Contents
  1. Sins of the Fathers
  2. Jane Jensen
  3. Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers - Wikipedia
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Jane Jensen - Gabriel Knight - Sins of the Fathers - Novel - Free ebook download as PDF File .pdf) or read book online for free. Jane Jensen - Gabriel Knight 2 - The Beast Within - Novel - Free ebook download as PDF File .pdf) or read book online for free. Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers, Jane Jensen's classic adventure game, is back. . The studio has also released a children's ebook, Lola and Lucy's Big.

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Challenging Gabriel (Knight Security 2) - Kindle edition by Carole Mortimer. Romance Kindle eBooks @ thetwestperlnetself.ml Format: PDF eBook (Watermarked) EPUB/MOBI eBook (Watermarked) Jane Jensen's work and landmark Gabriel Knight series brought a new darkness and. Gabriel Knight, a horror novelist, is no stranger to the occult I got this as an ebook for backing Jane Jensen's Pinkerton Road kickstarter and I quite enjo So, .

Aug 17, Dylan Clark rated it liked it Jane Jensen's novelization of her own computer game is an entirely unique experience. It is an interesting read, particularly for its deeper character psychology that the game just does not allow for. Gabriel's character is especially developped in the new medium; it allows for a better understanding of his thoughts and motivations. The novel follows the game's story blow-by-blow, with a few extra tidbits, including a Dawn of the Dead-esque zombie cop scene. The nature of the story, however, as i Jane Jensen's novelization of her own computer game is an entirely unique experience.

There's a bonfire. It isn't until he draws near that he notices some- thing odd about the people. Their clothes. They're wearing old-fashioned clothes. Then his eyes fix upon a single man. He is not part of the crowd. He stands to one side, but that's not what sets him apart. His hair is worn long, most of it covered by a large, square black hat. Thick blond locks lay on the shoulders of the man's black cloak and those locks gleam like real gold in the firelight. Beneath the cloak is a flash of white collar.

But it's the man's face that draws the eye. He's staring at something, face pale, eyes wide. He trembles and weeps. Fear and loathing are stamped indelibly on his features as if the hand of God had put them there.

And then, just as if it were the very first time, Gabriel's dream eye turns to follow the man's gaze. At first he only notices the fire. The pile of wood that fuels the flames is high and broad, an enormous bonfire. The flames rear up over the heads of the crowd. Then he sees that there is something in the flames, some matter, tall and dark, and it takes him a moment to categorize it in his mind because, really, he's never seen anything like this before and the image will not register.

It's a woman. They're burning a woman. It punches into him: shock, horror, guilt. He feels a terrible guilt, although he does not know why. He's afraid, too, as he looks at her. He feels helpless and nasty—like a child caught stealing— but it's a thousand times worse, as if what he'd stolen was. The woman's head is thrown back in the flames, a mute scream of agony driven to the sky.

He doesn't want to watch, but he does. She slowly lowers her head and looks at him. Her face is unmarred yet by the flames, and it is a beautiful face. He can see now that she is dark-skinned. And she is young, oh, yes, but powerful and piercing.

She knows such things. She laughs at him, her cracked lips parting, her white teeth gleam. Her disgust at his nasty ways is in her laugh, as though she had spit on him instead of laughed, and she might have, had he been closer. Then her face begins to melt and he moans with repulsion.

He doesn't want to see this! Doesn't want to watch as her body is consumed! But it isn't the fire, and her face is not being consumed. It is being transformed. The face in the flames restructures itself into the head of a leopard.

It screams at him in fury.

Sins of the Fathers

And he runs, his dream self. Runs away, not over the ground, but into the air. He plows through the black night sky, higher and higher, toward the stars. He only wants to get away, but after a moment that mindlessness fades and he feels com- pelled. He must turn, must look. Far below he sees the circle of fire, though he can no longer see the woman.

The circle spreads out into a large open hoop of flames, a burning wheel, then another circle springs up inside the first, two wheels of fire, spinning.

And from the center something spins out, coming toward him, rolling in the air like a slow-motion bullet.

Jane Jensen

He tries to get out of the way, but as the object approaches he sees that it is only a medallion. The gold surface bears the images of a lion and a snake gripping each other in mortal combat. The medallion stops in the air in front of him and hangs there. Something about the medallion is magical, hypnotic. He stretches forth his fingers to take the device, but before he can touch it, the medallion begins to ooze blood, black blood welling up as if from golden pores.

He withdraws his hand in disgust. Three drops of blood fall into the blackness below. He follows them, down, down. Far below him is a cobblestone street, just like the streets in New Orleans.

