by Kat Ross
“Julian went to Hamilton to wait for the ship to arrive from Port-au-Prince.”
“He’s meeting the two new members of the Order?”
Gabriel nodded. “Jean-Michel Fanastil is Haitian. I met him some time ago through the anthropologist Anténor Firmin, who’s minister of Finance and Foreign Affairs now.”
Anne frowned in thought. “The name is familiar.”
“Firmin published De l'égalité des races humaines. About three years ago, I think.”
Anne nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s it. On the Equality of Human Races. Vivienne spoke highly of him. I was looking for an English translation.”
Gabriel’s face darkened. “It was a rebuttal to that pig Arthur de Gobineau’s racist diatribes about the superiority of the Aryans.”
Anne fully shared his revulsion. “You should add Gobineau to your list,” she muttered.
Gabriel gave a mirthless laugh. “So many are deserving, I’m overwhelmed with candidates. Anyway, Monsieur Fanastil is a writer and poet, with the deep subtlety of the creative mind. I am very pleased to have him.”
Anne smiled. Gabriel had a fondness for elaborate schemes.
“And the other?”
“Miguel Salvado. He’s from Santo Domingo. He served as a soldier under Heureaux but grew disillusioned with his dictatorial style. Fanastil brought him to my attention. They’re close friends.”
Anne looked forward to meeting them. Haiti and Santo Domingo shared the island of Hispaniola in the Caribbean and both had a tumultuous history. The Haitian Revolution had shaken the world, with the charismatic Toussaint L’Ouverture leading a bloody rebellion to oust the French that led to the first independent state ruled by former slaves. It had been the largest uprising since Spartacus’s failed revolt against the Romans nearly two thousand years before.
Anne looked up as Jacob Bell wandered into the kitchen. He was a large presence, but there was a serene quality about him, as though little would ruffle his feathers. She found it odd that he always worked with Julian, who seemed more like Gabriel in temperament.
She suppressed a grin. Perhaps it was simply that they were both French.
“Miss Lawrence,” he said politely. “I trust you had a good rest.”
His accent was pleasing to the ear, crisp and musical.
“I did, Mr. Bell, thank you.”
Jacob leaned over the pot and took a long sniff. “His cooking is the only reason we tolerate him, you know.”
Anne laughed. “Gabriel is an excellent chef. Just stay away from his meatloaf.”
Gabriel shot her an amused look. Jacob smiled. “I won’t even ask, Miss Lawrence.”
They sat down at the table and dug in. It was a creamy seafood bisque, flavored with a hint of nutmeg. Brown bread and a bottle of dry Muscadet completed the meal. Gabriel and Jacob discussed the arrangements for the ship to France, which was waiting in Hamilton. Once Jean-Michel Fanastil and Miguel Salvado arrived, they would all set sail together. The two men were overdue by a week. If not for a tropical storm ravaging the West Indies, which had delayed their departure from Port-au-Prince, Gabriel would already be gone.
Anne wondered if the wind she’d summoned to spur her own ship more swiftly across the Atlantic had anything to do with it. Weather was one of the trickiest phenomena to work, particularly at sea. Tampering often had unforeseen consequences. A small alteration to the currents and clouds could multiply and bring larger forces into play. If the prevailing conditions had been just right, she might have inadvertently conjured up a tropical storm.
Anne decided not to mention this. She twirled the wineglass in her fingers, idly listening to them talk, but mostly watching Gabriel’s mouth. It could be stern when he was angry, but he had a full lower lip that was quite soft. She remembered it closing gently around her—
“Anne?”
She met his eyes with a start. “Yes? Sorry, all that rich food made me drowsy again.”
The look he gave her was innocent enough, but she had the distinct feeling he was onto her. No, it was impossible. Even necromancers couldn’t read minds.
“I was just saying that I told Julian to ensure you have a comfortable private cabin when we sail.”
She smiled. “So it’s the brig, then.”
Jacob laughed. “Nothing so dire, I’m sure.” He paused. “Just the lowest level of the cargo hold.”
