Thoughts of Ariah and his past invaded his mind, refusing to grant him rest. He wanted to hate her – non, he wanted to despise her – for thwarting his plan. He’d finally mustered the courage to do what should have been done long, long ago … then she’d appeared.
Indeed, she’d appeared within the darkness, like a lighthouse among the jagged sea cliffs, steering him away from destruction.
Except he was already destroyed.
A dreamy haze settled over his mind and body as the laudanum trickled through his veins. It was a familiar feeling – one that took him back nearly a decade. Before departing for the war, Gabriel had often found refuge at the bottom of bottles. The war, however, had sobered his drinking in a matter of months. The withdrawals had been damn difficult to endure – but the efforts had paid off tenfold, transforming him into one of Napoleon’s esteemed regiment commanders.
Now what have I become?
A violent gust of wind rattled the small window, disrupting Gabriel from his thoughts. The wooden pane thudded against its sill and penetrated the silence with an eerie thump, thump, thump. Chilly winter air seeped through the poorly insulated walls and wrapped around his throat like fingers. He shivered, groaned, and adjusted his reclined body. Refusing to allow him comfort, the mattress’s coils screeched in objection.
The woman lived in a state of poverty – yet her voice showcased refinement, her mannerisms a sense of inbred propriety. She hadn’t always known these circumstances. Of that he was certain. What had driven her to this lifestyle? What sort of man was the child’s father? And was her daughter a bastard … or the beloved child of another broken war hero?
Without warning, Gabriel’s thoughts swung full circle –
Tears cascading down pale cheeks. The thrust of a blade as it descends. Flames melting flesh from bone.
And those images simmered inside his mind until he perceived nothing else.
•
Blacker than pitch, the darkness enveloped Ariah inside a cold, windowless prison. She was fifteen years old again – helpless, frightened, and orphaned …
We race through the dark, winding alleyways, hand in hand, one with the night. A low-hanging fog curtains the world around us, obscuring everything. Above our heads, towering, colossal buildings, appearing older than time itself, scrape against the night sky. Resembling the smoke of a fairy-tale dragon, white clouds ascend from chimneys in voluptuous puffs, relieving Parisians of the cold. I admire the lush smoke rings and remember home. I think of my loving father and those visits with my half sister. How much simpler those happy times had been. Now my knapsack holds all of my worldly belongings: a rusted wind chime, a few sous, and a silver cross.
Out-of-doors it’s cold and unforgiving. No stars dare shine overhead. The moon is cloaked behind heavy shadow and hidden from view. And yet I feel safe with him by my side. We are survivors – forgotten, orphaned, but never lost or alone.
Nausea swells in my gut. I can’t hide my misery any longer. I slow my steps, lower my knapsack, and urge him to do likewise. “I … I’m so very hungry. It has been three nights, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey nods, sharing in my agony. “This way,” he gently whispers, tugging on my sleeve. Our breaths mist the air, appearing white against the black.
I follow after him, guided by blind faith.
Geoffrey stops and turns to me. A grin spreads across his handsome face. He appears older yet not wiser than his seventeen years. Light from an oil lamp flickers, casting thick shadows all around us. Footsteps echo from behind … now to the side. Someone is here.
I tremble from the unknown darkness and clutch Geoffrey’s thin forearm. He steps nearer to me, a breath away – a kiss away – and his smile transforms into a full-blown grin. “Why, you’re scared, little one.” Two fingertips prop my jaw and urge my chin upright. My gaze merges with his, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. “I’m with you. There ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of, Ari. Us against the world. Remember?”
Ari – his affectionate nickname for me. My insides warm, and I bask beneath his reassuring grin.
But the footsteps grow louder, closer. Ten meters away, a silhouette materializes from the shadows.
It’s a man. Non, it’s a gentleman. A rather elderly gentleman. His long cloak brushes against the cobblestones as he wanders through the dank alleyway. A velvet top hat crowns his head, bold and proud. Mist curls about his ankles, creating the illusion that he’s floating through time and space.
His pace is quick, as if he already senses he’s being followed. But he nearly trips over himself and has trouble maintaining balance – and the bottle in his gloved hand is most certainly the reason why.
