Eventually, the train flashed through a station on the outskirts of Paris.
“Not long now,” Roux murmured, indicating for me to turn to a new page in my sketchbook. “Time for a battle plan.”
Yikes. He made it sound like we were storming the Normandy beaches on D-Day.
Forty-five minutes later, I had my sketchbook buried in the bottom of my backpack and Roux’s words etched deep in my mind.
No details. No promises. No confidential information.
Clearly, this was not going to be your average teatime. But, yikes. Gordon couldn’t possibly be devious enough to warrant all this. Could he?
* * *
“Geneviève!” my godfather greeted me warmly.
Gordon looked like any other well-to-do businessman — medium build, buffed leather shoes, self-satisfied expression. My grandmother always said he reminded her of 1960s heartthrob Alain Delon.
After an internet search for pictures of Alain Delon in his prime, I’d decided James Dean was a closer match. Either way, Gordon must have been quite the catch in his day. He’d never found someone to settle down with, but that was common with warlocks, apparently.
“So nice to see you.” I hugged him, and it was just like old times.
Mina and Roux had to be exaggerating. Gordon was my father’s dear friend and confidant. A man who had generously supported us for years.
Then he spotted Roux, and his voice dropped to a growl.
“Mr. Anand.”
I’d never heard a tone quite that vicious, or one that promised so much retribution. So, yikes. Maybe Mina and Roux hadn’t been exaggerating.
“Bonjour,” Roux said evenly.
“Roux was kind enough to accompany me today,” I explained.
“Ah. Sensible,” Gordon said, though he still looked displeased. “Paris isn’t as safe as it used to be.”
Did he mean vampires? Shady art dealers? Himself?
“Please come in, my dear. Have a seat.” He ushered me into the living room that overlooked the Canal Saint-Martin below and Sacré-Cœur in the distance. I paused at the threshold to take it all in.
I’d always known Gordon made a lot of money. According to Mina, though, he made even more than we realized. Dirty money.
I looked around at the antiques and paintings in his penthouse, wondering.
The moment I’d walked into the apartment, I’d sensed magic tingling all around. Not the warm, comforting embrace of the château’s magic — an edgier kind of magic. Edgier than on previous visits. Had something changed here, or had Roux made me hypervigilant?
Gordon, I noticed, didn’t invite him past the entrance hall. The tiger stood there stoically, gazing at nothing in particular. The perfect, discreet bodyguard, in other words. Not that I needed one.
Or did I?
Gordon settled down on the couch opposite my armchair. “So good of you to stop by.”
“Sorry not to have made it sooner. We’ve been so busy.”
“I can’t wait to hear about the progress you’ve made.”
Roux didn’t look, gesture, or comment, but I could sense him growling into my mind.
No details. No promises.
