Gaslamp Gothic Box Set

by Kat Ross

  “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.

  3

  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 cookin
g. 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.

  “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.”