But it wasn’t Nicolas Remy.
Chapter Three
Gabrielle recoiled in alarm from the apparition. The old man’s beard was long and thick, his cheeks sunken, forming deep hollows beneath eyes filled with a grave dignity. They focused accusingly on Gabrielle.
“Foolish witch! Why have you disturbed my peace?” The spirit’s voice was deep, like the rumble of distant thunder.
“I—I didn’t.” Gabrielle shrank back in her chair. She tugged frantically to break the contact of their hands. “Cass, we’ve got to end this now.”
But Cass refused to let her go. “No, don’t be afraid. It is all right, Gabrielle.”
To Gabrielle’s astonishment, Cass leaned closer over the copper basin, her voice lowering to a tone of hushed reverence. “Good evening, master.”
The water in the basin rippled, the steam rising higher with a soft hiss. Gabrielle’s heart clenched with fear. And yet the old man hovering in the mist did not seem threatening so much as sorrowful, bowed down by a hundred lifetimes of regret. As his aged eyes fixed on Cass, Gabrielle thought she actually saw him shudder.
“Cassandra Lascelles. You perform this accursed black magic no matter how many times I have begged you to desist. Why did you summon me again?”
“I did not summon you this time, master,” Cass replied. “You came on your own.”
“Because I could not help myself. The mere sound of your voice invading the realms of the dead is a torment to me. And then there was that name . . . Gabrielle.”
Hearing her name pronounced in that sepulchral voice caused Gabrielle to tense with fresh alarm.
But Cass persisted. “You know something about Gabrielle? Her name means something to you, master?”
“Cass, please,” Gabrielle interrupted. “What is happening? Who is this strange man?”
“Nostradamus,” Cass hissed back at her.
“Nostradamus?” Gabrielle’s jaw dropped in pure astonishment.
“Yes, the famous doctor from Provence and former court astrologer. A man noted for being able to read the future. Surely you have heard of him?”
“Yes, what wise woman has not?” Gabrielle whispered. “But what I don’t understand is what he is doing here when we were seeking Remy.”
“Maybe if you’d be quiet, I’d have a chance to find out,” Cass muttered. In a louder, more respectful tone, she addressed the ancient face drifting before them. “Master, you said something about Gabrielle. Have you seen her in one of your visions? Do you know her future? Tell us.”
“I didn’t come here to have my future told,” Gabrielle said in another terse aside.
Cass ignored her. Rising taller in her chair, she was at her most imperious as she demanded, “Tell us now, master, and I will end the séance and let you depart in peace.”
“No, you won’t,” Gabrielle protested. “What about Remy?”
Cass gave Gabrielle’s hand a hard squeeze to silence her. The old man closed his eyes, as though trying to will himself back into the mists of his own world. He apparently realized the futility of the struggle because his mouth drooped with defeat.
Nostradamus opened his eyes and began to intone in accents of wearied resignation. “The Lady Gabrielle has a mighty destiny before her. She will become a woman of great influence, wealth, and power beyond her greatest imaginings.”
“I don’t want to hear this,” Gabrielle said. “Tell me about Nicolas Remy.”
“Gabrielle will hold sway over the heart of a king.”
“King? What king?” Cass asked eagerly.
“The king of France. Gabrielle will rule the country through Henry. First she will become his mistress—”
“Henry Valois?” Gabrielle echoed with revulsion. “The son of Catherine de Medici? That perfumed fop? He is the cruelest and most perverted man I’ve ever known.”
“I speak not of Henry Valois,” Nostradamus replied. “But of Henry, the present king of Navarre. It is his adoration you will gain and he will one day inherit the throne of all France.”
“That’s impossible,” Gabrielle said impatiently. “Valois is a young man and he has an even younger brother. Their mother, Catherine de Medici, would fiercely guard their right to the throne. Now about Nicolas Remy. He was a Huguenot soldier. It is him I want to—”
“The House of Valois will fall, the power of the Italian woman come to an end.”
“Stop!” To Gabrielle’s astonishment, Cass reared back, her voice sharp with alarm. “You will speak no more of the Dark Queen.”