“As long as I have my books for company, I’m sure I’ll make do.”
“You like to read?”
“Very much.”
“There’s a small library here. You’re welcome to plunder it.”
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Bell. I brought only one small valise and it’s already exhausted its treasures.”
They conversed for a while about their favorite authors. Mr. Bell was partial to Dickens, as well as Frederick Douglass and Sojourner Truth. He promised to lend Anne some of their writings, which had played a critical part in the American abolitionist movement.
At last, Gabriel rose. He seemed wound up, brimming with nervous energy, his gaze repeatedly moving to the darkened windows. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have something to attend to.”
Anne gave him an appraising look. “Going for a prowl?”
He flushed and she felt a spark of guilt. She hadn’t meant to tease him. In truth, she was jealous of his nocturnal activities. It must be glorious to change into something else. Something feral and wild and utterly free.
“Thank you for the lovely meal,” she said in a gentler tone. “I’d like to talk more with Mr. Bell anyway.”
Gabriel gave a wary nod, his eyes flicking between them. “Goodnight, then.” He drained his wineglass and strode out the back door. She watched him vanish into the dappled moonlight beneath the trees.
Anne brought the bowls to the counter as Jacob went to fill a bucket from the cistern. When he returned, they set to work on the mess Gabriel had left. He might be a good cook, but he wasn’t a tidy one. The counters were sprinkled with nutmeg and garlic skins and splashes of heavy cream. He seemed to have employed every utensil in the entire kitchen.
Jacob glanced at her as he scrubbed out the pot. “I apologize for Mr. Durand’s behavior earlier. He’s a bit overprotective.”
“No apology is needed. I understand perfectly, Mr. Bell.”
“Gabriel is his mentor. Julian worships him.”
“How did they meet?”
“Gabriel found him at a Benedictine monastery in Lyon. Julian was a young novice. He’d been punished with starvation rations for reporting some of the senior monks who were embezzling funds from the Church. He was precisely the sort of man Gabriel wanted. Quick-witted with physical prowess and complete incorruptibility. Julian didn’t come to him easily. Gabriel wooed him for years before he joined the Order.” He sighed. “But once Julian took that step, he committed himself heart and soul. He’s taken Constantin’s betrayal very hard. I think some of that anger is spilling over onto you.”
“I suppose it’s understandable. Constantin’s not here and I am.”
“It’s not just that. We were in St. Petersburg hunting a killer of women when Gabriel learned Jorin Bekker would be at the Picatrix Club. No doubt Constantin planned it that way. There was no time to get back to London. Julian feels guilty we weren’t there. So do I.” He handed her the pot and Anne dried it. “As for Alec Lawrence….”
Anne looked him in the eye. “I hope you know I care for Gabriel very much. I only did what I did to spare him the wrath of my brother and his bonded.”
Jacob nodded. “Gabriel explained the situation.”
She blinked in surprise. “He did?”
“He told me that he’d done both them and you a terrible wrong. That he deserved your contempt.”
“But I don’t….” She trailed off. “I never hated him. Quite the opposite, Mr. Bell.”
“Call me Jacob, please.”
“And you must call me Anne.” She frowned. “I dislike all these formalities anyway.
The Victorians have more rules than the Pope.”
He laughed. “You’re old enough to remember other ages, aren’t you?”
She stiffened. Only a handful of people in the world knew what she was, but she supposed there’d been no keeping that fact from Gabriel’s closest friends.
“Yes,” Anne admitted. “I’m as old as Gabriel.”
“That must be something,” he muttered. “It’s difficult to imagine.”
She shrugged. “Time passes differently for my kind.”
“Dog years?”
She looked at him blankly.
“Seven of ours for every one of yours?”
Anne laughed. “Exactly. Though it might be more like a hundred to one.”
Jacob was quiet for a minute. “I think Gabriel has endured because he’s so damnably driven. It’s not only the body that must stay young, it’s the mind. Without the Order….” He didn’t finish the thought, but Anne understood. Cyrus Ashdown, the mortal of the only other bonded pair she knew, suffered from periodic melancholies. Vivienne said it was normal. That sometimes the weight of all that time was a heavy burden to bear.
