(Warning -- spoilers, profanity)

Sins of the Father

More than a little discouraged, Gabriel decided he needed some time to think. He headed for the park. As he drove his motorcycle in and around the squalid traffic of the French Quarter, his mind was tucking a napkin under its chin and sitting down with a grunt to feed on itself. Some great investigator he was turning out to be! His ace in the hole, Mosely, wasn't exactly pouring forth those rich troves of secret Voodoo knowledge that Gabriel had hoped would be the dramatic angle for his new book. No, the police weren't learning anything, were they? Taking matters into his own hands wasn't exactly paying off with the Big Bonanza jackpot either. Hell, no wonder the police preferred the Mafia angle. It was a familiar animal, after all, and compared to the Voodoo people he'd talked to so far, it had to be relatively easy to get some gangster flunky to sing an aria. The visions of bored, Ohio housewives settling down in their curlers and bunny slippers to devour the True! Voodoo rituals revealed! horrors of his "impeccably crafted exposé" (New York Times review) were beginning to fade.

Veiled. That word kept whispering in his mind. Veiled. Like the dances in Congo Square. You'll see what we want you to see -- just enough to make you nervous, just enough to raise the hackles on your flesh, just enough for you to understand that it is foreign beyond your comprehending, that there is power beyond your control, erotic, dark, frenetic power, just a brief glimmer of the true face and no more. Not the real thing, not for you. You can dread it, you can want it, you can turn away sickened, but you'll never see it really. Why? Because we choose to keep you out.

Gabriel slammed his hand down on the chrome handle of his bike in disgust and frustration. "Goddamn it!"

He thought about going back to the 'drug store' and forcing the maddeningly blank-faced owner to spit out the truth with his bare hands. What did you say? What the hell did you say about that photograph, and what the hell does it mean?

It was a satisfying thought, and he visualized it lovingly, but in the end there were a couple of problems with it. First, Gabriel hadn't gotten in a fight since the fifth grade and wouldn't know what to do with a fist even assuming he remembered how to make one. Second, ol' Mr. Walker looked like the type to have a twelve-gauge shotgun under the counter for just such occasions. A person who put bars on his windows and doors was the sort of person that would have something under the front counter, and it wouldn’t be candy for the kiddies. As for Dr. John, well, the man might look and act like an acolyte of Gandhi’s, but he was just way too big. Charm, 0. Brute force, 0. Gabriel had little enough of those two attributes. He wasn't sure he had any other talents lying around to employ.

He was circling Jackson Square now. He parked the bike and headed in. Not being the introspective sort as a rule, he sighed and decided to give up on this brooding stuff already. It wasn't fun to be pissed off. It wasn't in his nature to enjoy it. He was an Aquarian, and he much preferred flitting to the next mood to hanging about in the one he was in. And, when he thought about it, what did it really matter, anyway? So he didn't write a Voodoo book. Neither his agent nor the public was exactly holding their breath. The authors currently dominating the bestseller charts wouldn’t mind his absence. So he stayed in hock up to his wisdom teeth, so he never made a name for himself. Did it matter? Had he ever really expected to change his luck? And he was thirty-three now. Wasn't he about due for that ol' Grim Reaper anyway? Normally, this sort of logic was very effective. It had worked for him for many a year in many a situation. It almost worked this time. He felt his anger being sapped into weariness. He waited for the resignation. Hell, he courted it. He was inside the park now, and he glanced around longingly. He could just give this all up right now and spend the rest of the day laying on the grass. He sat down in said same and waited.

But the resignation didn't come. His anger faded, but his mind did not let go. It was already looking for another path. All right, not charm, not brute force, then ... what? It still had its knotty little fist clenched tight around the idea of the book and it wouldn't release it. He recognized this with some surprise and forced himself to turn back to the concept of the book again, examining it impersonally. Okay. It would be nice, sure, who wouldn't want to be on the bestseller list?, but ... but ... no. Realization hit him in the gut. It wasn't even the book anymore, was it? It wasn't the book that had taken up residence in his cerebral cortex like a recalcitrant demon refusing to be dispossessed. This wasn't going to be simple, this wasn't going to fall into his lap like a ripe fruit or even walk by nice and close and leisurely so that he could just reach out and pull it into his lap, he might actually, God forbid, have to get off his rear end and go out and find it, and nevertheless he, Gabriel Knight, who never worked hard at anything, was not going to give up.

