Chapter Eleven

MICHEL-LEON LEFT the villagers and turned his horse back toward the hulking block of the château, brooding over the sunny countryside. Another fruitless day of searching left him frustrated. There were many cave systems. Many underground locations to scout. It would take a lifetime to search them all.

“Don’t give up the hunt.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Michel-Leon snapped back irritably and blocked them out. Tomorrow he’d go down by the river and collect water samples and test if anything matched the odd chemical traces he’d taken from the mists. With any luck. Régine and the vagabond were back from Paris with the child. Whether they could give him any answers remained to be discovered.

He glanced down the road toward Paris and frowned at the smudge on the horizon. Apprehension clutched his throat. That couldn’t be the mists. It was off schedule. He lowered his mental shields enough to send a query. “Why this anomaly? How?” He threw the thought to the ancestors as he stood up in his stirrups to get a better look. Their response and voices roared through his mind.

“The boar! The boar! Ware the maddened boar!”

Michel-Leon reeled, struggling to keep his seat as the horse reared. His vision flickered as images appeared around him, the remnants of his blood who had passed before him. They shouted, each one striving for his attention, howling out their news.

“The soul eater is an abomination! Kill it! Kill it! The swarm comes!” Underneath it all was the crackle of flames and a woman screaming in agony and fear.

Michel-Leon tumbled to the ground, struggling to draw in a steadying breath as the ancestors yanked him onto their plane. He scanned the faces of those surrounding him, focused on one, and prayed they were lucid enough to give usable information.

The figure coalesced into a more solid appearance. An older man bowed with age. Burned and tattered rags clothed him. So many of them died by fire. It awakened terrifying memories of his home in flames, smoke filling the corridors, making it impossible to discern a direction. He could not allow himself to be overwhelmed by memories.

Michel-Leon concentrated on the man before him. Burns disfigured his face, but Michel-Leon knew him by the seared pocket watch he carried.

“Grandpère,” he said with a painful wrench to his heart. He couldn’t mourn him as he’d deserved. The grief had threatened to drown him. The man’s hollow eyes focused on him. His soul had long since moved on, but his shadow remained with all the knowledge he’d gathered over a lifetime of fighting monsters. If Michel-Leon could get him to focus. “You were alive the last time the mists decimated the villages along the Meuse River. Help me. They are threatening Paris. You have to know something.”

Hands grasped his shoulders and though they were insubstantial, Michel-Leon felt the chill of their touch. For a moment, the other voices threatened to overwhelm him again, and Michel-Leon forced them back.

“The boar won’t stop.” He paused and gave Michel-Leon a penetrating look. “You understand the nature of the boar. They attack anything that threatens without mercy.”

Michel-Leon considered his words. They didn’t make much sense, but he knew better than to dismiss them. He’d never been boar hunting, but he was familiar with the dangers. A boar was deadly. If a hunter got in its way, it would tear him apart. There was no soothing a boar, no reasoning, it kept coming until it killed or was killed. Was the boar a metaphor or another monster he had not encountered yet?

“What does that have to do with the mists? Do you know anything about magicmen?”

“Everything…” his grandpère hissed. “It’s all part of a whole. The soul eater, the watcher, the swarm.”

His horse nuzzled his cheek and jerked him out of the astral plane. Michel-Leon grabbed ahold of its reins, gasping at another sudden reversal as his vision grayed again with disorientation. He needed to go back. He needed more answers.

The mists! Michel-Leon struggled to his feet with a new sense of alarm as he remembered the imminent danger. Régine had gone to Paris today with Severin. He looked toward the horizon again and the gray haze covering the city. The air was clear for kilometers around Paris, which made the shroud that hid it even more ominous. He swung into the saddle and bolted for the château. It was late in the afternoon. Chances were they made it back. He prayed it was so.

The horse sensed his urgency and needed no encouragement to set out at a dead run for the château. Michel-Leon kept one eye on the empty road and the other on the swirling dome surrounding the city. It didn’t appear as if it were encroaching on the surrounding countryside, but it didn’t belong here either.

The stable doors were open and to Michel-Leon’s intense relief, he spied the carriage. One worry out of the way. Now he could concentrate on the second problem. He could have miscalculated and the mists weren’t early after all. It would be a disastrous mistake and would undermine people’s trust in him. However, not as disastrous as the mists abandoning patterns that traced back centuries.

