Forbidden (The Gabriel Lennox Series Book 1) (2 page)

GABRIEL SAT
STARING
at Nathaniel, who looked out the lattice window of the coach. Silently he brooded, hating Nathaniel for being so damned content. Always content, like a spider with a fly . . . or a man with a gun.

“Purge your fear,” Nathaniel had advised him. Gabriel feared death because he couldn’t believe that he would never die, and that single thought, that one doubt kept him prisoner. He used to dream of a Tree with fruit, fruit that the fairy-tale Prince had eaten. He suffered from the dreams for a while after being given such a fruit by Nathaniel. Tasting it had brought him life thus far. For three centuries, though, he had reflected on these so-called immortal beings, who weren’t
really
immortal. Vampires could be staked, werewolves could be shot with a silver bullet, and fallen angels could burn and die in hellfire. True immortality, could it ever be grasped?

If it could, if he really had it, he wouldn’t share it with anyone else. He’d keep it to himself and be his own god.

In his pale, clear voice Nathaniel spoke to their driver, giving orders.

The carriage started off, gradually picking up speed as it passed street after street laced with people and shops.

Gabriel and Nathaniel had been invited to a party for the evening, not taking place for several hours. They could have lunch in one of the city’s restaurants before heading to the home of Sevien de Beau, who lived in the countryside. A friend of Nathaniel, which surprised Gabriel, as he didn’t think it possible the man had any friends.

Nathaniel turned to him, smiling.

Gabriel trembled at his friend’s same ageless expression he had witnessed a long, long time ago. Nathaniel’s smile exuberated youth and betrayed his haunting blue eyes, which looked as old as time. He trembled again.

The smile grew wider. “Oh,” he said. “
Oh.
That reminds me. There’s more to the story.”

Not amused, Gabriel crossed his arms against his chest. “
More?
Then you must be making it up.”

Nathaniel tilted his head to the side like a choirboy before he continued. “
As everything around the prince was dying, aging, and altering, he did take notice, but only in the manner that a child takes notice of his surroundings—knowing that he or she is there amidst it. He would preserve his friend: gifted, beautiful, but the prince was unaware that he too would alter, but in a different, more horrible way . . .”

If the fairy tale Nathaniel told him mirrored reality, then who symbolized the Visitor, the Prince, the Messenger, the Friend, the Betrayer in their dark, little enchanted world?

“I’m going to ask you again. “Does the Prince represent me?” Gabriel questioned.

“You, Gabriel, the prince?” Nathaniel laughed. “A fallen prince, perhaps. But you weren’t always this way, correct?”

“And how am I?”

“Do you really need to ask? What you did to Annabelle speaks volumes about your character.”

He nearly replied again that she had tried to kill him, and he’d acted in self-defense, therefore justifiable. Instead, he yawned, covering his mouth. “I’m such a beast,” he stated, dryly. “A brute. A monster.”

Nathaniel crossed his arms against his chest. “And you used to be so sweet and innocent, but you don’t want to hear that. It’s times past. Ancient.”

“Were you serious about that little comment?” Gabriel asked. “About teaching me a lesson?” He tried to keep his voice nonchalant and his face expressionless. “Did I fail or exceed your expectations? I couldn’t just simply pass.”

With that stupid smile still plastered on his face, Nathaniel called out to the driver to stop and reminded him about their evening engagement. “Return here by four o’clock.”

The driver tipped his hat. “Certainly, Mr. Gray.”

Gabriel lingered in the coach, reluctant to leave. Walking through the lanes and boulevards with Nathaniel might trigger some type of familiarity, a past life echo. What the French called
déjà vu
. And like the firing of a gun, the deadly, volatile bullet would be unleashed. It would be better if he didn’t remember. His past wasn’t as clear as it seemed, but tainted through and through. But the past always did have its way of stealing upon him.

* * *

The street, bustled with stylishly clothed women linked arm in arm with their gentlemen in equally fashionable attire, brimmed with their chatter, and laughter mingled with the sweet entreaties of the flower girls trying to make a sale.

“I say, you girl. Flowers. A shilling’s worth.” Gabriel raised his voice a little over the commotion.

“Yes sir. ’Ave as many as ye like,” one girl replied, raising her huge flower basket to him. She had long red hair. Not quite the striking, deep shade of red of his hair, but the color tugged at a memory. He wondered if her name was Abigail. His twin sister had been named Abigail. When he focused on the flower girl’s sun-kissed face and the pale column of her neck, the memory withered. He hated to recall that Abigail had died. Remembering her conjured up both dread and delight in him. But that was another story.

