Scroll- Part One

by D B Nielsen

  Instead, I cleared my throat and offered in a rush of words, ‘Would you like me to get you a glass of water? Do you feel the need to sit down? Would you like me to call for assistance?’

  ‘No ... no, thank you.’ She pressed a wan hand to her brow where it seemed to flutter for a few moments before dropping heavily to her side.

  I moved closer, fearing she might collapse. She looked so pale.

  ‘Are you certain?’ I asked, my voice laced with concern.

  But she didn’t appear to hear me. Her glazed gaze was focused elsewhere, staring distantly above my right shoulder, and I found myself turning my head awkwardly to look behind me, feeling suddenly self-conscious and vulnerable. As I had expected, there was nothing there – just the unearthly glow of stark white tiles under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

  Then she spoke again and her voice held the strangest of discordant notes, like an instrument that had not been tuned for the longest time. ‘Have you noticed how cold it is? It just seems to drag on and on ... Like the winter will never end ... I’m so tired of this interminable weather. I doubt if I shall ever been warm again...’

  I took a step back. I could only stare. Her words held a portent of doom and I found myself give a small shiver in response.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t find someone to help you, Dr Jacobi? There’s an agent outside waiting for me ... Perhaps she might be able to call a doctor?’

  At my suggestion, she seemed to recover slightly and, once again, directed her melancholic gaze upon me. And just for a fleeting moment – perhaps because of the despair and desolation in her eyes – she reminded me of Finn.

  ‘I haven’t been myself recently...’ She stated, letting the sentence trail off. Then rousing herself, she began again, her voice slightly stronger this time, ‘But no ... I’m fine. It’s just the flu. It’s nothing.’

  I had no idea how to respond. Her despair was like an infection, strong and feverish. I could almost feel its power to contaminate. I stood before Ellen Jacobi, afraid to approach her since I knew that physical comfort would somehow be embarrassing for both of us and particularly unwelcome to her. Yet I was reluctant to just leave her, miserably aware that Sergeant Demy would be getting impatient at my long absence and would soon come in to investigate.

  Then Ellen Jacobi said gruffly, ‘You’d better go if there’s an agent waiting for you outside.’

  But still I persisted, ‘What about you?’

  It was then that the woman standing in front of me said the oddest thing yet, abruptly dropping all pretence. ‘Don’t worry, Saffron. You can escape with an easy conscience. I shan’t do anything stupid. That’s the euphemism, isn’t it? I’ve well and truly been taught my lesson.’

  I had no idea what my father’s colleague was on about. She was speaking in riddles, yet it was as if she expected that I would understand what she meant by her peculiar words.

  And at that point I’d decided I’d had enough. I was leaving.

  I turned towards the door without another word and walked away, leaving Ellen Jacobi still standing in the middle of the ladies’ lavatory, staring at my back as I retreated from her. I felt like a deserter. It seemed both discourteous and cruel somehow to just leave her there in my desperation to hurry away from her distress, so I waited until I reached the furthest sink before quickening my pace. And as the door swung closed behind me, I refused to look back.

  I was afraid of what I might see – a solitary woman standing motionless, abandoned, in an empty room.

  FORTUNES WON AND LOST

  CHAPTER NINE

  My spirits were low as I departed from Interpol’s headquarters, waving away the necessity of a driver to take me to the train station. Instead, I wandered listlessly into the car park, blindly hoping that Gabriel would be there to collect me.

  And he was.

  Gabriel took one look at my pale, tense face and immediately pulled me towards him, enfolding me in a comforting hug. I allowed him to manoeuvre me like a puppet, wanting someone else to make the decisions for the time being, relieving me of that responsibility. I felt emotionally drained, as if nothing mattered any more. I leant on him for support, absorbing some of his strength, feeling his solidity reassuring.

  ‘You did well, ma mignonne.’ There was admiration in his tone. ‘It was not an easy interview for you.’

  I looked at Gabriel quizzically until it dawned on me that his exceptional hearing had allowed him to listen in upon my interrogation. A part of my mind registered that I should be affronted that Gabriel had been eavesdropping on my conversations. But I was glad to have him concerned on my behalf – concerned enough to be there as I moved through that awful day. I felt much like a sleepwalker, being shifted and turned and guided this way and that. But feeling numb.

