Ravenfall

by Narrelle M. Harris

‘I’m not sure you do. There’s a price to pay for being what I am.’

  ‘And I see you pay it every day.’ Gabriel brushed his nose against James’s temple. ‘Did you really think I hadn’t considered this at all?’

  ‘I assumed you had. I was prepared to talk you out of it, but you never asked.’

  ‘I wouldn’t become a vampire on a whim, but it was always an option. An inevitability, I should say. Something for my later years, or if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness.’

  James frowned.

  ‘My 50th birthday seemed a good time to raise the issue, assuming you can put up with me for that long. I figured becoming a vampire then would compensate for some of the restrictions of age. At least then, you can be my young and pretty toyboy, yeah?’

  James snorted an unexpected laugh at that. ‘And you can be my sugar daddy.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. I thought waiting till my 50s would allow me sufficient human experience to combine nicely with supernatural capacities. By then you’d have a wealth of vampiring experience to be my mentor.’

  ‘You’ve thought about this a lot more than I’d realised.’

  Gabriel’s voice grew warm at James’s shocked tone. ‘Did you imagine I’d allow myself to die of old age and leave you to face virtual immortality alone?’

  ‘I… did.’

  ‘Idiot,’ said Gabriel fondly.

  James was a picture of confused emotion. Horrified and pleased, warmed and frightened.

  ‘I know you’d never do it without consent, Jamie. I trust you absolutely on that, as with everything else. The answer is yes. If ever there is no hope for my survival, except for you to turn me, then do it. I’m not prepared to risk it now, on the off-chance it’ll work. I don’t want to die artistically young. When I’m 50, assuming you still want me around, we’ll re-evaluate.’

  James grinned. ‘All right. Is it a bit shite of me to be relieved that you’ll consider it when you hit the big 5-0?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Does this mean you think you’ll want me around in 20-odd years?’

  ‘I’ll want you around in 400.’ James shook his head. ‘Christ, what a notion. Oh well, if you can stick it, I can.’

  ‘We can make it a competition.’

  ‘Anything you can do, I can do better, eh?’

  ‘Think you can love me for better and for longer than I can love you?’

  ‘I’ll lay a tenner on it.’

  ‘You are daft. You’re on.’

  They leaned against each other, watching the wheeling of the night stars and flow of the Thames, and hung on to the hope that they’d both live long enough to laugh about that stupid bet later.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Helene Dupre sat at the table at Ivy Gardens. She raised her gaze from a new watercolour Gabriel had left by his chair – a view of London by night from an impossibly high angle, the darkness made rich and lively with deep colour and glowing light. A departure for him – he’d always drawn from life before, though this had his characteristic sense of warmth, of hope emerging from the shadows.

  Instead, she watched the two men move around each other in the small kitchen. She couldn’t put her finger on their mood. An odd tension lay underneath that beautiful, spontaneous choreography borne of familiarity and ease.

  Gabriel reached for cups as James fetched tea bags, which he dropped into the cups a moment after they clinked down on the bench. James ducked under Gabriel’s arm to get a long serving plate while Gabriel reached over his head to get to the cupboard for biscuits. James patted Gabriel’s hip as the taller man arranged chocolate digestives on the rectangular china plate, letting his fingers linger and trail away as he went to the fridge for milk. Gabriel smiled at the affectionate touch, the tightness around his mouth and eyes easing. When James returned with the milk, Gabriel’s fingers brushed over James’s as he took the squat, half-empty pint bottle from him.

  ‘I see the two of you have graduated from the flirting portion of your programme.’

  James looked sheepish, but Gabriel threw a tea towel at her head. Helene snatched it out of the air. ‘Cheeky, coco,’ she admonished him fondly. ‘You wouldn’t throw things at me if I’d been able to bring myself to give your bottom a smack from time to time when you were naughty. Maybe your doctor can see to that for you now.’

  Gabriel promptly choked on his sip of tea.

  James regarded her with mock-severity. ‘Isn’t coco French for rooster?’

  ‘Oh, he was quite the little cockerel back then, and I was a regular mother hen about him. Michael used to tell me off for spoiling him.’

