Chapter Ten

CONSTANTIN SHIFTED UNCOMFORTABLY as the carriage the chevalier insisted he borrow bumped over every rut. Though the discomfort had less to do with the jostling and more to do with the fact he felt like a fool in the contraption. His own two feet had always been more than enough to get him from place to place. This screamed for attention, and attention was the last thing Constantin wanted. It was faster though, which was the sole reason Constantin agreed.

Adding to his discomfort was the woman staring holes into him from the opposite seat. That she had a reason for her dislike was all on Constantin. “Je suis désolé for brushing you off when we first met,” Constantin said to break the fraught silence. She had not said one word since they set off. She was harder than the chevalier, though they shared a resemblance. “I didn’t realize the chevaliers allowed women to aid them.”

The widow’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward with a threatening expression. “The chevaliers had many blind spots, which I find ironic considering who their founder was. Michel-Leon is more cosmopolitan. He knows my worth. You spy on him again, and you’ll also understand why he values me.”

In the last several years of living apart, Constantin had forgotten how dangerous a woman could be. He would do well to keep that in mind when dealing with the Widow Bardin. “I did what I had to do to protect those who have no other option. You should understand.”

“I do, though if you’d bothered to talk to me, you might not have been almost caught in one of our traps.” The widow leaned back, more relaxed. “If this goes how you wish and the magicman is killed, what happens to your charges next?”

Constantin frowned and turned his attention back out the window. “I wish I knew,” he said under his breath. He didn’t have the means to care for so many on his own. “I hope most find families to return to, since Nightingale found them in the mists.”

“That is a strong possibility. Strangely enough, not everyone disappears for good.” Traffic congestion increased as they reached the outskirts of the city. “Where to now, Monsieur Severin?”

“Now we go on foot.” Constantin tapped on the hood of the carriage. It slowed and the door there popped open.

“Oui, monsieur?”

“Drop me off here. I’ll return within the hour,” Constantin ordered.

An expression of consternation crossed the man’s face. “But, monsieur, the baron ordered—”

Constantin cut him off. “I know well what he ordered. I was there when he did. I don’t want to draw more attention to myself than necessary, and where I’m going this will attract attention. The baron has enough trouble on his hands.” Constantin didn’t want to assume the magicman would know nothing about the chevaliers and their reputation. It would be better if there were no connection between the two of them.

“This is fine, mon oncle,” Régine replied. “We’ll go together.”

Constantin expected no less and yet it still irritated. He jumped out of the carriage before Hadrien lowered the steps and then remembered belatedly he should offer his hand to the widow. When he turned back, she was already alighting on her own.

The chevalier and the widow were not at all what Constantin expected. She appeared more comfortable in trousers than skirts and more at ease with the lower classes than most women of her station. She went so far as to address the carriage man as uncle. Still, she had been introduced as the baron’s sister. They both had that fire in their hair, though hers was more pronounced.

Then there was the chevalier himself. After spying on him, Constantin thought the man might be a touch crazed. There was nothing about his initial appearance that made him appear dangerous in any way until he was cornered. That made Constantin nervous. If it wasn’t for the fact the baron had access to critical information and spoke with cool authority, Constantin would’ve searched elsewhere for help, chevalier or not.

“Well, let’s get moving,” Régine said, pausing beside him. “The sooner we’ve accomplished our task, the sooner we get on with our other search.”

“This way,” Constantin said shortly and led the way deeper into the city. There was a pattern to the mists. Though they shouldn’t terrorize the residents of Paris for another several days, there was a hushed quality to the streets, a simmering mess of fear and growing anger underneath the expressions of stoic resolve. The buildings became shabbier, piled up together as Constantin moved away from the newly opened up and renovated sections of Paris to the places left unscathed for now.

A new chill touched him as he neared the warren of winding alleys and crowded structures where he had his lodgings. The premonition was a warning, a skittering of ice along raw nerve endings, and Constantin fought the urge to bolt as nausea struck. Running would not help. He doubted he’d even be able to blend into the shadows to hide. He recognized this sensation.

He turned and caught Régine around the waist, pulling her into a shadowed recess in an alley. She twisted out of his grip and before he could say anything, pointed a dagger at his throat. Ignoring it, he brushed a finger to her lips with a warning look. Her eyes widened, and she nodded.

“It hunts?” she said in a bare whisper, and he nodded back.

Constantin slipped his hand into his overcoat and curled his fingers around the device he’d tinkered with during the conversation with Parisee. He concentrated, offering a tiny thread of his soul’s energy, and felt wings whir against his palm. He focused on the sense of Nightingale, opened his hand, and the device took off in a blur of wings.

