Chapter Seven

MICHEL-LEON STALKED through the kitchen door of the Château des Ombres, seething with frustration. Another day of scouring the countryside around Paris and asking questions that yielded no useful answers, and he was no closer to solving their mystery. Coming back to this place did not improve his mood. He detested every stone of the château and was tempted to consign it to the same fiery fate as his ancestral home back in Sampigny.

Janvier glanced up from the long table where he worked on ledger notes and cleared a spot for Michel-Leon. At least the kitchens were welcoming. The Belangers had turned this place into a haven of warmth and light, banishing the neglect of the last decade. Salome set a pie on the counter, the scent making Michel-Leon’s nose twitch.

She put her hands on her hips and eyed Michel-Leon with a stern gaze. “I see your look, my lord. I suppose it was you who got into the pantry this morning and left crumbs everywhere.”

“Guilty.” He gave her a look of appeal. “I couldn’t resist bringing leftovers from dinner to fortify my day.”

Janvier had been right to bring Hadrien, Salome, and their daughter Mahaut here. They gave the cold stones of the place some cheer, but Michel-Leon still worried and made sure they understood daily they weren’t to stray from the proscribed areas. Which, for the moment, limited them to the kitchens, cold storage, and the rooms off of them for their quarters. When he had time, he’d look into expanding their space. Michel-Leon tended to his laboratory and study bedroom himself, and Janvier took care of their rooms, not that he saw them often.

“No luck, my lord?” Janvier asked and gestured to the table when Michel-Leon shook his head in disgust. “Sit, eat something, and we’ll go over the maps of the surrounding area. Régine and Hadrien have not returned from Paris, but I expect her soon.”

Michel-Leon sat down with a frown and pulled the maps to him. He marked out the area he had searched today. They had made significant progress, but there was still a depressing amount of countryside left to explore. There had been tales of a few strange sightings that occurred on the date they had seen the creature in the sky, but nothing yet that pointed them in a direction. They needed a landing spot.

Régine was compiling a list of missing people and the districts they had disappeared from, and he’d noted the dates and times and the approximate number. He’d studied the maps of Paris, hoping it would give them a direction to start in, but the depredations were too widespread. Studying the maps again left him with acute frustration and confusion. These mists were not following the patterns of old. Instead of flowing downstream, they radiated out in a sphere. He needed to figure out what caused the change, because he doubted it portended good news.

Not everyone who had been outside during the mists had been affected. Sometimes several members of a family had been taken, sometimes none, even if all had been caught outside. Witnesses reported the affected people talking about the song and being insistent on following it. They were calm when left alone, increasingly agitated to the point of violence if stopped. Some were found wandering afterward in a daze and remained that way for days before recovering.

Pieces of a puzzle with no solution in sight. Though one interesting fact—the disappearances seemed confined to the city and not any of the villages surrounding it, which differed from Metz. They couldn’t be entirely certain that was true though. There were still villages left to visit and people to interview.

“You could ask the villagers if they have maps of the area or know of any cave systems,” Janvier suggested as Salome set a full plate in front of both of them.

Michel-Leon spared the cook a brief smile. “Merci.” He contemplated Janvier’s suggestion as he shoveled food in his mouth. He hadn’t paused to eat since he raided the pantry this morning, and Salome was talented. “You and Hadrien look into that. Ask about any missing people. Warn them not to search any likely cave systems. I need to be sure they are taking necessary precautions. If anyone saw the creature land, that would be a miracle we could use. In fact, ask about any disappearances that happened that night before the mists started. Maybe it didn’t leave any witnesses about.”

“I will, my lord.” Janvier beetled his bushy eyebrows. “However, you don’t know the precautions you need to take.”

“I promise not to be reckless.” Michel-Leon shoved his curls out of his eyes. He needed to let Janvier take care of his hair for him. “I’m going on what we know: that a creature of considerable size has taken up residence in a cave near a city and a water source and has laid a nest. I’m going on the assumption that it will do whatever is necessary to protect that nest. Though, since none of the ancestors mention the creature, I’m assuming it never leaves its haven once it’s found one. So what happens to it after the swam hatches?”

