The Necromancer's Bride

by Kat Ross

  In fact, she thought to herself with a touch of morbid gloom, the peaceful necropolis was an ideal place to make a clean breast of it. They passed through the gates and walked among the graves. Gabriel halted before a cenotaph of a man with a thick lock of hair falling across his forehead, chin braced on his hands.

  “The poet Charles Baudelaire,” he said.

  Anne studied the scowling face. “A happy fellow, I see, like most poets.”

  Gabriel laughed. “He was obsessed with the works of Edgar Allen Poe.”

  “One of your favorite authors.”

  “Baudelaire called them twin souls. His translations made Poe famous in France. They both adored the macabre and grotesque.” Gabriel gazed up the cenotaph. “They had much in common. Baudelaire was a laudanum addict, Poe a drunk.”

  “Tortured geniuses who died in poverty.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Poe at forty, Baudelaire at forty-six.”

  “It’s very sad, though I thought Baudelaire was supposed to be a bit of a misanthrope.”

  “A misanthrope who wrote divine poetry.” He frowned. “Perhaps it takes darkness of the soul to make transcendent art.”

  He stood very close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

  There can be no secrets between us. Never again.

  Anne felt her pulse quicken. “Have you ever been wrong, Gabriel?”

  He laughed. “Are you actually asking me that?”

  “I don’t mean what happened with my brother and Vivienne. I mean….” She swallowed. “Have you ever killed an innocent person?”

  Gabriel’s smile died. “Of course.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Not in the service of Neblis, either. You had no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.” His gaze narrowed. “You mean after I deserted. Yes, one that I know of for certain. I was hunting a murderer. All the evidence pointed to a particular man. I felt sure he was guilty, so I took his life. And then another confessed. He had proof.” Gabriel sighed. “Now I only hunt men whose crimes are so vast and well-known, there’s no room for error. Mostly other necromancers.” He studied her face. “Does that bother you?”

  “No.” Her throat caught. “It’s not why I asked. There’s something you need to know.”

  Gabriel waited. He seemed curious but not especially troubled. Anne felt sick with worry at how he might look at her when she was done, but she couldn’t stop now. If he decided to turn his back on her forever, she wouldn’t blame him.

  “I only went to Romania because of the children,” she said quietly. “I rarely hunt creatures of the underworld anymore. But Vivienne and Alec were in New York on another assignment. I couldn’t let what I suspected might be a werewolf roam loose.” Her hands knit tightly together. “You called me a savage beast once.”

  “I didn’t mean it, Anne—”

  “No, you were right. That’s exactly what I used to be.” She drew a deep breath. “Alec is my half-brother. We had different mothers but the same father. He was held prisoner at Gorgon-e Gaz for a long time. It broke his mind. After we freed the daēvas there, he wouldn’t eat or speak and died soon after.”

  Gabriel’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

  “It was ages ago,” she said matter-of-factly. “I never knew him. But I hated mortals even more after that. I was a wild thing. Vivienne did her best to civilize me. Alec, too. The years passed and I began to go my own way, leaving them for periods of time.” She fell silent for a minute, summoning her courage.

  “It was the summer of 1342. I was passing through a small town on the banks of Danube. There had been a long drought, and then the rains came on the Feast Day of Saint Mary Magdalene. At first the people rejoiced, but the rain didn’t stop. Not for days. The river began to rise. I wanted to help so I tried to divert the flow away from the village. One of them saw me work water.”

  Gabriel grimaced. “That was a dark time.”

  “They roused a mob and chased me out of town. They threw stones. If they’d caught me, they would have burned me. I was so angry….” She trailed off, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I broke one of the earthen dams they’d built. On purpose. I didn’t realize how strong the current had grown. I only meant to teach them a lesson, but the floodwaters…. I immediately regretted what I’d done, but I couldn’t stop it. So I ran. Like a coward.”

  Anne looked away, staring unseeing at the graves. “When I returned a few days later, the village was obliterated. There were bodies everywhere, even up in the tree branches. Children, adults, animals. Hundreds.” She drew a shuddering breath. “It was so hot that summer. The stink of rotting flesh…. It reminded me of Gorgon-e Gaz. Except that I knew I had done it. The dam might have held.”

