Chapter Twelve

“ARE YOU SURE she’ll be safe?” Severin asked with an anxious note as the carriage rolled away from the château and headed toward the city.

“If you’re in Paris, the magicman will concentrate on searching for her near you. Since you went to all the trouble to nab her, the creature will not expect you to leave her behind.” Michel-Leon paused as he sensed a stirring of intuition among the ancestors, but it settled down. “Besides, she’s in a safe section of the château. Her and the maid have plenty of food, water, and entertainment. You, myself, Régine, and Janvier are the only ones who know how to get to her. Besides, we shan’t be gone long. I want to run a few experiments while we tease and lure your monster. We’ll return within the week.”

The thought of guarding the child had not amused Régine, but the task of continuing to search for likely cave systems mollified her. Michel-Leon didn’t want anyone straying too far out. Not until they knew if the last occurrence of the mists was a onetime aberration or not.

Severin grunted and pulled out his usual mess of wires and metal bits and the tiny tools he used to manipulate them. Michel-Leon watched in silence. Mechanics were not his strong point, but Severin was clever with those tools and pieces. Michel-Leon would have to ask him for his help if the filtering mask didn’t work the way it ought. He had often observed his grandpère tinker in such a way, and the reminder sent both a pang of loss and the warmth of sweet memories through him.

He studied Severin as the carriage rumbled and swayed. Despite an occasional grimace when they hit a bump, he appeared totally involved in his work. There was something different about him, something that gave the ancestors pause, but Michel-Leon didn’t know him well enough to nail down what it was.

He’d taken advantage of Michel-Leon’s offer of a bath and clean clothes along with the room last night. His hair gleamed even more golden, and Severin had pulled the soft waves away from his face by tying it in a club at his nape. Janvier had inspected his wound and freshly bandaged it. The drawn flesh of his cheek tugged down his eye so his features weren’t as symmetrical as before, but it didn’t take away from his appeal.

Hell, he’d earned that badge by facing and outwitting a monster in defense of a child. His appeal had grown in spades. The thought of spending time alone with him for the next week disconcerted Michel-Leon. He would be underfoot constantly. It was different with Janvier and Régine. That was comfortable. He suspected his time with Severin would be fraught with tension.

Severin glanced up as the carriage slowed, and Michel-Leon looked away, embarrassed Severin had caught him staring. “What experiments do you wish to run?”

“I have a theory based on conversations I’ve had with people snared by the mists and who survived.” Michel-Leon tapped his fingertips together. “There’s something in them that acts as a soporific and a pheromone. It lulls the senses and entices, so people drop everything they’re doing and disappear into the mists. There have been no signs of foul play. No indication a fight took place. People bedridden and unable to move wept for days because they could not walk out there, even knowing it would mean their disappearance.”

“That is terrifying. What about the monsters in the mists? Do they eat the people?” Uneasiness crept into Severin’s voice. “I almost wish you wouldn’t answer.”

Michel-Leon frowned. “The monsters Gabrielle describes are a recent phenomenon.” He’d searched among the ancestors for any reference of them and received silence. Nor could he find a note of them in the journals. “There are several aspects about the mists that are new to this cycle. Is it because Paris is so much bigger than the last targets or are there other factors in play?” Michel-Leon rapped his fist into his palm. “I have more questions than answers.”

“Talk it out. That may help.” Severin met his gaze, and Michel-Leon’s pulse skipped. “Tell me more about these experiments.”

Michel-Leon had attempted to talk it out to his companions, to the ancestors, to any poor fool who’d listen for ten minutes before calling him a ravening lunatic. But Severin was a new set of ears and he needed to know as much as he could about the dangers they faced. Besides, focusing on the problem took his mind off his growing attraction. “I want to test the chemical elements in the mists. One, to discover if I’m right about the properties in them and their effects, and two, to develop a countermeasure.”

“What if it’s magic based and not science?”

Michel-Leon studied Severin with surprise. “That’s an astute question. The possibility is there, so I’m not discounting it entirely. However, there have been many chevaliers who were experts in that field, and they did not find any magic involved. Again, it doesn’t mean it’s not there, but I don’t believe anyone has investigated the science of the phenomena. By going this route, I may uncover something new that will aid us.”

Severin held up the device he’d been tinkering with. “That’s a solid theory. Perhaps I can figure out a way to make these more useful.”

