by Page Morgan
Rory noticed Gabby standing behind them and straightened his back. He moved away from the microscope.
“Feeling refreshed, Miss Waverly?” Hugh asked easily.
“Not exactly,” she said, unable to ignore the way Rory was looking over her head instead of at her.
“Well, you’ve joined us just in time,” Hugh replied.
“You’ve finished?” she asked. Hugh gestured for her to step forward and look through the eyepiece.
She approached the microscope. The knobs and dials were far too complex for her to instinctively know how to use them.
“Not quite. However, we have successfully magnetized any atypical blood cells from the sample,” Hugh said, guiding Gabby’s fingers to a knob. “Adjust the focus for your eyesight. There. Now, we studied the atypical cells and determined that they vary in structure and size. Using a lodestone composite, we were then able to divide the cells a second time. The demon cells attached themselves to the lodestone composite, while the other cells remained immobile.”
Gabby straightened her back and faced Hugh. “Other cells? You mean the angel blood? It didn’t work? Lodestone doesn’t magnetize it?”
Hugh cocked his head and again gestured for her to look through the microscope. Gabby did, but her stomach was already sinking, her hope growing cold. The focus came clear.
The magnification rendered the drop of blood in a Petri dish into hundreds of red, round pillows, all of which had a single indentation in the center. They bounced off one another, moving and shifting like they’d been caught in a current of water.
“These are human erythrocytes. Red blood cells,” Hugh explained before sliding out the Petri dish and replacing it with another. She tapped the focusing knob once more, and another sample of round red pillows came into focus. These did not have the indented centers; they had a silver dot in the center, like a pearl in the mouth of an oyster.
“And these?” she asked.
“That angels have cell structure amazes me,” Hugh said in answer. “That angels have the capacity to bleed amazes me further.”
So this was what angel blood looked like. They didn’t move about as the human cells had. The cells clung together in a single glob. Gabby wished to reach in and poke at the pillows of cells.
Something did enter the magnification field just then: Hugh inserted a long, thin needle, driving apart the glob of cells.
“Watch,” he instructed, then removed the needle. The cells that had been driven apart slapped back together instantly.
He forced the cells apart again with the thin needle, and then pulled the needle back once more. The cells rushed back into the glob, crashing into one another and staying put, as though they were huddling together against yet another invasion of the needle.
“Lodestone doesn’t attract angel cells,” Hugh said. “However …”
Gabby’s hand fell from the focus knob. “Angel cells attract to other angel cells.”
“Like draws to like,” Hugh said with a nod.
Gabby had nearly forgotten Rory’s presence behind them until he spoke. “Can ye make a net filled wi’ angel blood, then?”
“My assistants are already at the task,” Hugh answered.
It had worked. It had actually worked! They would have a weapon against Axia. They would have a way to stop her.
Gabby hopped in excitement, throwing her arms around Rory’s neck. He caught her and returned the embrace, her feet dangling in the air as he kicked up his feet and turned in a jig, swinging Gabby as she laughed.
“I go out for a walk, leaving the pair of you snoring, and I come back to revelry.”
Nolan stood in the doorway to the laboratory, his frock coat unbuttoned, his bowler hat in his hand.
Rory ceased his jig immediately and set Gabby back down.
“What have I missed?” Nolan asked.
“Only that Miss Waverly’s idea for a new diffuser net will be a reality within, oh”—Hugh took out his pocket watch—“twelve hours or so.”
Nolan shrugged out of his coat. “That’s a relief. I’m glad I won’t spend the rest of my life in an Alliance prison for nothing.”
The reminder of Nolan’s actions and the gravity of what his punishment for defying Directorate orders might be removed the smile from Gabby’s lips.
“Once the Directorate sees what this net can do, they’ll forgive you,” she said.
A wistful grin touched the corner of Nolan’s lips. He said nothing, though she could tell he thought her statement naïve.
“You heard Hugh,” she said. “It will be finished in twelve hours. We can return to Paris with it—”
“You are not going to Paris,” Nolan said, a finger pointed in her direction.
