The Dark Queen

  Ghosts left no footfalls, and memories cast no shadows, except perhaps on the human heart. She watched the figure of the man evaporate into the mist as he always did. Gabrielle had never once seen his face, but she knew beyond certainty who he was.

  Nicolas Remy, the captain from Navarre. Whether it was his ghost she kept seeing or only a figment of her own tormented imagination, the effect was always the same. Gabrielle’s heart constricted with sorrow and guilt.

  “Oh, Remy,” she murmured. “I’ve asked your forgiveness a thousand times. What more do you want from me? Why can’t you leave me in peace?”

  She knew she would never gain an answer to that question, at least not in this damp, misty courtyard. With one last glance behind her, Gabrielle turned and hastened toward the house.

  The stone manor loomed ahead of her, splintered wood and a great hole where the front door should be, gaping like the jagged mouth of some fierce beast ready to devour her. But Gabrielle feared the ghosts of her own memories far more than she did the sinister aspect of the house. Besides, she knew the truth behind the legends of the Maison d’ Esprit far better than the superstitious Parisians who blessed themselves every time they had to pass those rusting gates.

  Easing past the shattered remains of the door, she entered the house, the darkness swallowing her. The boarded-up windows blocked out what pale moonlight there was to be had. Gabrielle stripped off her mask and reached beneath her cloak for the large pouch fastened to her belt. She groped until she found the candle set in its small brass holder, along with the tinderbox she had brought. After much fumbling between flint and wick, she managed to coax the taper to light.

  The tiny flame spluttered to life, casting a small circle of illumination. Gabrielle moved deeper into the room that yawned before her, the grit crunching beneath her feet. Holding up the candle, she surveyed the wreckage of the once-magnificent great hall. The bishop had done very handsomely by his mistress until the witch-hunters had come.

  Gabrielle shivered with a mingling of horror and pity. Poor Giselle Lascelles and her daughters. How terrified those women must have been, dragged from their home, crying and shrieking to meet the worst sort of torture and death that could befall any daughter of the earth. All of them lost, save one . . .

  The appearance of the great hall was calculated to make any chance intruder believe that the Maison d’ Esprit was uninhabited by anyone but ghosts. Gabrielle was one of the few who knew better. Lifting her skirts, she moved to the stairs stretching upward. The small glow of her candle could not reach far enough to penetrate the upper regions of the landing, to detect whoever or whatever might be lurking there.

  “Hello?” she called tentatively.

  Her voice echoed, swallowed up by the vast silence of the house. “Cassandra Lascelles?” Gabrielle called more loudly.

  She was met with more unnerving silence, then she thought she heard a floorboard creak. Gabrielle moistened her lips and tried again. “Cass? Are you there? It is me . . . Gabrielle Cheney. I need to talk to—”

  She checked abruptly at a low rumbling sound. Staring up at the landing, she caught the shadow of movement. Her heart leaped into her throat as two baleful yellow eyes glared back at her, the rumbling escalating into a fearsome growl. The creature sprang forward, a large brownish-black mastiff with a heavy muscular body.

  “Merde!” Gabrielle cried.

  As it bounded down the stairs, Gabrielle scrambled back, nearly dropping her candle. Hot wax splashed over the brass holder, searing her hand. She winced with pain, but managed to keep a grip on the taper.

  “C-Cerberus. Good d-dog,” Gabrielle quavered. “Don’t you remember me?”

  Apparently he did not. The mastiff issued a series of savage barks.

  Fortunately, Gabrielle had long ago learned the weakness of this particular beast. One wary eye on the dog, she inched aside enough to set her candle down on the aumbry shelf. She groped for the pouch hidden beneath her cloak. The cursed drawstrings refused to budge or perhaps her fingers were too clumsy with nervousness. Somehow she got the purse open, and drew forth a cluster of slightly squashed red grapes.

  Swallowing her fear, she croaked, “Nice Cerberus. S-sweet beastie. Look what I have for you.”

