by Kat Ross
“Thank God,” Anne murmured, falling back. “I don’t feel like moving for a while.”
Gabriel noticed the condition of her feet and scowled deeply. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded. “Hold still.” She winced as he picked out a sliver of glass. Fresh blood welled and Gabriel pulled his shirt off. It was conveniently pre-shredded, first by Vorstmann’s scalpel, then Constantin’s claws. He tore off a tattered strip and bound her foot, propping it in his lap.
“What happened to your boots?” Gabriel asked.
“I left them outside the fence. Remind me to get them on the way out.” She closed her eyes. “I like those boots.”
“Find Jacob,” he told Julian wearily. “Gather any talismans you can find.”
Anne forced her eyes open. “Look for ones to Travel, will you? I bet Bekker has lots. We’re going on holiday after this and it would make things very convenient.”
Julian smiled at her. “I will, Miss Lawrence.”
“Just call me Anne.”
Gabriel regarded the gargantuan house with disgust. “Nom de dieu, the Sun King would have blushed to live here. I wish I could burn the fucking thing down, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“What will happen to it?” Anne wondered.
Gabriel shrugged. “Bekker had no heirs. Leopold will seize it, along with his other assets.”
“That hardly feels like justice,” she said bitterly.
“I know. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Julian caught Anne’s eye. “At least the world can know what sort of man he was.” He looked back at the house. “If we make sure the local gendarmes find that room.”
“Just hurry up,” Gabriel said. “We need to be gone in half an hour. It’s a long ride back and my wife needs bed rest.”
Julian nodded and jogged to the house.
“You were right about Balthazar,” Gabriel said, stroking her calf. “He has changed.”
Anne thought of the count. Even hanging in chains, he’d looked casually vulpine.
“Or,” she replied with a faint smile, “you never knew him in the first place.”
Chapter 26
Jorin Bekker’s violent death was front page news across Europe in the days to follow, but there was no mention in any of the papers of his crimes. In fact, they painted him as a benevolent captain of industry whose murder at the hands of unknown assailants — probably socialist agitators — was a profound tragedy.
“Leopold must have hushed it up,” Julian Durand said in disgust, throwing down a copy of Le Figaro.
“Of course he did,” Gabriel murmured.
They all sat around a table in the walled garden behind the hotel. It was their last day in Brussels. The Order would return to Bermuda, while Anne and Gabriel had plans for a sojourn in Brazil.
“But we made sure those doors were left open! It wasn’t one chamber. There were others….” Julian swore softly. He had penned an anonymous note for the local police and watched from beyond the fence as they swarmed into the house. Several hours later, the Rijkswacht arrived in force and cordoned off the whole area.
“Leopold would have been tainted by association if the truth came out. So he made sure it didn’t.” Gabriel sighed. “And his own atrocities continue.”
“When can we go to Boma?” Jean-Michel Fanastil asked quietly.
“When your basic training is complete,” Jacob Bell responded in a firm tone. “Patience, lad.”
Anne knew the recruits were unhappy at being left behind for Gabriel’s rescue, but Jacob had made the right decision. She didn’t doubt they would be formidable someday, but they needed to learn the chains — though her stomach turned at the thought of what that training would be like.
No one spoke for a moment. Anne felt great admiration and affection for these men, but it was tempered with sadness. The Order’s efforts to bring justice to this wicked world were akin to bailing a leaky boat. Jorin Bekker was dead, but others like King Leopold were just as evil — and most of them weren’t even necromancers.
“So you’re going to hunt fairies?” Miguel asked, fanning himself with the plumed hat Anne couldn’t resist buying at the Saint-Hubert shopping arcade that morning. She’d given Jean-Michel a silk handkerchief he wore in his breast pocket. Julian Durand and Jacob Bell held matching chocolate rabbits wrapped in gold foil.
During the same spending spree, Anne had finally managed to find a new dress, sea green with ivory lace trim, that she thought matched her battered old boots nicely.
