by Kat Ross
At sunset, Gabriel returned in a fine humor. She heard him whistling in the kitchen and much banging of pots. He stuck his head in her open door two hours later and crooked a finger.
Anne raised her brows.
“Come,” he said. “I have something for you.”
She set her charcoals aside and followed him down the main staircase, along the gallery of dead nobles who stared down their aristocratic noses at the interlopers, and into a cavernous space that had been the ballroom. The gilt ceiling dripped in places with rainwater, and the inlaid parquet floor was a ruin, but Gabriel had draped the walls with sweet-smelling spruce branches that gave it a festive air. A four-tiered cake with pink rosettes sat on a long table to the side.
She looked at him. “You didn’t have to—”
“Hush. Eat your cake.”
So she sat down and had two pieces. It was a light sponge layered with sticky raspberry filling and Anne thought she’d never had better. She leaned back and rested her hands on her stomach with a contented sigh. “You’re making me fat.” She glanced at him. “When I first came, I wondered if you planned to devour me.”
“Nom de dieu. Really?”
“It crossed my mind. All that rich food.”
He seemed amused. “Like Little Red Riding Hood. But since you speak of fairytales, I have a better one.” He reached beneath the table and gave her a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. “Happy birthday, Anne.”
She unwrapped the parcel and laughed. “You’re impossible.”
La Belle et La Bête. Anne opened the cover. It was a large edition, with lavish illustrations. Beauty playing a harp at the castle as the Beast looks on in a red cloak. The single red rose, thoughtlessly plucked from his garden. Her vain, greedy sisters. And at last, Beauty kneeling before the poor dying Beast.
She glanced up at Gabriel. He looked oddly subdued. “Do you like it?”
“Of course I do.”
“It’s still early.” His gaze swept the ballroom. “Would you take a turn around the floor with me, Anne? I haven’t danced in a long time.”
Her throat went a little dry. Gabriel had never behaved inappropriately in any way. He hadn’t laid a single hand on her since he carried her back from the forest that night. She had no doubt that when he asked for a dance, that’s all he intended.
And she wanted to, but….
“On one condition.”
His eyes warned her to honor the boundaries he’d set. “What is it?”
“That you tell me the story of how you came to be … what you are.”
He seemed relieved. “That I can give you.”
Gabriel held out a hand. Anne took it. His fingers were strong and warm.
“What shall we do for music?” she asked.
“I’ll hum something. Do you like to waltz?”
She nodded. So he rested a hand on her waist, feather-light, and hummed the opening bars of some old melody as he swept her onto the floor. The water dripped on their heads when they passed beneath the leaks and Gabriel kept her always at the precise distance of a proper waltz, but Anne was very conscious of his palm cupping the small of her back and his smell, clean and male but with that elusive trace of something … feral.
Anne was no stranger to men. She’d had her share of mortal lovers, though none she permitted herself to become entangled with. That would be worse than foolish. To watch them age and die as she lived on…. No, such self-inflicted suffering was not Anne’s cup of tea. But she’d missed the nearness to another body. The exchange of heat and energy. And Gabriel…. Well, he was slender and firm, with a quick, graceful step. A terrible candidate in every other way, but still.
Too soon, he stepped away from her and bowed.
“Thank you, Anne,” he said solemnly. “I’ve missed dancing.”
His cheeks were flushed and she could almost, almost see the boy he had been a long time ago.
“I’ll keep my promise now. But you’ll have to listen while I wash up. I left a mess in the kitchen and I hate waking up to dirty dishes.” He pulled a face. “It makes me triste.”
This mundane admission made her smile.
Anne carried the plates and Gabriel carried the mauled remains of the cake. She’d never ventured into the kitchen before. Unlike the rest of the house, it had no coating of ancient grime. He clearly kept it spic-and-span – when he wasn’t baking elaborate cakes. Now the counters were dusted with flour and eggshells, piles of batter-smeared mixing bowls and wooden spoons.
“Can I help?”