  ‘And you didn’t listen?’ James put her tea and the plate of biscuits on the table. ‘Not even to the man paying your wage?’

  ‘Michael never paid my wage,’ she replied, puzzled, as the two men took their seats.

  ‘He told us that he did.’ Gabriel poked at the biscuits to tidy up the pattern, and Helene snatched one up, gleefully putting the pattern in disarray.

  ‘I suppose he must have, if he says so,’ said Helene. She bit thoughtfully into a digestive and had a sip of tea. ‘It explains a few things.’

  ‘Such as?’ Gabriel broke his morsel in half, put a piece in his mouth upside down and began to suck off the chocolate coating. Helene softened as she watched him, as though he were still a little boy indulging an old habit.

  ‘Such as why I was able to get away with so much cheek towards your father. He threatened to sack me twice a week but never did. I thought he liked me. Oh well.’ She waved her hand imperiously. ‘I didn’t like him liking me, so it’s a relief that he didn’t. The man is a brute and a bore. It must make him such charming company in that ridiculous House of Lords.’

  ‘They’re all pompous asses there,’ said Gabriel darkly. ‘It’s possible the bastard is popular.’

  ‘We can always hope for a hunting accident. He might get mistaken for a weasel, if we’re lucky.’

  ‘More likely a Common Snipe,’ muttered Gabriel. He noticed James looking at him with a furrowed brow. ‘What?’

  ‘Your father is a Lord?’

  ‘My father is a twat.’

  ‘He could be a twat and a lord. Wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘He’s the Earl of Newstable,’ grumbled Gabriel, ‘Among other things.’

  ‘Is that a hereditary title? Does that mean I’m dating a viscount?’ James grinned.

  ‘Michael’s the eldest, he gets to be called viscount. I’m just Gabriel.’ He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Second sons may be called Lord Whatsit, if all the spare titles have been taken up,’ said Helene helpfully.

  James hooted merrily. ‘I’m shacked up with a Lord. I feel like a Regency romance heroine. I’d better get a bonnet.’

  ‘It’s only a courtesy title, and those empire style dresses won’t suit you at all, never mind those awful bonnets,’ complained Gabriel, but he was laughing. ‘There’s no need to get all excited. Not like me. I’m shagging a Combat Medical Technician, from a regiment and everything. That’s proper Regency sexy, eh, Mr Sharpe, you wally.’

  ‘That’s Corporal Doctor Wally, Sir, to you, your lordship.’

  ‘Get yourself one of those sexy red coats and the tight white trousers and the riding boots, and honestly, you can call me whatever you like.’

  ‘Stop it,’ said Helene, flicking at them with the tea towel. ‘The foreplay is making me envious. All I have to go home to is a box set of murder mysteries.’ But she was inordinately pleased with them.

  James brushed the tip of his nose against Gabriel’s temple, kissed the spot, then made a great show of wrapping both hands around his cup of tea. Gabriel, who could not shut off his delighted grin, rubbed his bare foot against James’s calf under the table. They were definitely both more relaxed.

  ‘It’s good to see you both so happy,’ said Helene. ‘And look, more joy for the adoring couple. Income! A cheque for you, Corporal Doctor
Sharpe, Sir, and I’ve transferred a good sum to your bank account, Gabe, my dear, so…’

  ‘Hey, My Vagabond Lord,’ James brandished the cheque, ‘I have here a metaphorical purse of gold from your personal Medici. We get to keep the roof over our heads another month because the good people of London recognise artistic merit when they see it. As they bloody ought.’

  ‘You’re completely bonkers,’ Gabriel told him, and kissed him.

  Helene took the opportunity to use the tea towel to polish a mark she’d seen on the table. The kiss was short and sweet, but she kept on polishing, distracted.

  ‘You can look up, Helene,’ said Gabriel, tapping her on the elbow. ‘We’re all done with the foreplay for now.’

  Helene sniffed at the table and scrubbed at the discolouration. ‘I beg you not to tell me why, boys, but you seem to have spilled a combination of crushed garlic, silver nitrate and blood on your table.’ Finally satisfied with the clean-up, she flung the tea towel over their heads, where it failed to reach the sink and flopped onto the floor.