Hadrien emerged from the stables with a look of concern on his face. “I heard you race in here? What’s wrong?” he called out as Michel-Leon slowed the horse and slid out of the saddle.

“She’ll need to be walked for a bit,” Michel-Leon said. “Where are Régine and Janvier? The kitchen?”

“Oui, my lord.” Hadrien caught the horse’s reins, speaking soothingly as he patted the mare’s neck. “What has you in such a state? Did you find the caves you were searching for?”

“Non.” Michel-Leon strode toward the kitchen door and pointed toward the city. “That is the reason for my state.”

“Sweet Mary, mother of God,” Hadrien breathed. If anything, during the race here the mists had thickened, though they remained firmly locked around Paris. “This one wasn’t on your schedule.”

“Indeed.” And those implications scared Michel-Leon. Régine and Janvier looked up with grim expressions as Michel-Leon walked in. At least he needed to make no explanations here. “I take it you know,” Michel-Leon said, shrugging out of his coat and rolling up his sleeves.

“We need to redo the charts. Make sure our calculations are correct. Then we need to send out new broadsides. The complaints are going to pour in as soon as the mists recede, and we need to have some answers.”

“What are you talking about, Michie?” Régine jumped up from the table, revealing a young girl who had been hiding behind her as Janvier paled.

“The mists covering Paris!” Michel-Leon flung his hand toward the window as Régine went to see for herself. “Where is Severin?”

Tears welled in the child’s eyes, and she huddled away from him. “I want Constantin.”

“He didn’t return,” Janvier said softly. “He sensed the magicman and sent Régine on to get little Gabrielle.” Janvier spared the girl a kind smile. “She waited a bit at the carriage, then thought it best to bring her here. She was getting ready to go back out.”

Régine looked at him with a stricken expression. “Je suis désolé. I shouldn’t have left him.”

“Non, you made the right decision.” Michel-Leon put his hand on her shoulder and weighed his options. “It’s the decision he would’ve wanted you to make. He has a care for this child over himself.”

He eyed the girl for a long moment as she stared back at him. There was a similarity between her and Severin, something about the eyes and the perfection of their features. “I’ll search for him,” he vowed. He couldn’t leave Severin to face the creature alone, and there could be a chance he’d made it out of Paris. Michel-Leon crouched near the table. “I’ll find your Constantin for you.”

Hope entered her soft, dark eyes and she groped for Régine’s hand as she returned to the table. Régine took Gabrielle onto her lap with gentle words of comfort murmured low, “He is good at finding things, little one.”

Michel-Leon wished he shared her confidence. He had been failing at finding answers to the many questions plaguing him.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Janvier asked.

“The mists aren’t extending beyond the city. I can check the roads leading out and maybe discover where they are generating from outside of town. It’s an angle we haven’t tried yet. Get the charts and the notes we’ve made. There’s an explanation for this aberration somewhere.” Michel-Leon turned to Régine as she rose. “Stay with the child. Protect her. The magicman can move about in the mists. It may take the opportunity to come for her. If anything strange happens, retreat to my workshop. That should slow it down.”

Though it hadn’t stopped Severin. They needed to go deeper into the château. Janvier could lead them if necessary. “I’ll be back soon. Get those charts ready and the notes of our calculations. We’re going to be busy when I return.”

Michel-Leon left again with rapid steps, pushed on by his urgency. Mists, magicman, and now boars. How much was one man expected to deal with? He’d send out another telegram tomorrow. He’d heard magicmen haunted Prussia as well. His contact there could have information about one monster terrorizing the city.

Hadrien took one look at him and fetched Régine’s mount. “Do you want me to go with you?” he asked as he quickly saddled the mare.

“Non, tend to my horse and keep an eye on the horizon. If it appears as if the mists might be spreading, tell the others to stay inside and head to the village to warn them.” Michel-Leon swung up and glanced down at the man standing by his stirrup. Hadrien and his family had been of immense help, and it worried him that being here put them in harm’s way. “If that becomes necessary, stay there after your warning until you are sure the mists have receded.”

“You have my word.” Hadrien stepped back and lifted his fingers to his brow. “God go with you.”

The road remained empty except for a few people scurrying away from the city. Even the birds had hushed as if a pall hovered over the entire area. Michel-Leon studied the shifting, swirling mass, making out rooftops that appeared and disappeared again. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to study the phenomena before, erring on caution and staying inside. Now that he had a prototype for his filtering mask, he should take up quarters in the city. He could learn much by closer observation.