Nostradamus paid no more heed to Cass’s attempt to interrupt than he had to Gabrielle.
“Beware the Dark Queen. She will fight to keep what is hers and destroy all who threaten her power. But she will perish along with both of her remaining sons. Her line will end. The king of Navarre shall become king of France, and Gabrielle will—”
“No more of this,” Cass cried. “Be silent.”
Cass’s hand fought to break contact with hers and this time it was Gabrielle who clutched at her to prevent that from happening.
“Gabrielle will what?” Gabrielle asked the old man, intrigued in spite of herself.
“The Dark Queen’s reign will end and Gabrielle’s will—”
“No!” Cass shoved to her feet, wrenching free of Gabrielle. Before Gabrielle could stop her, Cass lashed out with her free arm, striking the copper basin and black candle from the table. Both hit the stone floor with a terrible clatter.
Gabrielle leapt up from the table, hoping to be able to do something, but it was too late. The water was spilled, the candle extinguished. The mist, the ghostly countenance, the predictions of Nostradamus, all gone. Even worse, so was her hope of seeing Nicolas Remy again.
A heavy silence fell over the chamber. Gabrielle stumbled through the darkness, fumbling with flint and tinder until she managed to relight one of the torches. The basin lay overturned on the floor, a dark spill of water pooling around it and the black candle. The wick was charred to black ash. The candle, which had blazed with such power only moments ago, looked absurdly harmless.
“Why, Cass?” Gabrielle asked, turning angrily on the other woman, her voice thick with a mingling of frustration and dismay. “Why did you do that?”
“Why?” Cass repeated shrilly. “Bloody hell, Gabrielle.”
She hugged her arms tightly around herself. “Nostradamus was bandying about the name of the Dark Queen, foretelling her death and the downfall of her line. Do you know what she would do to us if she found out we were conjuring up such predictions?”
“Oh, don’t be a fool, Cassandra,” Gabrielle snapped. “We are hiding in an abandoned house, holding a séance down here in a room like a blasted tomb. How the devil would Catherine ever find out?”
“Because she is a devil. She possesses more evil powers than you could ever imagine. If the Dark Queen even suspected that you hoped to supplant her and her brats with Navarre, she’d destroy you and him, too. And then she’d come after me for conjuring up her dead court astrologer to fill your head with such ambitions.”
“I didn’t need Nostradamus to supply me with the ambition to end the Dark Queen’s power. I have burned with the desire to see Catherine brought low ever since—” But Gabrielle checked her anger as she realized how genuinely distressed Cass was.
She had turned deathly pale, even for Cass, and she swayed a little as though she might be about to faint. Her ire dissolving, Gabrielle hastened to Cass’s side.
“Are you all right? You look terrible.” Gabrielle wrapped her arm bracingly around Cass’s thin shoulders. “Come on. I think you need to lie down.”
“What I need is a drink,” Cass mumbled, but she allowed Gabrielle to lead her over to the narrow cot. Cass refused to lie down, but she did sink down on the edge, bowing her head between her knees until some of the color returned to her cheeks.
She sat up with a blurry sigh, seeking to shove back the straggling ends of her hair. Cassandra Lascelles dwindled right in fron
t of Gabrielle’s eyes, all trace of the formidable sorceress vanished along with the mist. The most marked change was in her eyes, the light in them snuffed out like the wick of the candle. Cass was lost, back in her darkness.
She moistened her lips, passing a trembling hand across her brow. “Lord, it—it is always hard on me when I end one of my conjuring sessions so abruptly. I—I am sorry I did so, Gabrielle. I know you think me a great fool. But when the master started going on and on about the Dark Queen—”
She shuddered. “I am not frightened of many things in this world. But I am wary of crossing her. At least now while she is still the strongest witch in France.”
Gabrielle knelt down in front of Cass, gently chafing her wrists. “You need not be so afraid. Far too many of our kind ascribe to Catherine all the dark magic of hell. But I’ve had dealings with the woman and I promise you—she is just another daughter of the earth, flawed with weakness like the rest of us.”
