Chapter Two

PARIS CRAWLED WITH activity. Wagons loaded with building materials or carrying the remains of ruins rumbled by as pedestrians darted out of their way. Vagabonds and urchins dodged the guards trying to nab them to be brought to the beggar’s depot in Saint-Denis. No part of the city had been spared the touch of Haussmann in his quest to give Napoleon III the city he dreamed of, the jewel of Europe.

Constantin Severin had been here for hours, yet his ears and nose had not gotten used to the cacophony of sound and scent after the quiet of the countryside. The babble of voices and strident cries, the clanging of church bells, the stamp of horses and creak of wagon wheels all played under the noise of construction and deconstruction. The acrid sting of smoke masked the worst of the odor of unwashed bodies, stale urine, and sour wine, but the reek lingered beneath.

He could get lost in a city such as this and evade his past. He could remake himself here. Again. He leaned against a tavern wall as weariness settled over him. He studied the denizens thronging the streets, moving from one errand to another. What was the point? He’d lost too many homes to count, been forced to run from the monsters who shaped him and the more insidious ones who wouldn’t allow a man to get his feet under him so he could build a life.

His gaze fell on a trio of boys roughhousing in the entryway of an alley. Shouts and laughter rang from the impromptu wrestling match. Constantin’s mouth lifted at the sight and the reminder. He needed a steady job. One that kept his hands and mind occupied and to earn enough coin that he could send some along to his brothers in Toulouse. One that kept him out of the debtor’s prison where he might attract the wrong eyes.

Constantin wasn’t in danger of that yet. He had enough coin to pay for his lodgings for a week and to eat; then he’d be out. He’d arrived this morning on foot with a long line of others who had heard Paris was in need of laborers. It was a city in flux, transforming into a new era. Not that Constantin cared. One city was the same as any other.

He rummaged in his bag and pulled out the last of his bread. As he gnawed on the heel, he considered his options. He’d spent the last few hours searching for the fine mechanical work he excelled in, but with no references and the vagabond nature to his papers, potential employers had turned him away one after another.

Foremen were hiring laborers to erect earthworks for the new boulevards cutting through the city. Others were looking for men to help burn and tear down buildings slated for demolishing and to haul away the debris. It was honest work with a steady wage. It would keep him too tired to think. Hopefully, too tired for nightmares.

His chances of finding little fiddly bits he could pocket for his tinker toys were high. That right there decided him, and Constantin set out again seeking the ever-present work crews. The foremen were easy to spot at each site. They were often in a position to watch the activity with busy frowns or fierce scowls and a rough tongue. The latter Constantin avoided. Experience had taught him the reception he would receive there. He spied a likely group where several foremen had gotten together during the lunch break to look over likely prospects.

The queue quickly shrank as each potential worker hurried forward to talk to the foremen, which underscored the demand for work, and Constantin felt a spark of hope. They weren’t turning many away. However, when it was his turn to step up to the foreman, all he received was a scowl. “Aren’t you a pretty one? Look too pretty for honest work. Go on down by the docks, or the cathedral.” He leered at Constantin with a guffaw. “Those men in skirts are always praying to God in the light and fucking like whores at night.”

Constantin stared at him in stony silence. He’d have to be in more desperate straits than these to go back to selling himself. Not for the first time he cursed the fey appearance and slight build he inherited from his mother, along with her ill luck. “I’m stronger than I look. Let me prove it. Put me on the work team.”

One of the other foremen standing at the front gave him a curious glance. He had a sturdy and dusty appearance to him, a man who led by doing as much as saying. His beard was neatly trimmed and graying, and his hands were as work worn as many of the men standing in line.

“You’re wasting my time, putain.” The foreman shoved him away and turned to the next man in line as Constantin fisted his hands in helpless anger. His fey nature had given him some gifts, but what was the point if it caused more trouble than it helped?

His temper smoldering as he turned away, Constantin eyed another site down the road with wariness. He didn’t want to spend the entire day waiting in one line after another if all the results were going to be the same. There were other ways to make money, even if some of the methods were dubious. The ground rumbled and Constantin’s anger fled as fast as it had struck. He stared around in wonder as everyone went about their errands with no more than uneasy laughs and startled looks.

“Had a big one a last week,” a man commented from the front of the line. “These are more afterthoughts, and they are getting fainter and farther apart. Nothing to fret over.”

“Not near a nuisance as the fog that rolled through a couple days after and then again the day before yesterday,” another man growled, gesturing around them with work-worn hands. “Pissed the foremen off good.”

“Was damn near impossible to get any work done while it lasted,” a third commented with a worried glance toward the sky. “It was the strangest thing, rolled up out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast.”