He could sense the girls’ eyes on him as he took his time picking out chrysanthemums, daffodils, roses, and violets, but when he finished, both girls cast furtive glances to the ground.

He glared at them, and the girls looked at him as one would look at a wolf—not directly—avoiding his gaze. He sensed they were afraid of him. Was it his hair color that they found not to their liking or his unusual height? Or more to the point—could they sense the spilled blood of the whore he had killed? He willed them to look at him, and his face grew warm when they finally tilted their pretty faces to do so. He smiled when they had a difficult time taking the money from his fingers. “Maidens,” he said, voice smooth like silk. “I thank you.”

He placed a white rose in the girl’s hair and a violet in her companion’s long brown hair. The two girls giggled nervously and nodded several times, like one would to a mad person, probably glad when he moved on and out of their sight. Their stares turned to smiles, and their silence broke into squeals when he tossed a gold sovereign to them. The red-head hesitated before stooping to retrieve it.

He laughed at himself, at his paranoia. They couldn’t possibly have known what he was: a murderer.

Gabriel and Nathaniel strolled side by side into a French-style restaurant,
Le Provençal,
expensive and to their liking. A waiter seated them at a table in the back, also to their liking. They were served amaretto and sherry and
crêpes fourres gratines
stuffed with goose livers, shrimp, and artichoke hearts, as usual.

Nathaniel took a flower from Gabriel’s bouquet and placed it in his blonde hair. “Why did you buy the flowers, Gabriel? To frighten the maidens?”

“What’s there to be frightened of?”

“Your beauty, perhaps.”

Gabriel scowled. “What makes me so beautiful?”

His friend chuckled. “Must you always answer me with questions?”

“Must you always ask stupid questions?”

Nathaniel raised his glass in ovation. “
Touché
.” He paused for a minute. “Do you know where we’re going for the evening?”

“To one of your
friends
,” he replied, “unless you’ve changed your mind again? You’re so bloody unpredictable.”

Nathaniel removed the flower from his hair, and tucked it into his frock coat pocket. “
Friends
,” he echoed, stressing the word as Gabriel had with a sardonic edge. “
Friend
, you say the word so nastily!”

Gabriel smiled. “The devil take you. It’s a nasty word.”

“How can you say that? I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

Gabriel stared at him, and then looked away as a
maître d’
approached the table behind them. If anyone were to overhear, they probably sounded like two lovers quarreling over some episode of selfishness or two passionate gentlemen ready to kill one another in a duel over a woman. He would prefer they think the latter.

Nathaniel lowered his voice. “Remember Lilith? It was I who saved you from her! She would’ve killed you if it weren’t for me. If I’m not your friend, then there’s meaning to the word.”

Gabriel forced another smile. “I find it peculiar that whenever I jest about something, you take it much too seriously. I’m beginning to realize that you don’t enjoy my sense of humor.”

But Nathaniel’s face wore a faraway look, the very same look Gabriel had awakened to over two hundred years ago. He had come to find the face of an angel poised over his, long blonde hair falling like silk into pale, blue eyes. A face, bright and beautiful enough to pull him away from the darkness. That face brought comfort after the murder of his parents.

“Where am I?” Gabriel had asked, staring at the blue sky, which resembled the eyes of his savior. Sitting up, he noticed a darting figure in the distance, weaving through the trees. It waded ankle-deep across a flowing river. Its quick, cat-like feet seemed not to disturb its serene surface, as if walking on water.

The darting figure had been
her
:
Lilith
.

Nathaniel’s voice sounded calmer as it pulled Gabriel from drowning in his murky past. “Remember,” he said, “it was Lilith. She was the one who thought of doing harm to you and your pretty sister. And do you remember how we found fetching Abigail in the end? So tragic.”

Silence fell as Gabriel traced his fingers over the intricate design of the silver table knife. That particular memory had become vague. He glanced at Nathaniel, shaking his head. He didn’t want to remember.

“Gabriel.” Nathaniel’s voice no longer droned on, but filled with cadence instead. “Are you listening?”

“Not really. Your chatter bores me.”

“No, it doesn’t bore you in the slightest. It frightens you.”

Gabriel flinched, for his friend had hit closer to the truth.