As if being interrupted weren’t enough to send a jolt of irritation through Gabby, Nolan had told her what to do. Her pulse jumped with a hot surge of defiance.
“I will do as I please, Nolan Quinn.”
He squared his shoulders and placed his hands on his hips, battle ready.
“A month’s time is about as significant as an hour for the Dispossessed. Do you really think they’ll have moved on from what you did to Lennier?”
Gabby clenched her fists, remembering her first encounter with this arrogant Scot. The way he’d challenged her had driven her mad. Despite the fact that she’d fallen in love with him, it seemed little else had changed.
“The gargoyles must know Axia’s return is imminent. Given the choice between two targets, I’m quite certain the gargoyles would focus on her and not me,” she said.
“You’re underestimating their world and their rules, Gabby. If you’re going to be Alliance, you have to start thinking like a hunter and not like prey.”
“I am thinking like a hunter, and my prey is Axia. You want me to be afraid. Tell me something—are good Alliance hunters afraid?”
“There’s a difference between bravery and stupidity.”
Gabby widened her eyes at the slap of insult just as Carver, in his human form, entered the laboratory. He looked pointedly at Hugh.
“I need to speak to you,” Carver said. The doyen made a short bow and followed his gargoyle into the study without question.
“Gabby’s got a point,” Rory said, continuing the argument once Carver and Hugh had exited the room. “And she isnae as defenseless as ye might think. She’s got decent skill wi’ a sword.”
The compliment buoyed Gabby, if only for a moment. Nolan turned toward his cousin and crossed his arms over his chest. He took his time assessing Rory. He lifted his chin and tipped his head just so.
“You’ve been training her.”
“Aye,” Rory answered, that one syllable drenched with challenge.
Nolan took a step forward. “Without my consent.”
I wanted to be the one to train you. Gabby recalled what Nolan had said to her after he’d figured out that Chelle had also given her a few lessons in demon hunting. He hadn’t been upset with Chelle, but right now he looked ready to draw the sword resting in his waist scabbard.
“She can fight,” Rory said, glossing over Nolan’s last statement. No, he hadn’t asked for his consent. That word refueled Gabby’s ire, and fast.
“And now, after a month of unauthorized training and her so-called decent skill, you’re all for tossing her to the gargoyles. What entertainment. We’ll just go along and see how well she does. I’ll pack the picnic,” Nolan bit off.
He’d closed in on Rory and now stood so close he had to look up in order to meet his cousin’s stony glare.
“Are you quite finished insulting me?” Gabby asked. “I don’t need your consent to train, Nolan, and while I’m certainly not under any illusion that I’m skilled enough to fight a gargoyle, I’d appreciate a little more faith.”
Nolan looked over his shoulder, then lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
Safe as a porcelain bowl wrapped in cotton linen and boxed up. It would be a li
e to say she didn’t want to feel safe, or that Nolan’s worry didn’t leave her feeling warm and even a bit precious. But it also left her feeling trapped, like an ornamental bird kept in a cage, its wings clipped.
“I can’t stay in London,” she said. “I should be in Paris. I should be with Ingrid and Grayson and Mama, and—” She stopped short of saying and you. Hugh and Carver had reentered the laboratory, and besides, Nolan was making her so furious she couldn’t bring herself to pay him a compliment.
Nolan ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp. “I’m leaving.”
Hugh held up his hand. “If I might take a moment to—”
Nolan brushed past him, through the laboratory door and out of sight.
Hugh cleared his throat before turning toward Gabby and Rory instead. “Carver’s been out this evening. He brings a rumor that something is happening in Paris.”
Gabby tried to listen to Hugh, but her ears kept hold of the sound of Nolan’s steps fading through the study.
“In Paris?” she repeated, distracted by Nolan’s retreat into the hallway.
“What is it?” Rory asked.
“One of the Dispossessed here received a telegram,” Hugh began to explain, but Gabby got too bungled up in the comedic image of a gargoyle tapping at a telegraph with its talons and then the sound of the front door slamming to hear what Hugh said next.