Constantin stiffened as one of the foremen moved up beside him, the curious man who had been standing by the one who had rejected him. He eyed the demolition zone next to them and then turned the same assessing gaze on Constantin. “Half wages for today,” he offered. “If you’re as strong as you say you are and can keep up, full wages tomorrow.”

It wasn’t fair. If he did the full work by the end of the day he should earn the full amount, but one of the first lessons Constantin learned in life was that nothing was fair. Not even close to fair, but this would get him started. “It’s a deal.”

“You’re a fool.” The first foreman shook his head as he turned back to his crew. “That boy will shirk and give you pitiful eyes when it gets down to doing actual work.”

Constantin was older than he looked, and his youthful appearance had been both a boon when he wanted to appear harmless and a hindrance when he wanted to be taken seriously. The older he got though, the more he resented his appearance. Only one person had looked beyond the glamour and had loved him for himself. And he had been gone for so long there were times when Constantin had trouble remembering his features.

“You’re the fool. You lost near a dozen workers this week and I lost some too. We need every hand we get if we’re going to keep up with Haussmann’s demands,” the head of Constantin’s crew retorted and gestured toward the crew knocking down a row of buildings and cutting through the maze of winding alleys and slums. “You can start there.”

“Merci.”

The line of demolished buildings stretched out impossibly long. In the distance, more edifices were being torn down in a haze of smoke wreathing the rooftops. He nodded and joined the workers, who muttered to each other in dark undertones as they cleared away the debris of ruins.

“What happened to the missing workers?” Constantin asked as he fell in line beside another laborer. The midmorning air held a damp chill, though the cloudless skies promised warmer weather.

“You haven’t been in Paris long, have you? More people are coming into the city every day. You sound like you’re not from this region,” the man said with a cynical glint in his gaze as he eyed Constantin.

He found when he worked a job like this, the crew either saw him as a youth to be exploited or one to be protected. Constantin didn’t fall for the first and didn’t need the second. He’d been on his own for a long time.

“I’m not. Got here this morning.” He’d found quarters quick enough in a room that had recently lost its tenant. That had been a stroke of luck with so many displaced. It was small, and the shutters needed to be fixed, but for now, it was his. If this job lasted, he’d get himself a few comforts and find someone to help him haul it up. He usually didn’t stay in any one city for more than a season, but if the work kept up, he might linger.

“Depends on what you believe. The superstitious say they got called into the mists.” The man shrugged as a couple nearby workers cast nervous glances at each other and the muttering picked up again. He spat into the dirt. “I say they found a better offer elsewhere. There are plenty of things that can drag a body down. When summer hits, just you wait, cholera’s going to be a problem, but mists?” The man snorted, picked a section and hauled up broken boards to carry to a waiting wagon. “I’m not that gullible.”

“Savaugeau’s wife said he walked right out into the fog talking about the song.” Another worker straightened, his arms full. “Acted like he couldn’t hear her when she called after him.”

“If I had his wife and pack of kids, I’d be hard of hearing too,” the first man said as he walked away, spawning complaints from others about their own lives at home.

Constantin tried to listen and get a better understanding of the danger, even as he searched for scraps he could use. Everything of value had already been carried off to be reused in other building projects. He’d watched the method used to reduce these buildings at another site. The foundation and supports had been undermined and then propped up by timbers. Gradually those supports were burned away until the structure collapsed. That was the most dangerous part. The other foreman had been doing that type of work, and Constantin resolved to be grateful he was an ass. He didn’t trust him to look out for his laborers.

This job site was already in ruins, and all that remained was clearing away debris. Maybe the workers had been lost when the walls crumbled. Losing that many people was a cause for concern, but nobody here acted worried about that danger.

Constantin carried off his own pile as he pondered the situation. If the foremen were terrible, he could understand people leaving a job, but a dozen was still too many for his comfort’s sake. Men needed to eat. They needed to bring money home to their families, and walking away from work didn’t feed starving bellies or keep a shelter over their heads. Those who couldn’t pay their bills were sentenced to the depots and once there, it was hard to leave alive.

He didn’t like getting involved with local affairs. That spelled trouble every time, so he’d do what he always did, keep his ears open and his mouth shut. If there was something sinister going on, he’d move along. There was always more work in another town, and he could keep at it until his body ached and he was too tired to dream and remember. He was a master at that, and his brothers were well-situated, though Constantin didn’t like to wait too long before sending more money. It didn’t take much to go from getting by to scraping for survival.

He lost himself in the rhythm of the work, pausing to wrap his hands with rags to protect himself from scrapes and bloody knuckles. He’d gotten soft in Arles, spoiled by fine food and the illusion of security. Good thing he always listened to his instincts and got out while he still could.

