Gabriel couldn’t remember ever seeing a sight quite so welcome as the entrance of the Clarington Hotel, as he pushed through the revolving doors three hours later, stepping into the lobby and garnering the appalled stares of the milling guests. Even the footman, to whom he had spoken the previous evening before heading out for dinner, offered him an almost comical double take, before registering his distinct disapproval. Even so, it did little to dispel his sense of relief.
The hotel had only been recently completed, and still retained a polished gleam of elegance and fashionable modernity. Sweeping curves, gold paneling and carousing statues by a bubbling fountain gave the place a glamorous appeal—not least because it had already become renowned as a haven for popular jazz singers and rich out-of-towners, people who wished to paint the town red while courting the lens of the daily newspapers. Gabriel, of course, had been keeping something of a lower profile.
He’d followed Regina all the way to what he presumed to be her apartment building in Kensington, before doubling back to Chelsea and the hotel. Regina had walked swiftly and pointedly, avoiding the main thoroughfares but otherwise taking a relatively direct route from the safe house. If she was Rutherford’s mole, she wasn’t giving anything away. Not yet, at least.
He couldn’t help wondering what had become of Hargreaves, however. Had he really gone directly to this “Absalom” character, or could he have given Regina the slip for a more sinister purpose? He supposed anything was possible, but he made a mental note to remind Rutherford to remain vigilant around the other man.
He felt his stomach growl at the wafting scent of bacon and eggs as he crossed the hotel foyer, making for the elevators. It was nearly eight o’clock, and many of the other guests were coming down to breakfast, dressed in their impeccable morning suits and elegant daywear. He smiled at them gleefully as he drew their stares.
The elevator attendant—a young man in a smart red jacket with brass buttons—held the door for him, noticeably wrinkling his nose as Gabriel entered the confined space. Gabriel leaned against the rail, and began dusting ingrained muck from the front of his jacket. His sleeve was torn, the fabric hanging loose at his elbow.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Gabriel looked up, and smiled. “Seventh floor, please.”
The attendant eyed him suspiciously, finger hovering over the button. “Um, well, are you certain, sir? I mean to say: is everything quite alright?”
Gabriel’s smile broadened into a grin. “It will be, when I’m soaking in the tub with a Bloody Mary,” he said.
The attendant looked dismayed at the very thought. Without another word, he averted his gaze and thumbed the button. He stood facing the doors as the indicator dial ticked away the floors, and refused to make further eye contact with Gabriel for the duration of the ride, not even to encourage a tip as Gabriel bundled out into the lobby on the seventh floor.
As the doors shut behind him, Gabriel caught sight of himself in a mirror. He supposed that, in his present state, he didn’t much look like he’d be worth hitting up for a tip. In fact, he looked like he’d spent the night in an alleyway amongst the detritus and the trash—bedraggled, filthy and bruised.
With a shrug, he set off along the corridor toward his suite. An elderly woman was emerging from her room a little further along the passageway, but when she saw Gabriel coming, she quickly retreated, disappearing back into her room and hastily closing the door behind her. He hurried past, rounded the corner, and fished in his pocket for his room key. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost it while he’d been rolling around in the street the previous night. He located the door to room 321, turned the key in the lock, and went in.
“Gabriel!”
The relief on Ginny’s face was palpable the moment he walked through the door. She was sitting on a sofa in their hotel suite, and she jumped immediately to her feet, running over to throw her arms around his neck. She squeezed him so tightly that he had to prise her off in order to breathe. Then, as if suddenly registering the condition of his clothes, the swollen lip and livid bruise on his cheekbone, she stood back, still gripping him tightly by the shoulders. She looked him carefully up and down, her face creased in concern. “Where have you been? When you didn’t come back last night we tried the hospital, but they told us Peter had been discharged. It was all I could do to stop Felix setting out on a manhunt. Heaven knows you can look after yourself, Gabriel, but you might have sent word.” The words spilled out in a sudden cascade, as if seeing him had somehow released a pressure valve.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breaking free of her embrace and heading over to the drinks cabinet, where he splashed a large measure of brandy into a glass. He leaned against the wall, and downed it. The alcohol burned his throat as he glugged it down. “I was busy.”
“Busy?” He could sense that Ginny’s concern was threatening to bubble over into frustration. “Look, how’s Peter?”
“He’s okay,” said Gabriel. “Despite everything. His people took him to some ‘fixer’ guy, who patched him up. I’m not sure how they did it, but he walked out of there with just a few aches and pains.”
Ginny was frowning. “But those wounds…”
Gabriel nodded. “Believe me, he looked almost as good as new.”
“And you were there all night?” There was no accusation in her tone; she’d long ago reconciled herself to Gabriel’s unconventional lifestyle and irregular hours.
“No.” He reached for the bottle and poured himself another large measure of brandy. “Look, Peter’s in trouble. When we left the safe house, the car was ambushed. We were attacked in the street.”
“By whom?”
“By Russians.”
“Russians?”