It shouldn’t work. Constantin still didn’t know how he did it. Ever since he found himself scrabbling on the streets for a bite of bread, he’d learned how to transform his tinkerings into objects of useful wonder.

“That is a neat trick.” The widow released her hold on him and kept her dagger at the ready.

Constantin concentrated and breathed a sigh of relief when he sensed Nightingale lurking near his rooms. He called back the beetle and caught it as it whizzed toward him. “We’re going to have to split up. I’ll lure Nightingale away. You get Gabrielle and bring her to safety.”

“She won’t trust a stranger,” the widow objected.

“She’ll believe this.” Constantin brought the beetle to his lips and inserted another whisper of magic. “Trust the lady who comes with this message. I’ll see you soon, ma petite chouette.” He released it, and the beetle hovered on silent wings as Constantin gave the widow directions and a description of Gabrielle. “I’ll meet you back at the château if I’m able.”

The widow searched his face with a grim expression and then caught his arm. “Be careful. I’ll get her out.”

“S’il vous plaît.” It stung to leave Gabrielle’s safety in the hands of another, but he would take no chances he’d lead Nightingale back to her. He turned in another direction and slid his hand into his coat again to grip his dagger. The cold, hard steel was a false comfort. He looked over his shoulder, searching the dark recesses of the doors, and strained to pierce the shadows by the corner as he made his way toward his room.

When he neared, the sense of Nightingale’s presence grew stronger. He wanted to run and hide but forced himself to continue on as if he noticed nothing. The widow had to get to Gabrielle. He had to buy time, whatever the cost.

“Constantin, you try my patience.” The voice was smooth, mellifluous, and it froze Constantin where he stood. How strange a voice that sweet could awaken such dark memories. Constantin turned with an effort to face the creature who had done its best to destroy him from the inside out.

“Nightingale.” Constantin gripped the dagger tighter. His guts twisted as he tried to keep a blank expression. He’d never been good at lying to Nightingale, but he’d have to use every bit of skill he’d learned since he’d been on his own. “I’d heard you were in town.”

The magicman appeared from the shadows with a smile. “You were my favorite once. That’s why I allowed you to live the last time you stole from me.”

Constantin held his ground as the magicman moved closer. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his eyes on it and not cower in fear. The last time he’d been this close with Nightingale had been when the thing had closed the orphanage door in his face, freeing him from more anguish even as he deprived him of the only shelter he had.

The following theft had been an audacious move, born out of desperation and love.

“They were my brothers. I would never leave them with you.” Constantin spat. “I made sure they were safe from you forever.”

“You didn’t rescue them all, did you? You didn’t rescue your love.” Nightingale’s smile turned cruel. “But you tried. Tried to get him to see my evil ways. Tried to convince him to eke out a living on the streets with you instead of staying under my roof. You cost me, pretty Constantin.”

“He chose you over me. So you didn’t lose a damned thing,” Constantin rasped. Blaise had been fragile, but Constantin had been sure what he’d felt for the other boy would’ve been enough for Blaise to want to leave as well. Together, they could’ve survived. He had never been so wrong. He often tormented himself by imagining what had happened to Blaise after he’d ceased to be useful to Nightingale. Blaise never would have lasted a week alone on the streets without a protector.

“On the contrary, I lost you. The other boy didn’t have your will. He burned out like a gutted candle. You were the one who always resisted, who maintained the hope that one day you would be rescued. Then you gave your heart to someone who wasn’t worthy of you and were of no further use to me. Do you know he died soon after? He took his own life. Would you like to hear how?”

Once, that would’ve hurt Constantin far more than the twinge he felt now. He’d known Blaise couldn’t still be alive and hoped he’d found a better place. “What do you want, Nightingale? I’m sure you didn’t seek me out to relive the past.”

Constantin’s fingers tightened on the dagger as his eyes sought an escape route. The streets had deserted, as if the local denizens had sensed the impending violence and made themselves scarce. He was all alone out here and unable to use any clever tricks to escape. He had to stall Nightingale.

The creature moved so fast that Constantin had a split second to register the attack. He found himself driven back against the rough wall with his own dagger pressed against his cheek.

He stared into the merciless eyes and knew he was going to die, and Nightingale would make it linger. Constantin spared no prayers for himself. Instead, he begged an uncaring God the chevalier wouldn’t give up the hunt for Nightingale and would rescue the children. He had to trust the widow would get Gabrielle out and keep her safe.

If there is any holy being listening… S’il vous plaît.

“You’ve grown cold and hard, Constantin,” Nightingale hissed.