  A cloud passed overhead with the threat of rain, obscuring the wan sunlight and throwing the car park into chill shadow. Gabriel put his arm around my shoulders and guided me to the waiting car. I slid into the warmth of its interior while Gabriel seated himself with all the careless grace of a cat; lightly, with an air of suspended motion that indicated his readiness to act – to move quickly – if circumstances demanded.

  I became more aware of Gabriel then, more than I had ever been before, perhaps because of my dependency on him. I observed him like some exotic and rare species of animal. I was thinking of the half-glimpsed dangerous, passionate streak that lay beneath his so urbane, so groomed and fastidious appearance and his cool manners. No one knew where he came from except that his father was obviously one of the Fallen and that he had met St. John in the brotherhood of the Knights Templar. I doubted that any of his numerous girlfriends knew that he was not wholly human but Nephilim.

  He was a great mystery.

  He waved a hand in the direction of an assortment of alcoholic beverages in cut crystal decanters, a chilled bottle of champagne and a thermos of strong, hot coffee that were in an enclosed burled walnut compartment in front of the rear passenger seat. His gesture was an indolent one, but affectedly so. He might have worn the mantle of the idle French gentleman, but I had seen with my own eyes that he exhibited an underlying ruthlessness and would not be afraid to show it if the situation warranted action. I found it curious, though, that he affected a pose of sorts.

  I gratefully accepted the thermos of hot coffee, pouring out a demitasse. I would have preferred a café au lait or flat white but was appreciative of the caffeine rush which was brutally reviving. As I sipped from the fine porcelain cup, I covertly studied Gabriel from beneath my lashes. The more I studied him, the more he resembled a marble statue or chess piece – undoubtedly, the ivory king. Polished and hard, with a certain implacable integrity, an uncompromising dignity. And too damned handsome for his own good. But my scrutiny did not go unnoticed and did not seem to amuse him. He arched one perfectly curved eyebrow at me, imperious as any emperor.

  I was quite impressed. He did it much better than my former Headmaster. He sat, regarding me thoughtfully. I suffered the strange scrutiny of his glittering, hypnotic, mercury coloured eyes, repressing the instinctive urge to fidget tellingly beneath his compelling gaze. Yet I found myself being the first to break eye contact, finding Gabriel’s interrogatory methods far more successful than Jacques Renauld’s. Under the Nephilim’s seductive silver-grey stare, I felt myself weakening, wishing to confess to my many sins – even those I hadn’t committed yet.

  Gabriel, however, seemed unaware of my predicament as he reclined against the plush leather seat; his long, lean fingers casually drumming a soporific rhythm on the leather and burled walnut fold-down armrest that separated us. He was silent a long minute, and I began to feel uncomfortably warm in my borrowed finery. He was staring out the window of the chauffeur-driven car, but I felt quite certain he was not really paying attention to the passing scenery outside.

  Gabriel seemed comfortable with the silence, but I wasn’t. It reminded me of the counselling sessions at hospital, when the specialists wanted me to talk abou
t my “problems” and admit to having an eating disorder. I hated the silence then, and I hated it now.

  When he finally spoke, he kept his face turned towards the glass so that all I could see was his pale reflection mirrored there.

  ‘While you did well today with Jacques Renauld,’ he began, ‘do not think that you are out of danger.’

  My stomach began to churn uncomfortably. Whatever Gabriel was going to say, I was pretty certain I didn’t want to hear it.

  ‘I am well aware that you were the one responsible for suggesting that you and your twin swap identities. No doubt it was a ruse often employed in the past to fool others.’ At last, he turned to face me. His cool expression did not waver as he made reference to Sage’s venture into Conservation to view the Seed. ‘But while even your parents may be easily deceived by your simple subterfuge, do not underestimate the Nephilim, or the Grigori.’

  I sat, still as a frightened rabbit, unable to voice a word.

