedly secret military-slash-charitable organization, seemed to have their fingers in every political pie, even though creature meddling in human politics and religion was strictly forbidden by the Congregation.

“That would be fantastic. If it’s here, you’ll find it much quicker than I would.” I studied my computer screen for a moment before shutting the lid. “The fall of Ft. William Henry sounds horrifying. Obadiah must have suffered for years because of what he witnessed.”

“War is always terrible, but what happened to the British army when they left the fort was tragic,” Matthew said. “A lack of understanding, followed by miscommunication and frustration, led to unspeakable violence.”

The account I’d read had made it clear that the Native Americans who attacked the British army and their followers had expected to take the spoils of war—guns and weapons—back home with them as symbols of their valor. But their French allies were obeying different rules and allowed the British to keep their muskets so long as they surrendered the ammunition. Deprived of the guns, the Native Americans took other prizes instead: captives and lives.

“And Obadiah saw it all.” I shook my head. “No wonder he drank.”

“Battles don’t always end just because someone negotiates a truce,” Matthew said. “For some soldiers, the fight goes on for the rest of their lives, shaping everything that happens afterward.”

“Was Obadiah one of those soldiers?” I thought of the bootjack, and the wary look in Marcus’s eye when he spoke of his father—even though he was a grown man now and not a little boy, even though he was talking about events that had happened centuries ago.

“I think so,” Matthew said.

No wonder Marcus’s memories were so snarled and angry. It wasn’t the red door and the lilacs that were causing him pain, but his forbidding father.

“As for the bigger historical picture,” Matthew continued, taking my hand, “I think you’re going to have to do a lot more digging before you discover what that is—never mind its significance.”

“When we timewalked, I was surprised by what life was really like,” I said, thinking back to the time we’d shared in the sixteenth century. “But it was still possible for me to fit what I discovered into what I already knew. I suppose I thought I could do the same with Marcus’s story.”

“But remembering the past is not the same as timewalking through it,” Matthew observed.

“No. They’re entirely different kinds of magic,” I mused.

I was going to have to be very careful where I asked Marcus to dig into his former life.

* * *

—

SARAH AND AGATHA arrived around midday.

“We weren’t expecting you until late this afternoon,” Matthew said, giving first Sarah and then Agatha a kiss.

“Diana said it was an emergency, so Agatha called Baldwin,” Sarah explained. “Apparently, he has a helicopter on standby in Monaco and was able to send it for us.”

“I never said it was an emergency, Sarah,” I corrected her.

“You said it was urgent. Here we are.” Sarah took Philip from Matthew’s arms. “What is all this fuss about, young man? What have you done now?”

Philip presented her with a carrot. “Horsey.”

“Carrot,” I said. Sometimes the twins confused what the animals ate with the animals themselves.

Becca had forgotten the horses and was totally absorbed in greeting Agatha. She had her fists in Agatha’s hair and was examining her curly locks with fascination.

“Watch out, Agatha. Sometimes she gets excited and pulls,” I warned. “And she’s stronger than she looks.”

“Oh, I’m used to it,” Agatha said. “Margaret is always trying to braid it, and it just ends up in knots. Where’s Marcus?”

“Behind you!” Marcus said, giving out hugs of welcome. “Don’t tell me you two are here to check up on me?”

“Not this time,” Sarah said with a laugh. “Why? Do you need checking up on?”

“Probably,” Marcus said cheerfully, though his smile was a touch anxious.

“What’s the news from Paris?” Agatha asked. “How is Phoebe?”

“All good, so far,” Marcus replied. “But it’s a big day.”

“Miriam will begin weaning Phoebe today,” Matthew explained, wanting to illuminate vampire culture to his witch and daemon guests. If all went according to plan, today Phoebe would get her first taste of blood that didn’t come from her maker.

“You make it sound as though Phoebe’s a baby,” Sarah said with a frown.

“She is,” Matthew replied.

“Phoebe’s a grown woman, Matthew. Maybe we could say, ‘Today Phoebe is experimenting with new foods,’ or, ‘Today Phoebe is starting her new diet,’” Sarah suggested.

Matthew’s face bore an expression of bewildered exhaustion—and Sarah and Agatha had only just arrived.

“Why don’t we go into the solarium,” I said, steering Sarah and Agatha toward the kitchen door. “Marthe made some lovely shortbread, and we can catch up on all the news while Matthew feeds the twins.”

As I suspected, the prospect of sugary treats was irresistible, and Agatha and Sarah settled into the comfortable chairs with coffee, tea, and cookies.

“So what’s the crisis?” Sarah said around a bite of shortbread.

“I think Philip wove his first spell,” I said. “I didn’t catch the words, so I’m not sure. He was playing with time, at the very least.”

“I don’t know what you think I can do about it, Diana.” No matter the situation, Sarah could be relied upon to be perfectly candid. “I didn’t have any babies to worry about, witchy or otherwise. You and Matthew are going to have to figure it out yourselves.”

“I thought you might remember what rules Mom and Dad set out for me when I was a baby,” I prompted her.

Sarah thought for a moment. “Nope.”

“Don’t you remember anything about my childhood?” Irritation and worry made my tone especially sharp.

“Not much. I was in Madison with your grandmother. You were in Cambridge. You weren’t in ‘how about you drop by for a visit’ range.” Sarah gave a disapproving sniff. “Besides, Rebecca wasn’t exactly welcoming.”