“The watcher is near.” Michel-Leon slowed the horse to a walk, scanning the empty road at the whispered warning. “A taint stains him.”

Michel-Leon laid his hand on his weapon, questioning what that meant. Before he could call out to the vagabond, Severin appeared near the horse’s side, causing it to shy and sidestep. Michel-Leon’s blistering reprimand died on his lips. Blood caked Severin’s face, and his shoulders slumped with weariness. “Sweet Saint Jeanne, Severin, what happened? The magicman?”

“It was waiting for me,” Severin rasped. “It suspected I rescued Gabrielle and came to fetch her back. Is she safe?” He clutched Michel-Leon’s leg.

“Oui. She is at the château with Régine and Janvier.” He held out his hand for Severin. “Come on, you’ll need that sewn shut. How hurt are you?”

“A few bruises and this.” Severin gestured toward his face. He grabbed Michel-Leon’s hand and swung up. “It would’ve been worse if I hadn’t escaped.”

Severin was lucky to be alive. Michel-Leon wanted to ask how Severin accomplished the feat but bit his tongue for now as he turned back toward the château. He was acutely aware of the man behind him and the awkward way he held onto him. He had to remind himself that attraction was not an option. Besides, the ancestors had warned he carried a taint. Until he figured out what that meant and how to heal him, it was best to keep his distance.

“How did you get away?” Michel-Leon asked.

“I’m not sure,” Severin replied after a troubled silence.

“Do you think it’s following you to the child?” Michel-Leon risked opening his senses to the ancestors, but they were quiet except for the usual restless muttering. Good chance they were safe for the moment.

“Non.” Severin shuddered. “It can’t sense me when I’m wrapped in the shadows. I hid her in another location and shielded her as much as I could with a toy I’d given her. It must’ve worked because it tracked me down first.”

“That buys us some time to make a plan.” They remained quiet until they rode into the stable yard. Hadrien met them with a relieved expression, and Michel-Leon waved him off. “I’ll take care of the mare. Have Salome put water on to boil and get Janvier’s medical kit. Ask for Régine and the child to come down if they’re not in the kitchen.”

Hadrien hurried off with a nod, and Severin slid off the horse. For a moment, Michel-Leon feared his legs would buckle, and he would end up on the ground. The bleeding had eased, but Severin’s complexion was pale and waxy. “Sit on the barrel there and get your strength back.”

Severin nodded and moved over to it. There was something about the way he moved that said the injury went deeper than the cut to his cheek. Either that wasn’t his only wound or it had something to do with the new taint he carried. Questions filled Michel-Leon’s mind as he stripped the saddle from the horse. Severin needed some time to steady before the child saw him.

Michel-Leon left the horse in the paddock and found a clean cloth. “Here, press that against the wound until we tend to it. Come on. Let’s get you inside and fix you up.”

He hovered next to Severin, trying to decide if he needed an arm to lean on or not. When he moved to support him, Severin stiffened. “I can do it. I don’t want to alarm Gabrielle.”

Michel-Leon backed off. “Mon ami, that wound is going to scare her. I’m sure you’ll look better once you clean up.”

They made their way into the kitchen and the waif let out a cry of delight—the first sound of happiness Michel-Leon heard from her. She ran to Severin and burrowed close, burying her face against his side as she kept one wary eye on Michel-Leon. Her skin was dusky and her eyes a fathomless dark brown. Michel-Leon smiled at her. “Why don’t you take a seat next to your friend? I’m going to tend to his injuries and then get us all something to drink.”

Severin held Gabrielle tight and looked over at Régine. “Merci, for getting her and keeping her safe.” She whispered something and Severin shifted to murmur back at her. After a moment, she released her hold of him and slipped onto the bench beside him. An unearthly pretty child, she had all of Severin’s fey ways. There was going to be trouble. A magicman wouldn’t suffer so many insults from what it considered was its prey.

“I’m glad you made it,” Régine said. “We were concerned.”

“I’m not used to that.”

Severin’s soft admission hit at Michel-Leon’s heart. There was a wealth of loneliness and isolation in those words. Severin sat at the table as Régine stacked the maps and journals out of the way. “Grandpère’s bag is here. He is working on the calculations, though he hasn’t found a mistake yet.”