  ‘Oh, that was–’ Gabriel began.

  ‘I did beg you not to explain, though if I have to include a card on your future pieces to warn that they contain your actual blood, I should point out that Vincent Castiglia already has the paintings- created-in-my-own blood corner of the market. Which reminds me,’ she seized her tea before ploughing into the diversionary story. ‘A strange man was hanging around the gallery the other day. He wanted to know if your portraits were meant to be vampires.’ She rolled her eyes at that. ‘I told him that interpretation was a matter of individual perception.’

  She looked at the two of them, suddenly so still and tense again, staring at her. ‘Yes,’ she continued, perplexed, ‘I thought it an odd interpretation, too. Vampires are usually much more cold and cruel in imagery. Sensuous as well, aren’t they? Still, I suppose, like everyone else, he sees a lot of what he himself brings to it and he brought a lot of “serial killer vibe” with him.’

  ‘He didn’t hurt you?’ Gabriel lurched towards her, hand outstretched for her wrist.

  She flinched from his sudden movement before recovering from the surprise and patting his hand. ‘No, no, don’t fuss. He was just very strange and off-putting. I didn’t trust him. When I asked him if he wanted to buy a piece, he said he didn’t collect art, only artists. Then he sniggered like a creep and went away.’

  Gabriel grasped her hand. ‘If you see him again, get away as fast as you can. Don’t be polite, don’t let him touch you, and call the police right away. Ask for Tavisa Datta.’ He squeezed her hand hard, and she winced. He released her abruptly, muttering apologies.

  ‘Gabriel, I’m fine.’ She rubbed at her fingers, alarmed at his distress. ‘Who the hell is he?’

  Gabriel shook his head, distraught.

  ‘He’s a dangerous nutjob,’ said James as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over Gabriel’s knuckles. ‘He’s likely involved with the murders the Met’s been investigating.’

  ‘Really?’ Helene’s alarm shot up another few notches.

  ‘If you see him or anyone else suspicious, lock the gallery up, or get away and call for help at once. I’ll give you Datta’s number.’

  ‘Of course.’ Helene bit her lower lip. ‘Does Michael know? Is he looking after you?’

  ‘He knows,’ said Gabriel.

  ‘Well, that’s something.’ She put the cup down with a nervous clatter. It hit the side of the biscuit plate, tilting the cup and spilling tea over her sleeve, bodice and lap.

  ‘Oh, for…’ She stood up and held a hand out for a tea towel. Gabriel scooped the one up from the floor and unthinking, she dabbed at herself with it, adding smears of silver nitrate, dried blood and the smell of garlic to the damage.

  She started to swear then. James fetched a dishcloth but she waved it away. ‘No, no, take it away. I’ll go home and change. I’ve done my business here anyway.’

  ‘If you didn’t drive, take a taxi. Don’t walk,’ said Gabriel grimly. ‘You seriously think I would get on public transport like this?

  Don’t be ridiculous. The van is outside, I’ll go home and–’

  ‘And lock up the gallery and go for a holiday to Calais until we give you the all clear that it’s safe.’

  ‘I detest Calais, as you well know, and I have a business to run.’

  ‘Helene, do as he asks.’ James was much calmer than Gabriel, his voice deep and crisp and clear, a voice of command neither Gabriel nor Helene had heard before. ‘The man you’re talking about is dangerous. He’s killed people already. You need to be alert and on the lookout for him or people like him.’

  ‘You’re frightening me, James.’

  ‘Good. You should be frightened. Gabriel, get her coat. Helene, I’ll travel back to the gallery with you–’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she snapped. ‘If he’s dangerous and he’s been threatening Gabriel, then you stay here and look after our boy. I can take care of myself.’ She pulled an atomiser of perfume out of her handbag. ‘It’s not mace,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘But a face full of this was handy some nights walking home when I was at art school. I’ll have my keys in the other hand. I can do damage if I need to.’ She grin-glared a little savagely at James’s surprise. ‘Try being a woman walking at night in any city on this Earth, Doctor Sharpe, and you’ll have a grab-bag of self-defence options in your handbag, too.’