“They are ingenious little things,” Michel-Leon said, admiring the beetle. “What do they do?”

Severin lifted it to his lips and whispered something. Michel-Leon straightened as the ancestors spoke, “The watcher has fey magic.” The beetle lifted on blurring wings and darted toward Michel-Leon. Despite the action, he felt no menace, only awe at what Severin had created.

“I can use it to send messages, short ones, or receive messages if I attune one right. For instance, I could link that one to you. All you would need to do is tell it to find me and whisper your message.”

Michel-Leon lifted his hand, and the beetle settled in his palm. The craftsmanship was remarkable, but the things Severin could do with them were a work of wonder. Mechanics and magic…what an interesting world they lived in. When it wasn’t trying to kill them. “That’s how you remained in contact with Gabrielle? And you mentioned shielding her with her toy?”

“It is. I needed to know when she was in danger while she was still at the orphanage. She wasn’t quite ready to run off when I first found her. As much as I wanted to snatch her away, I didn’t want her to fear me after.” Severin looked away with a troubled expression. “You have so few choices as a child.”

“Oui.” Their gazes met again with commiseration. “The ability to send messages is always useful,” Michel-Leon continued. The beetle lifted off his palm and headed back to its master. Michel-Leon studied Severin as he scrambled for a way to broach the topic of his other abilities. “What else did you learn to do with your creations as you strove to stay alive on the streets?”

Severin caught his device and slipped it into one of his many pockets. “I can use them to locate people or places.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, I have to have visited that particular place or met that person. And I can’t see what the device does. I haven’t figured out how to do that yet, which would be useful. We could send several of these things out to explore the mists while we stayed safe.”

The possibilities fired Michel-Leon’s imagination. “You have the use of my grandpère’s workshop. You’ll figure it out.” Michel-Leon smiled at him as they pulled up in front of the townhouse. “You’re a resourceful fellow.”

“What is this place?” Severin asked as he clambered out and gave the carriage a baleful stare.

“A chevalier hidey-hole.” The townhouse sat in a quiet square on the Rive Droite not far from the Seine. It hadn’t been occupied in quite some time, and they’d only brought the bare necessities to make it livable. Michel-Leon didn’t plan on staying long. “Which way is the orphanage?”

Severin turned and glanced at the sky before pointing. “On the other side of the Seine. I had quarters about a thirty-minute walk from there.”

Michel-Leon studied the surrounding area and then directed Hadrien to take down his trunk and bring it inside. “We’re close enough to catch its interest. Magicmen are very keen on survival. Come, let’s get settled. I want to show you my filtering mask and get your thoughts. I’m sure we can make a few tweaks before the mists roll in, and I send myself out there to test it.”

“Bien sûr.” Severin fell in step beside him, his expression inscrutable. Michel-Leon didn’t know what to make of him or what to expect moving forward when they were alone together.

It didn’t take Michel-Leon more than a couple of days to figure out he was going to go mad. This time, he couldn’t blame it on the ancestors’ voices or the problems plaguing him. It had everything to do with the man he was currently living with. Michel-Leon felt his cheeks warm at that last thought. Living with sounded far too intimate for his comfort. Their rooms were separate, but the sense of Constantin was everywhere in the small townhouse without others to buffer them.

There, he’d done it again, thought of him more familiarly in his mind. He had to remember Severin. Though it was hard when they worked together in a companionable silence, Michel-Leon found it restful. At least, he did when he wasn’t working himself up because their hands brushed or he caught the scent of Severin’s hair. They ate together. Shared one bathing room. Michel-Leon’s face heated again. Not at the same time; though, that put more images in his head than he needed.

“Baron?”

There it was again. That distant tone that dug under his skin. Michel-Leon knew if he glanced up, he’d see the wariness in Severin’s gaze. The man thought Michel-Leon odd, no doubt. He was odd and given Severin’s experiences, and the little Michel-Leon had gleaned from him, he had reasons for mistrust. Whatever growing closeness Michel-Leon felt was all in his imagination.

“Oui?” Michel-Leon concentrated on lifting one of the simmering kettles from the fire in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” The note of bafflement had Michel-Leon steal a glance at Severin. He’d pulled his hair back into a tail so it wouldn’t get in the way of his tinkering and the style sharpened his cheekbones and emphasized the healing slash. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up, exposing sleekly muscled forearms.