He set aside the maps and reached for a spare bit of paper to scrawl notes. “Step one, locate likely cave systems.” He tapped the pen against the paper. “I might have to have a more in-depth conversation with the ancestors to develop a plan to combat the creature. We should have a combination of magic and weaponry, since we don’t know that will affect it. We’ll also need a way to combat the effects of the mists. I’ve been working on a filtering mask. In fact, I’ll be in the laboratory. Send Régine up when she arrives.”

“In the interest of saving time, set up a reward for information,” Janvier offered. “Instead of you seeking others out, it should bring them to you.”

Michel-Leon contemplated that. “Do it,” he said shortly. “Screen the responders. Anybody who is credible, I’ll talk to further.”

“I’ll set it in motion in the morning.” The old man’s eyes gleamed. “In the meantime, you have received another message demanding an audience about a magicman. I took the liberty of reading it in case there was any information in it we could use.”

“Didn’t we send Régine to meet with the man?” Michel-Leon asked as he took the ragged slip of paper with curiosity. There weren’t many who knew that name. Magicmen tended to lie low. It gave them greater access to their prey. The message was terse, the handwriting as abominable as Michel-Leon’s, and he winced as he read the words.

A magicman is preying on children at the orphanage on rue des Jardins. I asked to meet a chevalier, not a girl. S’il vous plaît, help. You can reach me through the tavern on the same street. Constantin Severin.

Janvier’s lips tightened. “We did and she attempted to do so. She’s not pleased with his attitude, and apparently the feelings were mutual.”

Michel-Leon rubbed his aching temple and was glad he had not witnessed that meeting. He could sense the ancestors stirring, poking at him with whispered warnings of people watching. It was no wonder that so many of his brethren went mad. “S’il vous plaît, respond with my regrets. I will be more than happy to assist when we’ve solved the mystery of the mists. Until then, I’ll be unable to help.” He paused, distressed by having to refuse. But if he didn’t fix the bigger problem, there wouldn’t be an orphanage to worry about. Still, his sense of duty wouldn’t let it rest.

“Meanwhile, I’ll look into the history of the orphanage and search for a pattern of deaths. Every magicman feeds in a different way.” The headache that had been threatening to blossom all day came to a head, and he rubbed his temples again. “It’s what makes them so damned hard to identify.”

Janvier cut off his ramblings with a wave of his hand. “Michel-Leon, there is only one of you, even with Régine and I to help. And because I know sending a refusal goes against everything you believe in, I already sent one. One problem at a time.”

“That is taking liberties,” Michel-Leon said with a fierce frown that didn’t faze the old man one bit. “Merci for it. I’m off to my study and laboratory. I want to run some more experiments on the mist sample I have and work on that mask.” He would search in his journals and books for any references to magicmen haunting Paris.

“Am I to assume that you are planning to retire in your study once again?” Janvier’s eyebrows twitched in displeasure, and his mouth formed a stubborn line.

Despite himself, Michel-Leon smiled. Janvier would never change, and his manner remained a constant Michel-Leon could count on. “You assume correctly. Either the very comfortable chair there or the cot in my laboratory. I even put fresh bedding out, so there is no need for Mahaut to fetch more.”

“Do attempt to get some proper sleep,” Janvier said with a hard glower. “You can help no one if you waste away.”

Michel-Leon laid a hand on his bony shoulder. “As always, dear friend, I strive to do your bidding.” He left the warmth and comfort of the kitchens to Janvier’s snort of derision and contemplated the scrap of paper in his hand covered in his own code.

He didn’t know how Javier navigated the maze without a reminder. The last time he’d tried, he’d been locked inside the walls for two days before they had found him. A traumatic event at ten years of age. If he’d had his grandpère’s tinkering skills, he could’ve created an automaton to help. His talent and passion lay in chemistry though, so no inventions for him. He was having enough difficulty with a simple mask.

Once he’d inherited the château, he’d made a systematic map of the lower levels. His initial ventures into the hidden walkways had been hazardous, and he’d come across more than one nasty surprise that his father’s journals had neglected to mention. It was a wonder he’d survived his childhood. In the intervening years after he’d left to study in the rest of Europe, his father had become even more distrustful, and the changes reflected that fear. In the end, he had been right to be paranoid.

Michel-Leon had yet to figure out the labyrinth of rooms and passages on the upper floors, some that moved about like puzzle pieces on a whim. The château was as insane as its previous owners, yet he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull all of its teeth. There was a certain measure of safety, knowing that he could hide in the heart of the château and remain unmolested.