“How old are you, Jacob?”
“Only a hundred and two. Julian’s closer to… oh, two hundred and fifty or so.”
Anne looked at him, understanding dawning. “There was still slavery here then.”
He nodded. “I was enslaved when I met Gabriel.”
Anne’s face heated. “I was born a slave, as well. It changes a person forever.”
“Yes, it does. Happily, I was still young when I gained my freedom. Others weren’t so lucky. They died in fetters.” Jacob’s voice hardened and she caught a glimpse of the man beneath the relaxed, urbane surface. “It’s one of the reasons I’ll enjoy seeing Jorin Bekker’s head separated from his shoulders.”
She regarded him for a long moment. “Why don’t you hate me as Julian does?”
Jacob Bell turned to face her, a large hand propped on the counter. “Quite frankly, Miss…. Anne. I’m overcome with relief that you’re here.”
“Why?”
He looked amused. “Because Gabriel has been utterly impossible to be around for the last two months. I assume you’re aware of his temper?”
They shared a look of mutual sufferance. “I am.”
“Well, until you arrived, it was on a hair trigger. He made everyone’s life miserable.” Jacob stroked the sharp edge of his moustache with the pad of his thumb. “No, let me rephrase that. A living hell. I’ve never seen him in such a state. I feared he might do something reckless and Gabriel is not a reckless man. A little mad perhaps, but never reckless.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “Besides which, the food’s been awful. Burned, or raw, or an unholy combination of the two. That bisque was a remarkable improvement.”
Anne couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve noticed that the quality of Gabriel’s cuisine does tend to reflect his mood.”
“The meatloaf?”
She shuddered. “I think he poured a whole cellar of salt into it.”
Jacob barked with laughter. “He can be a devil sometimes. But he’s our devil, at least.”
Anne sobered. “He’s still angry at me.”
Jacob studied her, his expression an odd mixture of pity and admiration. “That might be true, but I think you’re more than a match for him, Anne.”
They said goodnight and retired to their rooms. It would be hours before Gabriel returned and she didn’t intend to wait up. But her conversation with Jacob had lifted her spirits, not just because he seemed to be on her side, but because she liked him very much. In truth, she’d been leery of the Order of the Rose. Whatever divine mission they claimed, they were still necromancers. The vilest scum on earth — or so she’d been taught. Gabriel was different, but she’d been unsure about the others.
Jacob Bell struck her as an honorable man. Julian Durand might be, too, and she resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least Gabriel wouldn’t be walking into the confrontation with Bekker and Constantin alone. Counting the new recruits, he’d have four of the Order at his back.
She shifted restlessly. It had to be enough.
Chapter 4
Anne usually rose with the sun, but a feather bed made for a pleasant change from hard sand and whining mosquitoes, and she slept late the next morning. She stretched luxuriously and threw the covers off. Being clean, rested and well-fed had its advantages. Her mood was much improved and she felt ready to deflect any slings and arrows Gabriel cared to hurl at her without losing her own temper.
I’ll kill him with kindness, she thought, dragging a brush through her hair and pinning the heavy mass of it up. Just like I did before.
Sunlight poured through the half-open shutters as she padded to the window in Gabriel’s shirt. Her own clothes would be dry by now, although the thought of donning a black dress again was unappealing. Men’s attire was much more comfortable than the torturous layers required of women. Anne threw the shutters wide, frowning as she heard grunting below.
Jacob and Julian were down in the yard, stripped to the waist and sparring with their chains. Julian was lithe and wiry like a cat, while Jacob had slabs of muscle on his chest and back, but the two seemed evenly matched. One end of the chain was fixed by an iron manacle to the wrist. The other was weighted with a heavy collar – just the right size to encircle a human neck.
But they weren’t using the chains for that purpose now. No, they were trying to tangle each other up, grappling like lunatics, heedless of the vicious bruises and cuts the heavy iron links inflicted as they whipped through the air. Anne watched, repelled and fascinated. Blood covered them both, though the wounds closed within seconds. Accelerated healing was one of the necromancers’ greatest gifts. Daēvas recovered quickly, too, but not like them.
