Who: Zipporah and Gabriel What: An overdue reconciliation Where: Gabriel's house When: 12 January, 1889 [Backdated] Rating: PG
Zipporah hesitated before raising her fist to knock at the door.
It’d been several weeks since Gabriel Allen had told her he was a demon, and she’d been keeping her distance.
So had he, to his credit.
But this business with Biddie was not going away, and Gabriel was a factor in it, an interested party, a fellow friend of Bertie’s who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to care for the man a great deal (despite his demonic nature), so she screwed up her courage and she and Ach rode their bicycles over to his London home.
The butler who answered looked down at her, far too well trained to show surprise.
“Tell Mr Allen that Miss Bakst has come for to call,” she said, primly, and it only took another minute before she and Ach had their coats and hats taken, and were ushered into the study, the butler kindly offering to wheel the bicycles around to the back of the house until they were ready to use them again.
Last time she’d been at Gabriel Allen’s home, she’d been lugging two enormous jugs of blood in the middle of the night. This time around, it was a good deal more civilized -- and a quick glance showed the study had been completely (and tastefully) re-done.
Gabriel stood as she entered, nodding his head, and granting her a serious look.
“Miss Bakst,” he said, carefully, “it is quite good to see you. I hope it is not for an urgent matter?”
Zipporah sighed, and pulled off her gloves deliberately, extending her bare hand towards him.
“I believe I owe you an apology, Mr Allen,” she said, looking up at him.
He raised an eyebrow, but took her hand in his.
“There is no…”
Zipporah shook her head, biting her lip. “There is,” she said, quietly. “There is, and I am sorry for… for to have been insulting you so badly, and assuming the worst. It was ungracious of me, and you did nothing to deserve it.” She caught his eye. “I was… I was ignorant, and fearful, and I should not have been, for you have never given me a reason for to fear you. And then I kept my distance, which was doubly unworthy of you.”
She leaned up to kiss his cheek, flushing with embarrassment, and the expression on his face was very nearly enough to make her flush even more.
Why did he have to be so ridiculously pretty?
“Miss Bakst,” he said, quietly, “I am… I am most glad you came by, and of course I accept, my dear. Please. Will you and your Ach take a seat? Tea?”
She nodded her head, and fished around in her handbag as she did. “Your gift, the hat and muff, they were… you are quite generous, Mr Allen.”
“I am to people I believe are deserving of it,” he replied, pulling the cord for tea. “And given the lengths you’ve gone through for Bertie…”
She shook her head. “He is a friend,” she said, “a good friend. And I realize I have not been one to you, of late, but I would…” she bit her lip, and passed him a small package wrapped in paper. “I would make amends if you would let me.”
He took it, and his expression turned from curiosity to pleasure as he opened it up. A set of handkerchiefs, embroidered with prayers for health, protection, and luck, in a merry blue thread.
“Miss Bakst,” he said, setting them down on the table after running his fingers over the edges.
“You called me Zipporah once, and I called you Gabriel,” she said, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I would do so again.”
He nodded, and the tea tray arrived, piled high with sandwiches and biscuits, and he said, “I’ll be Mother, then,” in a tone that was very nearly jovial as he poured out the tea, and passed it over to her, along with a small pot of jam, the thoughtfulness of which caused her to flush all over again.
“Do you have any further questions?” He asked. “I’ve been round to see Bertie, and we are most certainly both in agreement regarding your advice,” he added, which made her cheeks burn a bit brighter.
“Yes. Well. I thought it best, given his fluctuating energies,” she replied, a little briskly.
That thread of conversation did lead to a question, and she looked over at him thoughtfully as she stirred her jam into her tea. “Can you… that is to say, if you are the sort who can draw energies, and Mr Eden did say that you…” (oh, heavens, she would never get the color out of her cheeks at this rate) “...that you were mindful that he had less energies than some, that you were careful not to take too much.” She soldiered on. “Do different sorts of peoples have different energies, then? That you can sense?”
