Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,71

graduate student, especially a female graduate student, even if it was the truth. She was undoing him slowly, bit by bit, and he did not understand how.

Gabriel’s blue eyes found hers. And across his pale and handsome face, Julia read remorse.

“Forgive me. I know I’ve disgusted you.” He spoke very quietly. “But believe me when I tell you that that is a very good reaction for you to have. You should be repulsed by me. Every time I’m near you, I corrupt you.”

“I don’t feel corrupted.”

He gazed at her sadly. “Only because you don’t know what it means. And by the time you realize it, it will be too late. Adam and Eve didn’t realize what they’d lost until they were thrown out of Paradise.”

“I know something about that,” Julia mumbled. “And I didn’t learn it by reading Milton.”

Just then Christopher brought their pizza, effectively ending their awkward exchange. Gabriel played the part of the host, serving Julia her salad and pizza first and taking great care to make sure that she received more shaved parmesan and croutons than he did. And it wasn’t because he didn’t like those items; he liked them both a great deal.

While they were eating and Julia was thinking back to their first silent meal together, a song began to play over the stereo system that was so sweet, she put her fork down in order to listen.

Gabriel heard the song too and softly began to sing to himself, almost under his breath, something about heaven and hell and virtue and vice.

Julia was struck by the eerie relevance of the words. But then Gabriel stopped, suddenly unsure of himself, and began focusing his attention on his pizza. She glanced over at him with a dropped jaw. She didn’t know that he could sing. And to hear his perfect mouth and voice sing those words…

“That’s a beautiful song. Who is it by?”

“It’s called You and Me by Matthew Barber, a local musician. Did you catch that line—the one about virtue and vice? I guess we know which term applies to each of us.”

“It’s beautiful but sad.”

“I’ve always had a terrible weakness for beautiful but sad things.” He looked at her carefully before turning away. “I suppose we should begin discussing your thesis proposal now, Miss Mitchell.”

Julia saw that his professional mask was firmly in place once again. She took a deep breath and began describing her project, invoking the names of Paolo and Francesca and Dante and Beatrice, when she was interrupted by Gabriel’s phone.

The ring tone sounded like the clanging of Big Ben. He lifted a finger to indicate Julia should pause while he glanced down at his iPhone’s screen. Something disturbing flew across his face.

“I have to take this. I’m sorry.” Gabriel stood up and answered his phone in one swift motion. “Paulina?”

He walked into the next room, but Julia could still hear him. “What’s wrong? Where are you?” His voice grew muffled.

Julia busied herself with her beer and her dinner, wondering who Paulina was. She had never heard the name before. Gabriel had looked deeply troubled when he saw whatever it was that he saw on the phone’s screen.

Is M. P. Emerson—Paulina? Is she his ex-wife? Or is M. P. a code for something and he’s just messing with me?

Gabriel returned about fifteen minutes later. He did not sit down. He was agitated in the extreme, pale-faced and almost shaking.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I paid for dinner, and I asked Christopher to find you a taxi when you finish.”

“I can walk.” Julia leaned over to pick up her messenger bag.

He held his hand out to stop her. “Absolutely not. Not late at night on Yonge Street by yourself. Here.” He pushed a folded bill across the table. “For the cab and in case you want more to eat and drink. Please stay and finish your dinner. And take the leftovers home, will you?”

“I can’t take your money.” She moved as if to hand him back the bill, and he gave her a tremulous look.

“Please, Julianne. Not now.” He was rubbing his eyes with one hand.

She felt sorry for him so she decided not to argue.

“I’m sorry I have to leave you. I…”

He was sorry, very sorry, about something. He was in anguish, groaning involuntarily. Without thinking about it, she slipped her hand into his, a movement of compassion and solidarity. She was surprised when he didn’t flinch or throw her hand back at her.

He squeezed her fingers immediately, as if he