Constantin’s gaze darted away before he forced himself to meet the magicman’s eyes. They were worse than cold, the absolute uncompromising pitiless black of the river in the dead of winter. “What choice did I have? You gave me nothing after you shoved me out the door. After years of feeding you. Cold and hard was the only way to survive.”

“I have a great many questions I wish to ask of you. I suggest we find some place quiet so there is no rush. Your rooms perhaps. I assume you have something nearby.” Nightingale smiled, and Constantin fought the terror of being a boy all over again and utterly helpless. He had to keep it together while allowing Nightingale to believe he was falling apart.

“Don’t hurt me.” He tore his gaze away and cowered to hide his relief. This would buy her more time to escape. “I’ll take you, but I haven’t done anything.”

“We both know that’s a lie.” The magicman stood back and shoved Constantin away from the wall. He turned toward his garret room, his steps dragging. “You’ve been watching me. Did you hope I wouldn’t notice the presence of a soul that belonged to me?”

Constantin’s hands tightened into fists. He should’ve anticipated that. But there were pitfalls. Nightingale hadn’t noticed him right away or he would’ve been dead when he accompanied Gabrielle to the attic rooms. It had to expend effort. The glamour shield he’d put on Gabrielle’s toy must’ve been enough that Nightingale picked up on him instead.

“Oui, I watched you,” Constantin snapped, trying to control the shaking in his limbs as he climbed the stairs. “I wanted to know if you were passing through or here to stay. Because if you’re staying, I’ll find another city to make my home.”

His heart raced as Nightingale shoved him into the tiny room he occupied. The creature looked around with a sneer at the narrow, dirty window and the cracked shutter stuffed with an old rag. A pallet hugged the corner of the room, his extra clothes piled on for warmth, and a stub of candle remained on an old metal plate.

“This is not much of a home, Constantin.” Its lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “I left you your beauty, Constantin, mon garçon. Surely you could’ve lured one or two customers up into this nasty little box of yours. Most would overlook the squalor for a taste if you cleaned yourself up.”

Constantin’s hands shook from the effort it took not to attack. He had to be sure when he did, there was a chance to get away. He needed a distraction, but it would be his sole chance. The widow had to have reached Gabrielle by now. “I’m not interested in your sick games, Nightingale. What do you want?”

Nightingale’s eyes hardened. “You know what I want. My property back. Where is she?”

“Where is who?” Constantin disassembled. “I’m not into shes. You know that.”

The blow that came struck Constantin in the face, making him stumble, and the second clout between his shoulder blades drove him to his knees. “Now who’s playing games, little Constantin?” The magicman’s eyes pulsed with a dark light. The tip of the knife scored a fiery line under Constantin’s eye, and he flinched. “I know you were at my place, and I know you saw her.”

“I didn’t take her, I swear.” Constantin bit back a curse as the magicman struck him again. The hot, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and then Nightingale wrenched his head back. The knife cut deeper this time, slicing a gash in his cheek, and he screamed. He had to hold on, make it believe he was completely cowed. “I didn’t do it. I just went to look, that’s all.”

“That’s not all. You subverted her. Got her to trust you. Then you went to visit a chevalier. Do not deny it.” The magicman’s eyes blazed hot with fury. Constantin sensed the energy stirring in him as much as he felt the blood dripping down his cheek and the hot, throbbing pulse of his wound. He’d sensed that same stir of energy every time the magicman fed off his emotions and pain as a child. But he’d never seen Nightingale in this enraged state, and Constantin struggled against the iron grip holding him.

“I went, but it did me no good,” Constantin admitted, hoping that by giving a little truth here, Nightingale might believe the lie to follow.

The magicman picked him up and shook him as if Constantin weighed no more than the child he’d once been. “Did you pray you would get rid of me so easily?”

Constantin jerked at the hands holding him, twisted, and kicked, but nothing loosened the creature’s grip. It was too strong. “He wouldn’t help. He’s too wrapped up in some nonsense with the mists. That’s why he’s in Paris.”

To his shock, the magicman laughed and dropped him. Constantin pushed himself up. He refused to be on his hands and knees in front of this thing if he could help it. He gingerly touched his cheek and winced. The cut was bad.

“Not so pretty anymore, are you, Constantin?”

Constantin clenched his jaw. The scar was a blessing in disguise. He could live with being scarred. Being pretty had never brought him anything but trouble. “I told you everything I know, Nightingale. I don’t have the child you want, and I couldn’t get the chevalier to help me rid myself of you. I’ve tried, searching for weeks before I found one, then arguing in vain. There’s nothing I can do to get to you. To injure you. Just leave me be.”