Michel-Leon jerked his gaze back to the kettle. “Heating water for my bath.”

“I’ll help.” Severin grabbed a thick pair of gloves for the second kettle. “Though why you want a bath in this heat, I don’t know. I’ve never known a nobleman to cook his own food or fetch and carry his own bathwater before. You are an enigma.”

Michel-Leon couldn’t come up with a graceful way to turn down Severin’s offer. He was stronger than he appeared, swinging down the kettle with ease, though it was the largest one they had. The bathing chamber was far too small with the both of them in it, the bath far too inviting with its steam rising.

“It helps me to think—both the drudgery and the soaking.” Michel-Leon set the empty kettles to the side, then added some cold water he’d already drawn from the well so the temperature was right, on the edge of too hot. He couldn’t look at Severin in here. It was bad enough he had his scent and voice imprinted in his memory. “Merci.”

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts then, baron.”

Michel-Leon turned his back, ran a hand through his curls, and shrugged out of his shirt. Severin. He had to remember that and turn his thoughts toward more productive avenues, such as what experiments to try next.

He stripped down and hissed as he stepped into the water. The shock of heat drove other thoughts from his mind. As he eased himself into the water, he realized he hadn’t heard the door shut behind his houseguest. Even as his gaze flew to the slight gap, he knew Severin was gone. The ancestors would’ve warned him if the watcher was watching again.

As Michel-Leon laid his head back on the towel cushioning the edge of the bath, he couldn’t say if he felt disappointment or relief. Whichever it was, it distracted him from what he should focus on. The man had his thoughts flitting about like so many bats in a belltower.

“Undisciplined garçon.”

Michel-Leon grimaced at the voice of his father, which effectively killed any lingering warm thoughts.

“Go to hell and let a man bathe in peace,” Michel-Leon muttered. “Though I suppose you’re already there. Degenerate shade.”

*

THE BARON SET Constantin on edge. He’d already known the man was different from others of his class. He hadn’t appreciated how different until they had been alone together this week. He didn’t act as a nobleman ought.

The chevalier was attracted to Constantin. He knew when a man eyed him with admiration, but he never acted on the attraction. He could’ve easily used his position to cajole or coerce Constantin into some intimacy, and he hadn’t. It didn’t help that Constantin found the man to be intriguing in return. It was his mind that lowered Constantin’s defenses. He was always thinking, endlessly probing at the problem, coming at it from different angles in ways that often mystified Constantin.

When the baron gave orders, it was always when they worked on an experiment. It was given as if to a colleague or equal and the times when Parisee was abstracted by one of his puzzles, he didn’t order; he asked. Frankly, his behavior made Constantin’s nerves taut. He felt himself softening, and he had to remind himself of who he was dealing with and what the stakes were. It was too high a cost to pay to ease his vigilance.

“It is utter madness!” The baron tossed down the journal he’d been perusing and ran a hand through his curls, already disordered from the same action. “We need a fresh start. Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Constantin asked, confounded once again as he set aside the filtering mask. “Where? Why?”

“We’ll go across the river and collect some water samples along the way. I’d like to look at this orphanage as well.” Parisee pulled a satchel over his head and slid a few empty vials into the slots made for them.

Constantin stared at him, stunned, seeing Parisee in a new light. He’d come to accept the chevalier wasn’t going to do anything immediately to help with the magicman beyond providing them protection. He swallowed hard around the sudden hope. “It will likely sense I’m near and could spot you as well. We may provoke it to act.”

Then, oh then, Parisee would be forced to action, and perhaps Nightingale would be wounded despite the chevalier’s warnings that it was invulnerable at this time. The baron’s voice cut into his feverish thoughts. “Unlikely, but we will keep its attention where we want it.”

“Merci, baron,” Constantin said, lowering his head respectfully.

Parisee laid his hand on Constantin’s arm with a gentle squeeze. “No more. Parisee, if you must, but no more baron or chevalier. I have a name. If you cannot bring yourself to say Michel-Leon, then Parisee will do.”

Constantin smiled faintly. It was another step toward bridging the distance between them, but Constantin was willing to take that step if Parisee was willing to work on the problem of the magicman as well. “I will try…Parisee.”

Parisee smiled, the warmth clear in his eyes, and then a red flush crept up his neck, and he snatched his hand away. “Come, action will provoke a reaction, and then we will learn something.”