“Yes. And they were wielding some kind of strange energy, opening these glowing portals in the air…” He trailed off, peering into his glass. Even now, it seemed unreal.
Ginny seemed to be taking it in her stride. He supposed that was only to be expected—being possessed by a shard of an Ancient Egyptian goddess had given her a somewhat broader perspective than most. “And where’s Peter now?”
“Safe,” said Gabriel. “We managed to get away. But there’s trouble brewing here, Ginny. Those Russians—they’re dangerous, and they’re after something. Rutherford is caught right in the middle of it.”
“And so are you. That’s what you’re going to say next, isn’t it? That whoever these Russians are, they know who you are, now. That you’re not sure if we’re safe here anymore, that maybe Felix and Flora and I should get out of here, head to Paris or Amsterdam for a few days while you stay behind to help Peter. That you can’t leave a friend in need, no matter how dangerous it might be.” She walked over to him, took the brandy bottle out of his hand, and took a long draw from it, before putting it back on the cabinet and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Well… I…” Gabriel stammered. “I guess so, yes.”
“Well you know what you can do with that idea,” said Ginny. She met his gaze; there was fire in her eyes.
“Listen. I know we’re supposed to be here on vacation. To get some rest. And I’m sorry. It’s just I can—”
She waved him quiet. “I mean you’re damned if you think I’m running away. And I know Felix will feel the same. Peter is our friend, too. So if he needs help, then we’re all damn well going to give it to him.”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment he felt he could feel the power behind her stare, the tempest within, stirring, willing him to defy her. Then a smile cracked on his lips, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch, too, and suddenly they were both laughing at the absurdity of it all. Still laughing, he stepped closer, took her in his arms, and kissed her.
“You need a bath,” she said, a moment later, pushing him away.
“Funny enough, I was just saying that to the guy in the elevator…” he said, making for the bathroom. “Give me half an hour, and then we’d better get Felix here so I can tell you both what’s been going on.”
“Alright,” said Ginny. “I’ll lay out some fresh clothes. And, Gabriel?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad that you made it home.”
* * *
“Russian wizards?”
Donovan was sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He was eyeing Gabriel from across the room, with an expression that seemed poised somewhere between the incredulous and the downright weary.
Beside him, Flora perched quietly on the edge of a chaise longue, taking everything in. She knew, of course, about the events that had taken place back in New York, of Ginny’s possession by Sekhmet and the rise of the Circle of Thoth—but Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure what she’d made of it all. That said, after years of being married to an NYPD cop, she was hardly unaccustomed to living with uncertainty and drama.
“Really, Felix?” said Gabriel. He was pacing the room in a red silk dressing robe, sipping from another glass of brandy. His hair was still mussed and damp. “After everything we’ve seen together, after all that we’ve encountered, you’re going to question this?” He stopped before the window, parting the curtains with the edge of his hand and peering out at the busy street below. Cars and buses streamed by, stirring puddles of rainwater; pedestrians bustled along the pavements; everything seemed normal, sedate, undisturbed—aside, that was, from his raging headache and the fact his left hip hurt every time he moved. Gabriel knew, though, that somewhere out there, amongst the rows of crooked chimneys and cobbled lanes, the parks and pavilions, the men who had attacked him last night were planning their next move. He took another swig of his brandy.
After taking his bath, he’d returned to the main suite to find the others waiting for him, brimming with questions. Evidently, Ginny had sent for them and provided a brief precis of what he’d already told her. Now she, too, was sitting quietly on the bed, processing the rest of what he’d had to say. He’d given them a blow-by-blow account of everything that had happened since he’d left them in the restaurant the previous evening—the hospital, the fight with the automaton, the ambush and subsequent rush to the safe house. He wondered if Donovan was going to be quite so forthright as Ginny in pledging his assistance to Rutherford; they had, after all, traveled halfway around the world in order to get some respite from the mess that was awaiting them back home.
“God, no,” said Donovan. “I’ve seen enough in my time to know that if you tell me you were ambushed by light-wielding wizards, I should believe every word of it. I’m just amazed at our capacity to find trouble wherever we go. We’re supposed to be here on vacation.”
Gabriel laughed. “Believe me, I know. And my aching limbs are telling me exactly the same thing. Look, there’s no need for you to get involved. Enjoy your rest.”
Donovan leaned forward in his chair, taking his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkling the ash into the porcelain tray on the coffee table. “You know that’s not going to happen, right?”
Gabriel glanced at Flora, to see the corner of her lip curl in amusement. “Well, it’s about time you brought me on one of your little adventures.”
Donovan glanced at her, frowning. “Now hold on a minute…”
Flora looked at him expectantly. “Go on…?”
“Well, it’s not safe,” blustered Donovan.
“Exactly,” said Flora. “So for once I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.” She turned to Gabriel. “So what’s the plan? How do we help this friend of yours?”
Gabriel caught sight of Donovan’s helpless expression, and downed the end of his brandy to hide his amusement. “The key has to be this ‘Sabine’ character, the woman Rutherford met at the Russian’s house in Belgravia. Apparently she’s a lone agent, a sword for hire, and for some reason the Russians needed her. If we can get to her, perhaps we can find out what they’re up to.”
