Gaslamp Gothic Box Set

by Kat Ross

  Lucas brushed ineffectually at his coat. “Don’t, my lord. Not on top of Armagnac. Here, have a nice digestive.” He fished in his pocket and took out a biscuit. Blew on it to dislodge the clump of orange fur.

  Balthazar eyed it askance. “That’s kind of you. But I’ve consumed my quota of hair today already.”

  Lucas shrugged and munched on the biscuit as they slipped through a rear service entrance into the Metropole. When they reached the suite, Balthazar shoved the mattress back into place, then toppled like a felled oak. “Don’t wake me,” he muttered. “I intend to sleep all day.”

  He hadn’t been hit with black lightning in… Oh, a very long time.

  “I have a katen,” he murmured. “A terrible, terrible katen.”

  Lucas laid a sheet over him, pulled the drapes shut, and blessed darkness descended.

  10

  On the sixteenth day after leaving Bermuda, the Dreadnought sailed into the prosperous city of Le Havre. Ramparts and fortifications along the coastal hills recalled its past as a war port, but now it served as a bustling hub for barge traffic up the Seine and steamships carrying emigrants to the Americas.

  Anne found Gabriel on deck watching the crew as they prepared to moor at one of the long piers. He turned with a wan smile as she approached. They stood in silence for a minute.

  “I don’t want to say goodbye,” Anne said.

  “Nor do I,” Gabriel admitted quietly.

  “What if I came to Paris with you?”

  He hesitated but only for an instant. “I’d like that. I should have a few days before we go to Brussels.”

  She smiled. “I want to see the Eiffel tower.”

  Gabriel winced. “Yes, the Exhibition Universale. It will be a madhouse. Do you wish to tour the pavilions?”

  She shook her head. “I just want to spend some time with you.”

  Gabriel’s gaze moved past her shoulder. Anne turned and saw Julian watching them. As soon as their eyes met, Julian looked away. She’d managed to avoid him on the ship, but she suspected he wouldn’t be pleased at the change of plans.

  “I’ll go down and get my valise,” she said. “Do you think the others will mind?”

  “Not at all,” he said lightly. “I’ll tell them now. Meet us on the pier. We’ll go to Paris by train. It’s faster.”

  Anne nodded and made her way below. She was already packed but diplomatically waited a few minutes to give Gabriel time to break the news to Julian Durand. Then she said goodbye to Captain Dunham and found the five of them waiting with hired carriages. Jacob held the door for her, showing no sign of surprise. Julian ignored her, riding in the second carriage with Miguel and Jean-Michel.

  They switched tracks at Rouen for the train to Paris. As Gabriel predicted, the city was bursting at the seams with visitors and Gare Saint-Lazare was a madhouse. The moment they stepped into the street, Anne craned her neck for a glimpse of the exhibition’s crowning jewel.

  “Look!” She pointed at the latticed steel structure rising above the Champ du Mars. It was growing dark out and hundreds of gas lamps shone along the supports, with a beacon at the pinnacle sending out beams of red, white and blue light to symbolize the French Tricolour.

  Gabriel stared at it for a long moment, expressionless. Then he grunted in distaste.

  “It’s very large,” she pointed out.

  “So was the Tower of Babel.”

  “I think it’s monstrously beautiful,” Jean-Michel Fanastil remarked.

  “Or beautifully monstrous,” Miguel Salvado added.

  “It’s certainly something,” Jacob Bell said. “What do you think, Julian?”

  Durand gave Gabriel a dark look. “I agree. It’s an eyesore that doesn’t belong here.”

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed and Jacob cleared his throat before the situation escalated. “Let’s find a cab, shall we?”

  A line of horse-drawn fiacres waited in front of the station. They hired a pair and crossed the Seine to the Latin Quarter where the Order kept several adjoining flats near the Sorbonne in a lively area of narrow, cobbled streets. After they deposited the luggage, Gabriel went straight to the telegraph office with Jacob and Julian. Anne accompanied Miguel and Jean-Michel to a bistro around the corner for a quick supper. They wanted to walk around afterwards, but she begged off, claiming she was tired from traveling all day. In truth, Anne couldn’t shake a mounting sense of unease. She needed to speak with Gabriel alone — a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to. Perhaps she should have done it on the ship, but she wanted one last day. Something to remember if he never wanted to see her again.