Unfortunately, leaving those in place also meant that when he was in Paris, he lived virtually alone except for the few he brought with him. He wasn’t about to risk any others. In his mind, there were no acceptable losses.

The hallway outside the kitchens was dark and dank, heavy with dust and spiderwebs. Cleaned up, it could be beautiful, but at the moment it was heavy with an air of abuse and neglect. Michel-Leon skirted the grand staircase and hugged the wall near the windows as he made his way down another hallway littered with bits of fallen plaster. His footsteps showed clearly in the dust. The sense of eyes on him and the agitated mutterings in his mind had him looking over his shoulder once or twice, but he remained alone.

The back passages were safer than going from room to room, though Michel-Leon and Janvier had left one or two surprises. Caution demanded they leave some defenses in place. Michel-Leon popped open a hidden door in the main hall paneling and lit the lantern hanging on a hook inside the hidden stairwell. He would dearly love to have gaslights installed throughout the place, but that was a nigh impossible undertaking. He skipped the seventh stair and its hidden trap and then opened the door to his laboratory.

A stair creaked in the hidden passage, and Michel-Leon glanced back with a frown. “Régine?” The stairway remained empty.

Michel-Leon shook his head and left the door open to circulate the air as he entered his laboratory. If there was any room in the château he loved, it was this room. He’d spent many happy hours here when it was his grandpère’s workshop. When his grandpère had discovered his love of science and experiments, he’d carved out a space for Michel-Leon’s work and defended that interest to his father. As he said, they all needed activities to keep them grounded.

They had furnished the room with multiple tables for experiments. He had a microscope and chemical hearth and all his materials laid out in a disordered row on one table with another table that held his notes and books. Two more tables contained parts for the last invention his grandpère was working on when he died. Michel-Leon hadn’t had the heart to remove it. One of his grandpère’s clocks graced the wall over the cot Michel-Leon slept on. Another door led to his study. This was his haven.

Michel-Leon hummed in contentment and bent over his latest test. There were interesting trace elements contained in the mists, and he wanted to know more. He’d need more samples than this and from other locations. Still, it was a start.

*

THE NIGHT WAS getting later, and still Constantin continued to study the chevalier as he puttered about the laboratory, muttering to himself. Perplexed, he watched while the man set up a series of beakers with a snippet of cloth at the bottom. He laid a journal and pen nearby and made notes as he went. Constantin had no idea what the man was doing, but with his preoccupation, Constantin deemed it safe enough to examine the more interesting aspects of the room. It had more appeal than the rest of the château, and it might give him some information he could use.

He’d heard the chevaliers were strange. This place confirmed it. Parts of it appeared as if it were about to fall apart. It was a huge rambling structure, and yet the people here confined themselves to a few rooms.

Tables lined with the most interesting diagrams and half-finished projects called to his soul. Mechanical bits littered the surface of one table neatly laid out in piles, and his fingers twitched to examine them. An ugly mask with thick lenses over the eyes and an apparatus over the mouth sat at another end, but too close to the chevalier. He longed to examine them further, but he had a job to do. He needed to find some information he could use as leverage to get the chevalier to agree to help.

As he eyed a wondrous clock avidly, the man turned his chair around, picked up the mask, and bent over the mouthpiece. He continued to mutter to himself, but too softly for Constantin to make out words. He had a head of burnished red-brown curls. His cheeks were stubbled as if he forgot to shave, and his mouth looked like he smiled often. He appeared far nicer than the stern-faced woman who visited him and, frankly, less capable of taking out a magicman. There at least had been a fierceness about the woman.

The chevalier was more focused on his experiments than on helping. Children were dying, and he was fiddling with a mask after sending notes of dismissal through a girl barely into womanhood. Constantin had been utterly disillusioned when he’d received the message denying his request, and he’d come here with a more dire purpose in mind. There had to be some way he could force the chevalier to aid them.

He’d changed his mind when he overheard the conversation in the kitchens. It wasn’t that the chevalier didn’t want to help. He’d sounded frustrated with his own lack of progress over the mists, though Constantin didn’t understand how holing himself up here would help, no matter how intriguing the surroundings. Besides, there was something about the man that drew Constantin to him. He reminded him of a boy that Constantin once loved, though the chevalier didn’t have Blaise’s frail air. Still, his eyes were kind, and there was something innocent about him. He did not look at all like what Constantin expected a chevalier to be. He appeared more like a scholar than a warrior.