His mind flashed on the image of Malia Gedde sitting in the back of that limousine, her eyes turning languorously to his, of the body under the tarp -- white face slack, chest ripped open, of the cloying smell of the incense in the Voodoo museum, of Dr. John' eyes, white-rimmed chocolate, gazing across at him and through him as though he didn't exist, of the white powder tracings that tickled his brain, of the knife in the museum, that curvy-bladed knife ... a veil, a veil. His anger surged back in an unexpected tide. No.

Maybe there had been too many dreams, too many nights of helpless fear, too much bad luck, too much poverty, too many meaningless women, too much of watching life go by him, waiting to die. Not this time. Not by a long shot. Not this buddy-boy. No. And it felt good. It really felt good. His anger turned into something powerful. He turned it over in his mind like a weapon, watching the glint, feeling the weight, and, Damn!, it felt great.

His body was tensed on the grass, tensed and pumped like he was about to run a marathon. His mind hummed. Adrenaline. Is this what it felt like? Hell, no wonder Gracie was addicted to the stuff. From out of nowhere, another thought crept up and bit him. And what if you succeed? What if you manage to rip that veil? Are you prepared for what's underneath? Are you really?

But he felt too good. He didn't want to lose it. He pushed at the thought quickly and it went away. The adrenaline was only slightly dampened. He grinned, lying there on the grass, and reveled in it.

Chapter 5 Excerpt (edited for web)

Despite his experience of the day before, or perhaps because of it, Gabriel could think of no other place to take this new development than to the plate of Detective Mosely, however incompetent he might be. At the very least, Mosely would have the body picked up. Gabriel figured he owed Hartridge at least that much.

When Gabriel entered, Mosely was trying, in a clunky way reminiscent of a bear trying to use a spoon, to type something on his computer keyboard. The expression on his face as Gabriel arrived said not only wasn’t he having a good time at this activity, he wasn’t particularly thrilled to have Gabriel observe his awkward efforts, either.

Gabriel shut the door of Mosely’s office carefully and sat down, not saying a word. Mosely turned from the computer to his equally unruly, albeit newer companion. "Been thinking up fresh insults all night? Couldn’t wait to get over here to give me more of the what for?" Mosely asked gruffly.

"Not at all," Gabriel said pleasantly. "Have you heard anything about Crash?"

Mosely prodded at a file on his desk. "Autopsy."

Gabriel picked up the autopsy file and looked inside. On the front page was the easy-to-find bottom line, stamped in red ink. "Overdose: Heroin."

Gabriel put the file gently back down on the desk. Mosely watched him as if expected him to reach out and bite. Gabriel said nothing.

"Well?" Mosely finally prompted.

"Very interesting," Gabriel said calmly. "I have a new one for you. He’s a professor at Tulane University. He died at his desk sometime between nine o’clock this morning and about twenty minutes ago. I ‘spose his autopsy will say the same thing. Or maybe they’re even cleverer than I thought. Maybe the same symptoms will mysteriously read ‘heart attack’ this time, Tulane professors not being big on heroin and all."

Mosely’s eyebrows had gone up during this reasonably voiced revelation, crinkling up the skin on his pate like a folding garage door. Gabriel had a brief wish that what was inside was something massive; something with monster tires and a front grid, but knew it could be better visualized as a Hyundai.

"Excuse me," Mosely piqued. "Are you telling me you found another corpse? This morning?"

"Yup. This one was dead when I found him, though. That’s a new twist." Gabriel said thoughtfully. "Having been up-close-and-personal with both dearly departed, I can tell you honestly that they went the same way. The same goddamn way, Mosely. I’d bet my life on it." Mosely leaned back in his chair and stared at Gabriel as if he were just discovering some new and not entirely appealing facet of his long-time friend. Gabriel didn’t care for the look at all. "And there’s more," he continued. "You see, I went over there because Hartridge had information for me? Information about the vévé, that pattern from the crime scenes? I had it reconstructed and gave Hartridge a copy. He’d found something out about it, Mose. Do you hear what I’m saying? He knew something."

Gabriel was losing his calmness, but what was creeping in was not anger but fear. He pushed it back. "Now he’s dead," he concluded simply.