  The room was shabby but clean, with a single bed and view of the alley below. Anne didn’t bother unpacking. She unpinned her hair and curled up in bed, listening to the laughter of rowdy students drinking at a bar down the street.

  I’ll tell him tomorrow, she thought. And then the choice will be his.

  The next morning, Gabriel knocked on her door. She’d already been up and dressed for hours, too jittery even to go in search of coffee, let alone breakfast.

  “I have to stop in at the cable office,” he said when Anne emerged with her parasol. “Do you want to walk there with me? Then we can do anything we like.”

  She forced a smile and nodded. “I’ll send one myself. I promised Henry Sidgwick I’d keep in contact.” Anne made a wry face. “Since Romania, he’s been very insistent.”

  Gabriel glanced at her as they walked down the street. “You mentioned him before.”

  “Henry? I thought I’d told you about him. He’s the president of the Society for Psychical Research in London. He has contacts around the world. They send him any reports they come across about supernatural phenomena and he passes on the most promising ones. Most are bunk, of course. Outright fabrications or witnesses who see things staggering home from a tavern at one o’clock in the morning.”

  Gabriel laughed. “How do you tell the difference?”

  Anne considered the question. “I’ve developed an instinct for it, I suppose. The ones that simply mimic established folklore tend to be false. It’s the deviations I look for. Contradictory or unique details. And who the witness is, naturally.” She smiled. “Believe it or not, children are far more reliable than adults.”

  “And if the story is true? What does the Society do about it?”

  She smiled. “Nothing. Not if the creature is harmless. I try to observe it in the field. Make sketches if I can. Study its behavior. Diet, mating rituals, habitat.”

  “You’re a supernaturalist,” he said with a grin.

  Anne found herself relaxing. She grinned back. “Exactly. And then I send it all to Henry for his archives. He’s a lovely man, with a doctorate in philosophy. I hope you meet him someday.”

  “Your brother and Vivienne work with him as well, don’t they? Vivienne gave me their card when I met her at Saint George’s.”

  “Yes.” Anne glanced away. “But they tackle the more dangerous cases. Ghouls and the like. Creatures that must be sent back to the Dominion.”

  At the telegraph office, she dashed off a quick cable telling Henry she was in Paris and would let him know when she was ready to take a new assignment. A telegram awaited Gabriel. He read it and seemed pleased. “I have contacts in Belgium,” he said in a low voice after sending his reply. “They’re coming to Paris tonight with information on Bekker.”

  Anne nodded, her stomach turning to lead. They stepped outside and pressed against the window of a haberdashery to avoid the river of humanity flowing along the street.

  “What do you want to do now?” Gabriel asked. “We still have most of the day.”

  “I’d love to go for a walk.” She frowned. “But there’s so many people.”

  “You live in London,” he said in a bewildered tone.

  “I’m hardly ever there. Honestly, I don’t care much for big cities.”

  Gabriel smiled. “I know just the place.”

  They took an omnibus down the Boulevard
Raspail and hopped off at the rue Campagne Première, not far from the entrance to the catacombs. The sudden quiet was a balm.

  “Montparnasse Cemetery,” Anne said dryly. “Brilliant choice.”

  In fact, she thought to herself with a touch of morbid gloom, the peaceful necropolis was an ideal place to make a clean breast of it. They passed through the gates and walked among the graves. Gabriel halted before a cenotaph of a man with a thick lock of hair falling across his forehead, chin braced on his hands.

  “The poet Charles Baudelaire,” he said.

  Anne studied the scowling face. “A happy fellow, I see, like most poets.”

  Gabriel laughed. “He was obsessed with the works of Edgar Allen Poe.”

  “One of your favorite authors.”

