Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(64)

“She looked at you as if you were trash, but I fixed her. She bothers you again, and I drop her as a student. You’ll be fine, now.”

He brought his face close to hers again and licked his red and perfect lips slowly, very  slowly. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this. It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it? You should be asleep in your little purple bed, curled up like a kitten. A pretty little kitten with big brown eyes. I’d like to pet you.”

Julia’s eyebrows shot up. Where the hell does he get this stuff?

“Um, I really need to go home. Now. Would you come outside and help me hail a cab? Please, Professor?” Julia gestured vaguely toward the exit, trying to place some distance between the two of them.

He grabbed his trench coat immediately. “I’m sorry. I left you to find your way home unescorted on Thursday. I won’t do that again. Let’s get you home, little kitten.”

He held out his arm in a very proper and old-fashioned way, and she took it, wondering who exactly was leading whom. When they got outside, Ethan was standing next to a cab, holding the rear passenger door open.

“Miss Mitchell,” Gabriel breathed, placing his hand at the small of her back, gently moving her toward the open door of the taxi.

“On second thought, I can walk,” she protested, trying to move out of the way.

But Gabriel was insistent and so was Ethan, probably because he was trying to get both of them out of there before Gabriel decided he didn’t want to leave and decked him. So for the sake of time and to avoid Christa, the Gollum who could reappear at any moment and try to snatch back the Precious, Julia crawled into the cab and slid over to the far side.

Gabriel climbed in after her. She held her nose slightly so she wouldn’t get an inhalant high from all the Scotch he’d imbibed. Ethan handed a few bills to the driver and closed the door behind them, waving at Julia as the cab sped away.

“Manulife Building,” said Gabriel to the cabbie.

Julia was just about to correct The Professor and give the cabbie her address when Gabriel interrupted her. “You didn’t come into The Vestibule  for a drink.” He was looking at her clothes, his eyes resting somewhat hungrily on the flesh at her knees, exposed underneath her ripped jeans.

“Bad luck. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Hardly,” he breathed, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I would say you have extremely good luck. And now that I’ve seen you, so have I.”

She sighed. It was too late to ask the cabbie to turn around now; they were driving in the opposite direction. She was going to have to see to it that The Professor made it inside safely before she could walk home. She shook her head and took a long sip from her smoothie.

“Were you spying on me?” His eyes shifted to hers suspiciously. “For Rachel?”

“Of course not. I was on my way home from the library when I saw you through the window.”

“You saw me and decided to come and talk to me?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes,” Julia lied.

“Why?”

“I only know two people in Toronto, Professor. You’re one of them.”

“That’s a shame. I suppose Paul is the other one.”

Julia eyed him cautiously but said nothing.

“Angelf*cker.”

She frowned. “Why do you keep calling him that?”

“Because that’s what he is, Miss Mitchell. Or rather, what he hopes  he will become. Over my dead body. You tell him that — tell him he f**ks with the angel at his peril.”

Julia arched an eyebrow at his eccentric and obviously medieval profan-ity and its attendant explanation. She’d seen him drunk before, of course, and knew that his drunkenness vacillated between moments of absolute clarity and complete lunacy.

How exactly does one f**k with an angel? Angels are immaterial, spiritual creatures. They don’t have genitalia. Gabriel, you are one sick Dante specialist.

They arrived shortly at his apartment building, and the two of them exited the cab. It wasn’t that far for Julia to walk home — only about four city blocks. And she didn’t have any cash to spare for a cab, anyway. So she smiled at Gabriel, bade him a good night, and patted herself on the back for doing Rachel a favor. Then she and her smoothie began the long solitary walk home.

“I’ve lost my keys,” he called after her, patting the pockets of his trousers and leaning precariously against a faux potted palm. “But I’ve found my glasses!” He held the black Prada frames aloft.

Julia closed her eyes and drew breath. She wanted to leave him there.

She wanted to pass along the responsibility for his well being to some other Good Samaritan, preferably, a passing homeless person. But when she looked over at Gabriel’s confused face and saw him beginning to tilt to one side as if he was going to fall over and take the poor potted palm with him (a potted palm that had never harmed anyone), she knew that he needed her help. He was Grace’s little boy once, and she couldn’t just abandon him.

And she knew deep within her heart that kindness, no matter how small, was never wasted.

He can’t even find his keys, for the love of Dante.  She deposited her half-empty smoothie in a garbage can with a sigh.

“Let’s go.” She placed an arm around his waist, flinching slightly as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze that was almost too friendly.