“Curupiras,” she replied. “They have orange hair and backward feet and make a whistling sound that’s so annoying it’ll drive you mad. Oh, and they’re covered in blisters and have three tails, but one’s just for show and doesn’t do anything useful.”
Miguel eyed her doubtfully. Anne kept her face serious. “There’s some argument about whether they should be classified as minor demons or just an aggressive subspecies of fairy. You have to watch out if you pet one because their eyebrows are actually poisonous caterpillars.”
Gabriel grinned.
“I don’t believe in fairies,” Julian remarked in a condescending tone.
“Well, I doubt they believe in you,” Anne retorted with a cool smile.
“But if you happen to come across one….” He handed her a leather case with two ornate circular catches on the side. She frowned and opened it. A delighted smile spread across her face.
“It’s the new Kodak,” he explained with a faint blush. “Preloaded with a hundred exposures so you don’t have to change the film in a darkroom. You just send the camera back to the factory in Rochester, New York, and they mail you the prints.” He glanced at Jacob. “We both chipped in for it. A little wedding present.”
Jacob grinned. “Their slogan is ‘You press the button, we do the rest.’”
“Catchy,” Miguel murmured.
Anne leapt to her feet and hugged them both, causing Julian’s flush to deepen.
“It’s perfect! I can use it for my research. I always made sketches in the field, but photographs are a thousand times better. Oh, thank you!”
Gabriel looked thoughtful. “That would be useful for surveillance,” he murmured.
She shot him a dark look. He smiled innocently. “And vacation pictures, of course.”
Anne turned the camera over in her hands. It was a simple leather-bound box about six inches long and four wide.
“You set the shutter by pulling up the string on top,” Julian said. “That button on the side takes the picture. Then you twist the key to wind the film onto the next frame.”
“Let’s try it right now,” she declared. “Everyone stand together.”
She dragged them to their feet and arranged them in a row against the ivy-covered wall.
“A little to the left,” she said, peering down the V-shaped lines on top of the camera.
They all shuffled sideways.
“Miguel, you must put the hat on,” Anne murmured. “Just tilt it a bit to the side, the feather is blocking Jean-Michel…. Gabriel, don’t scowl so.” She clicked the button. “How did you get this anyway? Kodak is an American company.”
Jacob and Julian exchanged a look.
“You Traveled, didn’t you?” Gabriel said. “Nom de dieu.”
“Just a quick jaunt to a dealer in Manhattan,” Julian said hastily. “The whole thing took less than an hour.”
Bekker’s house had been a treasure trove. Within the pile of luggage were the two sanctus arma blades, the ring he’d murdered Lucas’s family for, and seven talismans to Travel, among many others whose purpose remained unknown.
“Well,” Jacob said, smoothing the edge of his moustache. “We should probably get going.” He winked at Miguel and Jean-Michel. “Ready for your first time?”
“At least you brought some wine,” Miguel said faintly. “I could use a drink.”
Julian uncorked the bottle. “It’s not for you.” He stepped away from the tab
le and poured it out on the bricks. A second bottle followed.
“That’s a tragic waste,” Miguel muttered, staring at the crimson puddle.
Julian grinned and handed him the last bottle. Miguel tipped it back for a bracing slug and handed the bottle to Jean-Michel, who took a single swallow and poured the rest on the ground.
“Sante,” he murmured.
They hefted their rifle cases and personal luggage. Jacob and Julian took charge of the other bags, most of which bulged with talismans.
“Send a postcard from Brazil,” Jacob said with a smile.
“I’ll take loads of pictures,” Anne promised. “Thank you again. For everything.”
The men tipped their hats, Miguel giving the plume a dramatic flourish.
Gabriel strode forward and kissed Jacob and Julian once on each cheek. “I’ll be in touch, brothers.” He laid his hands on Miguel and Jean-Michel’s shoulders. “We’ll spar when I return. It’ll hurt either way, but it might hurt less if you work really fucking hard for the next three months.”
