by Kat Ross
“Wait,” he said hoarsely. “I promise when this is over, I’ll change. I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”
She spun around. “I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself. Alive. But I also won’t sit around in London doing crossword puzzles while you put yourself in danger. I won’t interfere, but I want to be close by.” Her lips thinned. “Just in case.”
He swallowed. “Yes. All right.”
“Good.” Anne drew a deep breath. “What time are you meeting the Belgians?”
“Not for a few hours.”
“Would you take a walk with me?”
Gabriel looked befuddled at the sudden change of topic. “Where?”
“My favorite place in Paris.”
He smiled. “How can I refuse?”
They walked north through the Luxembourg Gardens to the elegant Boulevard Saint-Germain, where Anne led him down a side street to a tiny bookshop called The Nautilus. A bell tinkled when they entered and a chic white-haired woman in a severely tailored velvet jacket looked up from her perch behind the counter. She was reading a copy of Le Temps, a glass of red wine at her elbow. Her face broke into a startled smile.
“Anne Lawrence, my darling girl,” she murmured, rising from her stool to kiss Anne’s cheeks. Sharp hazel eyes swept over them both. “And who is the gentleman you bring me?”
“Madame Stavisky, this is Monsieur Gabriel D’Ange.”
He bowed and brushed her hand with his lips. “Enchanté, madame.”
The proprietress looked him over, from the soles of his boots to his unruly hair, and smiled. “A Frenchman. You’ve made a wise choice, Anne, they are the most passionate lovers. Not like the cold fish English.”
Anne’s cheeks pinked. “We’re friends.”
The proprietress arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Are you? That’s a shame. If I were twenty years younger, I might take him for myself.”
Gabriel grinned. “And I would be hard-pressed to resist your charms.”
She seemed pleased with this response. “Does he like books?”
Anne cast an amused glance at Gabriel. “Very much.”
“That’s good. Men who don’t read lack imagination, which is not a trait one wishes to have in a friend.” She ushered them inside the shop. “What brings you to Paris?”
“The exhibition,” Anne replied easily. “We had to see this monumental tower by Monsieur Eiffel everyone is talking about.”
Madame Stavisky made a noise of disgust. “An eyesore. De Maupassant hates it so much, he has lunch at the tower’s restaurant every day.”
Anne was puzzled. “Why?”
“It’s the only place in Paris you can’t see it.”
“That makes perfect sense,” Gabriel muttered darkly. “The thing is a blight on our beloved city.”
“I rather like it,” Anne said.
They turned to stare at her. “It’s very bold,” she added defensively. “And modern.”
A fraught silence descended.
“I have a new volume by Joseph Bertrand,” Madame Stavisky said. “Calcul des probabilités. Hideously dry, but I know you like that sort of thing.”
Anne smiled. “So I’m forgiven?”
“No, the book is your punishment,” she replied crisply. “And what of Monsieur D’Ange?”
He thought for a moment. “Do you have any Baudelaire?”
She gave him a level look. “Of course I do. Which one?”
“Les Fleurs du mal?”
That earned a quick nod of approval. “It’s my favorite, too.” She took Gabriel’s arm and led him away.
Anne wandered deeper into the labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling shelves. The shop looked small from the outside, but it stretched back the length of the building. She pulled out a copy of Candide and carried it to one of the cozy reading nooks. Voltaire had been a great enemy of the Church, and his mocking satire of the unlucky youth and his relentlessly optimistic tutor Pangloss always made her laugh.
Anne’s nose was buried deep in the book when she sensed a presence. She looked up to find Gabriel standing before her.
“What do you have?” she asked.
He glanced down as if he’d forgotten the stack in his hands. “Books,” he murmured, setting them on the table.
“Oh.”
He stepped forward just as she stood up and Anne found herself pressed against the shelf. Her stomach tightened in a pleasant way.
“Am I about to be seduced?” she asked. “Maybe we should move to the erotica section.”
“Worse than that.” Gabriel gently rubbed his beard against her cheek. “Marry me,” he whispered in her ear.
Anne couldn’t help laughing. “The Necromancer’s Bride. It sounds like one of your novels.”
Gabriel pulled back, a dangerous light in his eye. “I’m not joking.”
She searched his face. “No, you’re not.”
The idea of marriage – to anyone — had literally never occurred to her.
“The bond was a terrible idea. I don’t ever want to leash you that way.” His mouth grew stubborn. “But I do want you to make an honest man of me.”
The quaintness of the expression nearly made her laugh again, but Anne had wounded him enough for one lifetime. She regarded him seriously.
“I thought the members of your Order had to be bachelors.”
“I made that rule. I can break it.”
“Then yes, of course I’ll marry you. If it’s what you wish.”
He bent his head and nuzzled the high collar of her dress. “In a church,” he murmured.
She opened her mouth to object and Gabriel quickly covered it with his own, kissing her until she could hardly think straight. Anne broke away with a scowl.
“This is blackmail.”
He gave a low laugh. “I don’t care.” One hand slid down her bottom, lifting her to fit snugly against him, his mouth close enough to kiss again but not quite touching, so she could feel the little gusts of his breath against her lips. They stood motionless, waves of heat building between them, until her limbs were watery. She laid a palm against his shirt and felt the swift beat of his heart.