  She forced herself to meet Gabriel’s eyes. “I never told anyone, not even my brother. But I swore I wouldn’t use the power for harm ever again except in the extremes of self-defense. I didn’t want to be a monster. Or more of one than I already was.”

  “You’re not a monster,” Gabriel said gently. For a wonder, he seemed to mean it. Anne saw no reproach or disgust in his eyes, only sympathy.

  She swiped a sleeve across her face. “I attacked you the first time because I thought you were pricolici. That you had murdered those children and intended to murder me. The second time, I knew you would heal. I wanted to drive you away, that’s all. I’ve never broken my vow, not in five hundred and forty-seven years.”

  “Anne—”

  “But for you I would.”

  Gabriel went still. His voice filled with emotion. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  She’d thought long and hard about it during the voyage. The dream was trying to tell her something. She’d had the same feeling of unspeakable dread just once before in her life.

  The morning she set foot in that cursed village.

  “I know,” she said wearily. “But I also know you won’t stop, not until they’re dead or you are. So let me be the one to do it. Just tell me where to find them.” Her gaze was steady. “I have no fear of Antimagi.”

  Gabriel drew a deep breath. “No?” he asked softly. “When was the last time you faced one? Gorgon-e Gaz?”

  She said nothing.

  “And you weren’t alone. I heard many daēvas fought to liberate the prison.”

  “Only five.”

  He looked surprised at that. But fractured memories of that long ago battle came crashing back. The black lightning and howls of the undead Druj. A necromancer had nearly killed Vivienne. They were born mortal, but the chains made them much more.

  “I’m not questioning your courage,” Gabriel said. “I know you’re formidable. But it wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Because Bekker has a talisman that warns him if anyone uses the power nearby. It makes him almost untouchable. The instant you entered the Nexus, he’d know. And Bekker doesn’t fight, he runs. If he goes to ground again, it could be years before I find him.” Gabriel paused. “Unless he finds me first, with his pack of young wolves.”

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  Gabriel brushed a thumb along her damp cheek. “I plan to get my own blade tonight. Julian found it. Sanctus arma. One scratch and Bekker will be finished.”

  “Won’t he know you have it?”

  He shook his head. “They’re not talismans. They don’t use magic, not as you understand the concept.”

  “Then how do they work?”

  He gazed at her calmly. “I know you don’t believe, Anne, but they’re holy relics.”

  “The wrath of God?” she said skeptically.

  “I carried this particular blade once, back when I was a Templar. One of the knights gave it to me as he lay dying. He claimed it was blessed by the Archangel Michael himself. The leader of the heavenly host.” He shrugged. “Such claims were not unusual. But then I had cause to test it when I encountered another necromancer.”

  Gabriel’s lips twisted in anger. “He was preyi
ng on the fallen, draining them as they gasped their last breaths. I came up behind and swung for his head but he must have heard me coming. He dodged and took the blow on his shoulder. A deep cut, but trifling for one of my kind. I expected him to retaliate. Instead, he fell to the ground and died within seconds.” Gabriel laughed. “I gained new respect for the sword after that and made certain to keep the edge far from my own flesh.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I lost it at the Battle of Antioch. I was unhorsed and took grievous wounds. When I awoke, it was gone.”

  Anne inwardly shuddered. What Gabriel called grievous wounds must have been butchery. She remembered those medieval blades. Some were more than three feet long.

  “The sword disappeared for centuries, but there were rumors. Julian tracked it down to a small church in Auvers-sur-Oise.” He seemed unfazed by her doubtful expression. “Whether or not you believe they were blessed by an archangel, necromancers fear sanctus arma for good reason. They’re lethal. So you needn’t worry, I’ll be well prepared to face Bekker and Constantin.” He gripped her fingers. “We can meet in London when it’s done.”

  Anne frowned. “London? No, I’m going to Brussels with you.”

  Gabriel’s jaw set. “I don’t want you involved.”