  She carefully extended her arm, the handful of red grapes glistening against her palm. The dog gave a sharp bark. Gabrielle jumped and tossed the grapes wildly. The cluster hit the floor with a dull thud, causing the dog to shy back.

  Cerberus crept forward again, snuffling her offering. The dog emitted a delighted whine and began greedily gulping down the fruit. Gabrielle ventured a few steps away from the wall. Cerberus would make no objection to her movement, at least not until the grapes ran out.

  “What have you done to my dog?” An imperious voice rang out.

  Gabrielle twisted toward the sound and breathed a sigh of relief. Cassandra Lascelles stood poised at the top of the stairs, a tall, thin silhouette.

  “I haven’t done anything to your precious Cerberus,” Gabrielle retorted. “Merely bribed him with a few grapes to keep him from devouring me instead.”

  “Gabrielle? Is that you?” Cass asked sharply.

  “Yes.”

  Clutching the bannister, Cass began to descend the stairs with elaborate care. She had been blind almost from the moment of her birth. A tattered red gown half-hung off her thin frame, baring one shoulder. The weight of her mass of gypsy-dark hair appeared too heavy for her slender neck. She had an exotic face with high slanting cheekbones and an ice-white complexion that seldom saw the light of the sun. Her sightless dark eyes were fixed and without expression, all emotion centered in her mouth, which at the moment was slashed thin with displeasure.

  “Cerberus! Come,” she commanded.

  The formidable beast whined and lowered his head, slinking guiltily over to his mistress. Cassandra groped until she seized hold of the dog’s leather collar.

  One hand resting protectively on her dog’s head, Cass straight-ened and scowled.

  “Damnation, Gabrielle Cheney. I have warned you before not to come here without first sending word through my servant. I do not like to be taken unawares. Bribe or no bribe, you are lucky Cerberus did not tear out your throat.”

  “I am sorry,” Gabrielle said, taking a cautious step closer. “But I was desperate to see you and I didn’t have time to contact you through Finette. I have been here enough times before that I thought Cerberus might recognize me.”

  “He is trained not to recognize anyone. Otherwise he would not be much of a protector.”

  Cass’s rigid features melted into a reluctant smile. She bent and muttered some low command to her dog. With her hand still poised on Cerberus’s collar, she walked forward with a sure step that Gabrielle always found astonishing.

  Gabrielle had seen her sister Miri accomplish some astounding feats with animals, but the degree of rapport between Cassandra and her dog, the way she had taught Cerberus to be her eyes was nothing short of magic.

  Cerberus led Cass straight over to Gabrielle. Another low command and the dog took up position, sitting beside her, eyes trained on Cass as though awaiting her next order. Cass reached out boldly until she made contact with Gabrielle. Drawing her forward, she enveloped Gabrielle in a brisk hug.

  “I did not mean to make you feel unwelcome, my friend,” she murmured. “But next time, let me know when you are coming.”

  “I will,” Gabrielle promised. Cass released her and stepped back, her lips quirking upward in a faintly teasing smile. “Well, to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit? Surely you could not have already used up that last bottle of perfume I brewed for you. I gave you enough to bring every man at court to his knees.”

  Cassandra Lascelles could concoct some of the most powerfully seductive perfumes and skin ointments Gabrielle had ever discovered.

  “No, I need no more perfume.”

  “Cream for your complexion then. Or another lotion perhaps?”

  “N-no . . .?
?? Gabrielle said, glad that the other woman could not see her face. She liked to feel cool and in control, but it had been sheer desperation that had blazed her path to Cass’s door.

  Now that she was here, she discovered it was more difficult to blurt out what she wanted than she had imagined it would be.

  As though she sensed Gabrielle’s reluctance, Cass said in a softer tone, “Out with it, my friend. What do you want from me?”

  Clearing her throat, Gabrielle confessed haltingly, “I need your help, Cass. To—to find someone who is lost to me.”

  Remy, her heart whispered with the familiar dull ache.

  Cass’s fine brows arched upward in surprise. “I would be delighted to assist you in anyway I can, my dear,” she said dryly. “But as you may have observed, my eyesight is not all that keen. Hadn’t you better hire yourself a tracker or some mercenary who is good at that sort of thing?”