When the call to end the shift came, Constantin looked up in surprise along with the rest of the crew. There was still a couple hours of daylight left and other work gangs continued at their labor. His companions eyed each other uneasily, but they all gathered around the foreman.

“The air is turning again. More mists are going to roll through. I can smell it,” the foreman said as he doled out the day’s wages. “I expect each and every one of you here at first crack in the morning. A bonus if you come back, you hear? I’m not losing any more men. Get yourselves and your loved ones under shelter.”

“Nom de dieu. Do you think it’ll be that bad?” one of the workers asked.

“I wouldn’t take any chances. Get on with you. First thing in the morning, mind?” The foreman shooed the man off as Constantin shuffled forward and shrugged into his coat to collect his wages. “Half as I said, but you worked hard. Come back tomorrow early and you’ll get the full pay as well as the bonus.”

Constantin slipped his coin into the pouch he carried under his shirt. No worries about him not showing up. The man worked them hard and had no patience for shirking. Constantin saw the evidence of that a few hours into his first shift, but he kept his word. “I’ll be here.”

As tiring as it was, this paid better than the work he’d found in St. Malo before he’d been chased out of there as well. He’d be able to get a hot meal tonight and hide some away for his brothers. Louis was saving for his own butcher’s shop, and Damien had married and had a little one on the way. They could use every bit Constantin sent and more. His needs were few. Always had been. When they’d found themselves without their parents, he’d promised he’d take care of them. Didn’t matter if they were grown, the promise still held.

As he headed toward the section of town that held his quarters, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out some of the materials he’d managed to glean. The building that had been torn down had once been a factory, and there were all manner of gears, bits of metal, and fine spun wire among the debris. He’d noticed some of the others pocketing pieces as well, no doubt to sell what they could. The foreman pretended not to notice most of the time unless the pickings were too obvious. Constantin could work on his little inventions. They weren’t much, but the delicate work soothed, and the results comforted him.

Church bells clanged all over the city, but Constantin’s thoughts raced with ideas about what he could make, so much so that he didn’t notice the activity on the street at first until the change in the city’s music alerted him. People scurried, looking over their shoulders with expressions of concern. Stalls were packed and shut down despite the fact a few hours of daylight remained to sell.

Constantin pulled up the collar of his coat and headed toward the bridge with a faster stride. It was spring. He understood bad weather, but the reactions from the denizens of the streets unnerved him. They acted as if they expected a deadly storm, and the foreman’s insistence on finding shelter rang in his mind.

The air went still with a quiet hush, and Constantin realized the street was deserted except for a few desperate souls who were taking advantage of the quiet to go through rubbish. Constantin glanced behind him and saw a fog bank rolling out among the maze of streets in a fast-moving sprawl.

Constantin froze. It didn’t move like any mist he’d ever seen before. Tendrils drifted over doors and windows with restless fingers as if seeking a way inside. Filaments of black laced through, forming a delicate web. He thought he heard the shuffle of feet, but the mist muffled all sound from where it blanketed. His heart pounded and his skin crawled as the mist swallowed up a lingerer at the end of the street. He’d witnessed many strange and wondrous things as he’d wandered all over France, but there was something different about this phenomenon.

A noise in the alley caught his attention, and he tore his gaze away. Even the urchins were fleeing, running away from the promise of free pickings as the fog flowed faster toward them. Constantin retreated several streets and ducked into a tavern as it was closing its doors. The barkeep sighed and barred the door behind him. “There will be more missing when this clears. You could’ve been one of them. Foolishness to be outside now.”

“How long does it last?” Constantin asked as he followed him to the bar. He glanced at the barred door. A fat roll of rags lay across the floor to keep the fog from coming underneath, and similar rolls covered the bottom of the windows to stop up any gaps. He wasn’t sure if that would be effective or if it was the cheery fire pushing out warmth that kept the mists from entering. He rubbed his arm, trying to scour away the sensation of being trapped.

“Several hours. Just on the safe side those doors don’t open until I’m well and certain it’s gone. And I’ll break the arms of any man or woman who tries.” He cast a threatening look at Constantin, then turned it toward the other people crowding the tables. Lines of strain and worry marred his face, and Constantin believed he’d follow through on his promise. “My sister and half her family are still missing.”

“I’m staying put.” Grateful to find that this was one of those establishments that served food along with their beer and wine, Constantin ordered a mug. He’d get his hot meal and savor it for once. He found an empty spot at a table in the corner and pulled out his small array of tools, along with the bits of metal he’d scrounged. The mood in the tavern was subdued, with most of the patrons huddled over their drinks as they eyed the door. Any conversation was conducted in uneasy whispers that sent chills through him.