The two men sat quietly for a moment. Mosely’s gaze was fixed on Gabriel and Gabriel found himself feeling guilty under it. Guilty! What the hell was Mosely’s problem? "I don’t think you should tell anyone else about this," Mosely said after an unbearable pause. "'kay," Gabriel said, puzzled.

"I only say that ‘cause, being a police officer and all, I can tell you that it doesn’t look good. You coming in here finding bodies like this, one after the other?" There was something twisted in Mosely’s tone.

"Excuse me," Gabriel said, getting annoyed. "I happen to be on the trail of the serial killers you all have given up hope of findin’. That’s why I’m stumbling over corpses." He found himself breathing hard for some reason. "I’m gettin’ close," he added, staring deeply at his friend.

And he realized that he was. Or he thought he was. The idea was, oddly, not comforting. Neither did it impress Mosely the way Gabriel thought it ought to. "If I were you, I’d consider the possibility that you might be too goddamn close." Mosely said. It was cautiously worded, but it was a threat.

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. "What is wrong with you?"

Mosely shifted uncomfortably in his chair. At least it stopped his staring, which really had been getting unthinkably ugly, giving Gabriel a vision of Mosely that he would really rather not have.

"I’m just telling you: The Voodoo murders case is closed. What you’re bringing to me now is something new." Mosely paused for effect, staring at Gabriel. "And the only thing these two new things have in common is close contact with you."

"That’s bullshit," Gabriel whispered, "And you know it."

And Mosely did relent, under Gabriel’s righteous gaze. He let out a big sigh. "I won’t say anything about this. We’ll have Hartridge picked up and see what forensics says."

"Uh-huh."

"But maybe you should stop with this crap now. Don’t you think? Before you get someone else killed?"

"You think it’s my fault?" Gabriel said, flabbergasted.

Mosely said nothing.

"If you want me to stop finding corpses maybe you should reopen this case!"

"Can’t," Mosely said, shaking his head firmly.

"What do you need, a freakin’ neon arrow, ‘pick up bad guys here?’"

Mosely sighed again. "The department doesn’t think the killers were legitimate Voodoo. Can you prove that they were?"

Gabriel thought. "Maybe."

Mosely didn’t believe him. "Uh-huh. And there’s also the vague notion that this thing was a one-time affair, that these people are no general threat to the general populace. Do you have information to the contrary?"

"A dead professor isn’t enough?"

"How am I suppose to tie that in with a series of ritual killings where people’s hearts are ripped out? It’s not the same case."

Gabriel didn’t say anything.

"And I need a lead. We beat the streets for weeks on that case. Seven crime scenes. Nothing. Not one single goddamn piece of physical evidence tying the deaths to anyone. I can’t work with thin air. I need someone or something to investigate."

Gabriel thought about the message on Laveau’s tomb wall, but he didn’t think that was likely to do much for the N.O.P.D.

"Suppose I got you those things," Gabriel said, a challenge in his voice.

Mosely raised his eyebrows. "If you can do that, you’ll have my complete support."

"You mean it?"

Mosely shrugged. Clearly, he didn’t think Gabriel would come up with anything of the kind. "You’d be better off dropping it. Or the next corpse might be yours. You hear what I’m saying?" Mosely did look genuinely worried.

"Thought you didn’t think these new deaths were related to the case," Gabriel countered.

Mosely said nothing at all.

The Beast Within

Übergrau’s client not only took Gabriel over to the biology lab, but he’d arranged for a graduate student, Michael Hessel, to meet them there and do any work Gabriel required. Hessel took Gabriel over to a set of microscopes and laid out his three samples one by one on white blotting paper. He made neat little labels for each, questioning Gabriel carefully about their origins.

Naturally, Gabriel lied. He hastily concocted an uninspired story involving dead chickens, neighbor’s dogs and civil suits.

This seemed to give Hessel the direction he needed, for he began to hum happily. He rolled his seat around collecting materials to make slide samples. When the two types of hair were enclosed in glass to Hessel’s satisfaction, he rolled over to the microscopes and put them into side-by-side machines.

"Let’s just see," he muttered between refrains.

