Gabriel's Fate

by Craig, Emma

  He beckoned to her. “All right. Put your pretty little fingers back on the planchette, and I’ll rephrase the question.”

  She huffed, annoyed, but did as he’d asked. “Very well. But I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.”

  He chuckled, and Sophie wished she could beat him over the head with the planchette. It wouldn’t do any good. For one thing, the blasted thing was too light. For another thing, his head was too thick.

  Gabriel spoke again. “All right, Mr. Flying Hawk, will I find Ivo Hardwick in Los Angeles?”

  The planchette, which had been placed in the center of the board, zipped up to the “No.”

  “Damn,” he said.

  “What about me?” Sophie asked, interested in these proceedings again.

  The planchette vibrated for a moment, made a quick little v-shaped dip, and darted back to the “No.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “At least I won’t be the only one.”

  “Blast.” Sophie felt an irrational sense of ill usage. “It’s all bunkum,” she said to make herself fell better.

  “All right, spirit, I want to ask another question. This one’s personal.”

  Sophie’s eyes thinned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear a personal question issue from Gabriel Caine’s mouth. She didn’t trust him not to involve her in his stupid personal questions.

  “Will Miss Sophie and I ever achieve some kind of mutual peace pact.”

  Without a hint of hesitation, the planchette dashed across the board to the “Yes.”

  “Fiddlesticks,” said Sophie, trying not to reveal how much Gabriel’s question had alarmed her. “It sounds as if we’re going to negotiate a treaty or something. Like the government with the Indians.”

  She was surprised when the planchette quivered once, then stopped, still on the “Yes.”

  “Ha!” Gabriel’s grin was wicked again. “You know, of course, that the government’s the one who’s always broken the treaties. Which one of us do you suppose is the government in this instance?”

  She glared at him. “You.”

  She’d forgotten her fingers still rested on the planchette until it took off across the board and came to rest on the “No.”

  Gabriel looked smug. “There. You see? You’re the one who’s the problem here, not me.” He sounded smug, too.

  Sophie resented it. “This is all folderol,” she declared, rising from her bench seat.

  “Aw, Sophie, don’t be a spoilsport. At least sit with me for a while longer. It’s not often we get to chat alone together.”

  Squinting down at him, Sophie said, “I don’t trust you, Gabriel Caine.”

  He held his hands up, and adopted an expression of pure innocence. Instantly, Sophie’s brain was filled with an image of a small Gabriel—a little boy Gabriel—looking just so in a tent full of people longing to be rescued from their humdrum lives. She felt the little boy’s worry and tension, too, and knew at once how difficult Gabriel’s childhood had been for him. The vision shocked her so much, her legs gave out, and she landed with a plunk on the bench she’d just vacated. “Oh, my.” It came out in a breathy whisper.

  “What’s the matter?” Gabriel leaned over and reached out to touch her.

  She drew away from him as if afraid of contracting a fell disease. He sat back, and Sophie read hurt and confusion in his expression. She could hardly blame him, but she couldn’t’ trust herself. If she allowed him to touch her, she feared she’d succumb entirely, and then she knew not what would happen, but she feared her goal might become diluted. She wouldn’t allow it.

  Nevertheless, she had to come up with some kind of excuse. “I—I felt faint suddenly. It’s nothing. It’s passing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Damn and blast, why must he look so worried on her behalf. If she didn’t watch her emotions with the vigilance of a prison guard, she’d fall in love with him, and then she’d be doomed. She was relatively certain she’d never be able to live through another crushing blow like the one she’d endured when she was young.

  Because she was so unsettled, Sophie silently rattled off the abiding credo by which she’d lived since her sixteenth year. For the most part, and regarding most women, men were hateful and manipulative and only wanted one thing. For the most part, and regarding most women, men were liars and cheats. They used you and thrust you away—or abandoned you—when you needed them most. The majority of men cared for nothing but their own pleasure. Most men, when it came to dealing with most women, were vile, unspeakably awful, vicious, and underhanded snakes in the grass. Sophie wanted nothing to do with men, because she chose the wrong ones. Because she didn’t trust herself not to make another horrible mistake, she wanted nothing to do with any man.