This room was full of items that challenged the mind. When the chevalier retreated to an adjoining room, Constantin found it stuffed with journals, maps, and books, all piled about haphazardly with no attempt at organization. The chevalier appeared to know what each stack contained because he never searched for long before returning to his lab.

Constantin stared at the books with longing. There could be information in there he could use. He could read and write. He’d learned that much in the orphanage, but he was no scholar. The chevalier mentioned there may be information in here concerning the magicman. He could search when this strange household was asleep.

Constantin took the chance of opening a journal when the chevalier left, and his heart sank. It would take days to search through this room for anything useful. There was no rhyme or reason to the notes and not everything was in French. He needed another way. Blackmail was a possibility. Everyone had secrets to hide. He hated to resort to that because it reminded him too much of the ugly time when he was first on the streets, but some of those children were getting weaker and Nightingale was bringing in new victims every few days. It made it all the more likely for tragedy to hit them.

In the meantime, he’d send another note and ask if the man could at least request a different chevalier to aid him. There had to be a way to convince him.

Constantin returned to the workshop. It was unlikely he’d get any other information at this time. The chevalier appeared content to focus on his strange experiments instead of doing something active of actual worth. It was infuriating. Constantin wanted to shake the man out of his preoccupation and haul him off to help.

He studied the chevalier a moment longer, flexing his fingers. The thought had possibilities. Constantin may appear young and slim, but he was far stronger than he appeared. He had years of living on the streets behind him. There were no guards, only one old man, another who preferred the stables, and a few women here.

“Stop nattering at me!” the chevalier snarled, making Constantin start. He stared at the man with widened eyes and a pounding heart, sure he’d been caught. But the chevalier waved his hand in the air, while examining something through a microscope. “I can’t concentrate. All you do is natter.”

Mystified, Constantin glanced around the room to be sure no one else had slipped in, but the only occupants were the two of them. The chevalier was crazed. He definitely needed to find someone else to aid him. This one didn’t have a firm grasp on his sanity. Maybe he didn’t comprehend the evil of the magicman.

“What do you mean ‘the watcher is watching?’ What nonsense is that? It doesn’t mean anything. What else would a watcher do? Sweet Saint Jeanne!” the chevalier snapped, and then he straightened, his eyes narrowing as he examined the room. All traces of the preoccupied scholar were gone. His gaze had gone cold and hard as he reached for a cane with one hand and drew a sword from it before grabbing a pistol from a drawer with his other hand. “Who are you? Watcher, show yourself.”

Constantin froze. This was a man who would cut down any intruder before they had a chance to explain themselves. Maybe he wasn’t so much crazed. Something warned him that Constantin was here, and he’d better get out fast before they told the chevalier how to locate him.

He inched toward the open workshop door as the chevalier moved around the worktable, his eyes constantly searching the shadows. “Where are you? Bon sang, where is it? How do I make it visible? Is it a spirit?”

Constantin barely dared to breathe as he took another step backward, fumbling behind him for the opening. As the chevalier moved straight toward him, Constantin’s heart jumped. He’d never been seen before. Not by any mark. Not unless they’d run into him first. Then he realized that the man was trying to cut off his escape route.

“Where is it? What is it?” the chevalier demanded, still talking to himself, and Constantin skirted around him and made his way toward the door in the study on silent feet. There was another door there. One that presumably led to a hallway instead of the secret stairway. The chevalier would hear, no doubt, and give chase, but it may give him the lead he needed.

To his intense relief, the door in the study was unlocked. Constantin cracked it open, and the hallway was clear. He eased it open more, his heart pounding again when it squeaked. A crash and a cry came from the workshop. “Non, you fool. Don’t go there!”

Unnerved by the chevalier’s conversation with people that Constantin could neither see nor hear, he abandoned caution and plunged down the hallway draped with shadows as ominous as the château’s name.

“Wait!”

Constantin glanced over his shoulder at the outline of the chevalier in the doorway. He reached a stairwell and grabbed the oaken banister as he rounded onto the treads. The floor rumbled beneath him, and Constantin caught the balustrade as the stairs fell away. Catlike, he clambered up on the narrow rail banister. This was faster anyway. He slid down the slippery wood, racing so fast he barely heard the heavy crash behind him.