Michel-Leon was beginning to think there wasn’t one. All three of them had triple checked the work before and had come to an agreement. Non, that was the simple answer, which left the hard one. He lifted Severin’s chin with his fingertips and tilted his head so he could examine the gruesome wound. The risk of infection was high. Janvier had a steadier hand than himself when it came to this work, but his eyesight was not what it used to be, so Michel-Leon would have to do.

“You can tend to me after you’ve talked to Gabrielle.” Severin moved to get up and Michel-Leon pushed him back down. There was a strange energy about him, an unnatural light to his eyes that worried Michel-Leon even as the loss of blood made Severin unsteady. However, no flush of fever stained his face. The voices in Michel-Leon’s head whispered uneasily.

“I can do both.” Michel-Leon rolled his sleeves up and poured steaming water into a basin as Janvier arrived with his bag. “Set it on the table, s’il vous plaît. Salome, would you bring me some clean cloths and a bottle of cognac? I suspect both Monsieur Severin and I will need it and something warm for the child, s’il vous plaît. Janvier, any progress?”

“Not as much as I would like. I suspect it’s going to take some time.”

“I’ll help you,” Régine said. “I’m useless here, unless you want me to take notes?”

“Non, I can handle it.” Michel-Leon spared her a brief glance. “I’ll be up once they’re settled. Both Monsieur Severin and Gabrielle will want some rest after this.”

“You plan on doctoring it?” Severin asked, his incredulity evident in both the lift of his eyebrows and the shade of his voice.

“I’m not without some training in the task. Though Janvier has had more practice stitching me up.” Michel-Leon moved to the bag and rummaged through it. Janvier’s bag was as meticulous as everything else he did. Michel-Leon found the packet of needles carefully wrapped along with sturdy thread.

Severin reassured Gabrielle in a low voice, though Michel-Leon couldn’t make out the words. He would dearly love to know how Severin smuggled her out of the magicman’s establishment, but he’d have to exercise patience. Severin was not a man who trusted, for excellent reasons.

Michel-Leon laid out his supplies and washed his hands in the steaming water. He splashed some cognac into two glasses and handed the larger one to Severin. “Drink up, mon ami.”

Severin downed the glass and turned his cheek toward Michel-Leon. “Get on with it, then.”

Michel-Leon swallowed some of the spirits himself before he cleaned around the gruesome cut and the other nicks on Severin’s face to be sure he didn’t need any other care. The wound held no dirt or debris. The little girl’s fingers curled protectively into Severin’s soiled coat and watched every move Michel-Leon made with utter ghostlike quiet.

Michel-Leon smiled in assurance. “I promise to take good care of him.”

“She’s big on promises.” Severin slipped his arm around her protectively.

Michel-Leon cleansed and threaded the needle before handing Severin the bottle of cognac. “I’ll try to make it as neat as I can. It might not scar too badly,” Michel-Leon said as he steeled himself for the task ahead.

“I don’t care about that. Just get it done.” Severin took a deep swig of the cognac, met Michel-Leon’s eye, and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Such a strange man. Michel-Leon had the impression that Severin hated the beauty given him. But if that was part of what had lured the magicman to him, Michel-Leon could understand. Severin winced when the needle pierced his skin but remained still while Michael-Leon continued his ministrations.

“Does it hurt bad?” the little girl whispered.

“The baron is being gentle. Why don’t you pull out your cat and play at the table,” Severin suggested, his lips barely moving. “We are safe here.”

Michel-Leon heard the doubt in his voice. “Safer, to be sure, and we’ll work on making it safer still. The magicman wouldn’t try a direct assault yet. Not with the reputation this place has, and that gives us some time to assure we have a plan in place for him.”

“What weapon can we use to defeat the monster?”

“Désolé, but there is no weapon that can kill a magicman outright. At least not one I know of, and there are several references to magicmen among the chevaliers’ journals.” Michel-Leon paused in his stitching as Severin’s jaw tightened. He would have to be a blind fool not to have noticed the desperation in Severin’s manner. He suspected the mental and emotional wounds Severin sustained by his childhood encounter with the magicman had not quite healed. Michel-Leon did not want to provoke fresh pain.

“What do you mean, there’s no weapon?” Severin snapped. “There has to be some way of fighting them.”