“He’ll never know what hit him.” Geoffrey bows his face ever so slightly. Auburn curls drape across his collar as he murmurs, “Stay in the shadows, Ari.”
“Geoffrey, wait!” I frantically reach for him, but it’s too late.
Geoffrey seizes the gentleman’s shoulder.
“What – what is the meaning of this?” The words are looped together in a slurred legato.
A grim smile is Geoffrey’s one response. He withdraws a dagger with panther-like deftness and angles the blade to the gentleman’s neck. The gentleman stutters, tripping over his own tongue, while Geoffrey shoves him against the wall. A muffled bang resounds, amplified by the alleyway’s stonework. The bottle drops from his hand and dismembers against the cobblestones in a million unidentifiable pieces. I gaze down at the shattered bottle, and it’s like the thing had never existed.
“Here,” the gentleman says, gesturing to his cloak with trembling hands, “take it – take it all, damn you! I shan’t breathe a word – only let me go.” His words are less slurred now – as if the reality of his fate has sobered his senses.
“Good. See that you don’t.”
I bite back an objection as Geoffrey digs through the gentleman’s coat. He increases the pressure of his blade until blood forms around the metal. The gentleman winces from the pain, struggling to keep silent.
“Geoffrey, please! Is that truly necessary? He is in great pain!”
But Geoffrey doesn’t seem to hear my voice. Something else snares his attention – the clatter of approaching hooves.
Indeed, a small band of gendarmes are closing in on our hiding spot. Geoffrey utters a curse, loosens the blade on the gentleman’s neck, and tosses a handful of francs in my direction. I descend to my knees as they clink against the pavement, quickly stashing them into my sullied apron. Just as I think Geoffrey has completed his mission, he fishes one last item from the gentleman’s waistcoat: a shiny pair of skeleton keys.
Aligning the blade to the man’s neck once more, Geoffrey demands, “Where do you live?” The gentleman doesn’t answer – his attention is on the approaching gendarmes. “Where, damn you? And you best not lie, you foolish drunkard.”
He mumbles his address and Geoffrey pushes away from the wall, burying the keys inside his ratty coat. “Very good. I shall follow you home. And if I discover you’ve lied to me … well, I’ll damn well finish what I’ve started. And next time I won’t be so merciful.”
The gentleman nods and then draws silent. Just as Geoffrey latches onto my forearm and begins to lead me into the shadows, a piercing cry rings out. “Guards! Guards, this way, s’il vous plaît!”
I fight to restrain Geoffrey – but once again, it’s too late. “Daft, drunk fool!” He spins toward the cries with the force of a caged bull, guided by a primitive survival instinct. His blade gleams beneath the brittle lantern as he thrusts it into the gentleman’s gut, silencing the incredulous screams. The hooves come to a standstill, momentarily disoriented. Alas, the night is vast and deep … Geoffrey bought us a few precious moments of escape.
But at what price?
I resist his urging with every fiber of my being. “Come, Ari – we must go from here! Now!”
“Non!” Bile rises in my throat as the gentleman sags against the damp stone wall. Even as the gendarmes
are meters off, I race to his side. An ever-growing patch of blood expands just beneath his heart. Indeed, he could live. Geoffrey hadn’t aimed to kill.
“The guards shall see to him.”
Yes – should they find him in time. But no audible words emerge from my throat. I feel faint, betrayed, disgusted. I yearn to be caught by the gendarmes.
It’s the fate we deserve. And yet I’m too weak to fight off Geoffrey’s grasp as he lifts me from the cold ground and into his arms. Limper than a rag doll, I watch as the gentleman’s body disappears from view. Unable to meet Geoffrey’s eyes – knowing I can only return his stare with resentment – my gaze remains averted.
A distant commotion enters my consciousness: the gendarmes’ hollered commands. Both the inner and outer shadows grow heavier, more obscure, until the world transforms into a foreign entity.
But one truth remains: I am a survivor.
•
“Wake up, Maman! You are scarin’ me. Maman, please!” Ariah jolted awake with a cry. She sat up as she fought to catch her breath. Sweat rolled down her temples and drenched the bed sheets.
Mon Dieu. The dream had been so very real. Over seven years had passed, and yet she often woke with a sob in her throat. She and Emmaline rarely slept in the same bed – her daughter hadn’t known of the nightmares until now.