There was no way to stop at the bend and Constantin tumbled off, his body skidding along the landing and down the other flight. He felt bruised all over and his glamour fell away with the impact of his rough landing. He rose on unsteady feet and wrapped the shadows around himself again as people spilled out of the kitchens and into the hallway. They hovered in the doorway, making no move to come closer. He glanced up at the staircase to check if the chevalier had followed and seen him.

To his surprise, no one was there, but then he noticed that the top several risers had fallen in, leaving a gaping hole in the stairwell. Constantin swallowed around the lump of fear that rose in his throat. If he hadn’t been prepared to grab the railing. He shuddered. He’d have broken his legs at best. That’s if nothing had been lying in wait at the bottom.

What kind of a place was this? Château des Ombres. Constantin felt a chill trickle down his spine. He’d thought it had been so named because of the long row of cypress trees lining the way, but after this scare, it took on a more sinister aspect. The old man and the woman who called herself the Widow Bardin came closer, keeping near the wall. Constantin had thought that odd earlier. Now he worried about what other traps lay here.

“Stay back,” the old man ordered, waving to the servants crowding the doorway as he pushed forward with the widow that Constantin met by his side. “It’s not safe.”

“Michie?” the widow called as she peered at the stairwell with anxious eyes. She wore trousers and held a pistol steady in her hand. She looked as if she knew how to handle that pistol she carried so competently. Perhaps Constantin had been amiss in not speaking to her. “Are you hurt?”

She started to step forward and stopped when the old man held her back. Then the hidden door swung open, and the chevalier emerged, still holding his weapons. “Did you see anyone go this way? We had an intruder.”

Constantin limped toward the dubious safety of the kitchen as the old man and widow approached the chevalier. They began talking in fast, excited voices, but he couldn’t risk staying to listen. He hugged the wall when he could, terrified with each step that he’d trigger more traps. He’d wondered at the strange mannerisms he’d observed earlier. Now the dangers were patently clear. It was past time he got out of there. He’d figure out what to do next when he reached his rented room. There was definitely more to this chevalier than he’d initially suspected, and he’d find a way to make him help.

*

MICHEL-LEON PAUSED at the bottom of the steps and stared at the gaping hole at the top. “Your memory is better than mine, Janvier. Is that the only trap on this stairwell?”

Janvier approached, moving as fast as he could, his bushy brows coming together in a fierce frown as he examined the staircase and the triggered trap. “I believe so. What happened?”

“We had an intruder.” Michel-Leon gave Janvier a worried glance and met Régine’s gaze. He should’ve left him back at the inn despite Janvier’s objections. The mists were dangerous enough. The invasion of the château and the spying in his own sanctuary was another worry.

“Where?” Régine demanded, her mouth tightening in anger.

“My laboratory, of all places,” Michel-Leon said as he checked his notes to be sure there wasn’t any nasty triggers noted that neither he nor Janvier remembered. Michel-Leon shook his head and tightened his lips as he steeled himself to go up those stairs. If there was a body at the bottom of the trap, they’d have to figure out a way to remove it. “Blast it.”

“How did they get all the way up there without one of us noticing?” Régine demanded.

“It’s a miracle they didn’t get killed before then.” Janvier sighed as Michel-Leon approached the stairwell. “Whoever it is, they wouldn’t have survived that fall. It’s a nasty one. Goes down to a closed off room behind the cold storage.”

“We’re going to have to check and remove the body. Then figure out how to reset the traps. Father ought to have the plans in his notes. This pitfall is more his nature than grandpère’s.” Michel-Leon gripped the banister as he moved up the stairwell, testing each riser before he put his full weight on it.

“I’ll have Hadrien fetch us rope and a harness,” Janvier said.

“I’m going with you.” Régine demanded. “What did the intruder look like? Did they walk in or were they already lying in wait?”

“I don’t know how they got that far either or how they managed to make themselves invisible. The ancestors didn’t act concerned after they saw fit to warn me that someone was spying. Whoever it was didn’t do anything to harm me. It had an opportunity. But I don’t like it.”

“I should think not,” Régine said. “Could it have been a spirit?”

They reached the top and peered down into the dark hole, but Michel-Leon couldn’t make out anything at the bottom. “A spirit wouldn’t have done that. The ancestors would’ve recognized one and warned me accordingly.”

“The watcher is flesh and blood. He is fey kissed.”