  ‘It would be best for both of you to remember the roles you are to play in the days to come. Put aside such childish practices.’ Gabriel spoke slowly, as someone might to a backward child. ‘And it would be a good idea for you, in particular, to remember St. John’s warning. Forget about Satis House. And forget about the young man. He will only lead you into trouble.’

  I swallowed thickly.

  This was far worse than I could have imagined. Gabriel remained silent, giving me the time to work it out for myself. When I did finally, it was shocking and horrible. The Anakim seemed to know everything. Everything about me. And about my recent movements.

  I had no reply, and he didn’t expect one.

  He made a brief gesture of dismissal.

  ‘Bah,’ Gabriel changed the subject, as if he had been discussing nothing more important than the weather, ‘As it is your last night in Paris, perhaps we should visit the winter markets and ice rink. That is, if you are not too tired. Every winter from December to the end of the season, there is an ice rink set up in front of the Hôtel de Ville. You can hire skates and take to the ice, surrounded by the beautiful buildings next to the Seine. It is a most romantic setting...’

  Gabriel’s quicksilver moods matched the colour of his eyes – one moment he could be charming and reassuring; the next, threatening and ruthless. Again I wondered exactly who this man truly was. I felt unexpectedly warm in the confines of the car.

  Yet his next words were a sluice of iced water.

  ‘If you are interested, I shall invite Vianne and her little niece, Adele, to join us.’

  Feeling unnerved and out of sorts, I stared at Gabriel through cold, hazel coloured eyes, remembering glimpsing his stunning girlfriend at the Akitu festival.

  Finally, I replied somewhat waspishly, ‘That would be quite nice, I’m sure.’

  Gabriel had the temerity to look amused and I hated the idea that he might think I was jealous. Of course he had a girlfriend whose abundant charms made most men drool! And he was cautioning me against furthering an interest in Finn! I wanted to kick myself. I felt trapped between my preoccupations with two very different Nephilim. I only had to look at him to recognise that Gabriel Chevalier was an adventure unto himself. Far too dangerous for me to handle – although that was what he was cautioning me against with Finn. I was simply intrigued by him; that was all. Intrigued by them both. Or, at least, that’s what I told myself.

  ‘Tiens! Are you quite all right? You look slightly flushed, Saffron. Are you too hot?’

  I felt a spasm of irritation. I did not blush. I prided myself on not blushing, unlike my twin, Sage, who blushed at any little thing. I despised females who giggled and flirted and acted coy in the presence of hot guys. Now I felt like throttling Gabriel. He was just trying to get a rise out of me.

  ‘I am fine, Gabriel,’ I said in my most frigid tone, ‘In fact, I’m quite looking forward to this evening, as it so happens.’

  He gave one of his indifferent shrugs but his expression turned mischievous. ‘Bien sûr. I also am looking forward to this evening.’

  For some unaccountable reason, I found this less than comforting.

  The rest of the trip back to Paris was uneventful. I must have dozed briefly in the back of the limousine, lulled to sleep by its warmth and soothing motion, for when I awoke I found that we were already approaching the outskirts of Paris and the daylight had waned, giving way to dusk. Twilight came early during the mid-winter period and though it was barely late afternoon the streetlights of Paris were already turned on, exposing the City of Love’s ethereal beauty, its well-lit landmarks guiding our path back to the Golden Triangle.

  Glancing over at Gabriel as he replied to emails and seemed to be checking the stock markets on his laptop, his face hidden in half-shadow, I hoped I hadn’t snored aloud in my sleep. Painfully, I hauled myself into a sitting position from where I was slumped awkwardly against the doorframe of the car. Every part of me ached, especially the back of my neck.

  ‘So you’re finally awake,’ said a dry voice, ‘You must have been tired.’

  I turned slowly with a slight wince, aligning myself to look fully at Gabriel who informed me that he had already called Vianne and she and her niece would be meeting us at the markets that lined the Seine as her design studio was within walking distance. I had just enough time to shower and change into casual clothes before then.

  Even if I was unhappy with the arrangements, it was too late now to change them. It would have appeared surly and rude to refuse Gabriel’s kind offer to make my last night in Paris memorable. Perhaps he knew that while I had begged my parents to extend my time here so that I could visit the art galleries and museums they had refused, fearing that Interpol would call me in for further questioning if I remained in Paris longer.