“Each one has its own particular weakness. Unless you know this one’s, we’re going to have to eliminate it the hard way.” Michel-Leon wished the hard way wouldn’t be so damned difficult and time-consuming.

“It has none that I have been able to divine,” Severin ground out.

“Then we have to cut it off from its feed source. If you keep it away from that, then it will weaken and starve to the point where normal weapons can kill it.” The wound was deep, but the edges were even so it made the task easier as Michel-Leon tied off a stitch and moved to the next one. “We will have to lure and trap it at the château.”

“That is the most foolhardy notion I have ever heard of. Do you know how difficult it would be to keep this magicman away from children? How would we capture it in the first place? They are monstrously strong. Much less hold on to it long enough for it to weaken?” Severin’s questions tumbled over themselves to get out.

Michel-Leon held up his hand, and Severin quieted, though his glare was sharp enough to slice. “I am fully aware of how dangerous it’s going to be. But our other alternative is to watch, wait, and hope we uncover this magicman’s weakness. I do not believe you have any desire to wait. And I do not have the people to keep a constant guard for it.”

Severin closed his eyes as if pained. “Non, I’ll not wait,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Every hour that passes is an hour too long. S’il vous plaît, tell me you have a plan.”

“Not much of one, and if you have any other ideas we can use to further our chances, I’ll be grateful.” Michel-Leon examined his handiwork. It should heal neatly. He cleaned the area again and prepared a bandage.

“I don’t like waiting. Baron, if you could see…if you knew…”

The starkness in Severin’s voice reminded Michel-Leon of memories he’d rather forget himself. “I know the pain of a child betrayed. But we are going to have one chance. If the magicman suspects we are a threat to it, it’ll move before we’re ready. It’s better to have a sure strike in a few days over trying and failing and leaving those children without hope. I’m contacting a colleague in Prussia to request any information that will help. I know they had trouble with a magicman in Hamelin a few centuries ago.”

“This had better work.” Though Severin’s voice was grim, Michel-Leon didn’t sense any threat in him, merely a desperate urge to see the job done. “How long do you believe it’ll take for it to weaken enough to be hurt?”

“The older the magicman, the more addicted it is to its prey, and the quicker it will starve.” Michel-Leon gave Severin a sober look. “Older ones are stronger as well, more canny. So let us pray it is very old indeed and be on our guard with every safety measure in place we can conceive of.”

“So what do we do in the meantime? Sit on our hands? Wait for it to attack?” Severin put his body between Michel-Leon and the child as if he could shield her. “It will come for us.”

Michel-Leon stared out the window with a frown. “The mists are out of their usual pattern. That will confuse the magicman as much as it’s confusing me. We need time to set the trap here and move people to safety. I propose we confound the creature by leaving the child here with Régine to protect. She can help Janvier oversee setting the traps. You and I will take up residence in a townhouse in Paris. The magicman will likely focus on the two of us together and try to figure out what we’re up to.

“I will question you endlessly about it. The more we know, the better we can figure it out.” He gave Severin a look of compassion. “I’ll delve into places you don’t want to go, but it will be our only chance. If I discover its weakness from you, then I won’t have to ask Gabrielle to open up those dark memories.”

“So you want us as bait? What’s keeping it from attacking us outright?” Severin rose from the table and paced, his fingers fidgeting as if he wished for one of the toys he tinkered with. “Don’t you have other things you have to do rather than sit around waiting to be ambushed?”

“Oh, we will be quite busy. I have been working on a contraption that may allow us to move around in the mists without being caught up in their thrall. Testing it will pose a risk, so I’m grateful to have your aid. Not that I propose putting you at risk. My invention, my risk. There are many questions to be answered.” Michel-Leon studied Severin’s restless movements. He still moved as if in pain. He needed a night’s rest, some food, a bath, and clean clothes—both him and the child after their ordeal.

“I’m also working on a concoction that might nullify the effects of the mists, but I need more samples from the heart of the city. I don’t believe the magicman will attack us though. It’ll want more information. You sensed it earlier when you sent Régine away. That will be helpful. You escaped from it once. I doubt it’ll risk coming for you again until it knows where the child is and has a better understanding of what you can do.”

Severin fingered the bandage as Gabrielle slipped beside him and tipped her head back. “Does it hurt?” she whispered.

“A bit,” Severin admitted. “But the baron made it better. He’s going to have some questions for you about the hungry man, questions that may help us.”