  He cocked his head in a wry, you-learn-something-every-day fashion. ‘Well, take this, too.’ From the kitchen, he fetched a slender silver knife, which he held gingerly by the enamel handle. The blade of it was discoloured and smelled of garlic. ‘Use it if you have to. I’m not sure how much good it’ll do, but a stab to the gut, the thigh or the eyeball will give you a head start.’

  ‘The eyeball.’

  ‘Maybe a bit hard to manage. Just aim for a big target, stab and run.’

  ‘You’ve already scared me, James.’

  ‘Then be more scared. Be more scared and more careful than you’ve ever been.’

  Gabriel returned with her coat. He helped her into it, then the two of them insisted on walking to the van with her. The street was otherwise empty, but Helene couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched. Damn these two for spooking her so badly. She put her bag on the passenger seat. She decided to leave the atomiser and the knife on the upholstery, in easy reach.

  ‘Get out of the city, at least,’ Gabriel said. ‘I couldn’t bear for you to be hurt, too.’

  Helene took Gabriel’s face in her hands. She’d known him since he was an unsettled, sad, lonely boy of seven, flinching at shadows, at sudden movements and at his father. Half an hour ago he had been a man happy and so obviously in love. She wanted that happy man back, and for that little boy inside to remember that he wasn’t lost and hurt and alone any more.

  ‘I’ll change first and go to Cornwall. I’ll scout for talent around there, as I’ve been planning. I’ll be careful and I’ll text you to let you know I’m safe. And you’ll text me back?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good boy. Mon coco.’ She stood on her tiptoes and guided him down so she could kiss his forehead. ‘Be careful, cheri, and let your James take care of you, too.’

  ‘I will. And he does.’

  ‘Good. I’ll text you soon. An hour or two at the most. I’ll need to pack.’

  ‘Keep the doors locked until you’re ready to go.’

  ‘I will, I will.’ She hugged him, then James, and got into the car and drove off.

  Gabriel didn’t dare call Michael. They hardly spoke to Michael at all these days, at his insistence as well as their own, and even then, never in person. They couldn’t ever be sure nobody else was listening inside Michael’s head.

  Gabriel called Anthea Webb and told her that Niall Frazer had been hanging around Helene at the gallery. He demanded to know what she meant to do about it.

  ‘What I can, Mr Dare, as a
lways. I’ll despatch an agent to keep an eye on her until she’s left for, Cornwall, was it?’

  ‘Yes. And for pity’s sake, can you tell me why he’d even be at her gallery? She’s got nothing to do with any of this.’

  ‘She has everything to do with it, Mr Dare, if your reaction is anything to go by. Frazer is looking for leverage. Your brother is resisting him with the greatest fortitude and courage. He talks about you a lot, you know.’

  ‘He does?’

  ‘I believe he finds it comforting, and it reminds him of his humanity.’

  Gabriel tried to be flippant. ‘He won’t thank you for telling me.’

  ‘He won’t, Mr Dare, but at this stage I would welcome him being sufficiently himself to take me to task over it. The truth is, he’s struggling to retain his sense of self, these last two days. Talking about you when you were small seems to help him to do that.’ She paused, and when she spoke next her voice held the faintest tremor. ‘Believe what you will, Mr Dare, but your brother loves you very much, and regrets his inability to express this to you in an acceptable manner.’

  James, who could hear every word as clear as a bell, carefully removed the phone from Gabriel’s ever-tightening grip.

  ‘We all hope there’ll be time for a proper family epiphany, Miss Webb,’ he said. ‘But we have to live long enough to have one. Frazer’s looking for leverage. How might he use Helene? And to what end?’

  ‘That is the question,’ replied Miss Webb, returning instantly to her usual brisk efficiency tinged with wry humour. ‘While Michael Dare respects her immensely, she’s more use as leverage against Gabriel Dare. My considered opinion is that Frazer might try to capture rather than kill her as a method of persuading your Mr Dare to a particular course of action.’

  ‘What would be the point of that?’

  ‘To force my Mr Dare into a course of action.’

  ‘That action being…?’ But he realised the answer as he spoke. ‘To give himself up to the change. To surrender to the fox.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Shite. We’d better take good bloody care of Helene Dupre then, hadn’t we?’