The three drops of blood hit the cobblestones. Drip, drip, drip. And the black blood, making contact with the stones, hisses and elongates. It is not three drops of blood at all, but snakes, three snakes, black and small and slick. The snakes split apart and wriggle away into the night. And then it is dark again. No light. No street. Nothing at all, until lightning splits the sky in the distance. By its light he can see a hill far off—a peaked hill silhouetted against the sky.

The light- ning fades and the blackness returns. He rushes straight ahead, to where his mind fixed the loca- tion of the hill. Something is there, he thinks. Lightning flashes again and he can see that he's closer this time, much closer. And now more of the hill's silhouette is detailed and on the peak of the hill is a tree, black against the sky, and from the tree dangles a rope, black against the sky, and from the end of the rope hangs a body.

The light goes. He rushes toward the hill still, because now he knows why the hill is important. He must see. And the lightning flashes again and he is close to the figure now, can make out And then it is dark and still he rushes forward. It's the man, the man from the And the lightning comes again, purple and white splitting the blackness with a power and brilliance no Con Edison man could ever hope to generate.

And he's so close now he can see the strands of hair, the weave of the cloak, the face. But it isn't the man, isn't the man from the bonfire at all, is it? The face at the end of the rope, purple, swelling, dead.

It's his own. It was nearly ten A. George's Books into the shop front. The place was predictably devoid of customers, but his shop manager, Grace, was sit- ting behind the desk. He was glad to see her, and the creamy bit of leg sticking out from under her gauzy skirt wasn't even the reason why. He was glad to see anyone at all after the night he'd had, but Grace was busy on the phone and Gabriel made a beeline for the coffeepot. I bet. Just a minute. Gabriel made an urgent canceling gesture. Grace returned to the phone.

I mean, he's out. Bunny was obviously not about to retire peace- fully, and Grace rolled her eyes at him and agreed wholeheartedly with the receiver. He studied her from across the room. It was almost as rejuve- nating as the Java. Grace Nakimura was twenty-six years old, and about as foreign a species to him as a goldfish is to a trout.

She was from the East, in the first place.

Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers - Wikipedia

New Hampshire or some blue-blooded place like that, and he was a N'Orleaner born and raised. The differences in their accents was only the beginning. Grace was always in a hurry, always thought something ought to be done about something, and was at a loss to handle only one thing—free time. When she wasn't working here she was taking classes like tai chi and oil painting.

And this summer was sup- posed to be her break from school. Gabriel, on the other hand, preferred to watch life, as if from a rocking chair on the porch in the middle of August. He figured if something really interesting went past and if he felt up to it at the moment , he could always get up and jump in. But Gabriel had met Easterners before, and there was a lot more to it than that. Grace was also smart, really smart. She was the kind of person that you knew had probably never gotten any- thing less than an "A" in school in her entire life.

She could whip through the Times Picayune cross- word puzzle in about six minutes he'd actually seen her do this, and had promptly left for the gym.

She knew all the things about history and geography and world events that Europeans were always ragging on Americans for being too dumb to know, and she made you feel a couple of cents short of a dollar yourself if you spoke to her for over thirty seconds.

Gabriel had never spent much time with smart women. Quite the opposite. He made sure that the women he went out with were. He preferred to keep things light, as a rule.

Grace wouldn't know light if she stumbled across it in a blackout. And beyond all that, Grace was Japanese or, rather, Japanese-American.

Although she spoke and acted as American as a native well, she was a native , there were subtle things about her that Gabriel found incomprehensible.

Her loyalty to her parents, for example. She called them daily and they still seemed to run her life to an extent that Gabriel could not comprehend any grown person putting up with. Hell, his gran had never been that bad, and he'd still moved out when he was sixteen. And Grace was so clean-cut. She didn't drink or smoke. As far as he knew, she didn't even date.

For any or all of those reasons, or perhaps because of something else even less tangible, Grace reminded him of the old science fiction pulps he used to read where the scientist would explain to the politician that even if they did run across an alien life-form, that life-form was likely to be so different from our own that we wouldn't even know it was a life-form.

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And yet, life-form or not, he liked Grace. He was damn lucky to get her to run the shop this summer, and he knew it. I know I don't know you, but you could do better. It's about time. The phone's been ringing off the hook all morning. Grace looked at him with interest. He quickly drank another gulp of coffee. Grace shook her head in her half-concerned, half-annoyed way. No wonder you get the night sweats.