A stone-faced waiter addressed them formally, speaking of the wine for the afternoon, entertainment at the music halls, and other trivial nonsense. They sent him away, and he returned with a chilled bottle of claret. They ate in silence, while haunting images from his past drowned out any sense of calm.

HOURS LATER,
GABRIEL FOUND
himself standing like one of the many statues in their host’s garden, as Nathaniel wandered around, chattering to himself. The carriage had halted in front of a quaint two-story mansion that looked like a miniature castle, set like a white conch shell in an ocean of green field and trees. Their vehicle retreated toward the horizon, a diminishing speck of dust, until it vanished.

Just after sunset, the stars brightened the dark blue sky. Arranged in a clever manner, the Hellenic marble statues could’ve been actors in a play that had turned to stone in the middle of a dramatic scene. If Gabriel closed his eyes, he could envision the tableau coming to life, flesh and blood, bitter and beautiful: the villain, Hades; the prince, Paris; the maiden, tragic like Persephone but a beauty like Helen. All maidens were the same to him and could be summed in three words: beautiful, innocent, and tragic.

Gabriel followed Nathaniel into the mansion. In the foyer, they were met by a servant, who then led them to the ballroom. Gabriel glanced over the enormous chamber. There were about forty guests, standing in little groups. Some were dancing to the waltz. Moonlight rained through the ribbed ceiling’s window into the ballroom. A long, rectangular window consumed the entire back wall, framing the star-spangled violet-and-black sky, an ethereal landscape in a magic mirror. The ballroom resembled a garden, an Eden, filled with flowers, carob, and lacy acacia trees. But there were no trees of Life and certainly no trees bearing tempting, forbidden fruit.

Eight servants, male and female, dressed in black and red, lit candles. An exotic musky scent bloomed in the air. Wisps of white incense mingled with the eerie glow of gaslight, obscuring the surroundings.

Gabriel looked to his right where a quartet of two men and two women played. The two blonde women played violins, and a flaxen-haired man played a cello, while a blackhaired man sat behind the piano. Although young, they played exquisitely. The blonde trio glowed like morning glories, flaxen-haired, white and lithe, dressed in white and green, while the pianist appeared as a dark tulip among them, exotic and rare, a beautiful icon of black and white. Blue eyes, which brought back the memory of his father’s blue eyes. The pianist’s appearance, so vivid, like a living black-and-white painting, astounded Gabriel. When he stood up, looking at the pianist, those blue eyes struck him once again.

“There’s our host,” Nathaniel announced.

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at Nathaniel and then looked past him.

Lord Sevien. He played with the cufflinks of his silver-and-white evening dress, before adjusting the ruffles of his silver shirt. His white hair had been brushed straight back and curled up slightly at the collar. With his V-shaped hairline, pale hair, skin, and attire, he resembled an ice dragon in human form. Violet eyes stared back at Gabriel, pitiless and cruel. “Good evening, Gabriel.” He had the voice of a fallen angel, silvery, enticing, and unbearable. He motioned with his slender fingers, Gabriel and Nathaniel followed. He led them through a sepulcher-like hallway—slanted, narrow, and dark—into an oval room filled with Da Vinci-like paintings. Every portrait’s face had a peculiar smile as ancient and ominous as the Great Sphinx’s.

“Is this some vaudeville house of horror?” Gabriel asked, smiling to himself. He stopped walking for a several seconds to get a better look. “The Greek garden statues were a lot nicer,” he went on, pointing briefly at each painting. “I don’t like how they appear to smile and scowl all at once. You should think about remodeling with brighter colors. Blues, yellows, or at least throw a splash of violet in. I heard that PreRaphaelite paintings are the latest fashion.”

Over his shoulder, Sevien cast him a dark look, the way teachers scowled before whacking naughty students with rulers.

Gabriel didn’t expect much more of an answer.

Falling into stride with Sevien, Nathaniel smiled. “Please excuse Gabriel’s facetiousness. He can be so childish sometimes. He really doesn’t understand the substance of all this.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and followed his host into a private room, where the three took seats in high-backed chairs with carved profiles, typical of ancient Egyptian furniture.

Sevien smirked. Folding his hands, he placed them underneath his chin. On his finger gleamed a swiveling stone in the shape of a scarab beetle. “I have words for you from Lilith. Orders. Warnings.”

Gabriel sneered. “Is she some goddess, or maybe a demon, that I must do her bidding?”