“But—but she is so powerful.”
“So are you,” Gabrielle said, trying to rub some warmth into Cass’s hands. “I have never known any other witch as gifted at conjuring the dead as you.”
Cass managed a wan smile. “Not that good, apparently. I didn’t give you what you wanted, your Captain Remy.”
“Well, that’s no great matter,” Gabrielle lied, swallowing her disappointment. “It was interesting meeting the great Nostradamus. My father used to bring us the almanacs of his predictions from Paris, although Maman never approved. She had little faith in the art of astrology. She always said that Nostradamus’s predictions were but foolish poetry, irritatingly vague.”
“Some of his predictions were, others were astonishingly accurate. I can tell you this much, Gabrielle Cheney,” Cass said earnestly. “I have conjured Nostradamus many times since he passed over to consult him about the future. His skills have been greatly honed by death.”
“Then you think all those things he said about me were true?”
“Oh, yes. You undoubtedly have a great future before you. I only regret I didn’t have the courage to continue so he could have told you more.”
“Never mind.” Gabrielle sighed. Actually there was only one more thing she wanted to know about the séance. She hesitated, fearing she might not like the answer.
“Cass . . . why did Nostradamus come to me tonight instead of Remy?”
Cass shrugged. “The master and I are linked together forever in a way, whether he wishes it or not. You see, when I was a little girl, my father, the bishop, took me to Dr. Nostradamus in the hopes he could cure my blindness—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gabrielle interrupted her. “I understand how you were able to summon Nostradamus. What I don’t understand is why Remy didn’t come when I called for him.”
Cass took a long time about answering, her head ducked beneath her curtain of hair. “I am not sure,” she said at last. “Most likely because the captain didn’t want to. I tried to warn you the dead can be very unforgiving.”
“So you think because I rejected him in life, now he rejects me in . . . death?”
“It would seem so.” Cass lifted her head, her face shadowed with sympathy. “I am sorry, Gabrielle.”
“That’s all right. I rather suspected as much myself,” Gabrielle said. Then why did it hurt so much to hear Cass confirm it?
“I suppose if you wanted I could try again sometime when I am feeling better.”
“No, what would be the point?” Gabrielle answered bleakly. “I daresay the outcome would be just the same. It was ridiculous of me to attempt it in the first place.”
Cass gave her hands a comforting squeeze. “You should forget about Remy. He was only a soldier who passed briefly through your life, nothing to do with your destiny. If Nostradamus is right, you’re going to have a king in thrall, be mistress of all of France.”
“Yes, France,” Gabrielle murmured, wondering why she did not feel more elated. But at this moment she would have traded away the entire kingdom, all her ambitions and dazzling prospects, for just one more of Nicolas Remy’s smiles.
A foolish thought, she chided herself. She was tired, that was all. It had been an eventful and exhausting evening. Releasing Cass’s hands, she straightened up slowly.
“It is getting late. I should be going. And you should get some rest.”
Cass reached up one hand to smother a mighty yawn. “I am feeling extremely weary. These sessions are always very draining for me.”
Gabrielle strode across the room to fetch her cloak. By the time she had fastened it around her shoulders and glanced back, Cass had already stretched out on the cot and crawled beneath the blankets.
There was something curiously childlike about the way she hugged the pillow beneath her head. Watching her, Gabrielle was beset by a sharp pang. It seemed so callous to simply walk away and leave Cass in these melancholy circumstances, alone in this mausoleum of a house, which had to be filled with such terrible memories for her.
“Cass, I—I hate leaving you alone like this. I wish you would let me—”
But Cass cut her off as she always did.
“Don’t worry about me, Gabrielle,” she said with a drowsy smile. “I have looked after myself for a long time. You just remember your promise to grant my favor whenever I ask for it.”
“Of course,” Gabrielle murmured.