He’ll come back, she told herself. He was just going out for another walk.
It was only then that she realized he might not come back. Was he leaving Hugh’s home—or leaving London altogether?
Without a word, Gabby started for the laboratory door. She’d been walking at first, but in the study she picked up her pace, driven by the sharp fear of losing Nolan again. Perhaps for good. He couldn’t go back to Paris. He was on the run from the Alliance. He could so easily slip away and stay away, and that thought had Gabby all-out running down the corridor toward the foyer. She couldn’t let him go. Gabby reached for the front door, her breath stuck in her lungs, and flung it wide with every intention of shouting Nolan’s name from the front steps for all of Belgrave Square to hear, if necessary.
It wasn’t.
Nolan hadn’t gone farther than the bottom step. By the steaming light of a gas lamppost, Gabby saw two burly men flanking Nolan with menacing closeness. Benjamin and Nadia, of the London Alliance, stood on the sidewalk in front of the steps.
“Miss Waverly,” Benjamin said, his greeting accompanied by an arched brow. It somehow managed to chastise her.
“What is going on?” she asked. Nolan turned and started to climb the few steps toward her. One of the burly men restrained him. Nolan glanced down at the sausage-link fingers clamped around his forearm.
“Release my arm immediately or you’ll be nursing five bloody stumps,” Nolan said, his voice soft yet murderous.
The man let him go and Nolan continued up the steps to Gabby’s side.
“We had a communication from the Paris faction yesterday,” Benjamin said. “Hans suspected Mr. Quinn might have fled to our city with something that doesn’t belong to him. Said if he did come here, he’d start by looking for you, Miss Waverly.”
Her breath came back to her, but only in little gasps. She stayed quiet, uncertain about what she should and should not say. Nolan was in trouble here. Real trouble. However, flicking her eyes up to see his face, she wouldn’t have known it. He wore his arrogant smirk as comfortably as he might an old hat.
“Where is the blood?” Nadia asked, her voice gruff. It went well with the men’s clothing she wore.
“What blood?” Nolan returned. He startled Gabby by taking her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “I’ve only come to London to make amends with my lady love.” He raised Gabby’s hand to his lips. She wasn’t wearing gloves, or one of her veiled hats, allowing Benjamin and Nadia and their two muscled goons to look fully upon her scars. Right then, for the first time, she realized she didn’t care. The scars were insignificant compared to what was at stake. Nolan had risked everything to come here: his name, his safety, his future. He’d followed his instinct and it had led him true. As he lowered her hand from his mouth, she had never admired him more.
“You choose to kiss and make up at the Daicrypta?” Nadia asked. “How romantic.”
“It’s private, at least. And protected,” Nolan replied, his fingers still twined with Gabby’s. He flashed one of his easy, charming smiles. “Just try to get inside. I don’t think you’ll have much success.”
Gabby had left the front door open, but looking back now, she saw Rory and Carver blocking the entrance.
“I’ll ask you one last time for the blood,” Benjamin said.
“And I’ll tell you one last time that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hugh appeared in the doorway, between Carver and Rory, and to Gabby’s surprise, his diminutive stature didn’t make him any less intimidating. Even his false smile appeared ominous.
“So many Alliance on my doorstep.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Why, this is even more enjoyable than carolers at Christmastime.” Hugh pouted. “However, I’m afraid I cannot extend you an invitation inside at the moment.”
Benjamin and Nadia’s men both started up the steps. Nolan released Gabby’s hand and took a step down.
“I doubt you came here solely for this blood you keep insisting I have.” Nolan held up a hand and extended it behind him, motioning for Carver and Rory to halt. They had come forward, ready to meet the two bruisers.
Benjamin shifted his weight, as if bored rather than irritated. “You’re coming with us, Mr. Quinn. Hans wants you back in Paris. Draw your weapon and I assure you, I’ll bypass Paris and take you straight to Rome instead.”
“No,” Gabby said. It slipped out like a plea. She descended to the same step as Nolan and took his arm. “Come back inside. Carver won’t let them in.”
