He was still inspecting Dimitrie when the stable doors heaved open. Heeled boots hit the raised floorboards, and with one deep breath, Luc caught the heady perfume of hibiscus and water lily. Almost identical to Lady Brickton’s scent, just slightly milder.
“What were you doing on that bridge?” Luc asked before Gabby had come into view.
“I was certain you already knew, so I thought I’d come make nice,” she replied as she swung around the corner of the horse stall.
Gabby’s smoky eyes landed on Dimitrie. She bit her bottom lip and Luc felt her heart throb with alarm.
“It’s fine,” he said, nodding his chin toward Dimitrie. “Meet my new roommate.”
The black veil of her hat had been cut at an angle to shroud the scarred half of her face, exposing just one of her stormy eyes. It was wide and unblinking as it traveled from Luc to Dimitrie.
“This is … I mean, have you finally …” Gabby trailed off.
Luc sighed. “Just ask if he’s a gargoyle already.”
Gabby scowled at him. “Well, now I don’t have to, do I?”
He held back the smile fighting to leap to his lips. Ingrid’s younger sister reminded him so much of his own, Suzette. Impetuous and witty, with a sharp tongue and plenty of spirit. Luc looked away from Gabby as the memory of his sister slid like a dull knife between his ribs.
Dimitrie stepped away from the horse and, bending at the waist, dipped into a low, proper bow. He even nicked off his tweed cap and crushed it against his chest.
“My lady,” he said, face still aimed at the floor.
Luc knitted his brow, taken aback once again. “Straighten up,” he barked, and Dimitrie snapped up to his full height. “You’re her gargoyle, not her servant.”
“Actually, he is my servant,” Gabby said. “As are you. I don’t see you returning the wages my mother pays you, now, do I?”
Gabby waited for Luc’s reaction, her lips in a pointy pout. Lady Brickton knew gargoyles existed. She knew they were at times men and at other times beasts. But she did not yet know that Luc was one of them.
“My name is Dimitrie,” the boy said when Luc stayed silent.
“Lady Gabriella Waverly,” she returned.
“You didn’t answer me,” Luc interjected. “What were you doing on that bridge?”
Earlier, her scent had surfaced and Luc had been able to trace a mix of emotions: fear, fast drowned out by disappointment. He’d nearly been able to feel Gabby stomping her foot in frustration. And then she’d been fine, all fear vanquished, and the trembling of Luc’s bones, preparing to shift, had stilled.
“I met a friend of yours,” Gabby said, avoiding his question.
“Yann isn’t my friend,” Luc replied, already knowing where she’d been and which gargoyle had probably been there.
She frowned. “Good. I don’t like him.”
“I advise you not to like any gargoyles,” he said.
Gabby began to push the black netting away from her face but remembered Dimitrie hadn’t yet seen her scars. She quickly tugged the veil back into place.
“Not even you?” Gabby asked, turning playful.
Luc hitched up the corner of his mouth. “Especially not me.” He saw a flash of her white teeth. “You shouldn’t cross into other gargoyles’ territories.”
She sighed and wheeled around on her heel, heading for the stable doors. “Their territories are everywhere. What am I to do, play hopscotch around Paris to avoid running into any of them?”
Sarcasm. Suzette had had plenty of that as well. Gabby was dark like Suzette, too, with her caramel hair and smoky eyes. Perhaps all these resemblances to his sister explained why Gabby rankled Luc so much. She, more than anyone else, even Ingrid, reminded him of what he’d done in his previous life. The sin he’d committed defending Suzette’s honor.
“Can you just stay at the rectory for now? Until your sister returns, at least?” Luc asked, disgusted by the queasy churn in his stomach.
That morning, Ingrid had gone to Monsieur Constantine’s home as she did twice a week, on Mondays and Fridays. Constantine sent his driver to pick her up, and she usually returned home with Vander Burke, the Alliance Seer. Luc wasn’t with her these mornings; she didn’t need him. But that didn’t stop him from eavesdropping on her every now and again. The bubbling of her pulse when she was in the Seer’s company bothered Luc.
Out of habit, he called up her scent: a springtime morning of sweet-smelling grass; rich, dark soil; and of course, that additional bitter tang that Luc now knew was the scent of her demon blood. She was on her way back to the rectory. He felt her location as clearly as he knew his own.
“There she is now,” Gabby said as the clatter of wheels came from the churchyard drive. The wheels crunched through the snow and the frozen gravel beneath.
“Not yet,” Luc said, and walked with Gabby toward the stable doors. Dimitrie stayed in the horse’s stall, acting more like a servant than master of the territory.