“Please,” Gabriel cajoled in a soft whisper. “For me.”
“If you insist,” she muttered.
He made a noise against her hair that sounded like muffled laughter. “Thank you.”
She gripped his shirt in her fists. “You owe me. I don’t like priests and they don’t like me.”
“It will be quick, I promise.” His eyes darkened, the rim of gold around his brown irises reflecting the light. “Unlike our wedding night—”
They broke apart as brisk footsteps approached.
“Did you find anything to your taste?” Madame Stavisky inquired blandly, taking in Anne’s flushed face and Gabriel’s disarranged shirt.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, all innocence. “Several things.”
She regarded them with amusement. “Perhaps I should let you browse a while longer.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Anne said quickly. “I’m still undecided—”
“What time is it?” Gabriel asked.
“Nearly four o’clock.”
He cast Anne an apologetic look. “I’m afraid we have another engagement.”
Madame Stavinsky looked disappointed. “I was hoping to close early and convince you both to have supper with me. I haven’t seen you in ages, Anne.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“You said that last time,” she replied with mock severity. “Ah, well. Take the books as my gift, thankless creatures that you are.”
“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t think of it.”
They argued amiably for a minute, but Madame Stavinsky won in the end as she always did, and they left with Dumas and Baudelaire for Gabriel, Bertrand and Voltaire for Anne.
“The sword is being safeguarded by a priest,” Gabriel explained as they made their way back to the Latin Quarter. “We’ll go to his church tomorrow. He
can marry us at the same time.”
“Are the others coming?”
“No, they’ll meet us in Brussels.”
She arched a brow. “Heavens. I’ll have you all to myself.”
He grinned. “You most certainly will.”
“Who are these men you’re meeting now?”
“Belgian trade unionists. They led some of the strikes that were violently put down by the army in Wallonia three years ago.” He shook his head. “The conditions in the factories there are terrible. It’s like the Middle Ages, Anne. Men and women toiling for a pittance with no rights whatsoever. Children, too. Bekker owns some of the most notorious factories and mines. Julian and Jacob cultivated the contact after the Berlin Conference, when Bekker expanded his operations into the Congo.”
Anne paid little attention to mortal politics. “The Berlin Conference?”
“It took place five years ago. The European powers met to carve up Africa and agreed to cede King Leopold the so-called Congo Free State as his personal domain. Rumors of atrocities are already leaking out of the country. Children having their hands amputated because their fathers failed to meet rubber quotas. Mass killings. Torture.”
“I had no idea.” Anne was horrified.
“Most people don’t. Leopold presents himself as a white benefactor taming the ‘African savages’. Meanwhile, he’s robbing the country blind and murdering thousands in the process.” Gabriel exhaled. “Killing Bekker won’t solve the larger problem, but it won’t hurt. He holds vast investments in the Congo.”
Anne had hated Jorin Bekker in a more abstract way before Gabriel told her all of this. Now she shared his intense loathing. “If there’s any way I can help, I hope you’ll ask.”
“I will.” They entered the flat. “Let’s hope for some good news.”
11
Edwig and Erasmus Collignon were brothers, both with fair hair and blue eyes. They wore flat caps and rough-woven shirts with the sleeves rolled up, revealing powerful forearms. Edwig had a moustache and Erasmus didn’t, which was the easiest way to tell them apart since they were close in age, mid-thirties, Anne guessed, and the spitting image of each other.
Introductions were made all around, and she was relieved that they didn’t seem put out to have a woman present.
“We can’t stay long,” Erasmus said with a businesslike air. “As you requested, I sent two men to take a look at the estate in the Ardennes. It’s five miles south of a village called Belval. Their report was not promising. The house is heavily guarded, with multiple layers of defenses.” He glanced around at the group. “Is this all you have? No offense, but it’s not enough to storm the place.”
“I know,” Gabriel said mildly. “But you wouldn’t be here unless you had something else for me, yes?”
Edwig leaned forward. “We might. Bekker rarely appears in public, and never without a cadre of bodyguards. But in five days’ time, he’ll be attending a party at a museum he’s a benefactor of.”
“Can you get at least two of us inside?”
The brothers shared a look. “I think it’s possible,” Erasmus said. “We know someone who’s been hired to serve the guests. He’s sympathetic and willing to help, if it doesn’t get him into trouble. Bekker is not well-liked among working men.”
“What are the security arrangements?”
Edwig sighed. “That’s the biggest difficulty. The king will be there as well, so you can expect a large contingent of gendarmes in addition to Bekker’s own men. The event is being held in the main gallery. Getting to him will be exceedingly difficult.”
“We need misdirection,” Julian said. “Something to make him leave, but not out the front. If we cull him from the herd of guests, we can come at him sideways.”
“I agree,” Gabriel said. “But anything out of the ordinary will put his guard up.”
They brainstormed ideas for a while. Gabriel shot each one down, meticulously finding the flaws. Then Jean-Michel’s soft voice cut through the conversation. “What if it’s something so big and brazen, it actually puts him at ease?”