“What about the house itself?” said Ginny, causing all of them to look round. “It seems a logical place to start. We might be able to pick up the trail from there.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Too risky. They’ll be watching the place. And if they’ve any sense, they’ll have already cleared out. The address is compromised.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s the first place the British agents will go. Rutherford still doesn’t know which of them he can trust, and they seem intent on bringing me in for a ‘debrief’. I’d rather keep out of their way.”
“Alright. So this Sabine woman,” said Donovan.
“Glogauer, Sabine Glogauer.”
Donovan waved a hand, as if the details were the last thing on his mind. He peered at the end of his cigarette, and then flicked another heap of ash into the tray. “We’re talking about a needle in a proverbial haystack. People like that—they know how to lose themselves in a city like this. Not to mention, we’re on her territory. It’s not like it’s a case of going bar to bar asking if anyone knows where she is.” He took a draw from his cigarette. “If we were back home I’d get uniform on it, send them out to scour the city with a description. But there are four of us,” he gave Flora a quick sideways glance, “five if you include Rutherford. We don’t even know where to start looking.”
“That’s just it, Felix. We’re not going to go looking. We’re going to get her to come to us.”
Donovan frowned. “And how do you propose we do that?”
Gabriel let the curtain drop, casting the room back into shadow. Still holding his empty glass, he leaned against the back of an empty armchair. “Look, Rutherford says this woman is a known agent for hire. So I say we put word out that we’re in the market.”
“You mean we hire her?” said Flora.
“No. That’s how we get her to stick her head above the parapet, to lure her in. We contrive some tantalizing job, get word out around London that we’re looking to hire someone with the right sort of reputation, and then we reel her in and get some answers out of her.”
“I’m not sure about this,” said Donovan. “The word will already be out amongst the Russians that Rutherford’s working with an American man. It’s too risky. If either of us puts ourselves out there like that, we’re liable to get ourselves killed.”
“I’ll do it.” Gabriel turned to see Ginny slipping down off the side of the bed. She walked over to stand before him. “Felix is right. It can’t be either one of you. It’s too suspicious. But you can use me as the bait. She won’t expect a woman from New York to have anything to do with Peter or the Russians.”
“No,” said Gabriel, bluntly. “You’ve been through enough. I know you want to help, Ginny, but I can’t let you put yourself in harm’s way again. Besides, what could you possibly want with a hired gun?”
“To have my rich American husband succumb to an ‘accident’ abroad?” she said, with a look that left Gabriel in no doubt which of them she’d already cast in that particular role. “And besides, you know I can look after myself.”
“I think perhaps you should listen to her,” said Flora, reaching over to put a hand on Donovan’s arm to silence his inevitable protest. “It sounds like a viable story: a pretty young woman who’s trapped in a loveless marriage to a rich heir. She’s been looking for a way out—she can’t afford a divorce, which will ruin her—and now she’s found herself in a foreign city, where people might ask fewer questions… To someone like this Glogauer woman, that must surely seem an attractive prospect; a quick, easy assassination, with a big pay check waiting at the end of it. All she has to do is make it look like an accident, or a street mugging gone wrong.”
Gabriel found himself looking at Flora through new eyes.
“It makes sense,” said Ginny, from beside him. “Look, don’t get me wrong—I don’t want to do this. I’m not overjoyed at the idea. But if we’re going to make this work, it needs to be a credible story. You and Felix would both arouse too much suspicion.”
“They’re right,” said Donovan, with a sigh. He crumpled the remains of his cigarette into the ashtray. “It does make sense. Not that I like it.”
Gabriel turned to Ginny. “Are you sure?”
She chewed the corner of her lip for a moment, in a disarming manner that made Gabriel want to sweep her up in his arms, and then nodded, her decision made. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Alright. I’ll talk it through with Rutherford when he calls. He’ll know what to do about putting the word out. It might take a couple of days.”
“And what do we do in the meantime?” said Donovan.
Gabriel grinned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get some sleep. It’s been a damn long night.” He walked over to the sideboard and placed his glass beside the near-empty brandy bottle. “Why don’t you take in some of the sights like we were planning. The Tower of London, the British Museum… You might not get another chance. I get the feeling things are about to get a whole lot busier around here.”
“Alright,” said Donovan, heaving himself up out of the armchair. “We’ll check back this afternoon, when you’ve spoken to Rutherford.” He glanced at Ginny. “You coming?”
She shook her head. “No. I think I’d rather stay here. But you go and have fun.”
Donovan mumbled something incoherent as he crossed to the door. Flora offered Ginny a wan smile, and then they were gone.
Ginny waited until the sound of their footsteps had disappeared down the hall, then crossed to Gabriel, slipping her hand inside his dressing robe, running her fingers over the silvery scars on his chest. They were cold against his bare flesh. “You don’t have to protect me, you know.”
“We protect each other,” said Gabriel. “More than you know.” He pulled her closer, and kissed her hard upon the lips.