He studied the slides for some time, adjusting knobs here and there. Then he looked at Gabriel with a mystified expression. He stopped humming and went over and got a thick reference volume off a bookshelf. He brought it back and began leafing through pages. Gabriel anxiously twirled a long lock of his reddish-blond hair.

"Mr. Knight," Hessel said, his eye still attached to the microscope, "Neither one of these samples is dog hair."

"Oh?" Gabriel said innocently.

"No. You said you found them both near a chicken coop?"

"Yeah."

"On a farm?"

"Uh-huh."

Michael looked up. His face was concerned. "Where exactly is this farm?" Gabriel realized, blankly, that he knew none of the local names. "Um... about half-an-hour south? What is it? Can you tell what the red hair is?"

But Hessel didn’t answer right away. He was chewing on his lip worriedly. He turned back to the microscope and looked again, now turning pages in the book, now looking in the viewer, and so on back and forth. Gabriel noticed that the right-hand scope, the one with the gray hair, went untouched this time around.

Surely if the red hair were raccoon or fox hair Hessel would have known it right away. Wouldn’t he?

Hessel leaned back once more. "Mr. Knight, I think you should notify the police."

"What?" Gabriel said, blushing.

"First, the gray hair. It’s wolf hair -- European wolf, canis lupus lupus. According to the newspapers, that’s the same species that escaped from the zoo." Hessel said this in a grim, this- is-some-trouble voice.

"Wow," said Gabriel, acting surprised.

"So it looks like the missing wolves have been past this farm of yours. You say they took some chickens?"

"Yup."

Michael nodded distractedly. "I’m sure the police would want to know about that. Plus, you should warn... is it your farm?"

"No, a friend of mine’s."

"Then you should warn your friend. These wolves are very dangerous."

Gabriel didn’t have to feign a look of concern. "Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ve been followin' the story about the killin's. Wow. I’ll have to tell my friend."

"And call the police," Hessel added.

"Right. We’ll get them out there right away. So... um... what about the red hair?" Why was his heart racing? Surely, Hessel’s concern was for the Margarite sample. But now Hessel’s frown deepened. He spun back around and looked in the viewer again. He looked for a several long minutes, then he said: "Mr. Knight, I have no idea what this hair is."

Gabriel felt a thrill of fear stab him right in the solar plexus. If this were a film, he thought, there’d be a big bolt of lightning here.

"You don’t? I mean, it’s not dog hair or... or even human?" Gabriel walked over to the microscope, though he’d be clueless as to what he was looking at even if Hessel offered it to him.

Hessel shook his head. He pulled his book over so Gabriel could take a look. "No. I can’t find it, not even in the book. It’s not dog hair -- they don’t have the same kind of undercoat as a wolf. You see this flat white tip? It’s definitely closer to wolf, but it has some odd characteristics. It’s too short and it’s thicker than wolf hair, much thicker. Wolf hair tends to be fine. This is... this is almost, what is the word, wiry, rubbery, like... uh... like maybe sea mammal hair or something."

"Sea mammal?"

"No, it’s not sea mammal hair. I’m just trying to explain."

Gabriel had a brief vision of a seal bounding out of the woods to chase Toni Huber and almost laughed out loud, though it really wasn’t funny at all. He was losing it. "So it’s not dog hair and it’s not wolf hair. You’re sure?"

Hessel nodded. "Yes. It’s closer to wolf than anything else as far as I can tell. But it’s not matching any species in the book and some of the characterizations... Well, if it’s a wolf it’s a very strange wolf."

Hessel suddenly remembered that there was further evidence to examine. "Let me look at that paw print."

He grabbed a tape measure and rolled over to the cement cast. He measured it. He jotted the results on a piece of paper and rolled back to the book, flipped more pages. "Ah! I thought it looked too large when you put it down." This time Hessel’s expression when he looked up at Gabriel was on the seen-a-ghost side. "This print was taken closer to which sample, the red or the gray hair?"

"Um... the red."

Hessel did a hurried calculation on the paper. "The print is definitely a wolf print. It looks normal to me, except for the size. This print was made by a wolf around sixty-eight, seventy kilograms."

"That’s large for a wolf?"

Hessel stared at him. "Mr. Knight, it’s huge. Canis lupus lupus, for example, the one that matches the gray hair sample? Biggest they get is maybe forty kilograms."

"No shit."

