The Necromancer's Bride

by Kat Ross

  The house was cool and dim inside, the shutters closed against the midday sun. Gabriel led her straight back to the kitchen, which faced a rear garden and dusty yard. A long wooden table and chairs sat near the window.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Anne nodded. “I haven’t eaten since….” She thought for a moment. “Yesterday morning, I believe.”

  He frowned. “I’ll make you something.”

  Gabriel cracked and whisked half a dozen eggs in a bowl, his movements assured and efficient, though he wasn’t whistling as he usually did. The tense line of his shoulders began to relax as he took out a lump of butter.

  “Can I light the fire?” he asked, glancing at her.

  She moved to the table and sat down, resting her chin on one hand. “Go ahead.”

  Flames were fatal to her kind, but only in close proximity.

  Soon Gabriel had the pan heated and the kitchen filled with the smell of sizzling onions and toasting bread.

  “There’s salt over there.” Gabriel poured the eggs into the pan and jerked his head toward an alcove next to the door. “Would you mind?”

  She leapt to her feet and prowled to the pantry. Anne peered inside … and froze. Just beyond the shelves of spices and dried goods, a row of pegs held three sets of black necromantic chains. They glimmered in the semi-darkness, giving off a faint luminescence like some species of poisonous mushroom. She tore her gaze away, found the salt cellar and set it on the table.

  “I have to tell you something,” she said. “It’s about the Beast of Gevaudan.”

  Gabriel grew still. “Is he dead?”

  She gave a brief shake of her head and relief washed over his features, but this was swiftly followed by worry. “If he is caged, he will not live long.”

  “I set him loose.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Into the grounds, you mean—”

  “No.” She drew a breath. “Loose. The gates were wide open. They’d been wrenched from the hinges.” Anne steeled herself for a torrent of well-deserved wrath. “I couldn’t leave him locked up. It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

  She still couldn’t fully explain her actions. Freeing him had been a reckless act, but after what she’d just done to the man she loved, what was one more crime?

  Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, his face disbelieving. Then his lips quirked in the first smile she’d gotten out of him. “You’re even crazier than I am, Anne.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Angry? No.” He frowned. “But very few people would have made that choice. A wild animal over human lives.”

  “He’s more than an animal. He’s ancient. Magnificent. And I don’t think he’s killed anyone. I watched the newspapers.”

  “It is his nature to kill,” Gabriel said softly.

  Her gaze flicked involuntarily toward the pantry. “I know. I’ll live with my decision.”

  “He didn’t try to harm you?”

  “No. He just ran past me into the forest.” She thought of the huge creature with dappled grey fur and silver eyes, her voice lowering. “He was so beautiful.”

  Gabriel’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, then returned to the pan. “Yes, he is.”

  Anne set the table. Gabriel served up the omelet and they ate without speaking. She realized she was ravenous and polished off most of the eggs and four slices of toast. When the last crumbs were gone, she pushed her plate back with a sigh.

  “Thank you.”

  “De rien.” Gabriel regarded her, his arms loosely crossed. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

  She feigned innocence. “Ask you what?”

  “Who it was.”

  The last time she saw him, Gabriel’s dark blonde hair had been marred by a streak of pure white. Now it was lightened from the sun, with strands of yellow and gold, but the white had vanished. He’d drained someone with his chains. And apparently, her surreptitious glances hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Anne shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No? Be honest. If you want to know, I’ll tell you.” A shadow crossed his face. “There can be no secrets between us. Never again.”

  She met his gaze. “Whoever it was, if they’re dead by your hand, they deserved it. I don’t need to know more.”

  Gabriel nodded slowly. “I hope you mean that.”

  “I do.” Anne leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “I trust you, even if you don’t trust me.” She gave him a confident grin. “But you will. Someday, you will.”

  Gabriel’s eyes rested on her mouth for a moment. He stood abruptly. “I’ll wash up.”

  “No, let me.”