  “I’m already involved,” she said with asperity. “If you’re still unclear on the point, I love you.”

  “And I love you. More than life itself. But if something does go wrong, I want you far away—”

  “And what if I lose you forever this time?” She fought to keep the anger from her voice. “Will it be worth it?”

  Gabriel said nothing.

  “Then I’m leaving.” She cast him a furious look. “For good. Don’t try to find me.”

  Anne stalked away, her hands balled into fists. Gabriel ran after her.

  “Wait,” he said hoarsely. “I promise when this is over, I’ll change. I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”

  She spun around. “I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself. Alive. But I also won’t sit around in London doing crossword puzzles while you put yourself in danger. I won’t interfere, but I want to be close by.” Her lips thinned. “Just in case.”

  He swallowed. “Yes. All right.”

  “Good.” Anne drew a deep breath. “What time are you meeting the Belgians?”

  “Not for a few hours.”

  “Would you take a walk with me?”

  Gabriel looked befuddled at the sudden change of topic. “Where?”

  “My favorite place in Paris.”

  He smiled. “How can I refuse?”

  They walked north through the Luxembourg Gardens to the elegant Boulevard Saint-Germain, where Anne led him down a side street to a tiny bookshop called The Nautilus. A bell tinkled when they entered and a chic white-haired woman in a severely tailored velvet jacket looked up from her perch behind the counter. She was reading a copy of Le Temps, a glass of red wine at her elbow. Her face broke into a startled smile.

  “Anne Lawrence, my darling girl,” she murmured, rising from her stool to kiss Anne’s cheeks. Sharp hazel eyes swept over them both. “And who is the gentleman you bring me?”

  “Madame Stavisky, this is Monsieur Gabriel D’Ange.”

  He bowed and brushed her hand with his lips. “Enchanté, madame.”

  The proprietress looked him over, from the soles of his boots to his unruly hair, and smiled. “A Frenchman. You’ve made a wise choice, Anne, they are the most passionate lovers. Not like the cold fish English.”

  Anne’s cheeks pinked. “We’re friends.”

  The proprietress arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Are you? That’s a shame. If I were twenty years younger, I might take him for myself.”

  Gabriel grinned. “And I would be hard-pressed to resist your charms.”

  She seemed pleased with this response. “Does he like books?”

  Anne cast an amused glance at Gabriel. “Very much.”

  “That’s good. Men who don’t read lack imagination, which is not a trait one wishes to have in a friend.” She ushered them inside the shop. “What brings you to Paris?”

  “The exhibition,” Anne replied easily. “We had to see this monumental tower by Monsieur Eiffel everyone is talking about.”

  Madame Stavisky made a noise of disgust. “An eyesore. De Maupassant hates it so much, he has lunch at the tower’s restaurant every day.”

  Anne was puzzled. “Why?”

  “It’s the only place in Paris you can’t see it.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” Gabriel muttered darkly. “The thing is a blight on our beloved city.”

  “I rather like it,” Anne said.

  They turned to stare at her. “It’s very bold,” she added defensively. “And modern.”

  A fraught silence descended.

  “I have a new volume by Joseph Bertrand,” Madame Stavisky said. “Calcul des probabilités. Hideously dry, but I know you like that sort of thing.”

  Anne smiled. “So I’m forgiven?”

  “No, the book is your punishment,” she replied crisply. “And what of Monsieur D’Ange?”

  He thought for a moment. “Do you have any Baudelaire?”

  She gave him a level look. “Of course I do. Which one?”

  “Les Fleurs du mal?”

  That earned a quick nod of approval. “It’s my favorite, too.” She took Gabriel’s arm and led him away.

  Anne wandered deeper into the labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling shelves. The shop looked small from the outside, but it stretched back the length of the building. She pulled out a copy of Candide and carried it to one of the cozy reading nooks. Voltaire had been a great enemy of the Church, and his mocking satire of the unlucky youth and his relentlessly optimistic tutor Pangloss always made her laugh.