A harsh gust of wind rattled the fogged pane. The faded, burgundy drapes stirred to life and danced across the floorboards. Ariah slammed the window shut and rubbed her skin, urging heat back into her bones. Oliver limped to side of the bed, spooked by the sound of the window shutting. With each step, his nails screeched against the worn planks, adding to the eerie ambiance. A low whine filled the room as he gazed up at her with those large, sorrowful eyes. Drool hung from his mouth in a long stream and drummed onto the planks. Ariah leaned forward and ruffled his floppy ears. She took comfort in his presence – and could not bring herself to meet her daughter’s inquisitive stare.
“Maman?”
Ariah pushed Oliver away and warily turned to her daughter. Surely Emmaline would see everything: the secrets in her eyes, the horrible truth of her past. In a moment of weakness, everything she’d worked so hard to disguise would be unveiled.
Pale strips of moonlight shone through the window, lightening her daughter’s ashen features. Emmaline stared at her from the opposite side of the bed, her skin pale and eyes wide with alarm. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Behind her, wavering shadows danced across the wall and heightened the disparity of the moment.
A sharp pang of guilt stabbed Ariah’s chest. She scooted nearer to Emmaline and forced a weak smile. “I … I’m so sorry, ma petite. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It was a silly nightmare. Nothing more. Don’t be scared. Oh – come here, darling …” Ariah outstretched her arms. Embracing her daughter, she kissed her brow as Emmaline settled against her breast. Ariah held her with all the love she felt, tracking her fingertips down Emmaline’s spine in slow, soothing strokes. The mattress was smaller than Ariah’s customary bed, making it a struggle to find a suitable position for the two of them.
“It’s all right. I’m not scared no more,” Emmaline muttered in a tired drawl. Silence extended between them. Only the shuddering windowpane breached the quiet. “Why were you crying, Maman?”
“Like I said … it was a silly nightmare and nothing more.” Ariah ran her fingers through Emmaline’s curls as her dream resurfaced. For years, Geoffrey had been buried within her subconscious and hidden away like a dark, shameful secret. Only within nightmares did her childhood sweetheart return. Indeed, within the realm of sleep, Geoffrey Lucier would resurrect – and she’d find herself orphaned, hungry, and frightened once more.
“Maman?”
“Yes? What is it, darling?”
“Who is Geoffrey?”
Ariah’s hand froze in midair. She was silent for several moments as she struggled to form a proper answer. “No one. No one of importance.”
Emmaline peered up at her, reading through the lie with ease. Ariah sighed and continued running her fingers through her daughter’s erratic locks. Then she drew her daughter close and secured both arms around her tiny body. “He was an old friend. An old friend from many years ago.”
•
Dawn broke an hour later. Gabriel strained his body, hooked his fingers around the windowsill, and peered at the outside world. Beyond the window, street lamps cast rings of light that were lost to the sun rays. Morning’s mist wove between the stonework in milky ribbons. The clatter of hooves and carriage wheels sounded as men, women, and children chased the long day ahead. On the horizon, streams of light spilled through Paris’s ancient buildings and monuments, awarding the city with an ethereal quality. The storm had come and gone, leaving the world refreshed and revived in its wake.
But Gabriel felt worse than death. The progression of time seemed to be measured in laudanum-induced intervals – and within the two hours between each dosage, time stood still completely. He’d lost a sufficient amount of weight, too. The greatcoat hung from his body like loose skin. Ariah brought dried crusts of bread during her routine visits – but he’d had no luck keeping the food down.
The door creaked open. Reverting his attention back to the small room, he released the windowsill and sunk against the mattress with a groan. Ariah eased inside, a smile at her lips and a large basin against her breasts. The leather satchel was draped over her shoulder. She shrugged it off, allowing it to land on the floor with a muffled thud. Sudden curiosity grabbed hold of Gabriel. He inclined his chin and examined the woman in her entirety.
His vision was much clearer than it had been the previous day – a fact that allowed him to fully realize his hostess’s beauty. Though an inner weariness was still present, the black circles and sallow whiteness had faded from her features.
