The dark of the moon is a time for new beginnings.
It was difficult at first, not to have all the answers. Over the years I’ve forgotten how much fun it is to have nothing but questions.
Like sun and moon, we were unconcerned at this moment with time, distance, and differences. All that mattered was our position relative to each other.
I take it that witches aren’t supposed to hang out with vampires?’ ‘Or with daemons. It makes humans uncomfortable,’ Matthew said. ‘Uncomfortable?’ Chris looked dubious. ‘So did blacks sitting on buses next to white people. Segregation isn’t the answer.
What is blood, if not fire and water?
Don’t tell me you’re the kind of academics who can’t tell the difference between their life and their job.
Matthew might make Jack feel safe the way a father should, but it was Diana who made him feel loved.
Remembering what his daemon friend Bruno had written in the sixteenth century, I quoted it again. “‘Desire urges me on, as fear bridles me.’ Doesn’t that explain everything that happens in the world?
And so I discovered that the practice of magic was not unlike the practice of history. The trick to both wasn’t finding the correct answers but formulating better questions.
It begins with absence and desire, it begins with blood and fear,’” I whispered. “‘It began with a discovery of witches,’” time responded, in a primeval echo that set alight the blue and amber threads that flickered against the room’s stone walls.
Being in charge was better than letting random events take place.
After all my searching, I discover that I am who I always was: Matthew de Clermont. Husband. Father. Vampire. And I am here for only one reason: To make a difference.
For storms will rage and oceans roar When Gabriel stands on sea and shore. And as he blows his wondrous horn, Old worlds die, and new be born.
Living in the sixteenth century, in households rather than simply in houses, I had grown accustomed to being surrounded by other people. My fear of being discovered had receded, and in its place had grown a wish to belong.
Who knows? But don’t worry. It’s happened to everybody. You drive to work and don’t remember how you got there. Or the whole afternoon passes and you don’t have a clue what you did. Whenever something like that happens, you can bet there’s a timewalker nearby,” explained Sarah.
We have several, Father Hubbard. The first is that you have your hands on something that belongs to me. If you don’t remove them, I’ll tear this den to pieces before sunrise. What happens afterward will make every creature in the city – daemon, human, wearh, and witch – think the end of days is upon us.’ Matthew’s voice vibrated with fury.
Racial identity has no biological basis – at least none accepted by most scientists.
Every weaving is as unique as the weaver who makes it. The goddess does not want us to imitate some ideal of perfection, but to be our true selves.
But only a weaver who stands between worlds can make the tenth knot,” she replied.
Creation and destruction are the simplest magics, and the most powerful, just as the simplest knot is the most difficult to make.