“I don’t want to stay here while you go away.” Gabrielle curled her fingers into his coat, and Severin crouched beside her.

“I don’t want to be apart from you either, ma petite chouette, but it won’t be for long. Will it?” Severin shot Michel-Leon a questioning look.

Michel-Leon shook his head. “A week at most while we set the trap. Do you mind answering my questions?”

Gabrielle glanced at Severin for reassurance, and he nodded. “Non.”

Michel-Leon sat at the table and smiled at her. She continued to watch him as if she wasn’t sure if he were a guardian angel or not. He had no idea how to interact with a child. They were strange creatures, with odd games of their own and private jests. This one, however, had more in common with him and Severin, a damaged child. “I am working with Monsieur Severin to trap the monster that took you. I’m also looking to solve the mystery of the mists so other children are safe.”

“The hungry man?” The girl’s voice was tentative, and if it hadn’t been so quiet in the room, Michel-Leon doubted he would’ve heard her at all.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” Michel-Leon replied as she inched closer. “How did you end up at the orphanage?”

“There was a sickness last summer. It killed lots of people. My papa too. They took me to the orphanage with lots of others. The hungry man showed up not long after, and it got scarier.” Gabrielle shivered and hugged her arms to herself.

“Severin told me the hungry man brought some of your friends over after it found them in mists.” Michel-Leon paused as she nodded. “Did you ever talk to them about how that happened?”

“Oui.” The little voice was like a shadow, and it tugged at Michel-Leon’s heart.

“What do you remember? Every piece of information helps.” Michel-Leon gave her an encouraging smile. “Did they notice a smell? Or have a physical reaction to it?”

“They didn’t say anything about a smell. They talked about wanting to go to the bright place. The music. It made them all tingly and tired. That’s what they talked about the most. They had to go to where the music lived.” A puzzled line appeared between Gabrielle’s eyes. “They get upset if you ask too many questions. Even the matrons and masters gave up asking about the mists.”

Michel-Leon frowned. There had to be some compound in the mists, something that acted as a soporific and a pheromone. Was it naturally occurring or manufactured? He knew of several chemicals that would put a person in a trancelike state. He couldn’t be certain, but he would hazard a guess that this particular compound affected its victims by their breathing in the vapor.

Why would it affect some and not others though? It had to be engineered to target a certain type of people. There was so much they still didn’t know about human biology and chemistry. Like why one person could have a successful transfusion of blood and another die painfully.

“The hungry man took your friends, interrupting their journey to the song. Did they remember or say anything at all about what happened when they were forced to stop?” Severin asked in a voice so gentle and coaxing that it surprised Michel-Leon. He would not have believed that tone came from him if he had not heard it himself.

“They talk about it like it was a bad dream. They cry about the monsters.” Gabrielle dug her fingers into Severin’s coat again.

“Maybe it was a dream,” Michel-Leon urged. “Tell us anyway so we may judge for ourselves. Sometimes our mind takes what we hear while we are sleeping and translates it into a dream.”

“They talked about walking to the bright place. There were other people there, too, and then later monsters with long noses and big eyes that didn’t talk. The monsters took them away from the song, and it made all of them angry. They hurt some people.” She paused and shuddered. “Then the hungry man was there. It would pick a few favorites and tie them together and take them back to the orphanage. They cried and screamed the whole time, but it was stronger.” Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper at the end.

Michel-Leon noticed Severin’s sudden tension. The magicman was a sore topic for him, and it terrorized her. Little Gabrielle had given him enough to ponder. She needed rest and some proper food. If he thought of further questions for her about the magicman and its connection to the mists, and he was sure he would, it would be better if they came from her protector.

“That is enough for now, child. You must be hungry and thirsty after all that talking.” Michel-Leon pretended not to notice Gabrielle’s questioning glance and Severin’s slight nod in answer.

“You did good, ma petite chouette,” Severin said, and Gabrielle’s answering smile brightened the entire room.

“I had rooms cleaned up for you. In the servants’ quarters, I’m afraid. The rest of the château is not safe.” Michel-Leon gave Severin and the child a stern look. “Don’t wander off. When we return from Paris, I’ll show you the safe way to the workshop and laboratory. There might be some gadgets there you’d like to explore, Severin.”

A hungry expression crossed over Severin’s face. “I’d like that, merci.” He glanced down at Gabrielle, and that look softened. “Merci, for everything.”