There seemed no more to be said as Cass nestled down under the covers and closed her eyes. Finding the taper she had brought with her, Gabrielle lit it to help find her way back up the stairs. As soon as she opened the door to the hidden chamber, she all but tripped over Cerberus, who was stretched out across the threshold. The dog had been mournfully resting his head on his paws. He perked up at once and without wasting a glance on Gabrielle, he darted down into the hidden chamber in quest of his mistress.
Looking back, Gabrielle’s last glimpse of the blind recluse of the Maison d’Esprit was Cass cuddling her dog beside her.
Cass huddled beneath the blankets, listening intently, her sense of hearing almost as keen as her dog’s. As soon as she detected the last of Gabrielle’s footsteps on the floor above her, the distant thud of a door closing, Cass whipped back the covers and went in search of her bottle.
She heard Cerberus’s claws skitter on the stone floor as the mastiff paced anxiously after her. Cass ignored him, groping her way along the cupboard shelves. Gabrielle had been the last one to put the brandy away and it was not in its usual spot. Cursing softly, Cass fought to choke back her impatience and feel carefully, terrified lest she tip the bottle over and spill out those few remaining precious drops. Her tension mounted until her fingers closed around the welcome shape of the bottle.
Clutching the brandy to her like a miser guarding her last coin, she made her way back to the table and sagged down in her chair. Uncorking the bottle, she did not even bother with the refinement of a glass this time, tipping the brandy straight to her lips.
The fiery liquid flowed over her tongue and down her throat. Only when the brandy pulsed its warmth through her veins did her dark need begin to ease.
Cass lowered the bottle to the table with a long sigh, feeling ashamed of her frantic haste. Cerberus came to thrust his head in her lap, his cold nose nudging her hand as he emitted a low whine.
The poor beast had seen her at the bottle too many times, Cass reflected ruefully. Witnessed the loss of control, the rages, the unleashing of unbridled impulses that could make her a danger to others, even more so to herself.
She petted the dog, scratching him behind the ears. “Don’t fret, old friend,” she murmured. “There is not enough left in the bottle to get me drunk tonight. I’ll have no more until that idiot girl Finette turns up here again.”
Her fingers tightening around the bottle, Cass reflected that she would have a few sharp words to say to the girl about betraying the secret of Cass’s ability to practice necromancy to Gabrielle Cheney.
Cass almost trusted Gabrielle as a friend, as much
as Cass ever trusted anyone. But all the same, Finette needed to be taught a lesson. Cass lifted her bottle and took another long swallow although she despised herself for it.
The drink was a weakness, she knew, and one she could ill afford. But sometimes it seemed the only magic that could keep her ghosts at bay. Her sisters had risen unbidden from her copper bowl upon more than one occasion to stare at Cass with hard accusing eyes.
The dead did not forgive. That at least was one true thing Cass had told Gabrielle. Too often Cass had lain wakeful, tormented with memories of the witch-hunters tearing apart the house, her sisters’ terrified shrieks as they had been dragged to torture and death.
But not tonight, Cass mused, as the brandy’s warm haze enveloped her. Tonight she would entertain far more agreeable memories. Stolen ones of a war-weary soldier with hair of ashen gold and melting dark eyes. A lean, battle-hardened body and strong hands. Long fingers as capable of tenderly unlacing a woman’s bodice as they were of killing without mercy, driving his sword up to the hilt through an enemy’s heart. That sword of Remy’s had pulsed with such dark ruthless power, the memory of it still sent a warm shiver through Cass.
Cass held a grudging admiration for Gabrielle. Her new friend was clever and worldly wise. But in other ways she was a bit of a fool, because there was so much Gabrielle did not know about Nicolas Remy, including the most astonishing fact of all.
The great Scourge was still alive.
Cass laughed softly to herself even as she drained the last of her bottle.
“I have never known any other witch as gifted at conjuring the dead as you.” Gabrielle had told her.
Gifted? Indeed she was, Cass thought. So much so that no spirit had ever failed to answer her call, willingly or otherwise. There could be only one reason why Remy had refused her summons from the underworld. The valiant captain from Navarre wasn’t there. He still walked the realms of the living, this man who might prove invaluable to Cass.