"The biggest wolf species is the Alaskan Timber Wolf. Even for that species, seventy kilograms would be huge -- a huge male, maybe one in a thousand. Huge."

Gabriel bit his lip to suppress a hysterical giggle. "Yeah, I’m gettin’ your drift on that one."

"Maybe we should call the police right now." Hessel put both hands on his knees as if preparing to rise and waited for Gabriel’s permission. He looked awfully pale, just about the shade of his white coat, and a jittering index finger, like a white worm, further betrayed his perturbation.

"I’d rather tell my friend and let him do it. It’s his farm after all," Gabriel backpedaled. "He’s the one who found the stuff. He just asked me to have it analyzed."

Hessel looked unconvinced. "I can understand that, Mr. Knight, but I think this is more serious than you realize. If one or both of the zoo wolves is traveling with something like this -- some huge wolf-type hybrid, it may explain these attacks."

Gabriel shook his head as if to clear his ears. "A hybrid? You think the red hair belongs to a wolf hybrid?"

Hessel made a fifty-fifty gesture with his hand. "I can’t say for certain, naturally. But the print is too large for the gray-haired wolf. It had to have been made by something else and I would guess it was whatever left that red hair. It may be some strange wolf-dog hybrid, or a wolf and something else? Whatever it is, it’s large and it may be vicious. It may be the true killer."

Okay. You walked right into this one. Now get yourself out.

"Wow! All right, I’ll tell you what. If you just write up somethin’ for me explainin’ your analysis, and sign it, then I’ll take it over to my friend right now and we’ll call the police. I’m sure they’ll want to interview you, so write down your phone number and address."

Hessel looked undecided.

"Look, I really think my friend should be the one to report it," Gabriel pressed. "If you don’t hear from the police in a few days, you can give `em a call. All right?" And wait for them to sort you out from all the cranks they’re no doubt getting.

Hessel agreed. He organized a new stack of forms and a few pencils under a table lamp and set out to document his findings in neat, legible handwriting. And Gabriel waited through it all, staring out the window at the rain that had begun to fall and thinking, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Chapter 5 Excerpt (edited for web)

He was shutting Klingmann’s door when he heard a soft noise behind him. He turned to see von Zell busily locking the door to his room. Gabriel quickly stepped into the middle of the hall and pretended he’d been passing through. Being caught coming out of Klingmann’s room was probably not a great idea. He didn’t feel like taking any of von Zell’s abuse at the moment. Von Zell turned slowly, his head cocked to one side.

"Hey, Baron von Zell."

Indescribably, von Zell began to make oinking noises. He walked slowly towards Gabriel raking air in through his nostrils like fingernails on a chalkboard: (snort) (snort) (snort) (snort) (snort).

Gabriel backed away.

"This little piggy went to London," von Zell said, a rapt look on his face.

"That’s nice. I...

"This little piggy went to Rome. (snort) (snort)"

Gabriel’s back hit the wall. He stood there and stared at von Zell and thought, Ok. I get it. He’s absolutely mad. You can end the demonstration now.

"And this little piggy...." Von Zell stepped into Gabriel’s face and jabbed a finger at his chest, "went wee! wee! wee! all the way home to America!"

Von Zell began to laugh uproariously. Gabriel stood there, at a loss to know exactly how to proceed. It occurred to him that escape was a good idea. He tried to push his way along the wall.

He took one step and von Zell stopped laughing abruptly and grabbed his shirt with two hands, yanking him back.

"No, I’ve changed my mind. You’re not like a pig at all, are you, Herr Knight?"

"No?"

"No. You’re more like a cat. That’s what you remind me of, a sneaking, slinking, sly little cat."

Von Zell’s face was only inches away from Gabriel’s own, and his eyes were so intense, Gabriel swore he could feel the heat of their gaze.

"I’m not really..."

"And I hate cats," von Zell interrupted. "I loathe them."

"Good for you. Excuse me." Gabriel tried to sound both bored and firm.

"No, we’re not done here," von Zell said mockingly. "I have one more thing to share with you, Herr Knight, and that’s a note about curiosity. You know what they say about the cat and curiosity, don’t you?"

"Um... Something about winning the race?"