  “I—I can’t. The person I seek is . . . no longer in this world. I have heard—that is—Finette told me that you possess remarkable skills in the art of necromancy.”

  Cassandra’s face darkened with annoyance. “Rot Finette! That scrawny little witch talks far too much.”

  “So is it true then?”

  Cass didn’t answer her, something in her face shutting down.

  “Necromancy,” she repeated slowly. “The raising of the dead. Perhaps I do possess some ability in that arena. But you are a witch the same as me. Why don’t you conjure for yourself or go to your sister Ariane for help? She is the present Lady of Faire Isle, reputed to be as wise and clever as your late mother.”

  “You know full well I cannot do that. Ariane and I have not had any contact for the past two years.” Gabrielle experienced the familiar rush of pain and regret at the thought of her older sister. “She didn’t approve of my decision to come to Paris.”

  “Because you became a courtesan? Very few respectable women would approve of that.”

  “Yes, well, it is all very fine for Ariane to pass judgment on me,” Gabrielle said. “She is quite happily married to her Comte de Renard. For her, everything is simple and perfect and that makes it impossible for her to understand that other women might find life a bit more . . . complicated.”

  Gabrielle tried to sound indifferent, as though Ariane’s disapproval was of no consequence. But the loss of her sister’s love and respect weighed heavily on her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she went on briskly. “Ariane wouldn’t have helped me in any case. She confines all her skills to healing the sick. She would never dabble in the darker arts.”

  “How wise of her and how unfortunate for you,” Cass said. “Because I don’t dabble in them lightly either. I don’t share my peculiar talent for necromancy with anyone. Not even you, my friend. Now why don’t you just forget all this nonsense and come have a cup of wine with me?”

  She gave Cerberus a light tap and the dog sprang to its feet. Both woman and dog turned as one and headed back toward the stairs.

  Gabrielle stood a moment, dismayed by Cassandra’s refusal. But Gabrielle never easily surrendered anything she had set her heart upon, and few things had ever meant more to her than this. The hope of seeing Nicolas Remy, speaking to him one last time.

  She hurried after Cassandra, seizing her by the elbow.

  “Cass, wait, please—”

  Cerberus bristled and issued a warning growl. Gabrielle hastily drew her hand away.

  “Cass, you must help me or—or I don’t know what I shall do. There is someone who has passed to the other side whom I am desperate to contact. It is more important to me than you can possibly imagine. I—I will pay you any amount you require.”

  “Money doesn’t interest me. If it did, I have ways of getting it myself.”

  “What about jewels then? Gowns from the finest dressmaker in Paris.”

  Cass flushed and shoved the drooping sleeve of her tattered frock farther up her shoulder, the gesture a trifle self-conscious. Her jaw jutted to a stubborn angle. “I don’t care about such fripperies either.”

  “Then name your price,” Gabrielle pleaded. “I’ll give you anything, do anything you ask.”

  Cass gave a bark of laughter. “Anything? You are very rash, Gabrielle Cheney. Didn’t your Maman ever tell you of the old fairy tales about what dire things happen to ladies who make such promises?”

  “Well, what could you possibly demand? My firstborn child?”

  “No, I abhor children,” Cass drawled. “I doubt they’d even taste good in a stew.” She fell silent for a moment, then said slyly. “I will do what you ask, but I warn you. There is a reason the conjuring of the dead is considered black magic and forbidden. A séance is a dangerous proceeding, one that can easily go awry. Sometimes the soul one wishes to contact does not care to be disturbed, whereas there are others, more evil, who might welcome a portal back into our world.”

  Gabrielle frowned, wondering if Cassandra was merely seeking to frighten her. “Are you telling me that if you conjured wrong, you could—could what? Let loose some sort of ghost or demon?”

  “Anything is possible when you tempt fate by playing with the darker arts.”

  “If it is so dangerous, then why do you do it?” Gabrielle demanded.

  “Because my days are spent in darkness,” Cass replied softly. “But when I conjure the dead, I can actually see. This is the only way I have of looking upon another face and so to me that makes it worth any risk. The question is, is it worth it to you?”