  He sank back into the chair, watching as she rinsed and dried the plates. It reminded her of the time he’d baked her a cake with pink rosettes and they’d danced under the leaky roof of the ballroom at the Chateau de Saint-Évreux, the decrepit castle he owned on Normandy’s Alabaster Coast. Gabriel had given her an illustrated edition of La Belle et La Bete. Later, when he cleaned up the kitchen, he’d told her the story of the Beast of Gevaudan and how he had learned to use its magic to change his own form. Typically, the evening ended in an argument, but it was still the best birthday she’d ever had.

  “I can show you to your room now,” he said when she finished stacking the dry plates.

  Anne picked up her valise and followed him up a flight of stairs to a hallway with four doors on each side. Gabriel opened one and stepped back, waiting outside as she entered the high-ceilinged bedroom and threw open the shutters. The windows gave a view of the sea in the distance. A salty breeze swept through the close air of the room. Anne closed her eyes with a sigh. She felt hot and sticky in the high-necked black gown.

  “Is there a place to bathe?” she asked. “I’m fairly certain I have sand in my knickers.”

  Gabriel turned away, but not before she saw a glint of amusement. “Outside in the yard.”

  She fanned herself with one hand. “Not to press my luck too far, but do you have a shirt and trousers I can borrow? I’d like to wash my things, but I’ll have to wait for them to dry.”

  He strode off, returning a minute later with a pile of clothes and a flannel towel. Gabriel arched a brow. “Is that all?”

  Her fingers brushed his wrist as she took the bundle. Gabriel’s breath hitched slightly, a sound that would have been inaudible to anyone but a daēva. Anne bit back a smile. “Yes, thank you.”

  She followed his brusque directions to a roofless enclosure with a barrel and a cake of yellow soap on a shelf. The floor was limestone, with a grooved channel to drain the water away. She hadn’t seen any wells in Bermuda and guessed the locals relied on rainwater catchment for their needs.

  Between the cedarwood box and her books, there was little space in the valise. She had one other dress, three pairs of knickers and stockings, a spare chemise, a hairbrush and a short iron blade. She’d packed the latter out of habit rather than an expectation of needing it. Only iron could dispatch wights and revenants. She no longer sought them out like Alec and Vivienne did, but it had been ingrained in her since childhood to always be prepared.

  Anne undressed and filled a bucket, sluicing the water over her head. She did have sand in her knickers, and several other places, too. After drying off, she braided her hair and tried on the borrowed clothes, rolling up the shirtsleeves and cuffs of the trousers. That worked well enough, but the waist was still too large. Anne pictured Gabriel’s face if her pants suddenly fell to the floor. It would certainly be amusing, though he might not see it that way.

  She washed her things and found a clothesline behind the kitchen, pinning up the undergarments to snap merrily in the breeze. Then she sought out Gabriel, one hand gripping the sagging waist of the trousers.

  Anne wandered through a large sitting room with a fireplace and French doors leading out to the veranda. Just beyond she saw an open door and heard the rustle of papers. Gabriel looked up from behind a large desk, a fountain
pen in hand. He appeared to be in the midst of writing a letter.

  “I don’t suppose you have a bit of rope lying around,” she said.

  He sighed and stood up, unbuttoning the braces from his own trousers and handing them over.

  Anne stood there biting her lip as she tried to figure out how to attach the braces without letting go of her pants. Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment in mute forbearance. Then he strode around the side of the desk.

  “Give them to me.”

  He quickly shortened the braces, then moved behind her. She felt a tug as he fixed the bottom of the Y ensemble to her waist and slipped the straps over her shoulders. Staring at a point above her head, he came around again and secured the front. The feel of him so close, his breath warm against her ear, was quite pleasant.

  It didn’t last long. In a jiffy, Gabriel was back on the other side of the desk.

  “Who owns this house?” she asked.

