Such an art would not have served her with Cass in any case. Her eyes were like twin lanterns with the lights burned out, giving none of her thoughts away.
“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? I am only the bastard child of a wild gypsy woman and a foolish holy man who forgot his vows. Your lineage is certainly more impressive than mine, Gabrielle Cheney. Your father was a renowned knight and your mother, the incomparable Evangeline, such a queen among sorceresses, she was known as the Lady of Faire Isle. The noble descendant of a long line of strong and clever witches.”
“Regrettably, I don’t seem to have inherited my share of the family gifts.” Gabrielle tried to speak lightly, but she felt her throat tighten. “Whatever magic I did possess, I lost it a long time ago.”
“Then go to your sister Ariane for help,” Cassandra said. “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 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 who 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. “There is only one way I might consider your request. Let me read your hand.”
Gabrielle tensed. This was not the first time Cass had made such a request of her, but Gabrielle had always been wary of granting it.
She whipped her hands nervously behind her back. “Why? Why do you need to do that?”
“Because I am the only one left in a family of women who were tortured and burned for practicing witchcraft. I have learned to be damned careful about whom I trust. If I am to consider granting your request, I need to probe the depths of your innermost heart. Other wise women are adept at reading the eyes. Obviously that skill is barred to me. I am, however, good at reading hands. Let me examine yours.”
Cassandra held out her own hand in a demanding gesture. Gabrielle still hesitated. Probe the depths of her innermost heart? That was something Gabrielle had never allowed anyone to do, not even her own sisters, and she had only known Cass for three months. She was disquieted by the notion that Cass might somehow be able to draw out the secrets of her soul through the touch of her palm. Was such a thing even possible? Gabrielle didn’t like the idea of it, but if she wanted Cass’s help, she had no choice but to cooperate.
“A-all right.” Gabrielle started to extend her own hand. Cerberus, suspicious of the gesture, let out a fierce bark.
“Down!” Cassandra ordered. As the dog subsided at her feet, Gabrielle uneasily rested her hand in Cassandra’s grasp.
The woman turned Gabrielle’s hand palm up and began to trace her finger across the surface. Gabrielle shivered, finding Cass’s touch disturbing and cold. It was rather like being probed by a needle of ice.
“This is a well-formed hand,” she murmured. “Elegant, the skin smooth as silk. But it was not always so. Once there were calluses here—” Cass touched the pads of Gabrielle’s palm. “And here.” She touched Gabrielle’s fingertips.
“Calluses from . . . from working with chisel and marble? And these well-manicured nails were chipped and flecked with paint.”
Gabrielle started a little at this observation, and then said dismissively. “I used to dabble a bit with sculpting and the like. A girl has to amuse herself somehow. I found it more entertaining than needlework.”
“It was more than mere entertainment. This hand could once perform a great magic. Breathing life into stone. Taking a blank canvas, filling it with light and color, conjuring images that mesmerized the eye and moved the heart. The hand of an extraor-dinary artist.”
“Perhaps I did have some such ability, but I
told
you,” Gabrielle replied with some asperity. “Any magic I ever had, I lost a long time ago.”
“And exactly how does a wise woman go about losing her magic?” Cass asked softly.
“How should I know?” Gabrielle snapped, but she knew all too well how and when she’d lost her magic. She simply didn’t care to discuss it.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gabrielle said. “No woman can ever find fame and fortune as an artist. That was an old dream and a foolish one.”
“You never used to worry so much about fame and fortune. At least not then.”
Gabrielle flinched and tried to close up her hand, but Cass forced her fingers back open.
“Yes, a very lovely hand, but an empty one,” Cass murmured.
“I told you that I could easily fill it up with jewels and coin for you.”
“I am not talking about that kind of emptiness, but the sort that would not be apparent to most. You are a beautiful woman, much sought after and desired. But your life is empty all the same. You abandoned all that you ever knew when you came to Paris, your two sisters, your home and friends on Faire Isle, and now you are quite alone.”
“Nonsense. I have a house full of servants and I am frequently at court. I attend the banquets, the masques, the balls. People surround me all the time, seeking my favor.”
“Women you don’t trust and men you despise. Fools who see nothing but the glittering façade you present and never come close to touching the real Gabrielle. This hand speaks to me of darkness, isolation, a vast loneliness.”
Then her hand was telling Cassandra a great deal too much, Gabrielle thought. “Is there a point to all this?” she asked, trying to draw her hand away. “I didn’t come here to have my palm read.”
Cass only tightened her grip, her long, thin fingers continuing their inspection. “Ah!”
“Ah, what?” Gabrielle asked anxiously.
Cass traced the creases on Gabrielle’s palm. “Here I feel a pulsing vein that marks great ambition . . . a strong desire for power, fame . . . invulnerability. But right next to it runs the line of the heart, the hunger for passion, romance, a fervent wish to love and be loved.”
“That line must be very short,” Gabrielle said, pulling a wry face.
“No, the lines are equal in length and converging upon each other, reaching a point where a choice will have to be made. Love or ambition.”
“I have already made it.”
Cass smiled and shook her head. “No, you haven’t. But your choice will be a difficult one. There is an old scar getting in the way.”
Gabrielle straightened haughtily. “I have no scar. My hand is flawless.”
“The scar is on your heart, Gabrielle Cheney. An old wound that never properly healed, left upon you by an unworthy man.”
“I think I have heard quite enough—”
“You gave your entire heart to this man and he betrayed you,” Cass continued softly, but inexorably. “With the most unspeakable injury a man can inflict upon a woman. One bright summer afternoon in the hayloft of a barn—”
“My God. You are a blasted witch!” Gabrielle cried and wrenched her hand away. She staggered back and clutched her palm, feeling as though Cass had sliced her open and left her bleeding, old and bitter memories spilling out of her. Of that June with Etienne Danton, the brutal afternoon she had tried her best to forget.
No, she
had
forgotten it.
Gabrielle released a tremulous breath, groping for her mask. “This—this is all the most arrant nonsense. I have no time for any more of this folly. If you don’t want to help me, then fine. I clearly made a mistake in coming here. I bid you good evening.”
Cerberus emitted a short bark as Gabrielle stalked away, but she had not even reached the door when Cassandra called after her, “Gabrielle, wait.”
Gabrielle halted, glancing back at the other woman. Cass stood motionless, frozen in the pool of light from the candle Gabrielle had forgotten in her haste.
After a pause, Cassandra said, “I will do what you ask, but I warn you. There is a reason why 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 left unsaid between them.
“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 can I 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 loath to discuss the tragic loss of her family. As one who fiercely guarded her own wounds, Gabrielle understood and respected Cass’s reticence.