The corner of the poster is burned away. This isn’t a copy. It was one of the posters on the wall outside when La Petite Mort burned. Has Gideon had it all this time?
I reach up and trace the outline of the collar. My free hand grazes my neck, my wrist stinging a little from where Gideon’s tie dug in.
He made all of this to remember me…
I look back over my shoulder at his slumped form. I should feel triumphant. I’m doing exactly what he did to me. Instead, regret churns in my stomach.
I don’t like this feeling. I don’t like not being in control of my emotions. Gideon Rougon shouldn’t tie me up in knots. I’m supposed to tiehimin knots.
Er, Gideon Blake. I mean Gideon Blake, of course.
On impulse, I untie his shoelaces and tie them together.
Now that’s done, and I’m in control again. On to the next stage of the plan. I pull out a clever little device that Moriarty gave me and hold it over Gideon’s thumbprint. It scans his thumb and creates a 3D skin. I pull my phone from the hidden slip in my dress and send a text to Morrie. Once he confirms that Sanctus security is down, I cross the bar, smooth down my dress, and call the elevator.
I hold the device up to the scanner in the elevator, and after a short ride, the doors open right into Gideon’s apartment, which takes up the whole of the top floor of Sanctus House.
The apartment is pure Gideon – the furniture stark and modern, but softened with luxe fabrics and clever lighting that comes on automatically as I move through the space. Everywhere I look, my eyes fall on exquisite art.
Gideon may not be an artist, but he understands them. He’s as touched by art as I am.
The man hastaste.
Well, mostly.
The hideous bust he made of me stands in the corner beside the window. I grab an Hermès throw from the sofa and toss it over the statue.
As much as I’d love to spend hours investigating Gideon’s art collection, discovering where each piece came from and the story behind it, I have a job to do. I glance around, searching for a hiding place for a safe. It has to be large. The hard drive will be tiny but Gideon said he stored his “treasure” here – his private fortune will be substantial.
I wander through the rooms, pressing back against the nausea and dizziness of my approaching daysleep as I study the walls. There aren’t many of them. In the kitchen, I inspect the high-end blood cellar, but I can’t find a hidden safe. I check his bedroom and gasp at the obscene rotatingcoffin-shapedbed that overlooks floor-to-ceiling windows for a 240-degree view over the woods and the estate. Everything about this bedroom is pure Gideon. My fingers itch to run over the sheets, to check if they’re high-count Egyptian cotton, but I think about Gideon lying passed out downstairs while I ransack his private apartments, and I move on quickly.
I shouldn’t feel bad. This is exactly what he did to my boudoir.
The thought doesn’t fill me with my usual righteous indignation.
After checking the closet and resisting the urge to run my fingers along the row of suits and drench myself in his cologne (he wears Mischief, by the famed Upyr designer Vesper, of course), and discounting the office and media room for their lack of wall space, I turn to the long wall on the right of the living area, where a large painting that looks like one of Claude’s takes pride of place. I stand at the end of the wall, which separates the living room from the kitchen – and notice that it tapers outward, forming a triangle thicker on one end than the other.
Aha. Found you.
I study the wall, but can’t see a seam or hidden panel. I turn to the painting. This is the bit I’m unsure about. I had no way of knowing what kind of security system I’d face. Morrie has furnished me with a small kit, but I couldn’t hide it anywhere on my body or Gideon would have found it, which suggests that when I came out tonight, at least part of me knew that if he kissed me, I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
What does it say about me that I’ll happily go to bed with a man I intend to rob?
It says that I’m still the same Arabella Macquart. I can separate matters of the heart from matters of business. And right now, my business is saving my friends. It’s stopping a husker from exposing vampires and destroying everything Gideon is trying to build.
My limbs are stiff and heavy as I take down the painting. Sure enough, behind it is a recessed door and complicated-looking lock. I snap a picture on my phone and text it to Morrie. A moment later, he texts back detailed instructions.
I return to the kitchen for a salad fork. (Luckily, Gideon has drawers filled with cutlery, even though he won’t use any of it. I try not to wonder if that means he often has Thralls over for dinner.) I work for a few minutes and the door swings open, revealing a narrow, triangular room, the walls lined with empty shelves and niches.
I have no idea if, right now, a silent alarm is going off. I have to hope that Morrie is as effective at disabling Sanctus’ security as he says he is, giving me a short window to get this done.
My legs wobble as I step inside.
The room is long and narrow, barely a metre from wall to wall at the long end of the triangle, designed so that someone visiting the apartment wouldn’t notice its presence. I expect the niches to be filled with Gideon’s “treasure”, but they’re all empty and coated in dust, except for two.
The first contains a hard drive.
I’ve got you now, Gideon Blake. All your secrets are mine.