Or get themselves killed. The thought didn’t stop Constantin from following after Parisee as he grabbed his sword cane and headed out the door. The summer sun shone brightly enough that Constantin dragged on his battered hat. They’d been hemmed in the townhouse and the walls had closed in around Constantin. It was good to be outside and to stretch his legs. He should’ve thought of this before.

He fell into step beside Parisee, who appeared content to remain silent as he studied their surroundings as if each fresh sight was something to marvel at. It made Constantin look as well, curious to see what the chevalier saw, but the wonder eluded him. The sky held the familiar smudge of smoke as more old buildings burned away to make room for the elite. At least it wasn’t the mists, a small mercy to those living in Paris, though there was little mercy for the poor.

“What is it you see?” he asked gruffly, unable to maintain the wary distance he tried to keep up. Parisee often had him thinking in ways new to him.

Parisee shot him a startled glance, and then he pointed toward the snarling face of a gargoyle on a nearby building. “My father used to tell me they came to life on moonless nights and went in search of boys who misbehaved. They would turn them into creatures of stone too, forced to guard and gurgle. I always thought we could’ve been friends if I’d ever met one. My father threatened me with the gargoyles often.”

It made Constantin uncomfortable to think the man might also have nightmares from his childhood.

Then he pointed toward a small courtyard with the branches of a tree spilling over the wall. “That tree there looks like a giant having a rest between his labors.”

Frowning, Constantin studied the leafy canopy and cocked his head. “I don’t see it.”

Parisee smiled at him sadly. “You are a marvel who creates marvels, but I fear people have let you down so often you cannot see the wonder in the world.”

Constantin pondered those words as they paused by the river for the baron to collect his samples, and then they continued on toward the orphanage. The building had not changed, nor had the pall of terror and grief hanging over it. “That is Nightingale’s lair,” he said in a grim voice.

The expression of awe disappeared from Parisee’s face. Now, he was a Chevalier de Rouen with the cool danger in his eyes, his head half-cocked as if listening. “It is an evil place,” he said finally.

Relief flooded through Constantin. He hadn’t let himself believe Parisee would do something about the magicman before, but the steel in his eyes cracked the shield of mistrust. “That it is. The creature preys on those most in need of mercy and a tender care.”

Parisee studied him for a long moment. Behind the implacable gaze of the chevalier, Constantin glimpsed the man who fought monsters and tended to others with his own hands. Parisee glanced away, but not before that telltale flush. “We should get back and continue our studies. I believe we’ve given the magicman enough to occupy its thoughts.”

Constantin stared at the orphanage and Nightingale’s window. He doubted it could fear, but that didn’t stop him from wishing the feeling upon the creature. He caught up with Parisee, and they discussed their next steps as they walked back to the townhouse.

“Go on up,” Parisee said when they came indoors. “I’ll make us some tea and bring up the sandwiches Salome sent.”

He set his sword cane to the side and moved toward the kitchen as Constantin stared, disconcerted once again. The baron didn’t treat him as a servant. He’d expected he would have to handle all of those little chores when they came to the townhouse, but most of the time, Parisee saw to them himself.

Constantin considered that as he climbed the stairs. He would have to offer more often and take on an equal load of those pesky chores. When he reached the room they’d set aside for their studies, he stared aghast out the window. Fog rolled in toward the townhouse in a cresting wave. This was not the right date. He was sure of it.

“Parisee!” He shouted down the stairs and then went to the chevalier’s worktable to find the printed schedule.

“What is it?” Parisee demanded as he came up, taking the stairs two at a time, judging from the noise.

Constantin flung his hand toward the fog rapidly advancing as Parisee came into the room. “Has it ever changed schedule like this?”

“Oui, once before. The day you brought Gabrielle to us. It was off-cycle then too.” The baron clutched his hair as he paced. “It is utter madness! It is not supposed to be here today. What is going on?”

Parisee stopped and stared out at the window, his hands on his hips as he muttered to himself in a one-sided argument. Constantin still didn’t know what to make of his habit of talking to himself, even stranger, how he often appeared to listen to an answer. As he muttered, the mists completely enveloped the windows. “I’m going out in it. Don’t scream dire warnings at me! That’s what we have the mask for. We need answers.”