“Yes,” Sevien agreed. “That is permissible.”

Gabriel made a deep, forced sound. A laugh, sardonic and icy. “I don’t believe in gods or God. Or demons, for that matter. Such beliefs are passé; don’t you agree?”

Sevien raised a white, pencil-thin brow. “You’re an arrogant fool. It would be wise of you to do as she commands.”

“And what is that?”

“Pay close attention to the opera that I have commissioned. It begins in a few minutes. It is novel. Only my guests will see it.”

Gabriel nodded, thinking of Lilith with contempt. He imagined her speaking to Sevien in her distinct voice. Oh, yes, he remembered her voice—deep, languid, flowing like molasses, sweet and seductive. The voice of Aphrodite. But he mostly remembered her words, the few that she’d ever spoken to him: “I find it funny that you give thanks to the creature,” she had replied to something he had said.

Oh, what was it again? Yes, Gabriel had told her about the wolves that had driven away his parents’ murderers. He had explained, “Their hungry wails howled like the gusting wind, and then I saw them. They saved me. I owe the wolves my gratitude.”

She had replied in her usual manner—a mix of nonchalance and vanity—that he should think otherwise. Had she implied being more than a mere creature? A goddess? Worthy of praise and adulation?

“What of Lilith?” Gabriel asked suddenly. “Is she a goddess then?”

Sevien gave him a smug look. His eyes had turned a rich, bluish green. “Oh, Lilith? Let’s just say that all goddesses imitate her.”

Gabriel let out a short laugh and threw Nathaniel a meaningful glance.

Sevien leaned back in his chair. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing Gabriel. “Go ahead and continue to believe that this is a game.”

Gabriel grinned at him. “But I like games, especially when I win.”

“Listen, the music is enticing,” Nathaniel declared to no one in particular.

Their host rose and led them back to an ambiance of dancing, moonlight, and music. Music that soared, capable of bringing arousal. Music that seduced, tempted. Was this how Lucifer played?

Gabriel danced the waltz with a couple of women. He twirled them around and politely kissed their upturned hands before bowing away. He received a couple of scowls from their hosts because it was unfashionable for a gentleman to dance with single women without being introduced ahead of time, but scowls were harmless. In his opinion, society’s rigid rules were meant to be bent. He sensed that the young ladies patrons’ would rather let this social taboo slide than cause a scene, which put a smile on his face. He could be gentle, but he wasn’t a gentleman.

A servant returned into the ballroom and announced that dinner would be served. The guests followed him into the dining room. They took seats at the table, lavish with sumptuous foods presented in porcelain dishes. Shrimp relished with avocadoes, poached salmon, ham garnished with apples and almonds captured his eye, and his stomach ached to be filled. Wine glasses glittered beneath the chandelier’s crystal glow. He had a glass of red wine and pretended he sipped something redder, thicker, and warmer.

During the meal, Sevien didn’t eat anything. He only smiled and asked for a refill of wine once in a while. “Gabriel, eat as much as you like,” he offered. “You need your energy, don’t you? And Nathaniel tells me that you aren’t getting it any other way . . .” He chuckled softly. “You’re my guest, after all. So, I request that you eat and drink.”

He rested his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder while he spoke.

Gabriel shivered.

Sevien’s jeweled eyes looked wider and overflowing with something close to hunger. When he stared at him for several minutes, he felt a deluge of fatigue wash over him.

Gabriel averted his eyes, trembling.

After dinner, Sevien announced the presentation of the opera. Servants escorted Gabriel and Nathaniel to their seats and passed out leaflets to accompany the opera, titled
The Vampire and the Maiden
. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the cast: Voltaire the Vampire, played by Louis LeBlanc; Parfit, the Maiden, played by Genevieve Delechevalier Lemaitre; her sister, Clara, played by Adele Lemaitre; Priest Monet, played by Michel Delechevalier. He didn’t expect the play to be of the classical nature. After all, Sevien mentioned that it would give him answers regarding Lilith, whom he hadn’t heard from since that day he ate of the fruit. He would have liked to let his mind wander to other things—well, only one thing—finding truth in Nathaniel’s story.

Nathaniel nudged Gabriel with his elbow. “Voltaire, the vampire? How ingenious.”

“But Voltaire didn’t believe in vampires,” Gabriel pointed out.

“That’s what makes it so absurdly charming,” Nathaniel replied with a little shrug.