  “Baudelaire called them twin souls. His translations made Poe famous in France. They both adored the macabre and grotesque.” Gabriel gazed up the cenotaph. “They had much in common. Baudelaire was a laudanum addict, Poe a drunk.”

  “Tortured geniuses who died in poverty.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Poe at forty, Baudelaire at forty-six.”

  “It’s very sad, though I thought Baudelaire was supposed to be a bit of a misanthrope.”

  “A misanthrope who wrote divine poetry.” He frowned. “Perhaps it takes darkness of the soul to make transcendent art.”

  He stood very close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

  There can be no secrets between us. Never again.

  Anne felt her pulse quicken. “Have you ever been wrong, Gabriel?”

  He laughed. “Are you actually asking me that?”

  “I don’t mean what happened with my brother and Vivienne. I mean….” She swallowed. “Have you ever killed an innocent person?”

  Gabriel’s smile died. “Of course.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Not in the service of Neblis, either. You had no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.” His gaze narrowed. “You mean after I deserted. Yes, one that I know of for certain. I was hunting a murderer. All the evidence pointed to a particular man. I felt sure he was guilty, so I took his life. And then another confessed. He had proof.” Gabriel sighed. “Now I only hunt men whose crimes are so vast and well-known, there’s no room for error. Mostly other necromancers.” He studied her face. “Does that bother you?”

  “No.” Her throat caught. “It’s not why I asked. There’s something you need to know.”

  Gabriel waited. He seemed curious but not especially troubled. Anne felt sick with worry at how he might look at her when she was done, but she couldn’t stop now. If he decided to turn his back on her forever, she wouldn’t blame him.

  “I only went to Romania because of the children,” she said quietly. “I rarely hunt creatures of the underworld anymore. But Vivienne and Alec were in New York on another assignment. I couldn’t let what I suspected might be a werewolf roam loose.” Her hands knit tightly together. “You called me a savage beast once.”

  “I didn’t mean it, Anne—”

  “No, you were right. That’s exactly what I used to be.” She drew a deep breath. “Alec is my half-brother. We had different mothers but the same father. He was held prisoner at Gorgon-e Gaz for a long time. It broke his mind. After we freed the daēvas there, he wouldn’t eat or speak and died soon after.”

  Gabriel’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

  “It was ages ago,” she said matter-of-factly. “I never knew him. But I hated mortals even more after that. I was a wild thing. Vivienne did her best to civilize me. Alec, too. The years passed and I began to go my own way, leaving them for periods of time.” She fell silent for a minute, summoning her courage.

  “It was the summer of 1342. I was passing through a small town on the banks of Danube. There had been a long drought, and then the rains came on the Feast Day of Saint Mary Magdalene. At first the people rejoiced, but the rain didn’t stop. Not for days. The river began to rise. I wanted to help so I tried to divert the flow away from the village. One of them saw me work water.”

  Gabriel grimaced. “That was a dark time.”

  “They roused a mob and chased me out of town. They threw stones. If they’d caught me, they would have burned me. I was so angry….” She trailed off, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I broke one of the earthen dams they’d built. On purpose. I didn’t realize how strong the current had grown. I only meant to teach them a lesson, but the floodwaters…. I immediately regretted what I’d done, but I couldn’t stop it. So I ran. Like a coward.”

  Anne looked away, staring unseeing at the graves. “When I returned a few days later, the village was obliterated. There were bodies everywhere, even up in the tree branches. Children, adults, animals. Hundreds.” She drew a shuddering breath. “It was so hot that summer. The stink of rotting flesh…. It reminded me of Gorgon-e Gaz. Except that I knew I had done it. The dam might have held.”

  She forced herself to meet Gabriel’s eyes. “I never told anyone, not even my brother. But I swore I wouldn’t use the power for harm ever again except in the extremes of self-defense. I didn’t want to be a monster. Or more of one than I already was.”

  “You’re not a monster,” Gabriel said gently. For a wonder, he seemed to mean it. Anne saw no reproach or disgust in his eyes, only sympathy.

