Times Convert extract - Marcus shares a childhood memory with Diana

EARLY EXTRACT

shouldn’t stir up Marcus’s emotions any further until after he and Phoebe are back together. Not all vampires want to revisit their past lives.”

“Maybe not consciously, but there’s clearly something troubling him,” I replied, “something unresolved.” Whatever was bothering Marcus might have happened long ago, but it still had him tied in knots.

“A vampire’s memories aren’t arranged in a rational timeline,” Mat‑ thew explained. “They’re a jumbled mess—a magpie assortment of happy and sad, bright and dark.

You might not be able to isolate the cause of Early extract...

Marcus’s unhappiness, never mind make sense of it.”

“I’m a historian, Matthew,” I said. “I make sense out of the past ev‑ ery day.”

“And Philip?” Matthew asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ll call Sarah,” I said. “She and Agatha are in Provence. I’m sure she’ll have some advice on how to raise witches.”

Marcus shares a childhood memory with Diana …

We h a d supper up on the roof deck so that we could enjoy the fine weather. I had demolished Marthe’s roasted chicken served with vegeta‑ bles picked fresh from the garden—tender lettuce, peppery radishes, and the sweetest carrots imaginable—while Matthew opened a second bottle of wine to see him and Marcus through the rest of the evening. We with‑ drew from the old dining table to the chairs arranged around a cauldron full of logs. Once the fire was lit, the wood sent sparks and light shooting into the sky. Les Revenants became a beacon in the darkness, visible for miles.

48 deborah harkness I sat back in my chair with a sigh of contentment while Matthew and Marcus discussed their shared work on creature genetics in a slow, relaxed fashion that was very unlike what occurred between competitive, modern academics. Vampires had all the time in the world to mull over their find‑ ings. They had little cause to rush to conclusions, and the honest ex‑ change that resulted was inspiring.

As the light faded, however, it was evident that Marcus was feeling 9780399564512_TimesConvert_TX.indd Phoebe’s absence47 with renewed sharpness. The red threads that tied Mar‑6/16/18 cus to the world turned rosy and shimmered with copper notes whenever he thought about his mate. I was usually able to screen out these momen‑ tary slubs in the fabric of time, but these were impossible to ignore. Mar‑ cus was worried about what might be happening in Paris. In an effort to distract him, I suggested he tell me about his own transformation from warmblood to vampire.

“It’s up to you, Marcus,” I said, keeping my promise to Matthew. “But if you think it would help to talk about your past, I’d love to listen.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Marcus said.

“Hamish always says you should start at the end,” Matthew observed, sipping his wine.

11:43 AM

distract him, I suggested he tell me about his own transformation from warmblood to vampire.

“It’s up to you, Marcus,” I said, keeping my promise to Matthew. “But if you think it would help to talk about your past, I’d love to listen.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Marcus said.

“Hamish always says you should start at the end,” Matthew observed, sipping his wine.

“Or you could start with your origins,” I said, stating the obvious alternative.

“Like Dickens?” Marcus made a soft sound of amusement. “Chapter one, ‘I am born’?”

The usual biographical template of birth, childhood, marriage, and death might be too narrow and conventional for a vampire, I had to admit.

“Chapter two, I died. Chapter three, I was reborn.” Marcus shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not so simple a tale, Diana. Strange, minor things stand out so clearly to me, and I can barely recall the dates of major events.”

“Matthew warned me that vampire memories might be tricky,” I said.

“Why don’t we start with something easy, like your name?” He went by Marcus Whitmore now, but there was no telling what it had been origi‑ nally.

Marcus’s darkening expression told me that my simple question didn’t have an easy answer.

“Vampires don’t normally share that information. Names are impor‑ t i m e ’ s c o n v e rt 49 tant, mon coeur,” Matthew reminded me.

For historians as well as vampires—which is why I’d asked. With a name, it would be possible for me to trace Marcus’s past in the archives and libraries that I knew as a historian.

Marcus took a steadying breath, and the black threads surrounding him bristled with agitation. I exchanged a worried look with Matthew.

I did warn you, said Matthew’s expression.

“Marcus MacNeil.” Marcus blurted out the name.

9780399564512_TimesConvert_TX.indd 48 Marcus MacNeil of Hadley, born August 1757. A name, a date, a place—6/16/18 these were the building blocks of most historical research. Even if Marcus were to stop there, I could probably find out more about him.

“My mother was Catherine Chauncey of Boston, and my father . . .”

Marcus’s throat closed, shutting off the words. He cleared it and started again. “My father was Obadiah MacNeil from the nearby town of Pelham.”

“Did you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.

“One sister. Her name was Patience.” Marcus’s face had turned ashen.

Matthew poured him some more wine.

“Older or younger?” I wanted to get as much out of Marcus as possible in case tonight was the only chance I had to gather information from him.

“Younger.”

“Where did you live in Hadley?” I steered the conversation away from

11:43 AM

Pelham.”

“Did you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.

“One sister. Her name was Patience.” Marcus’s face had turned ashen.

Matthew poured him some more wine.