  We traced the route to the Hôtel de Ville, passing beside the Obelisk of Luxor at the Place de la Concorde, the Jardin des Tuileries that bordered the Seine and the Musée du Louvre with its imposing façade lovingly draped in the silvery tones of twilight. Its enormous horseshoe facade extended across the plaza’s expanse enclosing the glass pyramid designed by I. M. Pei in the centre of the Renaissance courtyard. The landmarks of Paris reflected the pools of light from the illuminated fountains and spotlights that encircled them. I loved the unity of the ancient and modern together – it was invigoratingly postmodern. I now wished I had brought my camera with me but it was too late to lament what I had not thought of earlier. After all, this trip wasn’t meant to be a vacation.

  All too soon we were at our destination. Gabriel weaved through the teeming crowds with me in tow, now and again pausing to usher me along, almost as if I were an afterthought. I practically had to run to keep up with his long, graceful stride. But when I caught my first glimpse of Vianne in the distance, I could understand why. The crowds seemed to part before her like she was the queen bee and everyone else merely drones, revealing her angelic countenance under the golden glow of the streetlamps. She was dressed immaculately as one would expect from a fashion designer; cream coloured leather pants stretched lovingly over long legs and taut buttocks teamed with a fur-edged cashmere cardigan in the palest shade of champagne which set off her curly, dark locks and flawless olive complexion. In comparison, I looked decidedly underdressed and dull in my jeans and dark overcoat. Among Vianne’s understated elegance, I felt out of place and suddenly very young.

  Gabriel moved to greet Vianne and I deliberately hung back, not wishing to intrude on the intimacy of their moment or view a public display of affection between this golden pair. After a suitable length of time in which I felt that they could have shared more than simply a passionate embrace, I attempted to break the ice by thrusting an outstretched hand at Vianne who disdainfully looked down upon it as if I were offering her a cold, dead fish.

  I dropped it limply back to my side.

  Vianne’s little niece, Adele – a picture in ballerina pink with features to match her aunt – moved in closer to Gabriel’s side, looking at me enquiringly. I smiled
in an overture of friendship but she merely held herself close against Gabriel, ignoring his admonition to greet me.

  I waved it aside. ‘Don’t worry. I was shy myself as a child.’

  Gabriel coughed, revealing his scepticism. I think he was trying – though not too hard – to cover a laugh.

  But I knew I had become invisible to Vianne as she seemed to stare right through me. She was delighted to see Gabriel but didn’t seem in the least interested in getting to know me.

  Bewildered by this cool distance, I made the mistake of trying to bridge it. Speaking in broken French, I asked Vianne how she enjoyed her recent trip to London. She answered apathetically and I got the feeling that she’d rather be talking to someone else, even an absolute stranger on the street, than me.

  I couldn’t understand what Gabriel saw in her; apart from her rather obvious, abundant charms. Nor could I fathom why Sage had found Vianne delightful when they’d first met in Paris last year.

  My confusion was compounded when Vianne leant across to Gabriel who was now standing next to me and asked, ‘Et ta petite copine, comment va son français?’

  Her words were stated loudly and held a patronising edge and my French was not so good as to understand what she had just said. She made no attempt to include me in the conversation at all. I looked to Gabriel for clarification and saw an irritated frown upon his normally good-natured, open features, though he didn’t bother to reply.

  But it was Vianne’s little niece who took pity on me.

  Whispering softly, ‘She say, ‘ow iz your little girlfriend’s French coming along?’, Adele did not appear awkward or embarrassed by her aunt’s open rudeness.

  Unlike me.

  I had struggled to begin a conversation with Vianne in what little French I knew or could remember in an effort to be friendly and polite. She had even answered me in turn. Yet she was now mocking my efforts. And, even worse, she was taunting me by calling me Gabriel’s “little girlfriend” implying that I was some sort of lovesick puppy following him around. Of course, she may not have understood the necessity for Gabriel’s protectiveness of me but there was no need to be downright rude or surly.