He waved the offer away and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “It’s your birthday. Eat some more cake. If you don’t, I’ll have it for breakfast and my teeth will fall out.”
So Anne sat down at the scarred wooden table and watched him fill a bucket with soapy water.
“Are you ready?” He glanced over his shoulder, a gleam in his eye.
Anne’s breath caught. “Yes.”
Gabriel’s voice lowered to a melodramatic whisper. “Then I shall tell you the tale of the Beast of Gévaudan.”
20
“First you must understand that there are different kinds of magic,” Gabriel said. “The magic of the Dominion that summons revenants and wights and things of darkness. We call this necromancy. Then there is natural magic. Bending the elements to your will. As a daēva, you already know that. But there is other esoteric knowledge that can be learned if one is patient and devoted.”
“Such as how to change one’s form?” Anne asked.
Gabriel dried a plate and slid his hands back into the soapy water. It was strangely erotic to watch him wash dishes. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he moved the sponge in lazy circles across the plate.
“Oui.”
“So there’s truth to the pricolici legends?” she asked, looking resolutely at the cake.
“I think so, yes. There have always been men who ran with wolves, who gave themselves over to the wild and the savage.” He rinsed a knife. “But that is something you are born with, not from God or the Devil. What I am is not pricolici.” He glanced at her. “Hand me that bowl, would you?”
Anne did.
“It was the year of our Lord 1764. I was living in the Margeride Mountains at a remote manor house. The Duzakh was tearing itself apart in a bloody civil war and I thought it wise to retreat to the countryside while they destroyed themselves. I had long stood against them. One in particular, a necromancer named Jorin Bekker, was hunting the followers of my Order, slaughtering them where he found them. So when the killings began, I thought it might be him.”
“But it wasn’t?”
“Witnesses reported seeing a fearsome creature with huge jaws, much larger than a wolf. A man-eater. The attacks multiplied, claiming dozens of lives. You cannot imagine the terror of the peasants. They eked out a pitiful existence grazing their livestock in the forest, and these solitary adults and children were the main targets. Finally, the King put a bounty on its head and sent men to hunt the Beast of Gévaudan, as it came to be known.”
Gabriel shook his head. “They tried everything. Bloodhounds, parties of soldiers with muskets combing the woods, professional wolf-hunters who knew the art of stealth. But the Beast was cunning. He outwitted them all and they could not catch him. The captains blamed the peasants, and each other. A fiasco. Then one of them managed to shoot a large wolf. He claimed it was the Beast. They stuffed it and sent it back to Versailles.” Gabriel snorted. “Louis displayed it in his court for his nobles to shudder at.”
“But it wasn’t,” she breathed from the edge of her chair.
Gabriel refused to take the bait. “Some weeks passed. I went out walking one day, deep in the woods.”
“You weren’t afraid?”
He shrugged. “I thought the reports of its size were probably exaggerated, and I am not exactly helpless. There had been no attacks near my home for a long time. It was a fine spring day, the sun bright and warm. Then I noticed the birds had stopped singing. It was so qu
iet I could hear only the beat of my own heart.” The sponge paused and his gaze grew distant. “But I felt something watching me. You know that sensation? The cold prickle at the base of the neck? Yes, that is what I felt that day.”
Anne swallowed. She knew it well.
“The Beast was on me before I could blink. Never have I seen anything move so quickly. It caught me by the throat and would have destroyed me in another instant.”
“But…. I thought you couldn’t be killed.”
He gave her a grim smile. “Anything can be killed, Anne. Not to give you ideas but, yes, if my throat had been torn open, my lifeblood emptied upon the earth and my flesh partially eaten, I think that would do the trick.” Gabriel resumed washing. “Luckily, I was quick, too. The moment I heard the birdsong cease, I readied myself. I always carried my necromantic chains because of Bekker. As those huge jaws closed around my neck, I snapped the collar shut around his. It was all I could think to do at the time. I had no ulterior motives. Only to save my own life.