Gabriel tipped his head by way of reply, taking a sip of his own tea. “I can tell when someone isn’t human via touch,” he said, “and when someone has expended energy in my vicinity through, say, a powerful spell, or recent release, for lack of a better word, I can smell it out.”
He set the tea down, and passed her a plate with some sandwiches and biscuits. “Do take some,” he added. “And while it does take some common sense to sort out what someone is, I can narrow it down. Those who shift have a different energy than witches, for instance, those who measure their age by centuries have more than those who measure by decades, except vampires, who don’t have any energy to speak of. Neither do my kind -- not the sort that can be taken, that is, so it feels quite different. And occasionally, one encounters a particularly powerful creature or person whose energies are distinct.”
“So while you knew I was a witch before we met,” she said, reaching for the sandwiches, “you would have been able for to tell, if we had touched without gloves, say.”
He nodded.
“...And Mrs Linden?” She asked, carefully, and she noticed his expression shutter a bit, but he tipped his head in acknowledgement as he reached for his tea once more.
“A most powerful lady,” he said, quietly.
She set down her cup, carefully.
“I believe,” she said, frowning, “that what Mr Eden is experiencing is beyond my capacity for to help. Yes, he has an anchor, but it is an imperfect solution, and I am worried about his ability to control his energies, his… I do not know, entirely, what has happened.” She looked over at him. “I believe she would know how to be of help, only, I am not entirely certain she would be willing. Nor… nor would I trust her for to not… not mis-use him for her own purpose.”
The expression on his face was one of tiredness, and worry, and resolve, and she reached over to pat his hand with hers.
He cleared his throat at that, and nodded. “I believe that if we were to establish clear boundaries, and…” he frowned. “And consequences,” he added, firmly, “that we might be able to achieve an understanding.” He picked up his tea. “I have a few levers I can pull,” he said.
She nodded, stoutly. “We might talk to her together,” she added, and he tipped his chin.
“Zipporah,” he said, his voice low and soft, “I truly cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done, what you continue to do. I am so very glad to be sitting here with you, and it feels a little less…” he shook his head, a small smile on his face. “A little more hopeful, with your support.”
She shrugged, grinning. “I shall do my best,” she said, modestly. “She does not like me much, but I do not think she likes many.”
She tipped her head and worried her lip. “Would you…” she sighed. “Would you be able to sense another necromancer, such as her, if you were for to touch him?”
He paused, and looked over at her curiously. “Mrs Linden is a rather unique soul,” he said, carefully, “but should I encounter a powerful witch, one who has a great deal to do with the dead, yes, I believe I would be able to tell. Why do you ask?”
“The Ripper is still loose,” Zipporah replied, frowning, “and while I do not know much, I do know that he worked with a powerful magic, one that thinned the veil between the living and the dead, and that makes him powerful indeed. I would bring him to justice, of a sort,” she added, soberly, and now it was his turn to reach over and clasp her hand.
“I would as well,” he said, “and if you should ever gain a suspect that I might help identify, or require resources, please, do not hesitate to ask.” He looked at her evenly. “I would not have you spend a penny of your own money in this pursuit, Zipporah. Please, let me provide some funds so that you may obtain whatever you should need?”
She laughed, then, shaking her head. “You are too pretty, and too charming for your own good, you know.” She looked over at him. “Should I need anything expensive, I shall ask you. I promise.”
She shook her head once more. “I was so very silly,” she said, her voice light, but her mouth pulling at the corners. “So ridiculous, for to treat you as I did.”
“You are here now,” he replied, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles, “and if you can forgive my ignorance as to how my sort could have given you discomfort, so that I might’ve anticipated and not had you experience quite as much of a shock, I can most certainly forgive you for having reservations. I am grateful you were honest about them, and true to yourself, and that despite those reservations, you are here now, having decided to trust me.” He smiled. “I shall do my best to be worthy of it.”