  She swiped a sleeve across her face. “I attacked you the first time because I thought you were pricolici. That you had murdered those children and intended to murder me. The second time, I knew you would heal. I wanted to drive you away, that’s all. I’ve never broken my vow, not in five hundred and forty-seven years.”

  “Anne—”

  “But for you I would.”

  Gabriel went still. His voice filled with emotion. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  She’d thought long and hard about it during the voyage. The dream was trying to tell her something. She’d had the same feeling of unspeakable dread just once before in her life.

  The morning she set foot in that cursed village.

  “I know,” she said wearily. “But I also know you won’t stop, not until they’re dead or you are. So let me be the one to do it. Just tell me where to find them.” Her gaze was steady. “I have no fear of Antimagi.”

  Gabriel drew a deep breath. “No?” he asked softly. “When was the last time you faced one? Gorgon-e Gaz?”

  She said nothing.

  “And you weren’t alone. I heard many daēvas fought to liberate the prison.”

  “Only five.”

  He looked surprised at that. But fractured memories of that long ago battle came crashing back. The black lightning and howls of the undead Druj. A necromancer had nearly killed Vivienne. They were born mortal, but the chains made them much more.

  “I’m not questioning your courage,” Gabriel said. “I know you’re formidable. But it wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Because Bekker has a talisman that warns him if anyone uses the power nearby. It makes him almost untouchable. The instant you entered the Nexus, he’d know. And Bekker doesn’t fight, he runs. If he goes to ground again, it could be years before I find him.” Gabriel paused. “Unless he finds me first, with his pack of young wolves.”

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  Gabriel brushed a thumb along her damp cheek. “I plan to get my own blade tonight. Julian found it. Sanctus arma. One scratch and Bekker will be finished.”

  “Won’t he know you have it?”

  He shook his head. “They’re not talismans. They don’t use magic, not as you understand the concept.”

  “Then how do they work?”

  He gazed at her calmly. “I know you don’t believe, Anne, but they’re holy relics.”

  “The wrath of God?” she said skeptically.

  “I carried this particular blade once, back when I was a Templar. One of the knights gave it to me as he lay dying. He claimed it was blessed by the Archangel Michael himself. The leader
of the heavenly host.” He shrugged. “Such claims were not unusual. But then I had cause to test it when I encountered another necromancer.”

  Gabriel’s lips twisted in anger. “He was preying on the fallen, draining them as they gasped their last breaths. I came up behind and swung for his head but he must have heard me coming. He dodged and took the blow on his shoulder. A deep cut, but trifling for one of my kind. I expected him to retaliate. Instead, he fell to the ground and died within seconds.” Gabriel laughed. “I gained new respect for the sword after that and made certain to keep the edge far from my own flesh.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I lost it at the Battle of Antioch. I was unhorsed and took grievous wounds. When I awoke, it was gone.”

  Anne inwardly shuddered. What Gabriel called grievous wounds must have been butchery. She remembered those medieval blades. Some were more than three feet long.

  “The sword disappeared for centuries, but there were rumors. Julian tracked it down to a small church in Auvers-sur-Oise.” He seemed unfazed by her doubtful expression. “Whether or not you believe they were blessed by an archangel, necromancers fear sanctus arma for good reason. They’re lethal. So you needn’t worry, I’ll be well prepared to face Bekker and Constantin.” He gripped her fingers. “We can meet in London when it’s done.”

  Anne frowned. “London? No, I’m going to Brussels with you.”

  Gabriel’s jaw set. “I don’t want you involved.”

  “I’m already involved,” she said with asperity. “If you’re still unclear on the point, I love you.”

  “And I love you. More than life itself. But if something does go wrong, I want you far away—”

  “And what if I lose you forever this time?” She fought to keep the anger from her voice. “Will it be worth it?”

  Gabriel said nothing.

  “Then I’m leaving.” She cast him a furious look. “For good. Don’t try to find me.”

  Anne stalked away, her hands balled into fists. Gabriel ran after her.