I don't think it's the Voodoo book. You've looked like crap every morning this week. He used to have the dream once, maybe twice a year. It started going up when he hit thirty, but in the past month it had been as relentless as a pack of piranhas.

It was one thing to go to bed knowing you probably wouldn't have the dream. It was an entirely different kettle of fish convincing yourself to close your eyes when you knew you probably would. I never have it when there's someone else in my bed. That explains a lot," she said, dismissing the subject. I found two. He was starting to feel vaguely human. So who else called this morning? Wanted me to remind you that you still need to go through your father's things before the charity sale next weekend.

That's the third time she's asked me to do that. Don't worry, she already knows you're completely unreliable. He wants you to call back. Says it's important. What else? What'd he say?

Grace gave him an acidic smile in reply and turned delicately back to the account books spread out on the desk. She'd been trying to make heads or tails of the shop's records for weeks. Gabriel, whistling cheerfully, headed for the shower. It was a little past eleven when he arrived at the police station on Royal and Conti.

He managed to leave his motorcycle curved between two badly parked cars, avoiding a meter. He brushed the front of his black leather biker's jacket his prize possession , ran a hand through his unkempt blond hair a style that Grace referred to as "James Dean sticking his finger in a light socket" , and walked to the front door. In the reflective glass of the station's windows he saw a teenaged girl watching him from across the street. He smiled.

He was thirty-three, but, if he did say so himself, he'd never looked better. The station's air-conditioning was a relief after the hot mugginess outside. At the front counter was an older man, gray-haired and beefy, with a gut that displayed a Southern delight in fried chicken, beignets, and beer. Gabriel strolled to the long, polished wooden barrier and asked for Detective Mosely.

The name tag on his chest read Frick. He's expectin' me. Don't know when he'll be back. There's gonna be a crime scene right here if you don't mind your P's and Q's. The man glared at him a second longer, then looked back down at his register. The name is Knight? Knight or not. He decided in Gabriel's favor, reached beneath the counter, and brought out a manila envelope. Gabriel took it with a charming smile.

Although he preferred the air-conditioning, Gabriel went outside before opening the enve- lope. He didn't want Officer Frick to see what was in it, and he didn't guess Mosely would either.

Inside were two photographs. One showed a young Mosely at his police-academy graduation he had hair then. Gabriel stuffed it back in the envelope carelessly. The second image had his full interest. It was taken at one of the Voodoo Mur- ders crime scenes. It centered on the corpse of a young man who had once been good-looking, but was now carved up like a Halloween pumpkin.

The man's chest was covered with matted blood, but Gabriel thought he could make out a gaping hole where the heart had been. Symbols, equally obscured, were carved into the flesh of the face and stomach.

Around the man's body were traces of a white powdery substance and something else. Gabriel headed out from the police station, grinning. The boys down at the Picayune would slice off their balls and present them on a silver platter for the photograph he now had in his back pocket.

The police had been very tight-lipped about this case. The most significant facts the newspaper could report was that Voodoo para- phernalia was found around the bodies and that the victims, six at last count maybe seven by now if Prick's slipup meant anything , were all out- of-towners. Hell, the mayor was probably pissed off that even that had leaked out.

It might soothe the natives, but it had to play havoc with the convention crowd. Voodoo paraphernalia my ass. The bastard's heart is missing. At last, he was on his way with the new book. His last two, Fire in the Hills and The Stalker, had barely brought in five grand apiece and were no longer on the shelves of even the best-stocked horror sections in the city. Gabriel had to call his agent five or six times before he even got a call back.

But not for long. Gabriel was determined that his Voodoo book would hit the big time, and damn Knight bad luck. He contemplated a direction at the corner and the car behind him honked in irritation. Gabriel ignored it. He had those leads of Grace's to check out, the shop and museum. But those were inter- views and background only. Right now, he wanted to be at that crime scene.

But where was it? Gabriel decided on his usual course of action. He'd go to the park, have lunch, and see what came up. Jackson Square was a tourist-ridden spot natives avoided in the summer, but it was one of Gabriel's favorite hangouts.

For one thing, there was always a band or two playing free music. For another, he knew most of the vendors free food. Besides, there was inevitably a lot of women running around in minimal summer garb and, well, that made the scenery pretty unbeatable. He parked and locked his bike, passed the artists that surrounded the park, and went in to sit on the grass.

A brass band was on the lawn, doing "Saints" for the tourists, and Joe, the band leader, nodded to Gabriel and gave him a wink.

Gabriel winked back. The park wasn't big on shade and was therefore lightly populated in the midday heat. For a park, it had a curious history. It had once been an army parade ground, way back in the days of the French it was called La Plaza d'Armas then.