Anne had no idea necromantic chains could be used this way. At Gorgon-e Gaz, the Antimagi carried swords. They wore the chains but only to herd their human cattle. She wondered if it was a technique of Gabriel’s invention.
The moment she thought this, he appeared from the kitchen door. Jacob and Julian broke apart, panting.
“Where’s Anne?” Gabriel asked. He looked rough and bleary-eyed, as if he’d just awakened himself.
“Still abed,” Jacob replied.
“Give him your chains,” Julian said to Jacob with a grin.
“Glutton for punishment?” Gabriel asked mockingly.
Julian smiled. “I’ll get the better of you one of these days.”
“Hope never dies,” Jacob said. “Though in your case, it really ought to be buried alive and nailed into the casket.”
And then Gabriel was pulling the shirt over his head and Anne saw how thin he’d grown, each rib prominent, though he was still corded with lean muscle. Jacob tossed him the chains, which Gabriel caught gracefully with one hand.
Anne drew a sharp breath, her fingers gripping the sill.
Don’t watch, she thought, suddenly queasy. You’ll regret it.
But she couldn’t look away.
They squared off ten feet apart. Gabriel held the chains loosely in his left hand, leaving a coil of links to dangle at his side. His posture was relaxed, weight tipped slightly forward. He let Julian come to him and their first few exchanges were brief and testing. Then Julian seemed to tire of the foreplay, rushing forward with his mouth set in a line. Anne flinched every time the chains cracked across Gabriel’s bare flesh, though he barely seemed to register it. He absorbed the assault for two long minutes, and then his own movements became inhumanly fast and ferocious. She heard the brittle crack of bone. Seconds later, Julian lay in a groaning heap.
Gabriel sank to his haunches and held out a hand, hauling Julian to his feet. He supported him with an arm around his shoulders until Julian shook it off. Whatever had shattered seemed whole again.
“Va te faire foutre,” Julian muttered darkly.
“He thinks if he curses in French, God won’t hear him,” Jacob said.
Julian gave a ragged laugh. “Now you have to defend my honor, brother.”
“If you insist.”
“Not you, too,” Gabriel said to Jacob with a touch of irritation. He wasn’t even out of breath. “Julian already delayed my breakfast.” He glanced at the clothesline, where Anne’s knickers snapped in the breeze. “Unlike you two, I have things to do this morning.”
Jacob only smiled and coiled his chains in readiness.
And so it began again, blood running freely, the chains blurring in deadly arcs. Then Jacob did something complicated, reversing the swing in midair, and the next instant Gabriel was sitting on his rump in the dirt, ankles neatly trussed. Julian crowed and Gabriel laughed in delight and despite the stupid brutality of the entire exercise, the sound made Anne wistful. She realized she wanted more than anything to make him laugh like that again.
“Maybe I should beat the holy hell out of him,” she muttered. “That seems to do the trick.”
They were pouring buckets over their heads to wash the blood off when Anne decided she’d had enough. Her appetite was gone. She used the upstairs privy and pulled on the baggy trousers, clutching them with one hand rather than bother with the braces. By the time she reached the yard, they were all in the kitchen, chattering like magpies.
Anne knew that if she walked into the room, Julian would subside into chilly silence. And frankly, there was too much masculine energy buzzing around. She wanted some peace and quiet.
So she retrieved her clothes from the line, changed in the bathing room, and hung Gabriel’s borrowed pants and shirt up to air out as washing them would be far too much trouble. She was trying to decide what to do with the rest of the morning when she saw the boy, Joseph, coming out of the stable.
“Hello,” she said.
He squinted up at her. She guessed his age at eight or nine from the missing front teeth. He had a sweet face. Of course, they were all sweet until they grew beards and their brains seemed to shrink in proportion to other parts.
“Hello, Miss Lawrence.”
“If I wished to go swimming, where would be the best place?”
Without hesitation, he pointed to a faint path leading away from the house.
