and made her way to the door. As she walked by, Percival blocked her path with his cane, the
polished ebony brushing her leg. “Forgive me for accosting you in such a forthright fashion,” he said,
standing so that he rose above her. “But I insist upon buying you a drink.”
The young woman looked at him, startled. He could not tell what surprised her more—the cane
blocking her way or his unusual approach to asking her to stay with him.
“You’re awfully dressed up,” she said, eyeing his tuxedo. Her voice was high-pitched and
emotional, the exact opposite of Gabriella’s cold, uninflected manner of expression, an inversion that
damaged Percival’s fantasy in an instant. He had wanted to believe he’d discovered Gabriella, but it
was clear that this person was not as similar to Gabriella as he’d hoped. Nevertheless, he yearned to
speak to her, to look at her, to re-create the past.
He gestured for her to sit across from him. She hesitated just a moment, glanced once again at his
expensive clothing, and sat. To his disappointment, her physical resemblance to Gabriella diminished
even further when he examined her at close proximity. Her skin was peppered with fine freckles;
Gabriella’s had been creamy and unblemished. Her eyes were brown; Gabriella’s had been brilliant
green. Yet the curve of her shoulders and the way her blunt-cut black hair rested upon her cheeks was
similar enough to hold his fascination. He ordered a bottle of champagne—the most expensive bottle
available—and began to regale her with stories of his adventures in Europe, altering the tales to mask
his age or, rather, his agelessness. While he had lived in Paris in the thirties, he told her he’d lived
there in the eighties. While his business interests had been entirely directed by his father, he claimed
to run his own enterprise. Not that she noticed the finer points or details of what he told her. It seemed
to matter little what he said—she drank the champagne and listened, utterly unaware that she caused
him such utter discomfort. It didn’t matter if she were as mute as a mannequin, so long as he could
keep her there before him, silent and wide-eyed, half amused and half adoring, her hand draped
carelessly over the table, her fleeting similarities to Gabriella intact. All that mattered was the
illusion that time had fallen away.
The fantasy allowed him to recall the blind fury Gabriella’s betrayal had caused him. The two of
them had planned the theft of the Rhodope treasure together. Their plan had been precisely calibrated
and, to Percival’s mind, brilliant. Their relationship had been one of passion, but also of mutual
advantage. Gabriella had brought him information about angelological work—detailed reports on the
holdings and whereabouts of angelologists—and Percival gave Gabriella information that allowed
her to advance through the hierarchy of the society with ease. Their business interactions—there
could be no other word for these worldly exchanges—had only served to make him admire Gabriella.
Her hunger to succeed made her all the more precious to him.
With Gabriella’s guidance the Grigori family learned of the Second Angelological Expedition.
Their plan had been brilliant. Percival and Gabriella had set up the abduction of Seraphina Valko
together, designating the route the caravan would take through Paris, making certain that the leather
case remained in Gabriella’s hands. They had wagered that a trade—releasing the angelologists in
exchange for the case containing the treasure—would be instantly approved by the Angelological
Council. Dr. Seraphina Valko was not only an angelologist of world renown, she was the wife of the
council leader, Raphael Valko. There was no possibility that the council would let her die, no matter
how precious the object in question. Gabriella had assured him that their plan would work. He had
believed her. Yet it soon became clear that something had gone terribly wrong. When he realized that
there would be no trade, Percival killed Seraphina Valko himself. She had died in silence, although
they’d done all they could to encourage her to divulge information about the object she’d recovered.
But worst of all, Gabriella had betrayed him.
The night she had given him the leather case containing the lyre he would have married her. He
would have brought her into their circle, even against the objections of his parents, who long
suspected that she was a spy working to infiltrate the Grigori family. Percival had defended her. But
when his mother had taken the lyre to be examined by a German specialist in the history of musical
instruments, a man often called upon to verify Nazi treasures, they found that the lyre was nothing