Gabriel stared at the soldier-poet. “Such as?”
“What if there is an assassination attempt?” Jean-Michel smiled. “But not against Bekker.”
Gabriel was quiet for a long moment. “Against Leopold,” he said.
“Yes.”
Another minute passed. “That might actually work,” Gabriel muttered.
Erasmus frowned. “Getting close to the king is just as hard as getting close to Bekker.”
“We don’t have to get close.” Gabriel glanced at the two recruits. “These two are both skilled marksmen.”
“How skilled?”
Miguel Salvado grinned. “I can hit a target from eighteen hundred yards.”
There was dead silence. Then Edwig laughed and shook his head. “No one could make that shot.”
“I’ve seen him do it,” Jean-Michel said. “More than once.”
“What type of rifle?”
“Springfield breach-loader,” Miguel replied. He looked amused. “The 1884 model.”
“The sight only goes to fourteen hundred.”
Miguel shrugged.
“And you?” Erasmus turned to Jean-Michel.
“I’m solid for twelve hundred yards. After that it’s mostly luck.”
“That’s still damn far,” he muttered.
“There might be points across the plaza for a sniper’s nest,” Edwig said. “We’ll look into it.” He paused. “Do you plan to actually kill Leopold? I have no objection, I’m merely wondering.”
“If we took him outside, then yes,” Miguel said. “No problem.”
Gabriel shook his head. “He has to be inside, with the party underway.”
“Then I assume we’ll be on a rooftop, shooting through the windows. If the angle is greater than fifteen degrees, the bullet’s trajectory will yaw when it hits the glass.” Miguel gave a cocky smile. “I’ll do my best, but no guarantees.”
“Let’s walk through it,” Gabriel said. “Once the shots are fired, the first priority will be getting the king out safely.”
Edwig nodded. “The gendarme will use a side exit. The guests will be taken a different route.”
“Bekker will go his own way,” Jacob Bell said. “I guarantee it. He’ll want his own security around him.”
“He might Travel,” Anne put in.
“He might,” Gabriel agreed. “But he’ll have to go someplace quiet where no one sees him. Do you have a floor plan?”
“I can get one,” Erasmus said.
“Do that. I’ll need to study it.”
The brothers stayed for an hour longer, then left to catch a train to Brussels. Now that he had a plan brewing, Gabriel was in high spirits. While he hashed out details with the others, Anne went out with Jacob to buy supper at the market. The pair of them attracted stares as they walked together down the street. Jacob seemed resigned, but Anne felt the stirring of anger.
“I hate Europe sometimes,” she said. “I hate mortals.” She glanced at him. “Not you.”
Jacob gave her a thin smile. “I don’t take their bigotry personally. The slave trade was never about skin color. Just money and power. The rest is window dressing.”
Anne shook her head. “Look at these people. They’re poor. Yet they never question the claptrap they’re fed by their so-called betters.”
“Some do.”
“Not enough.” Anne glanced at him. “My brother’s bonded comes from a place called Al Miraj. It was a desert land in north Africa, long gone from the maps. She lives in London now.”
“Vivienne Cumberland.”
“You’ve heard of her?”
He smiled faintly. “Oh, yes.”
“She married a viscount so society has to be polite, but they still gossip behind her back.”
“Does she care?”
Anne snorted. “God, no. I think she enjoys it.”
That night, Anne crept through the dark hall and
knocked on the door of Gabriel’s room. He was lying on the bed reading Les Fleurs du mal.
“Baudelaire was a pig, it’s true,” he said, as she came inside and closed the door. “He had contempt for humanity as a whole. But listen to this passage.”
I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on,
The windows and the stars illumined, one by one,
The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily,
And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see
The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass;
And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass,
I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight,
And build me stately palaces by candlelight.
“It’s lovely,” Anne admitted.
“When this is done, I want to return to the Chateau de Saint-Évreux, bring it back to life,” Gabriel said, laying the book aside. “Hire carpenters and masons. Chase the moths from the closets.” He smiled. “And then we’ll close the shutters and pull the curtains tight.”
She was stunned. “You would go back after what happened?”
“I would make new memories,” he said firmly. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course.” Anne smiled. “Perhaps I’ll turn the tower into a proper library.” She brought the cedarwood box out from behind her back. “Take the cross, won’t you? I don’t know what to do with it. And frankly, I’m terrified of losing it.”
Gabriel stared at it for a long moment. Then he held out a hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Don’t thank me. It belongs to you.”
He lifted the cross from its velvet lining. The wood was nearly black and had the dull gleam of stone. Cyrus said it was old. Very, very old. Gabriel brushed a thumb across the rose carved in the center, then reverently returned it to the box.
“Where did the cross come from?”
“Alexandria, I think.” Gabriel rose from the bed and pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair with a deep sigh. “It doesn’t matter now. Just a few more days. Then we’ll be free.”
So little time. What if that was all they would ever have?
She hooked a foot behind his knee so he tumbled onto the bed. Gabriel laughed as she pounced on him. Anne straddled his hips, her hair tumbling forward.