  “The property belongs to Jacob Bell.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m leaving soon, Anne. There’s something I have to do.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked, although she already knew.

  “Paris.” He paused. “Then Brussels.”

  “You’re hunting Jorin Bekker.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “And what makes you think you’ll survive your next encounter?” she asked evenly.

  “If he ever learns I’m still alive, then I’ll be the one surprised in the middle of the night, Anne.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I was so close at the Picatrix. I almost had him. Constantin caught me off guard.” Gabriel’s eyes darkened. “This time they won’t see it coming.”

  She tried to conceal the sudden dread in her bones. “I spoke to Cyrus Ashdown before I came here. When Constantin broke into his strong room at Ingress Abbey, he stole a talismanic blade from the Crusades. It must be the one he used on you at the Picatrix Club. I imagine Constantin still has it.”

  “Sanctus arma?”

  “Yes. That’s what Cyrus called it.”

  Gabriel’s eyes lost focus. “The blade was so cold, like a spear of ice. I wondered….” His brow furrowed. “Are you certain?”

  “I’m certain. You only lived because I managed to stop the bleeding. But it was a close thing, Gabriel, very close.”

  He’d been hit with such a massive dose of morphine, Anne doubted he remembered much of that night. How his bandages kept soaking through, the wounds refusing to heal, his skin scorching hot and dry as parchment. Gabriel had lingered at the threshold of death for hours. She’d whispered to him, unsure if he could even hear her.

  Don’t go. Please, don’t go.

  When the sun finally rose, and he was still alive, the fever broken, she’d wept with relief. The idea of going through that again was more than she could bear. But there would be no stopping him now.

  “Well, I know Constantin has it,” Gabriel said lightly. “He won’t get near me with that blade again.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “I’m expecting two more men to arrive any day now. It’s the only thing that’s kept me here so long. Once they come, we’ll take a ship.” Gabriel looked regretful. “I’d Travel by gateway, but I left the talisman in Normandy.”

  Anne hesitated. “Can I accompany you? At least as far as France? There’s no reason for me to stay once you’ve left. And perhaps we can talk on the journey.”

  He picked up the fountain pen, tapping it uneasily on the desk. “Of course. I’ll introduce you to my brothers in the Order.”

  Something in his voice warned her that might be complicated.

  “You told them about me.”

  He nodded.

  “Everything?”

  “I was distraught. I needed to talk to someone.”

  “I suppose I can’t blame you for that,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t paint you as evil,” Gabriel said solemnly. “Though they might have drawn that conclusion.”

  “Oh, God.” She sank into a chair. “What are they like? How long have you known them?”

  “Jacob Bell is a Bermudian. His family is one of the oldest on the island, fishermen who know every reef and shoal for a hundred miles out. When I met him back in ‘09, he was helping the British Navy hunt Dutch slavers in these waters. I offered him a chance to chase bigger game — the men who bankrolled those ships and grew rich from the trade in human beings — and he took it.” Gabriel smiled. “But Jacob’s talents go beyond simple assassination. He’s a negotiator, the diplomat of our Order.”

  “And the other?”

  “Julian Durand is a Frenchman like me. He used to be a priest, but I convinced him to serve God in more … direct ways. He and Jacob always work together.”

  “Were they at the Picatrix?”

  “No, I couldn’t contact them in time. Things might have gone differently if they had been.”

  Anne turned at the sound of voices outside the open window. Someone remarked on the knickers flying from the clothesline, the tone perplexed, and then she heard footsteps approaching the study.

  Anne rose to her feet as two men appeared in the doorway. The first was fair-skinned with a mop of unruly brown hair and a Gallic nose. The second was taller and dark, with a dapper moustache and the build of a heavyweight boxer, though he moved with a light grace. Both halted in their tracks when they saw her.

  “Mr. Durand, Mr. Bell, this is Miss Lawrence,” Gabriel said quietly. “She arrived this afternoon.”