It was ridiculous to be so apprehensive over some foul weather that sprang up. He’d lived through true terror, but the grumblings of his companions only underscored his reaction. He couldn’t see the world outside the shutters and door. It reminded him of the more claustrophobic days at the orphanage, when the men in charge would lock up offenders in the dark and breathless attic or take off choice children for special punishments.

Constantin’s fingers trembled and he focused instead on his tiny tools and the pieces he worked with as his construct took shape. This one would be a cat, he decided. A miniature, slinky feline. The tinkering provided endless fascination. The creatures he created almost came alive for him. Once he discovered he could animate them with a breath of magic, in many ways they did come alive. They had no personality, no ability to make decisions, but they were amusing and occasionally useful.

“That is some fine work you do.” The familiar voice of the foreman jerked Constantin out of his concentration. “You can find better work than what you’re doing with skill like that.”

Constantin glanced up from the creature. The foreman studied him with a considering expression. He went back to fine tuning his work, checking the joints to make sure they moved smoothly. “I’d need to find someone willing to take a chance on me or apprentice to someone.” And Constantin was too old for that. He’d found careers for his brothers, and it had served them well, but he’d never found a place where he fit in. “When did you come in?”

“Not long before you did. I gathered I wouldn’t make it to my room.” The foreman stuck out his hand. “Perrin Lyon.”

“Constantin Severin.” He took the offered hand, trying to get a read on the other man. He didn’t like the coincidence of him being here at the same time, and he couldn’t help but question it. But the only thing he sensed was friendly curiosity, not the predatory energy of a man hunting. Sometimes a coincidence was just that, and getting nervy wouldn’t help him at all.

“May I?” Perrin asked, gesturing to the cat taking shape in Constantin’s hands. “Most of my workers who scrounge are looking for bits to sell. I figured you among them. Some foremen make them hand it over so they can sell it on their own and pocket the money. I figure I’m holding steady. I won’t take food out of the mouth of my men. Didn’t expect to see you making anything.”

Constantin stamped down on his instant distrust. It got him into trouble more often than it helped him. He relinquished the little figure and sorted through his remaining pieces to find what would work best for its whiskers.

“I know a man who’s hiring people to build train engines. He could use specialists who can handle fiddly bits like you. You follow orders well and work hard. I’d be willing to put in a word for you,” Perrin said as he handed the figure back.

“What’s in it for you?” Nothing for nothing. That’s how the world worked. Constantin could haggle and hustle, but he had hard lines. His hand drifted to the dagger hidden under his coat before he made himself let go. There was nowhere to hide in the crowded common room, even with his unique ability to disappear. And running outside meant he’d have to go into the mists. He wanted to know more about what made everyone so cagey about them before he risked it.

“A onetime cut from you when you’re settled, a bonus from him.” Perrin shrugged. “We all help each other. I’ll expect a payout from your first wages if it works out. I hate to lose you, but I can get grunt work. The type of work you’re doing now is more in demand, especially these days.”

Constantin considered the offer as he laid two tiny gears for the eyes. A whisper of magic set them in place more surely than any glue and opened him up to the man across from him in sharper detail. The deal was genuine. He’d exert his influence to get Constantin in place and keep his other demands to a minimum.

“Agreed.” He shot the foreman a grateful look. The extra money would be helpful, and if the demands got to be too much, he would roll on to a new city with every coin he’d saved. In the meantime, he’d use the handout the man offered.

“You don’t talk much,” Perrin observed as Constantin bent over his project again.

“Not much to say.” Constantin studied the progress he’d made. He’d need more parts to balance the little toy right, but he was pleased with the results. He tied the remaining pieces in a kerchief and started to wrap a rag around the little cat when a shiver of dread whispered across his mind.

Constantin’s head jerked up as he stared hard at the door, his heart racing.

“The mists got everybody in a state,” the foreman grumbled. “People disappearing like that. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Constantin paid no attention to the man’s words. There was something out in the mists…something familiar. His hands shook as he finished wrapping up his bundle. He was imagining things, letting everyone’s fear grab ahold of him. He’d left himself open when he’d read the man’s intentions. That’s all.

The magicman was in Toulouse, not here. And it was the reason Constantin could never go home again. The familiar energy was a frisson across his senses again, and Constantin’s stomach roiled, upsetting the food he’d consumed. It had been twenty years. Twenty years and hundreds of kilometers. It had to be his imagination. He buried his face in his hands as dark memories swarmed over him, stealing his breath.