  “And particularly not you,” she said aloud, much to her surprise. She hadn’t meant to speak.

  “And particularly not me, what?”

  Gabriel looked genuinely befuddled. If she were granted the world on a silver platter, Sophie wouldn’t enlighten him, either. She shook her head. “I beg your pardon. I—I felt lightheaded for a minute. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all.” He rose from his own bench and came to kneel before her.

  Desperate for him to keep his distance, Sophie whispered, “Please don’t do that. I’m fine. Really, I am.”

  “You are not.”

  “Oh, please, Gabriel. Leave me alone for a minute. I’ll be fine in a minute.” He put a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. She shut them immediately. She couldn’t take much more of this. “Please, just go away.”

  “I’m not going away. I’m worried about you.”

  She was worried about herself, for that matter, but his closeness wasn’t going to cure her. If anything, it was going to be her ruin.

  “All right. I can tell you don’t want anything to do with me.” He rose from his squatting position and looked down at her.

  Sophie squinted up at him, wondering if the hurt she detected in his voice was genuine, or if it was merely a ploy to weaken her defenses. Her own thoughts were so fuddled, she couldn’t decide. It must have been confusion that made her say, softly, “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  He lifted his eyebrows until they were two incredulous arcs over his brilliant dark eyes. “My, my, perhaps we should use the spirit board more often, Sophie, my sweet. It’s made you turn polite all of a sudden.”

  A spurt of fury was immediately quenched by humor. Sophie could hardly believe it when she burst out laughing. Gabriel grinned and held a hand for her. “Here, let me help you up. I promise not to ravish or otherwise corrupt you.”

  Still laughing, Sophie said, “You couldn’t.” She allowed herself to be helped up by him.

  “Bet I could.”

  He didn’t step back when she rose, and she was standing so close she could smell the essence of him—leather and soap and Gabriel Caine. She recalled that the other man, the one she’d believed herself to be in love with, had possessed a scent all his own. Gabriel’s was much nicer. She’d stick a needle in her eye before she told him so.

  “You couldn’t,” she repeated, with a smile to match his.

  “And why not? I’m pretty adept with the ladies.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” She tried to brush past him, but he wouldn’t move. She gave him a stiffish look. “But you won’t get me, Gabriel Caine, and you might as well stop trying.”

  Finally, he stepped aside. “I don’t give up easily, Sophie.”

  “What a pity.”

  She turned to walk down the aisle and realized that while they’d been playing with each other, the atmosphere in the smoking car had thickened. Stopping short, she gaped into the swirling mists. Good Lord, it was happening again.

  Gabriel lifted his head and sniffed. “Say, what’s that sweet smell?”

  That sweet smell was magic, although Sophie didn’t believe it would be prudent to say so. The phenomenon put to rest any lingering d
oubts, however, about the potency of the connection between her and Gabriel. Good heavens, whatever was she going to do about this?

  Since she guessed she couldn’t just ignore this physical manifestation of the magic they made together, she cleared her throat and dove in with a practical statement of fact. “It smells like a combination of aromas to me.”

  He looked at her. “A combination of what aromas? It’s bewitching.”

  It certainly was. Striving to maintain her composure, Sophie said, “Well, let’s see.” She lifted her head and sniffed again, although she didn’t need to. She knew exactly what it was. “I think I detect sandalwood, jasmine—and something else. Um—orange blossoms, I think.”

  “And look, there’s a mist in the air, swirling around like a whirlpool. How queer it is.”

  It was queer, all right.

  “Wonder where it came from.”

  Sophie knew exactly where it had come from. It had come from the Other Side, and it had been created by Sophie Madrigal and Gabriel Caine, who made magic together. Good Lord, this was awful. “Um,” she said. “I don’t know.”

  Gabriel appeared to be fascinated by the phenomenon. “You don’t suppose old Flying Hawk sent it down from where he’s living—or dying, rather—to impress us, do you?”