Constantin wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or Constantin, and he didn’t plan on arguing with the half-crazed man. Intriguing, oui, damn, too intriguing, and if he was honest, appealing even if he was a noble. But sometimes he made Constantin feel as if he was the third man in the room.

The baron stalked over to the table where he’d set up his experiments in their laboratory and began going through his notes. He waved a stack of thin paper he called litmus at Constantin. “I’ll run experiments from the vapor collected. My tests back at the château had yielded nothing, but this is the heart of the city. If there is anything to discover, here is where I’ll find my answers.”

He was serious. Constantin stared at him in consternation and then stared at the window again and the seeking black lines that constantly searched for a way in. He was right. This was madness, but for a whole different reason. He didn’t believe he’d be able to talk him out of this scheme, but if he went along with it, he might get the baron to agree to some precautions.

“If you’re going out in that, you’re wearing this.” Constantin went to his own table and held up a contraption of leather strips and buckles. He’d thought of it after they discussed the possibility of going out in the mists to test the filtering mask. They needed a backup plan for when this one went all to hell.

Parisee looked up from the equipment he was sorting. “What is that?”

“It’s a harness since you’re bent on this mad plan. You put it on like this.” Constantin demonstrated with the buckles on the back. If the baron was snared by the mists, it would be harder for him to remove it. “We’ll tie the rope to this and anchor it inside. I can observe from the safety of the other side of the room. If something goes wrong, I’ll pull you back to safety.”

“That’s a sound plan.” The baron’s eyes gleamed with excitement and curiosity. “Help me put it on. Now is as good a time to test as any. As a matter of fact, it might be a good idea to collect samples every hour so we can have a wide range to work with.”

“You are too excited about this,” Constantin grumbled as he came forward. “Aren’t you worried about the effects of the mists? What if the filtering mask doesn’t work? What if there’s some other way of being affected by it other than breathing in the vapors?”

“The thought had occurred to me, but even that might give us some answers. If I could understand what it is like, viscerally, it would help.” He smiled at Constantin as if to reassure him, but his eyes still had an avid gleam that didn’t ease his misgivings one bit. “I won’t allow my curiosity to outweigh my caution. There is too much at stake. That’s why I have you as a backup.”

Constantin slipped the harness around Parisee, mulling that over. The man acted secure with the idea that he could count on Constantin, and they hadn’t known each other long. “You trust me with your life, even knowing I was spying on you inside your dangerous fortress?”

Parisee glanced at him, his head cocked to the side for a long moment. Constantin even found that frank consideration appealing. Parisee looked at him like a man, like an equal. “I trust you’re fully invested in getting rid of the magicman and to reach that end, you’ll need me. Therefore, there’s no one I’m safer with at the moment.”

“That’s a fair assessment,” Constantin said with a wry smile. He finished buckling the back and attached a couple of strong, thin ropes. “We’ll anchor this inside and hope the mists don’t seep too far in.”

“We can light several of the braziers. The mists won’t like such a dry environment. It’ll be overly warm in here, but that should help.” Parisee scraped a hand through his hair and settled the filtering mask over his head. It strapped tightly into place. He moved his head awkwardly, as if it felt unwieldy, and his breathing rasped.

“How does it feel? Can you see well enough?” Constantin asked. He crouched and lit the first brazier in the row they’d lined up for this eventuality.

Parisee slowly turned his head from side to side. “The lenses limit my field of vision.”

“I was concerned about that,” Constantin said and moved to light another. “I will work on the issue with the next prototype.”

“Is everything set?” Parisee asked, pulling a pair of gloves on so his entire body was shrouded in some fashion.

Constantin checked the straps and ropes one last time. “You’re ready. Bonne chance.” He anchored the ropes to a ring on the wall that he’d installed. Parisee made his way to the door, paused, then opened it and hovered in the doorway. His whole body was tense, and he didn’t look back. Constantin retreated to the opposite end of the room to keep a careful watch.

“It’s dense,” Parisee said in a tinny voice. “I can’t make out the railing to the outer stair only a few feet away.” He stepped outside. The mist swirled around and enveloped him until a gray shroud covered him.

“Keep talking,” Constantin called, desperate for some reassurance as the black threads reached out to Parisee with seeking fingers. “It’s another way we can keep in communication with each other.”

“It looks like an endless sea. It reminds me of the astral plane where I encounter my ancestors,” Parisee replied. Constantin frowned in puzzlement at that strange statement. “The similarities are helping me regain my equilibrium.”

