He could see it, the way it had looked then, with its scarlet sofas and peeling wallpaper, smoke hanging in the air, the women spilling out of their gowns, perched on the laps of men as they watched them play cards, waiting for the moment when the wine and the winning would cease, and the gentlemen would seek comfort upstairs. Gabriel could still hear the random and sour notes being pounded out on an out-of-tune piano that Madame had won in a game of keno, and could only marvel now how the level of his tolerance for depravity and disgusting surroundings had increased in conjunction with his addiction.

While it wasn’t as crass as it had been as a cheap bordello, it wasn’t a well-loved house either. Most of the structure and decor looked like it hadn’t been bothered with in a good twenty years. The stairs had also been carpeted in the offensive blue, and the railings a dirty white that begged for fresh paint. Gabriel jogged quickly up the stairs, knowing that what he was looking for was waiting for him.

The succession of little rooms seemed to have been consolidated into two larger bedrooms and a bathroom. But oddly enough, or maybe appropriately so, Anne’s little room at the end of the hallway had been left untouched, serving as a minute guest room with a daybed.

“John, isn’t my room just lovely?” Anne asked him, quite serious,a smile on her face as she spun around and fell backward onto her bed. She gave a contented sigh, surveying her tiny domain.

He thought the room was a stuffy little hole in the wall, the plaster crumbling, the sheets yellow with age, the dressing table chipped and wobbly, the shutters missing slats. It had the odor of damp and a thick layer of dust on the baseboards and there was absolutely nothing lovely about it.

Madame was charging him too much for it, but he didn’t really care if he was being fleeced. Money was only money, and Anne had his absinthe. It didn’t matter where he drank it and the room was enough to please Anne.

“Not as lovely as you,” he said. “Pour my drink then let me sketch you.” He wanted to capture that smile, that satisfaction on her face.

Maybe if he captured it, he could figure out how to create it for himself.

Raphael was sitting on the daybed, cross-legged, a stack of papers in his hand, more on the mattress next to him. “Hello, Gabriel,” he said without looking up. “I figured I would see you sooner or later.”

Gabriel stepped into the room, the floor creaking beneath his boots. “Raphael. I assume you know why I’m here.”