  “Perhaps.” She wanted to get back to her sleeping compartment right this minute. She feared what might happen if she didn’t. Her control hadn’t been this loosely contained since her first debacle as a dreamy adolescent girl who still believed in things like love and honor. And magic. “Um, I’d better get to bed now.”

  Her feet wouldn’t move. Blast and damn. Her wretched feet were going to betray her. They were going to refuse to work until they sensed that some kind of conclusion between Gabriel and herself had been reached. Not a permanent solution; that was too much to ask, even for feet.

  As if tugging himself back from a trance, Gabriel started slightly, then smiled at her. “I don’t suppose you’d like company.”

  “Company?” Sophie remained puzzled for no more than two or three seconds. When she caught his drift, she used it to break the spell. “How dare you?” She sharpened her tone and stabbed him with her next words. “You know something, Gabriel Caine? Every time I get to feeling even slightly charitable toward you, you go and do or say something completely outrageous to aggravate me.”

  “Didn’t realize I was so talented.”

  “Well,” Sophie huffed, “you are. You have an unerring talent for infuriating me.”

  Gabriel sighed. “I’m sorry about it.”

  “I’ll just bet you are.” And, sniffing one of her best, most superior sniffs—which gave her a head full of the magical incense wafting about and made her dizzy—Sophie marched to the door of the carriage.

  Gabriel didn’t follow her. Sophie didn’t know whether to be grateful or to burst into tears.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was something mighty peculiar in the air, and Gabriel wished he knew what it was. He also wished he hadn’t asked the spirit board about Sophie’s prediction. Actually, he wished he could just forget about the damned prediction. He didn’t believe in precognition or magic or any of the other spiritual idiocies being touted throughout the country these days.

  Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about that damned prediction. He didn’t want to die. Hell, his life might not be worth much, but it was his, and who knew? He might win a big stake someday, or be bequeathed a huge fortune by some relative he didn’t know about. Or be seduced by Sophie Madrigal. He grinned at that one.

  What really rankled was that it had been Sophie, the first woman Gabriel ever met whom he actually respected, had been the one to make it. “Damn,” he muttered as he waited at the door of the carriage for the train to pull into the station in Los Angeles.

  “What’s the matter, Gabriel?” Juniper asked in her twittering, bird-like voice. “Is something amiss?”

  Only then did he realize he’d sworn out loud. He turned and gave Juniper one of his lady-killer smiles. They worked on Juniper. They didn’t on Sophie, which was one more thing that bothered him. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to swear.” He didn’t mean to answer her question, either.

  “Tut, you know very well I’m accustomed to hearing much worse than that.” Juniper giggled like a little girl.

  “Especially since we’ve been keeping company with you, Gabriel.”

  Leave it to Sophie, Gabriel thought glumly, to splash him with the acid of her virulent tongue without any kind of provocation. Dammit, it had never taken him so long to get into a female’s drawers in his life. What was worse was that his desire for Sophie Madrigal, far from waning as their association became more intimate—if intimate was the word for it—had increased so that he spent most of his waking hours thinking about how to get her into his bed. She was in his bed in his dreams, though, and they were about to drive him crazy. This fascination with her was apt to ruin his health if it kept up.

  “May I see?”

  Gabriel felt a tap on his shoulder and backed up to allow Sophie to move forward. Because he didn’t want her falling out of the train, and because he took every opportunity he could find or manufacture to touch her, he put his hands on her shoulders to hold her still. She frowned at him, but didn’t object. Juniper stood on her tiptoes and peered outside, too. “My goodness,” she said. “It’s awfully brown out there.”

  It was, indeed. “Summertime,” muttered Gabriel. “I reckon they don’t get a lot of rain out here in the summertime.”

  “It’s better than Tucson.” Sophie said the words, but they didn’t carry much conviction.

  “I understand that there are some lovely homes in Los Angeles,” Juniper said doubtfully.

  “Not around here there aren’t,” Sophie said tartly.

  “No,” said Juniper with a wistful air. “But perhaps the scenery will improve when we go to that oddly named street for the séances we’ve booked.”

