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Authors: Susan Carroll
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Lascelles had a few dreams and ambitions of her own.
Chapter Four
T he mist that had softened the sharp edges of the city had faded, leaving only dark streets that seemed colder, harder, and more dangerous than when Gabrielle had traversed them earlier. As she approached the gates leading to her own courtyard, she fought a strong impulse to flee for the safety of her house. A feeling far different from the determined spirit that had inspired her to march through Paris on her secret errand to Cassandra Lascelles.
Now Gabrielle could only marvel at her folly in venturing out unescorted. She knew the city well enough to realize how perilous it could be for a lone woman traveling by day, let alone at night. What had made her think herself so invulnerable?
Unfortunately she knew the answer to that. Her hand groped toward the hilt of the weapon strapped to her side. Remy’s sword. Wearing it had always made her feel safe, untouchable, as though the blade were a sort of magic talisman infused with the strength and courage of its former owner.
Now when she curled her fingers around the hilt, all it felt like was cold, comfortless steel. It was as though any magic had fled that moment when the séance had failed, when she had been forced to accept the fact that Nicolas Remy truly was dead to her. She would never be able to speak with him, beg his forgiveness, or see his smile one last time. He was never coming back to her, not in any sort of conjuring, perhaps no longer even in her dreams.
She should have felt relieved to be released from her memories at last. Instead all she felt was strangely frightened, alone, and at a time when she most needed protection.
She was being followed.
Gabrielle had been aware of that ever since leaving the Maison d’Esprit. She was being stalked and this time not by any phantom of her imagination. The dark sinister man who dogged her footsteps was no ghost. Each time she chanced to look back she caught the menacing stranger ducking into alleyways, melting behind a drunken crowd that had spilled out of some tavern, fading into doorways, but not quite quickly enough. There was no longer any fog to disguise his relentless pursuit of her.
Gabrielle sensed him lurking behind her in the darkened street, watching her and waiting. But waiting for what? If he were a common thug or footpad, he could have attacked her already. He’d had dozens of opportunities, as careless as she’d been tonight. What if he wasn’t stalking her at all, but spying? She had forgotten to don her mask upon leaving Cass’s. Gabrielle experienced an urge to do so now, as if that would somehow shield her.
If he was a spy, the threat to her person was not so immediate. And yet the danger remained, peril of a far more subtle and insidious kind, but one that made her more angry than afraid. Gabrielle lingered near the gate, pretending to bend down to release a pebble from her shoe, all the while thinking furiously.
Who did she know who would dare set a spy loose upon her? She had enemies enough in the French Court, not the least of whom was the Dark Queen. Catherine tended to keep a close eye on Gabrielle when she visited the Louvre. Had the Dark Queen started mounting watch on Gabrielle outside the walls of the palace as well?
Gabrielle had mocked poor Cass for being so nervous about the Dark Queen, but perhaps Cass had been right. Gabrielle frowned as she thought back to the man she had seen earlier in the mist, the one she had dismissed as a figment of her imagination. What if the same man who tracked her now had followed her to the Maison d’Esprit?
No, surely Cerberus would have driven off any intruder who came too close. There was no way anyone could have known what she and Cass had been doing down in the hidden cellar. But report of Gabrielle’s visit to the abandoned house might be enough to rouse Catherine’s curiosity, impel her to investigate the Maison d’Esprit further. Gabrielle could have drawn the
Chapter Four
T he mist that had softened the sharp edges of the city had faded, leaving only dark streets that seemed colder, harder, and more dangerous than when Gabrielle had traversed them earlier. As she approached the gates leading to her own courtyard, she fought a strong impulse to flee for the safety of her house. A feeling far different from the determined spirit that had inspired her to march through Paris on her secret errand to Cassandra Lascelles.
Now Gabrielle could only marvel at her folly in venturing out unescorted. She knew the city well enough to realize how perilous it could be for a lone woman traveling by day, let alone at night. What had made her think herself so invulnerable?
Unfortunately she knew the answer to that. Her hand groped toward the hilt of the weapon strapped to her side. Remy’s sword. Wearing it had always made her feel safe, untouchable, as though the blade were a sort of magic talisman infused with the strength and courage of its former owner.
Now when she curled her fingers around the hilt, all it felt like was cold, comfortless steel. It was as though any magic had fled that moment when the séance had failed, when she had been forced to accept the fact that Nicolas Remy truly was dead to her. She would never be able to speak with him, beg his forgiveness, or see his smile one last time. He was never coming back to her, not in any sort of conjuring, perhaps no longer even in her dreams.
She should have felt relieved to be released from her memories at last. Instead all she felt was strangely frightened, alone, and at a time when she most needed protection.
She was being followed.
Gabrielle had been aware of that ever since leaving the Maison d’Esprit. She was being stalked and this time not by any phantom of her imagination. The dark sinister man who dogged her footsteps was no ghost. Each time she chanced to look back she caught the menacing stranger ducking into alleyways, melting behind a drunken crowd that had spilled out of some tavern, fading into doorways, but not quite quickly enough. There was no longer any fog to disguise his relentless pursuit of her.
Gabrielle sensed him lurking behind her in the darkened street, watching her and waiting. But waiting for what? If he were a common thug or footpad, he could have attacked her already. He’d had dozens of opportunities, as careless as she’d been tonight. What if he wasn’t stalking her at all, but spying? She had forgotten to don her mask upon leaving Cass’s. Gabrielle experienced an urge to do so now, as if that would somehow shield her.
If he was a spy, the threat to her person was not so immediate. And yet the danger remained, peril of a far more subtle and insidious kind, but one that made her more angry than afraid. Gabrielle lingered near the gate, pretending to bend down to release a pebble from her shoe, all the while thinking furiously.
Who did she know who would dare set a spy loose upon her? She had enemies enough in the French Court, not the least of whom was the Dark Queen. Catherine tended to keep a close eye on Gabrielle when she visited the Louvre. Had the Dark Queen started mounting watch on Gabrielle outside the walls of the palace as well?
Gabrielle had mocked poor Cass for being so nervous about the Dark Queen, but perhaps Cass had been right. Gabrielle frowned as she thought back to the man she had seen earlier in the mist, the one she had dismissed as a figment of her imagination. What if the same man who tracked her now had followed her to the Maison d’Esprit?
No, surely Cerberus would have driven off any intruder who came too close. There was no way anyone could have known what she and Cass had been doing down in the hidden cellar. But report of Gabrielle’s visit to the abandoned house might be enough to rouse Catherine’s curiosity, impel her to investigate the Maison d’Esprit further. Gabrielle could have drawn the
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