“Cars? Parked along the drive?” I looked at Matthew in shock.
“Marcus thought it might be a good idea to have some of the knights present,” he said smoothly.
“Why?” My stomach somersaulted as my instincts warned me that all was not as it seemed.
“In case the Congregation decides to take exception to the event,” Matthew said. His eyes met mine, cool and tranquil as a summer sea.
In spite of Ysabeau’s warning, nothing could possibly have prepared me for the enthusiastic welcome we received. Marcus had transformed Sept-Tours into Camelot, with flags and banners twisting in the stiff December breeze, their bright colors standing out against both the snow and the dark local basalt. Atop the square keep, the de Clermont family’s black-and-silver standard with the ouroboros on it had been topped by a large square flag bearing the great seal of the Knights of Lazarus. The two pieces of silk flapped on the same pole, extending the height of the already tall tower by nearly thirty feet.
“Well, if the Congregation didn’t know something was happening before, they do now,” I said, looking at the spectacle.
“There didn’t seem much point in trying to be inconspicuous,” Matthew said. “We shall start as we intend to go on. And that means we aren’t going to hide the children from the truth—or the rest of the world.”
I nodded and took his hand in mine.
When Matthew pulled in to the courtyard, it was filled with well-wishers. He carefully navigated the car among the throngs, occasionally stopping by an old friend who wanted to shake his hand and congratulate us on our good fortune. He slammed on the brakes hard, however, when he saw Chris Roberts standing with a large grin on his face and a silver tankard in his hand.
“Hey!” Chris banged on the window with the tankard. “I want to see my goddaughter. Now.”
“Hello, Chris! I didn’t realize you were coming,” Sarah said, lowering the window and giving him a kiss.
“I’m a knight. I have to be here.” Chris’s grin grew.
“So I’ve been told,” Sarah said. There had been other warmblooded members before Chris—Walter Raleigh and Henry Percy to name just two—but I had never thought to count my best friend among them.
“Yep. I’m going to make my students call me Sir Christopher next semester,” Chris said.
“Better that than St. Christopher,” said a piercing soprano voice. Miriam grinned, her hands on her hips. The pose showed off the T-shirt she was wearing under a demure navy blazer. It, too, was navy and had SCIENCE: RUINING EVERYTHING SINCE 1543 spelled out across the chest along with a unicorn, an Aristotelian depiction of the heavens, and the outline of God and Adam from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. A red bar sinister obliterated each image.
“Hello, Miriam!” I waved.
“Park the car so we can see the sprogs,” she demanded.
Matthew obliged, but when a crowd started to form, he said that the babies needed to be out of the cold and beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen, armed with a diaper bag and using Philip as a shield.
“How many people are here?” I asked Fernando. We had passed dozens of parked cars.
“At least a hundred,” he replied. “I haven’t stopped to count.”
Based on the feverish preparations in the kitchen, there were more than a few warmbloods in attendance. I saw a stuffed goose go into the oven and a pig come out of it, ready to be basted with wine and herbs. My mouth watered at the aromas.
Shortly before eleven in the morning, the church bells in Saint-Lucien pealed. By that time Sarah and I had changed the twins into matching white gowns made of silk and lace and little caps sewn by Marthe and Victoire. They looked every inch sixteenth-century babies. We bundled them into blankets and made our way downstairs.
It was then that the ceremonies took an unexpected turn. Sarah climbed into one of the family’s ATVs with Ysabeau, and Marcus directed us to the Range Rover. Once we were strapped in, Marcus drove us not to the church but to the goddess’s temple on the mountain.
My eyes filled at the sight of the well-wishers gathered beneath the oak and cypress. Only some of the faces were familiar to me, but Matthew recognized far more. I spotted Sophie and Margaret, with Nathaniel by their side. Agatha Wilson was there, too, looking at me vaguely as though she recognized but wasn’t able to place me. Amira and Hamish stood together, both looking slightly overwhelmed by all the ceremony. But it was the dozens of unfamiliar vampires present who surprised me most. Their stares were cold and curious, but not malicious.
“What is this about?” I asked Matthew when he opened my door.
“I thought we should divide the ceremony into two parts: a pagan naming ceremony here, and a Christian baptism at the church,” he explained. “That way Emily could be a part of the babies’ day.”
Matthew’s thoughtfulness—and his efforts to remember Em—rendered me temporarily mute. I knew he was always hatching plans and conducting business while I slept. I hadn’t imagined his nocturnal work included overseeing the arrangements for the christening.
“Is it all right, mon coeur?” he asked, anxious at my silence. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“It’s perfect,” I said when I was able. “And it will mean so much to Sarah.”
The guests formed a circle around the ancient altar dedicated to the goddess. Sarah, Matthew, and I took our places within it. My aunt had anticipated that I wouldn’t remember a single word of any baby-naming ritual that I had ever witnessed or taken part in, and she was prepared to officiate. The ceremony was a simple but important moment in a young witch’s life, since it was a formal welcome into the community. But there was more to it than that, as Sarah knew.
“Welcome, friends and family of Diana and Matthew,” Sarah began, her cheeks pink with cold and excitement. “We are gathered here today to bestow upon their children the names that they will take with them as they go into the world. Among witches to call something by name is to recognize its power. By naming these children, we honor the goddess who entrusted them to our care and express gratitude for the gifts she has given them.”
Matthew and I had used a formula to come up with the babies’ names—and I had vetoed the vampire tradition of five first names in favor of an elemental foursome. With a hyphenated last name, that seemed ample. Each of the babies’ first names came from a grandparent. Their second name honored a de Clermont tradition of bestowing the names of archangels on Matthew and members of his family. We took their third name from yet another grandparent. For the fourth and final name, we selected someone who had been important to their conception and birth.
No one knew the babies’ full names until now—except for Matthew, Sarah, and me.