“Older or younger?” I wanted to get as much out of Marcus as possible in case tonight was the only chance I had to gather information from him.

“Younger.”

“Where did you live in Hadley?” I steered the conversation away from his family, which was clearly a painful subject.

“A house on the western road out of town.”

“What do you remember about the house?”

“Not much.” Marcus looked surprised that I was interested in such a thing. “The door was red. There was a lilac bush outside, and the scent came through the open windows in May. The more my mother neglected it, the more it bloomed. And there was a black clock on the mantel. In the parlor. It came down to her through the Chauncey family, and she wouldn’t let anyone touch it.”

As Marcus recalled small details of his past, his memory—which had grown rusty and sepia toned from disuse—began to operate more freely.

“There were geese everywhere in Hadley,” Marcus continued. “They were vicious, and roamed all over town frightening the children. And I 50 dthere e b o rwas a h ah brass a r k nrooster ess remember atop the meetinghouse steeple. Zeb put it up there. God, I haven’t thought about that rooster in ages.”

“Zeb?” I asked, less interested in the town’s weathervane.

“Zeb Pruitt. My friend. My hero, really,” Marcus said slowly.

Time chimed in warning, the sound echoing in my ears.

“What’s your earliest memory of him?” I prompted Marcus.

“He taught me how to march like a soldier,” Marcus whispered. “In the barn. I was five or six. My father caught him. He didn’t let me spend 9780399564512_TimesConvert_TX.indd 49 6/16/18 much time with Zeb after that.”

A red door.

A lilac bush.

A wayward flock of geese.

A rooster on the meetinghouse steeple.

A friend who played make‑believe soldier with him.

These charming fragments were part of the larger mosaic of Marcus’s life, but they weren’t enough to form a coherent picture of his past, or re‑ veal some larger historical truth.

I opened my mouth to ask another question. Matthew shook his head, warning me not to interfere in the story but to let Marcus take it in what‑ ever direction he needed to go.

“My father was a soldier. He was in the militia, and fought at Ft. Wil‑ liam Henry. He didn’t see me for months after I was born,” Marcus said, his voice dropping. “I always wondered whether things would have been

11:43 AM

veal some larger historical truth.

I opened my mouth to ask another question. Matthew shook his head, warning me not to interfere in the story but to let Marcus take it in what‑ ever direction he needed to go.

“My father was a soldier. He was in the militia, and fought at Ft. Wil‑ liam Henry. He didn’t see me for months after I was born,” Marcus said, his voice dropping. “I always wondered whether things would have been different if only he had come home sooner from the war, or never gone at all.”

Marcus shivered and I felt a flicker of unease.

“War changed him. It changes everybody, of course. But my father believed in God and country first, and rules and discipline second.” Mar‑ cus cocked his head to the side as if he were considering a proposition. “I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I don’t have much faith in rules.

They don’t always keep you safe, like my father believed.”

“Your father sounds like he was a man of his time,” I noted. Rules and regulations were a fixture of early American life.

“If you mean he sounds like a patriarch, you’d be right,” Marcus agreed. “Full of bristle and brimstone, with the Lord and the king on his side no matter what daft position he adopted. Obadiah MacNeil ruled over our house and everybody in it. It was his kingdom.”

Marcus’s blue eyes shattered under the weight of his recollections.

9780399564512_TimesConvert_TX.indd

50

6/16/18

11:43 AM

FROM HUMAN TO VAMPIRE‌

Marcus Whitmore was made a vampire in the eighteenth century. Over two hundred years later, he finds himself in love with Phoebe Taylor, a human who decides to become a vampire herself.

But her transformation will prove as challenging now as it was for Marcus when he first encountered Matthew de Clermont, his sire.

While Phoebe is secreted away, Marcus relives his own journey from the battlefields of the American Revolutionary War, through the treachery of the French Revolution to a bloody finale in New Orleans. His belief in liberty, equality and brotherhood challenged at every stage by the patriarchy of the de Clermonts.

What will he and Phoebe discover in one another when they are finally reunited at Les Revenants, beneath the watchful gaze of Matthew and his wife, Diana Bishop?

#TimesConvert 18 September 2018 Hardback 9781472237330 | Export and airside trade paperback 9781472237347 eBook 9781472237361 | Audio 9781472243348

A SUPERNATURAL PHENOMENON… Deborah Harkness is the author of the globally bestselling ALL SOULS trilogy. The first in the series, A Discovery of Witches, was an instant bestseller on publication and stayed in the Sunday Times Top Ten for five weeks. It has now sold a million copies worldwide with foreign rights sold in thirty-eight countries.

www.deborahharkness.com @DebHarkness AuthorDeborahHarkness

delight in the ALL SOULS

world

‘Intelligent and off-the-wall…irresistible’ The Sunday Times

‘A romp through magical academia’ Guardian

‘A bubbling cauldron of illicit desire’ Daily Mail

‘A spellbinding saga…unputdownable’ Woman & Home

‘Enchanting, page-turning panache’ Marie Claire

‘A journey of witchcraft and romance’ Sun