They stared at him and he burst out laughing. “Just kidding. I’ll let Jacob and Julian be your taskmasters. They’re not so bad as long as you listen.”
For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure the two men. They turned toward the portal like prisoners facing the firing squad. Jacob fisted a talisman and entered first, sinking into the puddle of spilled wine. Julian made a shooing motion and Jean-Michel straightened his spine, stepping into the gate. His eyes widened as it swallowed him up. Miguel hurried to follow, the white tip of his feathered hat the last thing to disappear.
Then it was only Julian Durand. “Listen,” he said, his voice soft and hesitant. “I….”
Anne gave an encouraging nod. Julian drew a deep breath.
“They make these little cakes called beijinho de coco. I had them in Porto Alegre one time. Could you bring some back?” He waved a hand. “Whenever, you know. Just don’t forget. They’re really good.”
“Nom de dieu,” Gabriel snapped, though he sounded amused. “We’ll bring you the cakes. But you’d better catch up. Don’t leave those kids wandering in the Dominion.”
Julian nodded and hopped into the gate.
“Well,” Anne said, lifting her black parasol. “Shall we?”
Her smile died at Gabriel’s grave expression. “Not just yet.”
“Why?” she asked evenly.
“There’s something I left unfinished, Anne. I can’t leave Brussels until it’s been dealt with.”
“I see. And what exactly is this thing?”
He scrubbed a hand through his beard. “It’s a surprise. I need your help.”
“Of course,” she said with a resigned sigh.
Gabriel led her out to the street. Night was falling and the flower sellers were packing up their wares in the vast open-air market of the Grand Place. His steps quickened as church bells pealed in the distance. Anne knew better than to ask where they were going. Gabriel had a devilish gleam in his eye. He finally halted in front of La Monnaie opera house.
“If we hurry, we can still catch the first act,” he whispered in her ear.
Anne laughed. “You have tickets?”
He shook his head. “They were sold out.” Gabriel grabbed her hand and dragged her around back to the stage door. He pounded on it until a young man in shirtsleeves appeared. The boy looked about nineteen. He had a chewed pencil tucked behind his ear and a smear of chalk dust across one cheek. Gabriel unleashed a torrent of Dutch, his hands gesticulating, some complicated story about a problem with one of the set pieces. He radiated authority and the young man’s expression slowly turned from irritation to alarm.
“Monsieur Rubé sent you?”
Gabriel nodded.
“I will take you to the stage manager,” the young man said. He stepped back from the door and ushered them inside.
“No need, I know where to find him,” Gabriel said imperiously, striding into the maze of narrow corridors. Anne gave a firm nod and followed. She felt the young man’s eyes on their back, but he didn’t try to stop them.
They hurried deeper into the rabbit’s warren of changing rooms and storage areas. In the sudden quiet, she heard the factory bell ring on stage and the patter of feet as the cigarette girls ran out from the wings and started bantering with the young men in the crowd, launching into La cloche a sonné.
“Hurry,” Gabriel hissed, his voice thick with silent laughter. He opened doors at random as the chorus swelled, but none seemed to suit his purpose. Anne only hoped the stage manager was too busy to come searching for them. Surely the stagehand would check Gabriel’s story….
He glanced up and down the corridor, then tried another door that opened into a large room filled with racks of costumes. Gabriel pulled her inside and closed it. An instant later, his mouth covered hers. Anne’s knees wobbled as he snugged her against his body and walked them between two of the racks. Elaborate costumes of satin and velvet were crushed ruthlessly against the wall.
“I couldn’t leave Brussels without hearing you sing at the opera,” he said, lifting the edge of her skirts to stroke the silk stocking beneath.
“Because you’re an obsessive,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Yes,” Gabriel agreed, his golden brown eyes hot and unfocused. “And you make me worse.” He kissed her again with abandon. “Much worse.”
