Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,77

and obviously medieval profanity 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 fuck 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.

They listed into the lobby like a galleon, waving at the concierge, who recognized Gabriel and buzzed them into the building. Once they made it to the elevator, the Scotch seemed to hit Gabriel even harder. He stood with his eyes closed, his head lolling backward, and he groaned from time to time. Julia took the opportunity to search his pockets for his keys, which she found quickly and easily once she wrested his prized Burberry trench coat away from him.

“You picked me up, you naughty little kitty. I thought you didn’t go home with men you met in bars.”

Even while drunk, Professor Emerson was still an ass.

“I’m not picking you up, Professor. I’m dropping you off. And if you keep that up, I’m going to drop you,” Julia muttered in a fit of irritation.

It took several attempts for her to find the key to his apartment, and when she did, she helped him in and pulled the key out of the lock. Her goal was to leave him there, assuming he’d be fine on his own, but he started mumbling about feeling sick. She envisioned him choking on his own vomit and dying on a bathroom floor alone and friendless like a faded rock star, so she decided to stay long enough to get him to the bedroom and to see that he didn’t throw up (and die). She put his keys and his coat on the hall table. And she quickly took off her own coat and placed it on top of her briefcase.

Gabriel was leaning up against the wall with his eyes closed, which meant that he wasn’t going to notice that she was still wearing his sweater, like a teenage girl with a crush.

“Come on, Professor.” Julia pulled his arm around her shoulder and grabbed his waist again, trying to ease him down the hall.

“Where are you taking me?” He opened his eyes and looked around.

“To bed.”

Gabriel began to laugh. He planted his feet and leaned up against the wall, gazing down at her.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, Miss Mitchell,” he breathed, his voice suddenly husky. “You’re taking me to bed, but you haven’t even kissed me yet. Don’t you think we should start with kissing and maybe some canoodling on the couch for a couple of evenings? Then work up to bed? I haven’t even had a chance to pet you, you naughty little kitty. And you are a virgin, aren’t you?”

Julia bristled, especially at the last remark. “You’ve never canoodled a day in your life. And I’m not taking you to bed, you idiot, I’m taking you to your bedroom so