It was not the smartest move he’d made all day, but his tongue had a way of spitting things out without notifying his brain. Von Zell flushed and shoved Gabriel back against the wall with incredible force. Gabriel wheezed as the breath was forced from his lungs. "No! Think again!" Von Zell’s anger was barely in check, looming behind his eyes like thunderclouds. "I’m sure you’ll remember it if you try."

He gave Gabriel one more push then he retreated and walked quickly down the stairs.

When he was certain von Zell was gone (he heard the front door slam), Gabriel tried the door to his room. Locked.

He knew he was behaving irrationally even as he went into his own room two doors down, went to the window, moved aside a chair, and propped back the curtain. He recalled this feeling before, when it had been about Voodoo in New Orleans; that feeling of plummeting ahead no matter the cost, regardless of personal danger, defiant. He was a teenaged motorcycle rider going 100 MPH down a country road, or a child who’s mother is standing a few feet away and she says ‘don’t climb on those rocks’ and the child turns right around and immediately begins to climb. But was it defiance really? Bravery? Or was it more of a single-mindedness that was so focused that all obstacles are brushed off the consciousness like a fly off a picnic table? Back in New Orleans, when he’d felt himself plummeting this way on his last case (out of control, really -- yes, he was out of control), he could tell himself that it was because it was personal; it was about his nightmares, his love, his family, his destiny. What the hell was his excuse this time?

Chapter 7 Excerpt (edited for web -- HUGE SPOILER!)

Gabriel was thinking about duality too, as he put down the letter. There was something else in the envelope -- he’d known as soon as he’d picked it up. Gabriel stretched out a finger and set it tentatively inside. His finger touched the cool gold of the talisman and a harsh jolt of pain raced up his arm. It felt as though the meat were being torn off the bone. He withdrew quickly and uttered a muffled sob.

He’d expected as much, but to have it actually happen was more of a rejection than he could bear. He wondered how Friederich managed to touch it that night, when he’d picked it up from his chest. But then, he’d wondered how Friederich could manage many things. It seemed that in two hundred odd years he’d quite mastered his condition. Or perhaps being a birth heir, an Alpha, made it easier on him somehow. Perhaps he’d gone through all this as a child or even in the womb.

More than anything, Gabriel thought about that day at the lair; Friederich emerging, face shocked. Gabriel was beginning to realize that he had not been acting. Back from the Change, Gabriel himself remembered little. Was von Glower’s exploration of the lair his first opportunity to come face to face with the Black Wolf’s victims? With the true smell and sight and texture of his grand philosophy? No wonder he had been so moved.

But not -- or so the letter showed -- enough to give it up.

The lair. That was what he kept coming back to. He sat in his bedroom at the castle staring at the wall. He wondered at his own attraction to the club, to the philosophy, to the Baron. He remembered this attraction well; there was no denying it. And he knew himself enough to admit that he’d been custom-made for such a siren’s call. Hadn’t he always believed in living for the moment, doing whatever felt right and damn conventional, straightjacket morality? He considered anyone who did otherwise robots of society, didn’t he? Not free men, not open- minded men, not livers of life.

Yes, he admired the philosophy still.

But there was Preiss’s rutting, von Aigner’s gluttony, Hennemann’s drunkenness. And then there was the lair.

He wondered what his own hidden lair was. It was the first time he’d realized that he was sure to have one.

When Grace returned at six o’clock, he was already in the dungeon. He heard the tentative knock and Grace’s voice. "Can I come in for a minute?"

Reluctantly, he said yes.

"We got the diagram," she told him after Mr. Smith left them alone. But on her face was something else, something more pointed than this piece of news.

He studied her carefully and shivered under the blanket on the cot. "Good."

Her hands twisted nervously. "You read the letter?"

"Yes."

Grace looked at the floor. "Oh. Well, I was just wondering. I mean, do you want us to go ahead with this? Or... or not?"

For a long moment, Gabriel said nothing. Grace glanced up at him once and, seeing his face, blushed deeply and looked back at the floor. She started to say something, then stopped uncertainly.

"Of course we’re going ahead with it," Gabriel said in a tightly controlled voice. "And please, don’t ever ask me that again."

Grace had the intelligence to look guilty. "I’m sorry. It’s just... I thought you should be allowed a choice."

"I made my choice, long ago." He said this coldly and turned to face the wall. And Grace, realizing the depth of her error, slipped out silently.