We were alone, Gideon Arnaud and I. Valentine had taken the jewels to my strongbox and to record them in his ledgers, except for the last one. Arnaud stood by the fireplace, still rolling it between his fingertips as if reluctant to part with it. I gazed into its rich crimson depths and I felt as if I existed in there, trapped within its beautiful shine, manipulated by his pale, elegant fingers.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
He laughed. It was a low but vibrant sound. The curtains at the window rippled softly as if with the vibration, when I knew it was only the night breeze. “But you know me already, Lucas. I may call you that, may I not? You know me, and my voice. And I know far more of you than any person before me.”
“No,” I said, doggedly. I turned away from him, to stare into the fir