  Jacob Bell’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. Julian Durand’s smile evaporated. His face went pale.

  Anne forced a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

  Julian turned and stared at Gabriel, who regarded him with a flat expression.

  “Surely you’re joking?” he managed.

  “Not in the least. She’ll be returning to Europe with us.”

  “And after that?”

  Gabriel stood. “Julian—”

  Julian spat something in French. His cold gaze turned on Anne. “Miss Lawrence,” he said, spinning on his heel and striding from the room.

  Jacob Bell quickly stepped forward and extended his hand. “Don’t mind him, Miss Lawrence,” he said. “You’re welcome here.”

  She took his hand gratefully and gave an awkward nod.

  “Give us a moment, would you, Mr. Bell?” Gabriel said.

  “Of course.” With a last guarded glance at Anne, Jacob left the room.

  “You could have told me it was that bad,” she muttered.

  Gabriel tried to look sorry, but she detected a hint of satisfaction. “I didn’t expect him to react so strongly.”

  “I think I should leave.”

  He leaned against the edge of the desk. “No. What if those sailors go searching for you?”

  “I can look after myself.”

  His lips twitched. “I’m not worried about you, Anne. I’m worried about them.”

  Her temper began to slip its leash. “Excuse me while I pack my things.” She made to push past him and he caught her arm.

  “Easy. Julian will come around.”

  She looked at Gabriel challengingly. “Do you even want him to?”

  The words came through gritted teeth. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then I think you should speak to him.” She pulled her arm free. “If you don’t, I will.”

  He considered this. “I’d better do it.”

  “And the other two? Do they hate me, too?”

  Gabriel laughed. “No. They know nothing about you. They’re new recruits.”

  “Thank Christ for that.” She held his gaze. “I’m tired. I’m going to lie down in my room now.”

  And it would be lovely if you’d join me.

  Gabriel drew a slow, uneven breath. Then he sat down behind the desk and picked up his pen. “Have a nice nap,” he murmured.

  “Oh, I will.” Anne hitched up the braces and stalked from the room.

  Chapter 3

&nbs
p; Anne flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  So he meant to punish her. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Punishing people was Gabriel’s forte. He enjoyed it.

  Well, she could make it as unenjoyable as possible. And she felt confident she’d wear him down in the end.

  She was more concerned about what would happen when they reached Europe. Gabriel took calculated risks, but his anger might blind him. From what she’d heard, Jorin Bekker was one of the oldest living necromancers, a cautious, devious man. And Constantin had been Gabriel’s right hand for centuries. Alec said he’d been there at the founding of the Order. He knew exactly how Gabriel’s mind worked. Gabriel seemed certain they believed the sword had finished him, but what if he was wrong? What if they were waiting for him?

  Anne sighed. Julian Durand clearly despised her, and looking at the situation from his perspective, she couldn’t blame him. Anne still believed she’d made the right choice under the circumstances, but that didn’t make the results any less devastating. Gabriel was still reeling from Constantin’s betrayal when she’d stabbed him with his own dagger.

  She rubbed her forehead wearily. Why must I love such a troublesome man?

  Even if it went off perfectly and Gabriel disposed of them both, there would always be a next time. Another enemy to hunt and kill. The Order of the Rose was his life — in a literal sense. Unlike Anne, Gabriel was mortal. He’d only endured the long centuries because he took life from others with his chains. Most necromancers did so indiscriminately, but Gabriel had chosen a different path. He could never stop or he would age and die.

  His war is not my war, she told herself firmly.

  If he did forgive her, they needed to find common ground. Anne had worked hard to build a life that didn’t involve endless violence and she wouldn’t give it up, not even for him. Just the thought of who she used to be filled her with dread.

  She slipped into a fretful doze, waking hours later to the smells of cooking. She followed her nose to the kitchen and found Gabriel stirring a pot of soup. He smiled when she came in, which lifted her spirits.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, rummaging through the cabinets for bowls and spoons.