The stage must have been just beyond the far wall. Anne heard Carmen belt out opening lines of La Habanera.
Quand je vous aimerai ?
Ma foi, je ne sais pas….
When will I love you?
Good Lord, I don't know…
Then the gypsy’s taunting aria faded and all Anne heard was the fierce beating of their hearts.
Epilogue
Balthazar checked the gold watch in his waistcoat pocket. He combed his sleek raven hair and patted aftershave on his cheeks. Then he slid the starched white shirt from its hanger and did up the buttons, the ouroboros a cool weight against his chest. He knotted his tie and trotted down the stairs.
“Lucas!” he bellowed.
It was a fine afternoon with a pleasant breeze swaying the curtains in the parlor. He ambled down the hall and found Lucas sitting at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and an open book of accounts.
“Going out, my lord?” he murmured without looking up.
It was a question Lucas had asked hundreds, if not thousands, of times, and which had become largely rhetorical at this point.
Balthazar squinted at the tiny, precise columns of sums. “How do you read that without going blind?”
Lucas blew on his tea. “Will you be wanting the carriage?”
Balthazar cleared his throat. “Actually, I thought you might like to come with me.”
Lucas looked up, vaguely alarmed. “I see. This is … unexpected.”
“Have I never invited you out before?” Balthazar asked with a frown.
“Never, my lord.” He coughed. “Not that I mind. I’m not the type for parties and music halls.”
“It’s neither of those things.” He smiled and held his silver walking stick aloft like a ringmaster. “We’re going to the circus!”
The reply was tepid. “The circus, my lord?”
“Those Americans, Barnum and Bailey. They’ve set up shop at the Olympia Theatre in Kensington. Come on, they have elephants.”
Lucas pondered this. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think they have elephants or you don’t want to go?”
“I don’t want to go,” he replied firmly.
“Why?”
He glanced down at the ledger and pulled it an inch closer. “I have work to do.”
Balthazar sighed. “You really need to get out more.”
Lucas picked up his fountain pen and jotted some microscopic figure in the margin. “No.”
“But I already bought two tickets.” He took out the program. “Listen, they have Signora Stella’s flock of performing
sheep.” He turned the flyer sideways. “I think it’s doing a handstand. Hoofstand.”
Lucas was unmoved.
“I’m quoting here,” Balthazar said, an edge of desperation in his voice, “there are Troupes of Wonderfully Wise Dogs.”
Lucas set his pen down. “Here’s my counter offer. I’ll go for a walk with you. I might stop for a cup of cocoa at that shop around the corner.”
“Now, we don’t want to overdo it,” Balthazar muttered sourly, folding the program and stuffing it back in his pocket. “Too much excitement….”
“Or you can go to the circus alone.”
Balthazar smiled. “Fine. I dislike screaming children anyway. We’ll go for a walk.”
“Hang on, I’ll get my emergency biscuits.” Lucas strode to the pantry and rattled a tin. “Oh dear, I’m getting low,” he whispered to himself.
“Is that in case we’re caught in a freak late August blizzard in Grosvenor Square?” Balthazar asked, trailing him to the front door.
“Mock if you will, my lord, but biscuits have saved me on more than one occasion.” Lucas stepped outside and flinched like a vampire. “It’s a nice day,” he said with a touch of wonder.
“Told you.” Balthazar strode off. “Let’s go this way.”
“Kensington is this way,” Lucas said suspiciously as he jammed his hat on and hurried to catch up.
“So’s Hyde Park,” Balthazar replied in amusement.
They strolled along in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“Are you allergic to dogs, too, or only cats?” Balthazar glanced over.
“It’s funny you ask, my lord. Did I ever tell you the story—”
The pair of them drew a few curious looks, one tall and swarthy and handsomely attired, the other smaller, pale and sporting a fussy waxed moustache, but neither noticed. The tall one was laughing too hard and the other was trying his best not to.
Besides which, elephants awaited.
Afterword