She hadn’t wanted him to leave, and she certainly didn’t want him leaving like this. Not when she knew there was a very real chance—more real than even before—that she wouldn’t see him again.
Nolan pulled her into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his mouth buried in her hair. She felt his breath warm her scalp when he spoke.
“I won’t hide behind a gargoyle.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” she said, even though she knew it might return them to their earlier argument about Paris and vengeful gargoyles.
It didn’t, however. Nolan only nuzzled her closer, dipping his mouth close to her ear and whispering so low that no one else would be able to make out his words.
“The net is more important, Gabby. Have Rory bring it to Paris as soon as it’s finished.” He pressed his lips to the skin just south of her earlobe and gripped her arms. “Stay with Hugh and Carver. I don’t want you in Paris. Do you hear me, lass?”
He pulled back until his morning-glory eyes found hers. He was waiting for a nod. She gave him one because she had heard him. She just didn’t plan to obey.
Nolan tugged her forward, kissing her forehead the same way he had the night in the rectory kitchen before she’d left for London. Only this wasn’t a cold, angry, or obligatory kiss. His hands came up to cup her cheeks, and as he let her go, he looked pained. Perhaps a little scared. He shook off the hand of one of the Alliance men and fell into step behind Benjamin and beside Nadia.
Nolan didn’t look back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Outside, the city had gone quiet. Too quiet, Ingrid thought as she pulled the heavy velvet drape in the medical room aside and peered down rue de Sèvres. There was no traffic, foot or wheeled. No activity at all. The only signs of life along the horizon of rooftops were the plumes of smoke from scattered fires. The smoke blocked out the light of the setting sun and washed a burnt-orange haze over the city.
Chelle was still alive but unconscious, and Grayson had carried her to the medical room so Vander could stitch up the gash on her thigh. Demon
poison, left untreated, would have killed her by now. Apparently, Duster poison was an entirely different beast. That didn’t make it any less frightening or confusing. Chelle was giving off dust, and if Vander had the color right—pale amethyst—it was rattilus dust.
“The Duster had a long, scorpion tail, spiked with teeth like a saw,” Grayson said, hovering over Chelle’s unmoving form on one of the examination tables. He hadn’t let go of her hand or stopped smoothing her short black hair away from her face.
“A rattilus,” Luc confirmed from where he stood sentry at the door. He’d borrowed some of Nolan’s clothes and a pair of boots.
Marco had left a little while before, but only when Ingrid’s mother’s tension had not abated. He’d growled in frustration, unable to trace any of the servants, even Margaret, Mama’s lady’s maid. They hadn’t been harmed. They had simply disappeared from his senses, suggesting they had quit the rectory, leaving Mama alone. Ingrid wouldn’t have believed Margaret could be so cowardly. She supposed desperate times showed a person’s true mettle. Marco had left, saying he would be back after he relieved Lady Brickton’s worry.
Demons couldn’t set foot on hallowed ground, Ingrid knew, and felt better about her mother’s being holed up in the rectory. It was the Dusters that worried her. However, if she had been released from the spell, the others had to have been as well. She hoped.
“So a rattilus Duster cut into Chelle, injected its poison, and, what … created another Duster?” Grayson asked.
No one needed to answer. Chelle wasn’t awake yet, but she was alive. And she was a new Duster.
“Axia is creating more Dusters,” Ingrid said, letting the drape swing back into place. If there were demons out there, she didn’t want them to see the lights and get curious. “She’s building an army, and she’s using Dusters to do it.”
Ingrid didn’t want to contemplate how many humans had been injected with Duster poison during the single hour Axia had compelled her seedlings to ravage Paris. Her throat was still raw from the smoke she’d breathed in at the opera house. Her fingers and hands had regained feeling, but they still tingled. She didn’t remember anything, but she knew she’d thrown a lot of lightning. One of her targets had been Vander. He’d told her not to worry, that he had recovered just fine, but she’d still cried. Still felt like a monster.