“Well, if you can tell me that much, care to say who it was?” Michel-Leon asked, but the ancestors remained quiet. He exchanged glances with Régine. “Whoever it was is human but with abilities I haven’t heard of.”

“You’re going to have to lower me down there,” Régine said as Janvier returned with Hadrien, rope and harness, and a lit lantern.

“Non, I’ll go down,” Michel-Leon said firmly.

“Be sensible, Michie,” Régine said as she sat down near the edge and slipped on the harness. “Hadrien and I cannot pull you up and down as easily as you can pull me. Grandpère will lower the light. I’ve seen bodies before. I won’t faint.”

“You fainting is not my fear.” Michel-Leon hated the sense in her words and looked to Janvier for support.

“There are no traps down there if you’re worried,” Janvier assured him. “I had them all cleared out when we took up residence. No sense in killing ourselves to fetch breakfast items. Besides, that room is an oubliette. This is the only way in or out.”

“I don’t like it,” Michel-Leon fretted, but he couldn’t find any other argument against it other than she was a woman, and he knew better than to mention that.

“She does have a point. She is considerably lighter than you,” Janvier murmured.

“There’s nothing dangerous down there for her?” He cast the thought to the ever-present ancestors, and they remained silent, so he took that as a good sign.

“Fine, you can go.” Michel-Leon knew when to recognize defeat. Régine gave him a beatific smile. “Lower the lantern first. I want you to see what is down there before you get there so you can have us stop if needed. If the intruder can make itself invisible, who knows what other abilities it has.”

“I will shout if anything looks untoward.” Régine double-checked the harness and then attached the ropes to it. “I’m ready.”

The lantern was a bright spot in a well of darkness. Suppressing his misgivings, Michael-Leon and Hadrien slowly lowered Régine. He kept his gaze on her slim figure.

“Hold,” Régine called up, her voice calm. “I can see the bottom. I want a good look before I go any farther.”

Janvier knelt on the edge and peered down. “Well?” Janvier asked gruffly.

“I don’t see anything but the fallen boards. There’s no scent or sign of blood,” Régine replied after a moment. “Let me down the rest of the way.”

Michel-Leon probed the quiet ancestors, but he had the impression they were as curious as he was. He exchanged glances with Janvier, who nodded. They resumed lowering her, and the release of tension on the rope signaled that she’d arrived.

“What is going on, my lord?” Hadrien asked in a tense voice, and Michel-Leon shook his head.

“I wish I knew.”

“It’s not a large space,” Régine called up, her voice so far away. “Our intruder dodged the trap. There’s nothing down here but the fallen boards, and they appear to be remarkably undamaged. Pull me back up.”

Michel-Leon and Hadrien hauled her up more rapidly than they’d let her down. He wanted her back up here, where he could see her. “We’d best be on our guard. If it tried once, it’ll likely try again,” he said with a grunt. “We should reset the trap. I doubt the pitfall will catch it off guard again, but since we’re dealing with an unknown, I want the château to have all of its teeth.”

“Do you want me to send for some able-bodied men?” Hadrien asked. “There are bound to be men in the village searching for extra work. I’ve gotten friendly with a few there.”

The top of Régine’s head came into view, her hair shining in the faint light. Michel-Leon let out a sigh of relief as she tipped her head back and met his gaze.

“That would be helpful.” Michel-Leon and Hadrien swung her up and Janvier caught her and steadied her on the edge. He was suddenly exhausted. It had been a long day. Tomorrow would be an even longer one if he went traipsing about the countryside with the villagers. He had been looking forward to an uneventful evening of research and experiments. Now he was going to have to search through his grandpère’s diagrams and see if he could figure out how to reset this trap. He hated dealing with mechanics.

“I’ll get this fixed.” Janvier patted Michel-Leon’s arm. “I believe I know which journal to look in. We’ll have the boards hauled up and the trap reset in no time.”

Michel-Leon gave Janvier a grateful glance. “Merci. You have a better understanding of these contraptions than me. I always get caught in them. Hadrien, limit the number who come in and keep it to the families that have worked with mine before. I trust them to be discreet.”

Régine stared down, her legs dangling over the side as she shoved her hair back in place with a few pins that had come loose. “What are we dealing with this time?”

Michel-Leon clasped her on the shoulder as he also looked down and tried to quell his unsettlement. “I wish I knew.”