“Ah, your ancestors?” Constantin couldn’t even see the outline of Parisee now, but the rope moved rhythmically. The mists remained in the doorway and didn’t venture in past the dry heat put forth by the braziers. That was reassuring. A good number of those threads abandoned the doorway altogether and converged on the baron’s fading form. That was less reassuring. If something happened to the chevalier, they were all lost. Constantin took an anxious step away from the wall.

Next time, they’d tie bells to the harness as an additional precaution. He moved closer to the doorway and peered outside, hugging his arms to himself. The mists and swirls of gray moving in hypnotizing patterns blocked out all other sights. He forced his gaze away and paced the small room.

“They are quiet right now, but watching, always watching with a crazed curiosity. No wonder the entire lot of them went mad.” The odd response floated out of the mists, and it made Constantin uneasy, but at least Parisee still communicated. “I am collecting samples from different areas.”

Constantin listened to Parisee’s rambling monologue with a growing unease as he conducted his research. He sounded off, as if he were arguing with himself again, but the tone was different. Constantin moved closer to the door, being careful not to get too close. “Talk louder. I can’t hear you.”

To ease his nerves, Constantin sent out one of his beetles, and it confirmed to him that Parisee was where he was supposed to be. He returned to the worktable and picked up a piece of glass. There had to be a way to make a construct he could use to spy through its eyes.

It would leave Constantin vulnerable, though. If he was tied up elsewhere, how would he know what was going on around him? He shook his head with a shudder. He wasn’t about to leave himself vulnerable again.

“I can’t breathe in this infernal thing,” Parisee snarled. “Non, I’m not going in. I’m not done. It’s like working in a dreamscape out here. I’d kill for a glimpse of the light. Do you hear that? It’s beautiful.”

Alarmed, Constantin hurried to the door. “Um, baron, it’s time you come in. I’m sure you have enough samples.” He stretched, fumbling for the end of the rope.

“This is pointless. I’m looking in the wrong direction. All the answers are in the mists. They always were. I’ll find the song at the end of the mists,” the baron said in a strident voice.

The rope went slack as if Parisee were returning. Relieved, Constantin tugged on it, drawing it inside to guide the chevalier to the door. “I’ve got you. Don’t you worry.” The rope went taut and then jerked wildly as if Parisee struggled against the lifeline. Constantin cursed under his breath and pulled harder, but the chevalier fought him with every step. Constantin was stronger. Foot by foot, he dragged him toward the door, trying to keep from tumbling past the invisible line himself.

“Come on, Parisee,” Constantin shouted as he pulled the chevalier closer, hand over hand. He thought he spied a thrashing form in the undulating mists. “Fight the call, damn you, not me.” The rope went slack and Constantin tumbled backward with a cry, striking his head against the wall. Frantically, he pulled the limp ropes until he spied their severed ends.

“Find him,” he gasped, sending the beetle zinging out. He paused long enough to wrap a piece of cloth around his mouth and nose, took a deep breath and plunged into the mists after him. Holding his breath, he concentrated on the ping the beetle sent his senses. Constantin had to get to Parisee before the man reached the outer stairs. He couldn’t hold his breath long enough to reach the ground and drag him back inside. He couldn’t risk fighting him on the stairs either. They’d both fall to their deaths.

Black threads moved toward him and made his skin crawl, but they carried no sensation when they brushed against his skin. He glimpsed a figure and plunged ahead, the pinging beetle confirming it was Parisee. He grabbed the man’s shoulder and spun him around.

Parisee stared at him with wide, unseeing eyes. He had taken the mask off. Constantin had a momentary impression of his slack features before he socked Parisee solidly on the jaw. The chevalier fell back stunned, and Constantin threw him over his shoulder.

“Je suis désolé, mon ami. It’s got to be this way.” He sent the beetle toward the door and grimly set his focus on that. One step at a time. His lungs screamed, black spots appeared before his eyes, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it one more step when the outline to the door appeared. Constantin staggered inside with his burden, dumped Parisee on the floor, then slammed and locked the door behind him.

He slumped to the floor, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths as Parisee stirred. “The song. Must get to the song.”

“Oh non, you don’t, Parisee.” Constantin drew in a welcome breath and reached for the rope. “You’re staying put until I know you’re sane.”