  Anne’s nose was buried deep in the book when she sensed a presence. She looked up to find Gabriel standing before her.

  “What do you have?” she asked.

  He glanced down as if he’d forgotten the stack in his hands. “Books,” he murmured, setting them on the table.

  “Oh.”

  He stepped forward just as she stood up and Anne found herself pressed against the shelf. Her stomach tightened in a pleasant way.

  “Am I about to be seduced?” she asked. “Maybe we should move to the erotica section.”

  “Worse than that.” Gabriel gently rubbed his beard against her cheek. “Marry me,” he whispered in her ear.

  Anne couldn’t help laughing. “The Necromancer’s Bride. It sounds like one of your novels.”

  Gabriel pulled back, a dangerous light in his eye. “I’m not joking.”

  She searched his face. “No, you’re not.”

  The idea of marriage – to anyone — had literally never occurred to her.

  “The bond was a terrible idea. I don’t ever want to leash you that way.” His mouth grew stubborn. “But I do want you to make an honest man of me.”

  The quaintness of the expression nearly made her laugh again, but Anne had wounded him enough for one lifetime. She regarded him seriously.

  “I thought the members of your Order had to be bachelors.”

  “I made that rule. I can break it.”

  “Then yes, of course I’ll marry you. If it’s what you wish.”

  He bent his head and nuzzled the high collar of her dress. “In a church,” he murmured.

  She opened her mouth to object and Gabriel quickly covered it with his own, kissing her until she could hardly think straight. Anne broke away with a scowl.

  “This is blackmail.”

  He gave a low laugh. “I don’t care.” One hand slid down her bottom, lifting her to fit snugly against him, his mouth close enough to kiss again but not quite touching, so she could feel the little gusts of his breath against her lips. They stood motionless, waves of heat building between them, until her limbs were watery. She laid a palm against his shirt and felt the swift beat of his heart.

  “
Please,” Gabriel cajoled in a soft whisper. “For me.”

  “If you insist,” she muttered.

  He made a noise against her hair that sounded like muffled laughter. “Thank you.”

  She gripped his shirt in her fists. “You owe me. I don’t like priests and they don’t like me.”

  “It will be quick, I promise.” His eyes darkened, the rim of gold around his brown irises reflecting the light. “Unlike our wedding night—”

  They broke apart as brisk footsteps approached.

  “Did you find anything to your taste?” Madame Stavisky inquired blandly, taking in Anne’s flushed face and Gabriel’s disarranged shirt.

  “Oh, yes,” he replied, all innocence. “Several things.”

  She regarded them with amusement. “Perhaps I should let you browse a while longer.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Anne said quickly. “I’m still undecided—”

  “What time is it?” Gabriel asked.

  “Nearly four o’clock.”

  He cast Anne an apologetic look. “I’m afraid we have another engagement.”

  Madame Stavinsky looked disappointed. “I was hoping to close early and convince you both to have supper with me. I haven’t seen you in ages, Anne.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You said that last time,” she replied with mock severity. “Ah, well. Take the books as my gift, thankless creatures that you are.”

  “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t think of it.”

  They argued amiably for a minute, but Madame Stavinsky won in the end as she always did, and they left with Dumas and Baudelaire for Gabriel, Bertrand and Voltaire for Anne.

  “The sword is being safeguarded by a priest,” Gabriel explained as they made their way back to the Latin Quarter. “We’ll go to his church tomorrow. He can marry us at the same time.”

  “Are the others coming?”

  “No, they’ll meet us in Brussels.”

  She arched a brow. “Heavens. I’ll have you all to myself.”

  He grinned. “You most certainly will.”

  “Who are these men you’re meeting now?”

  “Belgian trade unionists. They led some of the strikes that were violently put down by the army in Wallonia three years ago.” He shook his head. “The conditions in the factories there are terrible. It’s like the Middle Ages, Anne. Men and women toiling for a pittance with no rights whatsoever. Children, too. Bekker owns some of the most notorious factories and mines. Julian and Jacob cultivated the contact after the Berlin Conference, when Bekker expanded his operations into the Congo.”