Chapter 27 Gideon ‘Then’
Gideon
Then
Gideon, I hope this letter finds you well.
I do not know your residence so I left this missive with Claude in the hopes he will get it to you.
I’ve had to flee the city. It has become dangerous for me to hang around La Petite Mort.
I wish I could tell you why, but you are not yet ready to know.
Hopefully, you’ll never need know the truth.
I write to you as a friend, with some less-than-friendly advice. You must break off your affair with Arabella. I fear it will be the death of you.
I know the idea of losing her seems as unthinkable as losing your left thumb.
I say this as a man who’s had more than his fair share of affairs.
A woman may occupy your thoughts, wholly and completely, for a time.
You cannot paint, you cannot think, you cannot breathe.
They are beneath your skin, and you cannot imagine excising them without cutting out pieces of yourself.
But when it’s over, it is like crossing the border into another country. They become distant memories – languages you no longer speak, landmarks you remember only as flowery sentences in your diary.
You can learn to live and paint again without a thumb. But you cannot live without a heart, and she will surely take yours.
Please don’t look for me, but know I wish you well.
édouard
ARABELLA’S HEAD LOLLS AGAINST MY SHOULDER, her lips parting slightly.
She’s asleep.
I know from watching her when she was sick that she’s a proper mistress of the night. The moment the sun peeks over the horizon, she falls into a dead slumber. Not even Sarah singing show tunes would wake her.
Now’s my chance.
I slide my arm out from beneath Arabella and gaze down at a goddess in her golden chemise, the only blemish on her skin a tiny, perfect mole on her inner thigh.
I drown myself in her beauty one final time before I roll away from her.
I rise from her bed and search for my clothes, popping a button from my shirt in my haste.
I gingerly touch the claw marks on my back.
Sex with Arabella is even more wanton and dangerous than I could have imagined, and I have a vast and graphic imagination.
She is no mere woman. She is a goddess.
And I’m about to steal from her.
To save her life. To save my brother.
The necklace rests on top of the velvet box on her dresser. Now that it’s separated from her neck, the stones appear dull, the gold tarnished. I pick it up, amazed at how light it feels.
All this fuss over such a tiny, breakable thing? I find it hard to believe it was ever magical.
I wanted to wait for the perfect moment when I could make it look like someone else had stolen it, but I’m out of time. I have to hope that once I pay my debt to Lucien and we’re free, I can explain things to Arabella. She’ll hate me, but I’ll happily be hated by her as long as she’s alive.
I stuff the jewels down my trousers, wince as I tug my jacket over the wounds across my shoulders, and make a run for it.
At her door, I pause, my heart in my throat. I look back at her sleeping. She hasn’t stirred. Her chest doesn’t even look as though it’s rising. She’s so beautiful like this, all her walls crumbled to dust.
I contemplate leaving a note, but I know her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t read it. Better for me to return once I’m free of Lucien’s influence and explain myself.
I slip away into the sunlight.
I know there is no point returning to Lucien while the sun is high.
He sleeps like the dead and no matter the urgency, the guard on duty during daylight – the one with the sadistic streak and the scarf pulled tightly around his neck – won’t let me in to see him.
So I wander, distraught, through the streets of Paris, my pocket heavy with jewels and betrayal.
When I return in the evening, Lucien has only one guard at the apartment.
I’m so familiar with the habits of Lucien’s soldiers that it’s easy for me to slip past him when he goes to the basement for more wine.
My brother’s snores tremble the basement stairs – at least that means Jacob is still alive.
Silently, I push open the door to Lucien’s boudoir, blocking the exit and squinting to make him out in the gloom.
Lucien’s head snaps up from where he’s tangled in the sheets with a youth cradled in his arms. I haven’t said a thing, but he knows I’m there. He’s always had a canny sense like that. Lucien drops the boy, who murmurs as he hugs the sheets, his neck bruised and smeared with dry blood—
My back hits the wall with a CRACK like a revolver shot.
I gasp for breath. Lucien’s smooth, cool hand closes around my throat. He pushed me, but how? How did he cross the room that fast?
“Little Prince, you dare show your face here?” Lucien’s eye bore into mine, cold as death and twice as dangerous.
“I told you I would handle it, and I did.” I gasp out.
“You have it?” he whispers, his breath reeking of blood and nightmares.
His fingers close tighter in excitement. I manage to choke out a sound of assent.
“Leave us!” Lucien commands. The youth crawls away, his eyes blinking slowly, lost in an opium daze. Lucien lets go of my throat. I drop in a heap, gasping for air.
“Show me.” Lucien sits on the edge of the bed, his limbs jittering with excitement.
With trembling hands and still gasping for breath, I pull the necklace out of my trouser pocket and lay it across his waiting palms.
He stares at the collar with a hunger so raw and greedy I half expect him to stuff the jewels into his mouth and start chewing. I’ve been so sick with the need to keep Arabella and Jacob safe that I’ve forgotten that if the collar truly is magic, I’ve handed Lucien a powerful weapon.
“Our business is concluded,” I say. “I’ll take cash now, and the key to my brother’s restraints. We’ll be out of the city before you’ve even put on trousers.”
“Oh, sweet, innocent Little Prince.” Lucien stands.
At his full height, he’s nearly a head taller than me, and even though he’s naked and I have a knife and revolver concealed, every hard line of his body speaks of danger.
His hand circles my wrist, his fingers squeezing together until I wince with pain.
“I told you, you’re mine. I’m not done with you yet. ”
“I don’t even need the money. I just want my brother.” I look up into his eyes, but they are fathomless black holes. There’s nothing human inside him, no softness, no empathy. “I got you the necklace, so Jacob’s debts are wiped and we’re both free.”
“Tsk, tsk.” His fingers tighten their grip.
A whimper rises in my throat. I buck against him, trying to free my hand, but it’s like fighting a brick wall.
His skin is so cold, like touching ice. “That was never our deal. I promised only that your brother’s debts would be wiped.
He may of course go free. But I cannot allow someone with such a talent for this business to leave me.
You are mine, Little Prince, and that makes you the luckiest of men.
I will give you the world. I will give you immortality. ”
His eyes flash with cold, monstrous possessiveness, and the last thing I see as a human is a pair of long, gleaming fangs sliding from his upper jaw and sinking into my neck.