“How he howled in fury! He knew he belonged to me now.” Gabriel drew a deep breath. “I had never used the chains on an animal before, and the Beast was no normal creature. The torrent of him nearly knocked me off my feet. Hunger and fear, but also…. How to explain? I could smell each pine needle and the musk of the stag that had passed a day before. The muscles in my thighs quivered with the urge to bunch, to spring, to run as fast as the wind. I tasted my own blood on his tongue and it was sweet as nectar.
“His bones held the echoes of an ancient magic, the magic of that unseen world you spoke of, Anne, and I realized I could not kill him. He was a man-eater, but there was no evil in him. He did only what his instincts demanded. So I used my will to calm him, to slow his great heart and show him I meant no harm. Then I led him back to my house and gave him a brace of rabbits.”
Anne nodded slowly. “I’m glad you didn’t kill him. He was unique in the world.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But the Beast had a mate. She came to the walls of my manor and howled. The servants were terrified, but I ordered them not to report it.”
“Poor thing,” Anne muttered.
“I know.” He looked sad. “I tried to catch her, but she ran away. After a while, she stopped coming.”
“And you kept him in chains?” She frowned.
“Only for a little while. I became…. A bit obsessed. It was a novelty when I thought there were no novel experiences left to be had.”
Anne nodded. She understood this too.
“We fed together and slept together and ran together in the forest. After a while, he followed me even without the chains.” He dried a plate and looked at her. “I never drained him of life, not a drop. I hid him and protected him. Eventually, I knew I needed a better place to keep him, one with high walls and space for him to roam. I found this old ruin and bought it on the spot.”
Gabriel looked pensive. “Fate placed him in my path that day, Anne. I believe that. He became my teacher in ways long forgotten by men. And over many, many years, I learned to use his magic to transform myself. It takes great mental concentration. My first efforts were … clumsy.” He laughed. “I looked like a mangy dog. But I got better at it with practice.”
“And now you can transform at will.”
“Oui.” He dried the last bowl and set it aside, turning to rest against the counter.
She hesitated. “What do you become?”
“You don’t remember?” He gave a slight smile. “Then I will show you sometime, if you wish. But not tonight.”
“Why not?”
Gabriel laughed. “Because I am tired from baking birthday cakes.”
“But it can be taught?” she persisted.
He gave her a shrewd look. “You wish to learn?”
“I’m only asking.” She kept her voice light, although Anne was profoundly intrigued by his story.
“It can.” Gabriel’s face darkened. “I taught three others of my Order. Men whom I trusted with my life. One of them was Adrian. After what he did at Mara Vardac, I vowed never to teach another. I thought I knew all there was to know about the transformation, but I was wrong. The magic is old and powerful. It can be darker than I imagined.”
“In what way?”
“The beast you become is a reflection of the man inside, but more so. Like the telescope, it magnifies your soul. And Adrian’s was … unfit.” He tossed the dish towel aside. “There. I’ve bared my heart to you, Anne. Very few people know that story. Very few. Now you tell me why you hunt the old stories.”
She tensed. “I already told you—”
He made a sharp gesture. “No. You could do anything with your life, be anyone. But you chose this. I want to know why.” His voice softened. “I won’t judge you for it, I swear.”
She almost told him. He had given of himself, something of value, and wanted her to give in return. Gabriel was not the sort of man to accept copper when the debt was in gold. But she’d never confessed her reasons to another living soul, not even her brother, and the thought of doing so filled her with a strange shame.
“Because they fascinate me,” she said with a smile. “Did I tell about the time I was caught in a hail of toads? I was in Northumbria, looking into reports of a bogle, when a great dark cloud came and disgorged hundreds of little things that looked like hazelnuts….”
Gabriel listened to her ramble for a minute or two with mounting scorn. Then he turned without a word and stalked out the door. Anne hardened her heart against a pang of regret. She’d be leaving this place soon anyway.