  Was it? Gabrielle had to admit that Cassandra’s words had daunted her. But then she thought of Remy, the way she had parted from him the day he had ridden out to meet his death, so much between them left unsaid.

  “Yes,” Gabrielle said, steeling her spine. “The risk is worth it.”

  “Then I will help you.”

  Gabrielle warily returned to Cass’s side, her elation tempered with suspicion of this sudden capitulation. “You will? What made you change your mind?”

  Cass shrugged. “Perhaps I might one day find it useful to have you in my debt. I will give you one séance, one conjuring of the dead in return for some future favor.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “How I can possibly decide right now?” Cassandra protested. “But you will agree to perform some service for me, no questions asked, no refusal. Is it a bargain?”

  “Do you require an oath in blood?” Gabrielle asked dryly.

  “No, a simple handshake and your pledge will do.” Cassandra extended her hand toward Gabrielle.

  Gabrielle hesitated. She had not survived this long in Paris without learning some caution, and surely there could be nothing more rash than undertaking a commitment without knowing what it was.

  “Come now, Gabrielle,” Cass said. “I am not one of those backstabbing intriguers you associate with at court. I admit our acquaintance has been of short duration, but you may trust me in this. I would never ask more of you than you can give.”

  Somewhat reassured, Gabrielle shook Cass’s hand. “All right. I—I agree. Do this for me and I am in your debt. You have the word of Gabrielle Cheney.”

  An odd smile tugged at the corner of Cassandra’s mouth as they sealed their bargain, sending a chill through Gabrielle. But the disturbing expression was gone so swiftly, Gabrielle thought she must only have imagined it.

  Cass turned toward the cupboard, groping along the lower shelf. Her hand collided with the candle Gabrielle had left burning there. Cass swore as she nearly knocked it over, hot wax splashing her hand.

  “Move this candle out of my way,” she said. “And then stand back.”

  Although mystified by the abrupt command, Gabrielle did as she was told. She stepped away from the cupboard, holding her candle aloft. With an intent look of concentration upon her face, Cass continued to feel her way along the shelf.

  Gabrielle could not see what Cass did, but suddenly the entire aumbry shuddered and creaked. Cass scrambled back and Gabrielle gasped in astonishment as
the cupboard swung outward, revealing a yawning hole in the floor. She crept closer, the light from her candle flickering over carved stone steps that spiraled downward, leading to a darkness that was cold and uninviting.

  A hidden cellar. So that explained how Cass must have escaped the witch-hunters all those years ago. Gabrielle wondered why the other Lascelles women could not have been saved as well, but Cass was loathe to discuss the tragic loss of her family. As one who fiercely guarded her own wounds, Gabrielle understood and respected Cass’s reticence.

  “You allowed me to read your palm, now I am trusting you with the secret of my innermost sanctum. Welcome to my real home,” Cassandra said with a mocking flourish of her hand. When Cerberus attempted to brush past her and lead the way down, Cassandra collared him.

  “No!” She bent down and muttered some command that sounded to Gabrielle like, “Go. Guard.”

  Head erect, the dog trotted away, looking like a soldier ordered to do sentry duty. Cassandra inched forward carefully and started to descend the stairs, pausing to call back to Gabrielle. “Clutch your candle tight and follow me closely.

  “The way down is always a very dark and treacherous one,” she added with one of her strange ironic smiles, leaving Gabrielle with the uneasy feeling that Cass was talking about much more than the stairs.

  Gabrielle swallowed hard, but she had already come too far to turn back now. Gripping her candle, she plunged after Cass into the darkness.

  Also by Susan Carroll

  WINTERBOURNE

  THE PAINTED VEIL

  THE BRIDE FINDER

  THE NIGHT DRIFTER

  MIDNIGHT BRIDE

  A Ballantine Books Trade Paperback Original

  Copyright © 2005 by Susan Coppula

  Excerpt from The Courtesan by Susan Carroll

  copyright © 2005 by Susan Coppula

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.