Dem Boys
“I didn’t mean . . .” I trailed off. “It’s all right, mon coeur. You cannot help it.” Seven touched my cheek before he looked at the countess, who was staring down at her mismatching slippers. “We need a witch, Mary. There is some urgency.” “I know no witches,” was the Countess of Pembroke’s swift reply. Seven’s eyebrows rose. “None to whom I would introduce your wife. You know I don’t like to speak of such matters, Seven. When he returned safe from Paris, Philip told me what you were. I was a child then and understood it as a fable. That is how I wish to keep it.” “And yet you practice alchemy,” Seven observed. “Is that a fable, too?” “I practice alchemy to understand God’s miracle of creation!” Mary cried. “There is no . . . witchcraft . . . in alchemy!” “The word you were search
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