  “Bunker Hill,” Sophie supplied.

  “Yes. That’s it. Now why do you suppose they named it Bunker Hill?”

  “I don’t know.” Sophie sounded bored. “Pretensions of grandeur? Silliness? I suspect they were putting on airs, trying to make Los Angeles sound more important than it is.”

  “You’re a real grouch, you know that, Sophie?” Gabriel squeezed her shoulders, but she didn’t react.

  “However it got its name, I understand there are some magnificent homes there. We’re going to be conducting our séances in a lovely setting. At least,” Juniper added with her customary honesty, “I hope we are.”

  Sophie grunted something Gabriel assumed was agreement.

  “Séances, eh? That sounds interesting.” Gabriel wondered if a séance was conducted like a revival meeting. Probably not. There was a lot of hollering in revival meetings; Gabriel imagined séances were much quieter affairs. They both served the same purpose, as far as he could see, each being, in its own way, a conduit to the spiritual side of life. Or death. Whatever it was.

  “Oh, you must come to at least one of our séances, Gabriel!” Juniper exclaimed.

  “He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.” Sophie stiffened under Gabriel’s hands.

  He chuckled. “Oh, but I do want to, Sophie.”

  “You would.”

  He wanted to let his hands slip down her arms, cross over her stomach, and pull her against him. He wanted her to feel the reaction he had to her nearness, to know she affected him, to understand how much he desired her.

  Although, come to think of it, he didn’t understand why he wanted her to know those things. She’d only laugh at him. He pointed. “Look over there. I think we’re coming into the station.”

  He was right. He took Tybalt’s basket down first, then assisted Sophie and Juniper to alight. He was pleased that Sophie seemed to have given up rejecting his attempts to assist her.

  Dmitri, who left the train after the rest of them, stood frowning at the people milling about, greeting fr
iends and relatives who’d arrived on the train. “Crowded,” he said, succinctly summarizing Gabriel’s own thoughts.

  “Yes. I hear this area is attracting more people every day.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Sophie wrinkled her pretty nose. “It smells funny.”

  “I believe that’s only the train, dear.” Juniper, bright-eyed with interest, seemed to be swallowing huge gulps of Los Angeles atmosphere whole. She pointed at a man, clad in a loose-fitting white garment, leading a donkey. “Oh, look, Sophie! Isn’t that quaint?”

  “It certainly is.”

  “Do you suppose that gentleman is a Spanish man?”Juniper sounded as though the idea thrilled her.

  “I suppose he is. Mexican, maybe. This used to be a Spanish colony,” said Gabriel. “I suspect there’s still a lot of the Spanish influence prevailing.”

  Sophie sighed. “I suppose so.”

  Gabriel was in the process of picking up the ladies’ bags when he noticed a small, thin, rugged-looking individual, limping towards the Madrigals. Dmitri took two quick steps forward to meet the man and glanced back over his shoulder at Sophie. He appeared to be anxious about the man’s approach.

  Sophie murmured, “Mr. Huffy,” as if she wasn’t pleased to be seeing him. “I thought he was going to come to the hotel.”

  “Who’s Mr. Huffy?” Gabriel looked first to Sophie, who ignored him, and then to Juniper, whose expression had changed from one of excitement to one of worry. Sensing he’d have better luck in that direction, he said, “Who’s that man, Miss Juniper?”

  Juniper shook her head. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry, Gabriel, but I can’t tell you.”

  Sophie frowned at her aunt. “He’s an acquaintance of ours, Gabriel, and his name is Mr. Huffy. Emerald Huffy. That’s all.”She took off striding and reached the newcomer before he could get within talking distance of Gabriel.

  Gabriel watched, unsettled, as they seemed to carry on a spirited conversation. Now who the hell was that, really? Sophie didn’t want him to know, obviously, and since Sophie was the most single-minded female he’d ever met in his life, he’d wager the man had come here to bring her information about Ivo Hardwick. This was the first time in days he’d spared a thought for Hardwick. Now he wondered how he could have allowed himself to be so lulled.