The magicman grabbed him again, almost lovingly, as it pushed Constantin back against the thin wall. Silence seeped into Constantin’s bones. Though the door was ajar, and anyone peeking would grasp his situation, they would likely remain quiet to save their own skins. “Your chevalier is right to fear the mist. It is a herald for the swarm, and when the swarm comes, this city will be devoured. Keep an eye on me if you will, little Constantin, and when you wake up and notice I am gone, I would run, too, far, far away.”

A rush of relief made Constantin’s knees weak. “Does this mean you’re not going to kill me?” He hated the weak, sniveling stance. He longed to tear the magicman apart, to reduce it to a curled-up ball, crying in pain and desperation. He hated it. That hate was the only thing that drove him anymore.

“Perhaps, not this time. I find I am still fond of you.” The magicman laughed as it stroked Constantin’s chin. A shudder went through him. The creature had amused itself by such caresses, as if it were playing a doting father. It had never gone further than that, which was probably the sole mercy the thing ever showed its victims. But Constantin knew it had been near, lurking when others had fondled him. “And I like the idea of you looking over your shoulder, always fearing the time when I’m going to appear to end your life.”

Bien sûr, why end his life when it could prolong suffering? That had always been its game. It had fed off Constantin’s emotions, gaining strength from his pain. It had been another kind of rape. For some reason he had never been able to understand, he eventually had sensed the exchange of energy, just as he sensed the stolen power the magicman carried. Power saturated with pain and fear, making his stomach uneasy.

“Merci.” Constantin forced the word out through gritted teeth, and the magicman laughed again.

“You still have such spirit. I want to watch you scrabble as you try to survive. I want the fear of me to eat you alive.” The tip of the dagger traced down Constantin’s face. “Look me in the eye and tell me again you do not know where ma petite amie is. I will know if you are lying.”

Constantin prayed it wasn’t true. He had deceived the monster before. He stared at it and did nothing to disguise his terror. “I don’t. Look at your customers or the men who guard your place. This wouldn’t be the first time one of your children has turned up elsewhere already dead.”

The magicman tapped the point of the dagger against Constantin’s chin. “And the chevalier?”

“His study of the mists consumes him.” Damn the entire order for allowing itself to die out as it had. There had to be others who hunted. If Constantin searched in London or Rome, he would find other groups who could aid him. He’d learn how to do it himself.

“He will be consumed if he’s foolish enough to continue his efforts.” The point of the knife slid higher to the corner of his mouth with a small, stinging cut, and Constantin tried to draw back. “No chevalier has uncovered the secret of the mists, and their searches led to their doom.”

“What do you know about it?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Constantin knew he shouldn’t have pushed.

The magicman’s eyes narrowed with cold calculation. “You’re too curious, Constantin, you and this chevalier of yours. Non, non, non. I cannot let you talk to him.”

Panic churned Constantin’s stomach as he shoved at the magicman. The energy inside it pulsed again as Nightingale maintained its hold on him with humiliating ease. The energy called to a dark corner inside of him. “You said you wouldn’t kill me.”

Constantin reached for the shadows in the room, prepared to wrap them around him in a shroud. It probably wouldn’t be enough to hide from it completely, not with its senses, but if it would startle the monster, confuse it, he could use it to get away. He needed that distraction.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m removing your prying tongue.” The knife dug harder into the corner of his mouth, and Constantin tasted fresh blood. His control over the shadows skittered away. “Open up, little Constantin. Open up for me.”

The energy inside the monster surged with glee, and in desperation, Constantin reached for it, caught on, and yanked. Power poured into him, and the magicman shrieked, an inhuman cacophony of bending metal and twanging chords. Its grip on Constantin loosened, and he jerked away, twisting the shadows around him to render himself invisible.

“What did you do?” Nightingale looked around wildly, lashing out with the knife. If Constantin wasn’t so damned terrified, he would’ve taken satisfaction in seeing that calm veneer broken. “Where did you go?”

Constantin edged his way toward the door, pressing a hand to his cheek to keep the blood from falling and giving himself away. If Nightingale found him, nothing would keep the monster from tearing him apart.

“Give it back to me!” the magicman howled, ripping the pallet apart and scattering Constantin’s clothes.

Constantin slipped another beetle out of his pocket and sent it toward the shutters with a whispered word. The beetle darted through the crack in the shutters. “Nightingale.” The name hung in the air, ghostlike, and Nightingale turned toward the window with another howl of rage. It ripped the shutters off the hinges to peer outside.

Constantin eased the door open wider, twisting the shadows tighter around him. A sick lump of fear had lodged itself in his throat. He made his way as quickly and quietly down the stairs as he could, while the monster tore apart his quarters, seeking to kill him.