“Let them eat cake,” she murmured, sticking a finger into one of the rosettes and licking the frosting off.
It tasted like ashes.
21
Dinner the next night was of exceptionally poor quality.
A dry meatloaf with too much salt and a single half-cooked potato, cold, with a fork sticking out of it. Gabriel dropped the plate in front of her and sank into a chair at the head of the formal dining table, six seats down, a goblet of wine in his fist and a glower on his face.
“Bon appétit,” he said.
Anne smiled and lifted the fork, gamely taking a bite from the potato and crunching it between her teeth. “Delicious. You’ve outdone yourself, Gabriel.”
He brooded and watched her eat. One taste of the meatloaf sent Anne groping for the water pitcher, but she refused to be cowed by his sulking.
Some perverse part of her kept trying to draw him into conversation. To make him erupt, as he so clearly wanted to do. But he seemed to have the same idea, responding in monosyllables yet refusing to be drawn into one of his towering furies — just to spite her, Anne thought sourly.
She was tired of pretending they were friends. Tired of his constant company. She wanted to be alone again. To have her power back! Sweet and compliant had gotten her nowhere. It was time for new measures.
Two months she’d been his captive. It was only Gabriel’s word that he’d even posted the letter. What if he hadn’t?
Anne expected him to shun her at dinner, and thus had brought La Belle et La Bête to peruse while she ate. Now she leafed through the book, pretending to be absorbed in the pictures.
“So you’re an Antimagus. Have you drained many people?” she asked, slicing off a bit of meatloaf and chewing with her mouth open.
His eyes flicked up from the goblet. “What do you think?”
“How many?”
He made an impatient gesture. “Too many to count.”
“How charming. And you call yourself a man of God. I think all this moralizing is just a convenient way for you to stay alive without suffering any guilt.”
He scowled at her. “You are a savage, Anne, with no appreciation for anything that truly matters.” He leapt to his feet and snatched the book away, flicking a bit of potato from its pages. “I think I am Beauty and you are the Beast!”
“I prefer the beast to the man,” she said with contempt. “At least the beast is hon
est.” Anne shoved her plate away.
Gabriel’s eyes flared, the pupils dilating. He gripped the table.
“You’re a rank hypocrite. I’ve told you everything you asked, but you withhold yourself. Tell me what you’re looking for! It’s not werewolves and goblins.”
She kept a sullen silence.
“Perhaps I’ll tell you, then.” He leaned forward and something in his face made her go cold. “We’re more alike than you care to admit. I know where you come from. What was done to you. The same was done to me. A man named Balthazar bought me for the price of four pigs when I was nine years old and delivered me to the tender mercies of Neblis.”
The name struck Anne like a slap to the face.
Neblis.
The daēva queen from Bactria who raised an army of Druj and necromancers and marched to war against the Empire, until the young conqueror Alexander drove her back. Her name was forgotten now, erased from the collective memory of a more civilized age. But a handful still remembered and Anne was one of them. Some of her army had laid siege to….
She could hardly make the words come, terrified of his answer. But she had to know.
“Were you at Gorgon-e Gaz?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No, though I heard what happened there. I had already fled, a deserter.”
Anne felt the blood rush back to her hands. She knit them together under the table.
Gabriel’s voice was quiet and deadly. “So you see, I know exactly how daēvas were trained. How they were punished for disobedience. I remember. Yes, I’ve killed people. Did the men who abused you deserve to live? There’s no justice in the world except what we make ourselves. You of all people should know that.” He studied her. “I think maybe you’re looking for someone in particular. Someone who wronged you—”
“No.” Anne met his eyes. “It’s not that. I… I’m looking for my own kind.” A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away impatiently. “I only know two others. Alec and Cassandane. They’re both bonded. The rest…. They vanished after the war. I don’t know if….” Her throat caught and she took a sip of water. “If any are still alive. The tales would be distorted, of course. They might be called wizards or fairies or djinni. But if there are free daēvas in the world, I would like to meet them. That’s all.”
