“She used me to escape from under Father’s nose,” Grayson retorted.
“It was my idea, really,” Ingrid said.
At Grayson’s bug-eyed reaction, Gabby leaped in. “It’s not just Papa. Even Mama wouldn’t have let us go.”
Their mother knew about gargoyles; she knew that her twins possessed strange abilities, and that their friends Nolan and Vander were part of a group of people who stood against demons. But if she knew that her youngest daughter was training to hunt those demons, Gabby was sure that would be the line in the sand for Lady Charlotte Brickton.
“Nolan’s returned from Rome,” Gabby said, unable to mask her thrill. Her brother gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.
“Bring out the marching band,” he muttered. Gabby ignored him. Ingrid did as well. At least the two of them were of the same mind. Plus, Gabby suspected her sister wouldn’t be too upset should Vander Burke be waiting for them there.
By the time they’d arrived, Grayson still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t move when Luc, whose expression was equally gloomy, opened the carriage door for them.
“At least walk us up?” Ingrid asked, calling on his chivalry. It worked. Grayson sighed and hopped out of the carriage behind them.
Luc shut the door and, as he usually did when dropping Gabby off at H?tel Bastian, glanced up at the sloped black mansard roof that topped the five-story town house. As if expecting something or someone to be perched there, looking down at them. All Gabby could see was a decorative black iron fence scrolling along the roof.
“I’ll be here,” Luc said, as always. He no longer kept his eyes on Ingrid when he said those words, but Gabby still felt that the reassurance was meant for her sister alone.
They went inside and climbed the first three stories, the last twist in the stairs leading them to a heavy oak door with a grid of iron in the center. Gabby touched the slanted veil of her hat to make sure the moss-colored tulle covered her well. She couldn’t hide the hooked ends of the scars near her lips, but at least the veil obscured the worst of them. Perhaps Nolan wouldn’t see the scars straight away.
The square of wood behind the iron grid slid to the side and the top half of an unfamiliar face peered out at them.
“Name?” the stranger asked.
After a pause—who was this?—Gabby recovered the quickest. “Waverly,” she answered.
The peephole slammed. The chains on the door rattled. And then they were being ushered in by a tall, broad-shouldered young man. He wore a brown leather vest adorned with glimmering silver daggers, three strapped into individual sheaths on each side panel, and on the back, two swords in crossed scabbards.
“This way,” he said, and Gabby was reminded of the person who had first shown them into the Alliance headquarters.
Tomas’s face and neck had been badly scarred—worse than Gabby’s, by far. Tomas had turned out to be a traitor, and he’d been taken to Rome for his trial. Could this young man be his replacement? He led them down the short hallway and into the wide-open, loftlike apartment. He had a stealthy gait, the set of his chin and shoulders disciplined. He was a hunter, she knew.
Then Gabby saw the rest of the apartment. It was packed to the corners with people, mostly men. There must have been close to two dozen of them, ranging from Gabby’s age to men older than her father. Some were simply talking; others were hovering over tables, with maps and papers spread out before them; and another handful were passing around a particularly beautiful sword, each one admiring it with raised brows. They were all Alliance. The red sash worked one way or another into their clothing made that perfectly clear.
Gabby felt Ingrid go still at her side. Grayson had his arms crossed, his glower deeper than before. Gabby had definitely not expected so many people. Chelle had been living here alone the last few months, everyone else having been in Rome. It was such a change from before, when their voices had echoed off the exposed beams and plaster ceilings.
Gabby saw him through the shoulders of a crowd that had been standing in the open kitchen, huddled together in serious conversation. He met her gaze, and it was as if she had snared him with a fishhook and immediately commenced reeling him in. Nolan broke away from the others and came toward her, deftly avoiding a practice jab with the much-admired sword. He didn’t flinch, his focus steady. The rest of the apartment slipped away, and Gabby could only see him. His morning-glory eyes, his glossy black hair, the waves grown out and even more unruly. He came toward her with an easy swagger, sure-footed and mischievous rather than predatory.
The veil and what lay underneath it didn’t matter to him. She saw it in the coy grin lifting the corner of his mouth. Oh, how she’d missed him. How she’d missed just looking at him.