Public executions had taken place here—hang- ings, beheadings. Gabriel wondered if mothers ever thought about that as their kiddies played on the grass. Even the name, Jackson Square, was a bit of a contradiction.

The park was actually laid out in a circle. A broad sidewalk circled the park's rim, and in the center a smaller circular sidewalk surrounded the bronze statue of Andrew Jackson on his horse.

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Across the street to the south lay the Mississippi, and to the north of the square was St. Louis Cathedral. The day felt lazy. Even the band's rhythm seemed to drag. Gabriel got up again after a minute and went for a stroll, hoping to see a familiar vendor. A hot dog would taste good about now. Hell, even a cup of coffee wouldn't hurt. He passed a motorcycle cop who had pulled his bike up on the lawn.

I'd get a ticket if I did that, Gabriel thought. The helmeted officer stood next to the bike, osten- sibly maintaining the peace, but probably just taking in the babes. As Gabriel passed him, the radio on the cop's bike hissed. He stood there listening, trying to look incongruous. Gabriel looked at the policeman. The police- man looked back pointedly. Gabriel gave him a sheepish grin and kept walking.

On the other side of the park, Gabriel hesitated. He was drawing close to a mime. He'd seen this guy before and he was bad news. The mime was dressed in black, his face painted white. He was following the pedestrians as they strolled by, mim- icking their walk, exaggerating their manners. He had gathered a small audience—a few people stood watching with amusement so tame it was just this side of boredom. The objects of the mime's attentions clearly did not appreciate his act.

She tossed her braids and stomped away. The mime tossed his imaginary braids and minced back to his platform. Gabriel turned to walk back the other way, then he thought about that radio. He first made sure there was no one he knew in the park.

There was Joe, but Gabriel could live with that. Playing dumb, Gabriel strolled past the mime, exaggerating his natural macho strut in a way he thought would be irresistible Grace, he knew, would say that it hardly needed exagger- ating. He heard titters behind him and gritted his teeth. He did not turn around. During his investigations, Gabriel meets a number of individuals connected to the voodoo scene, including a voodoo museum's curator, Dr.

John, and a member of a French Creole family. Hartridge agrees to examine and do more research to discover its origins while Gabriel continues his work.

Mosely brings in a known crook and drug addict named Crash to interrogate for information on the murders, but learns nothing of use. Gabriel manages to get information from Crash after spying him visit a rada drummer in Jackson Square , where he learns that the murders are connected to a Voodoo Cartel.

Before he can learn more, Crash dies, forcing Gabriel to look elsewhere for information. To his annoyance, Gabriel learns that Mosley has ended the investigation, claiming it was the work of gangsters from Chicago, though he knows otherwise. Gabriel forces him to reopen the case after recovering plenty of information proving the voodoo element of the murders is real.

He demonstrates that the cartel is a threat by showing him a newspaper article from that describes a murder done in the same manner. John to the murders — a scale from the python in his museum. Mosley soon disappears, suspecting the cartel might have influence on the police, after learning no-one would help him.

Gabriel confirms this chilling truth when he goes to Mosley's office to retrieve a tracking device. During his investigation, Gabriel learns more about his family while visiting his grandmother. His grandfather's original name helps Gabriel realize that a man named Wolfgang Ritter is a long lost relative; this prompts him to call him.

Ritter invites Gabriel to come to Germany, but, after learning that the cartel is having a meeting in the Bayou St. John , he decides to pursue matters in New Orleans first.

Gabriel, in disguise, tracks the location of the meeting in the swamp and discovers the cartel is headed by Malia. He realizes that she is possessed by a Loa spirit named Tetelo, who identifies him as a witch-hunter.

Gabriel is rescued by Grace before anything can happen to him. Later he calls Ritter about what he has found out. Worse, Tetelo stole a talisman of immense power from one of Gabriel's ancestors. She had it hidden with her remains, after she was discovered to have been involved in voodoo murders centuries ago, and was burned to death as a result.

Unable to find her remains in the Gedde's family tomb in New Orleans, Gabriel travels to Bavaria , Germany to meet Ritter and to research the second possible location where her remains were taken. In Germany, at Schloss Ritter, the family's home, he meets a German woman named Gerde who tells him that, shortly before Gabriel's arrival, Wolfgang disappeared after visiting his library.

She has no idea of its location in the house. In the morning, Gabriel discovers the library is attached to Wolfgang's bedroom. He learns from the books that Tetelo's remains are hidden in Benin in a snake mound of a "wheel within a wheel".

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