She was much younger than he’d first imagined. Rather young to have borne a child. She was certainly not a day over twenty-two. She was much younger and worlds lovelier, he reluctantly acknowledged. The stiff material of her dress did little to retract from her beauty nor disguise the luscious curves that lay beneath her clothes. She was not a conventional beauty by any means. No, her hair wasn’t fastened into a meticulous coiffure as the norm so often demanded. Instead, those locks were loose, wild, and reckless – a vast mane of gold freed about her shoulders. The voluptuous shape of her lips held far more innate sensuality than propriety allowed. And her sapphire gaze was not carved from purity and innocence. It was far too perceptive. Far too haunted and omniscient.
Something about this woman made him incredibly nervous and aware of himself. He’d spent countless years mastering the art of detachment. And now Gabriel wanted her gone from his life.
“Ah, bonjour, monsieur,” she greeted, far too cheerful for his liking. “Were you able to sleep?”
“No.”
“Oh. I see.” She hesitated for a moment, then moved farther into the room. “Well. I am sorry to hear that.”
“Are you now?” Gabriel tensed as she set the basin down on the edge of the mattress. Then she removed the laudanum and wooden spoon from her dress pocket and laid them on the end table. Empowered by a surge of energy, Gabriel latched onto the bottle, filled the spoon to its limit, and downed the medication in a deft swallow. Giddy anticipation flooded his mind and body while he waited for the blessed, sleepy relief to come.
Ariah brushed a hand across her brow and glanced out the lone window. Sunrays illuminated every curve of her body like a spotlight. Yawning, she stretched her limbs with a feline’s elegance. She was petite and quite fragile, he noticed, though something warned him she was not easily broken. Beneath that delicate shell laid a fierce spirit; he could feel its heat. Indeed, this woman reminded him of a mother lioness.
Wincing at his thoughts, Gabriel cleared his throat and threw a nonchalant wave in the basin’s vicinity. “What’s the purpose of all this junk?”
Her gaze snapped from the window and settled on his eyes. An ex
otic blend of determination and intelligence radiated from their hyacinth depths. Openly returning his challenge, she propped a hand on either side of her hips before speaking. “The purpose of all this junk, monsieur, is to ensure you don’t develop a fatal infection. Now is that quite all right with you?” Each word wafted across him like a lover’s caress.
She thought he cared whether he developed a fatal infection? The very idea was laughable.
“Ah.” Gabriel surrendered to a sardonic chuckle. “I applaud your noble efforts.” He tossed both hands in the air in an elaborate show of surrender. “Do as you must, then. Ensure that I don’t fucking die.”
She refused the bait. Offering no retort, she edged closer several centimeters. The mattress exhaled a soft groan, manipulated by the delicate pressure of her body. The sweet scents of rosewater and nectar wafted from her intimate nearness, elevating Gabriel’s senses. He breathed in the aroma in spite of himself and leaned closer. His gaze, still fogged by a hazy film, swept over her curves, missing nothing.
Delicate, slender hands retrieved fresh linens and a round tin from inside the basin. Each of her movements were executed with grace and care. She placed the items atop the mattress as her eyes sharpened in concentration. Two fine brows, gently curved and exquisitely formed, drew together while she labored.
“You know,” she said, simultaneously unfolding the linen, “you have a rather sharp tongue for a man who so recently cheated death.” In spite of the jab, her voice fell upon Gabriel’s ears like a lush stroke of velvet. Her lips, naturally a decadent red, were parted in concentration while she worked. Never meeting his eyes, she proceeded to unscrew the small tin.
“And don’t curse,” she whispered rather sweetly, “not with my child only a room away.”
He scoffed at the woman’s audacity, unused to receiving commands. Who in God’s teeth did she think she was?
Far too frustrated to speak, he snatched the tin with a narrowed glare. One of his hands closed over both of hers, enveloping them completely. Her porcelain flesh engulfed by his tanned fingers made a rather enticing contrast. She sucked in a strained breath, suddenly at a loss for words. Her movements came to an abrupt halt as her eyes rose to his. Fear was etched in her gaze. Fear and something else. Her pulse sprang to life beneath his touch; the juncture of her wrist undulated in time with her labored breaths. She was a brave little thing indeed – in spite of her obvious apprehension – she met his eyes as an equal. Her chin was raised, that sapphire gaze steely with determination.
Finding Gabriel Page 7