The servants extinguished some of the gaslights, finally enclosing them in scattered darkness and mist. In front of the enormous window, one of the blonde women lit a torch on the stage. It glowed faintly, like the lantern of a phantom.

A vast part of the ballroom had been transformed to resemble a barren and dark, foggy boulevard, where a single man stood dispassionate to his surroundings. This blonde, pale man symbolized the vampire, clad in black.

The operetta’s plot proved to be clever, yet ridiculous. Throughout it, Gabriel couldn’t help but frown as Nathaniel grinned every now and then. For sixty minutes, the riveting duets, dances, and interludes of passionate duels were as dull as any other theatrical performance he had been required to witness over the year, and it left him unmoved.

But then, a woman with long, black hair pirouetted in front of the vampire, dressed in a white gown, flowing from her shoulders to her ankles—an immaculate, glowing white, the color of saints, angels, and righteousness. A porcelain mask the color of dark cocoa covered her upper face. Her bare feet brushed along the floor, and she moved exquisitely in a dance of such innocence, like the dance of a flower caught in the wind’s kiss. Gabriel found himself leaning forward, captivated.

And when she sang, her words more than her voice entranced him—not so much by her voice, but rather the words she uttered:
Who wants to live forever?

The vampire moved with grace and stealth. Suddenly appearing behind her, he draped his arm around her shoulder, his face disappearing in the crevice of her neck.

Within two more scenes, the vampire kissed the Maiden Parfit three times. He murdered her by the end of the operetta. The black-haired pianist, who played the priest, laid her to rest in a short scene. In his surprisingly deep and beautiful voice, he sang an aria that revealed the meaning of the Maiden’s name,
Parfit
. Old French for untainted perfection.

The name suited her. Even perfection could be spoiled. Humans always had a way of destroying paradise. In a melodramatic soliloquy, the vampire explained that if he hadn’t killed the girl, he would have had to destroy himself.

At the end of the operetta, Gabriel felt lost. The opera proved to be absurd. Only the mad could understand it. In the darkness, he turned to Nathaniel, his mind filled with questions that he doubted would be answered. “Did you like the opera?” Nathaniel asked.

“It was tart.” He stood up, and Nathaniel did the same. “I assumed that it would make sense, but it was filled with a plethora of contradictions,” Gabriel stated while they followed the departing guests. He didn’t catch a glimpse of Sevien anywhere. Good.

Covering his mouth, Nathaniel let out a soft laugh. “Tart? Oh Gabriel! You must have forgotten all you’ve learned about our kind.”

Forgotten? Lies were worth forgetting. But the truth should be cherished. Gabriel glanced at Nathaniel, who abruptly stopped laughing and grew very still.

“Lilith wants to kill you,” he stated, his blue eyes as cold and dry as a winter sky.

Gabriel laughed to hide his fear. “You’re madder than I thought. Maybe I should check you into an asylum.”

“You are to Enlighten others, Gabriel. Your desires must be Lilith’s desires, or you’ll suffer the consequences. She
wants
to kill you. Would you like to know how?” This time, his eyes held a pleased sparkle.

Who cares what Lilith wants? Certainly not me. “
You can’t kill what’s immortal. I am my own god, my own devil. I follow my own desires.” He shoved Nathaniel. “Out of my way.”

His companion laughed. “Immortal or not, she can break you. Don’t be cross with me. I’m only the messenger.”

Gabriel spun around sharply on his heels. “Lilith wants me dead, does she? Well, everyone is entitled to their wants, but wanting something doesn’t make it so. And you’re the messenger, eh? Well then, relay this message to her: I don’t fear you . . . and . . . go to Hell!” He turned away and sped ahead of Nathaniel. A few feet away, he could see Sevien speaking with a small group. As he came nearer, he recognized the musicians from earlier. Almost immediately, they stopped chatting and acknowledged his presence.

“Leaving so soon?” Sevien asked.

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I’m in need of a breath of fresh air. If that is all right with you?” he asked, his tone far from gracious.

A thin smile bowed Sevien’s lips. “Of course. But first, let me introduce you to my special guests. You may recognize them as the performers from that delightful and imaginative opera.” His smile widened into a Cheshire Cat grin.

Have you already tasted of this fruit? asked the Prince.
Gabriel forced a tight smile. He had to get out of here. He brought out his hand to the black-haired pianist. “A pleasure to meet you. You play divinely.”