Chapter Thirteen

“SEVERIN. SEVERIN!” THE urgent calling of Constantin’s name reached through the layers of exhaustion and he stirred. “Constantin!”

Constantin jerked to full wakefulness and almost fell out of the chair he’d positioned near the chevalier’s bed. Parisee half sat up amongst the rumpled covers and pillows, his struggle hampered by the bindings that attached his wrists to the headboards. He eyed the baron warily, taking in the clear gaze that no longer burned with a feverish light. Still, Parisee had proven himself to be wily and dangerous since Constantin had dragged him back here. The pleading to be let go into the music had been punctuated by violent arguments with people who Constantin could not see, but clearly Parisee could. He had considered sending for Janvier and the widow but thought Parisee wouldn’t want them to see him in that state.

“Tell me, baron, who are you?” Constantin asked, coming to his bedside.

Parisee’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, he fought the bonds at his hands and feet, and then he stilled. “I know who I am. An idiot chevalier who took one too many risks. How long have I been trying to get to the music?”

“Through the night and most of today,” Constantin said gruffly, searching for the trick. Parisee had tried to reason with him a couple of times but could not hold back the rantings for long. He’d always had an uncanny gleam in his eyes that was gone now.

Parisee let his head drop back on the pillows as he considered that. “You saved my life, Constantin, if I may call you that? And potentially many more. There are not enough of us as it is to combat this menace.”

“You may.” There hadn’t been many to whom Constantin had allowed that familiarity. But after their time together in the townhouse, after their harrowing encounter with the mists, it seemed rude not to grant that to a man who risked his life for no reward. He couldn’t picture himself reciprocating though. The growing intimacy between them set him on edge. He did not want to be concerned about the man other than a means to an end.

“Now that has been settled. Would you mind letting me go?” Parisee didn’t look at him as he asked, but he did tug at his bonds. “This is a trifle awkward.”

Constantin hesitated, weighing whether this was a trick. Then he figured if Parisee was still under the spell, he’d try to break free the moment he was half untied. Constantin would have to bind him again, and this time he would send for reinforcements.

However, the chevalier didn’t bolt when his wrists were freed. He sat up slowly, rubbing at the bruising on them. Constantin waited another wary moment longer and then sliced the rope binding Parisee’s ankles. “I tried cushioning you as best I could,” he said with a frown at the sign of more bruising there. “You wouldn’t stop fighting.”

Parisee ran a hand through his tangled, burnished curls. “The call was fierce. Even stronger than the call—” He broke off with a shake of his head.

He glanced up, and Constantin found himself caught by the naked emotion in his eyes before Parisee looked away again. “Merci, Constantin. I don’t know if I can express it enough, but I can tend to those stitches. The itching must be driving you mad.”

The slash on his cheek itched abominably. Constantin had been on the point of doing something about it himself, but was sure he’d cause himself more damage in the attempt. “Eat and drink something first. Then we will tend to each other. I want to make sure you didn’t break your skin in your fight.”

They didn’t speak again as they went to the kitchen. Constantin got out the last of the provisions brought by Hadrien and set them on the table. The chevalier appeared troubled and withdrawn. It awoke a different itch in Constantin, one he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. Desire was one thing. He could admit Parisee drew him that way. Desire was quick and fleeting. He didn’t allow it to create bonds. Caring was different.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Constantin forced himself to ask as the silence continued throughout their meal and cleanup.

Parisee turned haunted eyes on him, and then he forced a smile. “Not yet. I need to ponder it more. And you should call me Michel-Leon. All of this Parisee, baron, chevalier, has me looking for my cursed father.”

“Where are your supplies?” Constantin asked, rising to put distance between them. “I want to make sure you are well else the widow will slit my throat.”

“She might not go that far, but she would thump your head. I’ll get my bag if you will heat some water.”

Constantin watched him go, to reassure himself he was retrieving his bag and not heading out the front door. Footfalls on the stairs eased him, and he swung the kettle over the small kitchen fire. He suspected the chevalier needed a few minutes to compose himself, as Constantin did.

Michel-Leon.

The name and his invitation evoked warm emotions, a connection he dared not accept.

The tread of boots pulled him from his thoughts, and Constantin retrieved a basin to put the hot water in.

“Your bindings did not break the skin,” Parisee announced, setting the bag on the table. “And the bruising isn’t so bad that it keeps me from wearing my boots. I would ask, however, that you keep this between us.”

Constantin glanced up, but the chevalier wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he busied himself by laying out what he would need on a cloth. “You mean the minor detail where you experimented on yourself, got caught in a trap, and—”

“Oui, oui,” Parisee interrupted him with a flap of his hand. “Régine and her entire family would have my head if they heard.”

Her entire family. Not his. The phrasing intrigued him, and Constantin tucked it away to examine later as he poured the hot water into the basin. “My head would be right there with yours for allowing it, so our secret is safe.”

“I suspect you're good with secrets.” Parisee didn’t say anything else as Constantin returned to the table with the basin and sat down. Constantin tied his hair back, and Parisee turned his head with gentle fingers, tilting it toward the light streaming in from the window. “It appears as if it healed well, though you’ve been picking at the stitches.”

There was no reproof in his voice, only understanding. Constantin felt alive being so close to him, being touched by him as Parisee cleaned his cheek with a soft cloth. The hot water soothed the itching there, but it didn’t help the deeper itch. “I am not yet ready to call you by name,” Constantin said, surprising himself with the words and the meaning behind them: that one day he would be.

Their eyes met, and Parisee smiled. “Well then, until you are ready.”

Constantin almost drew him down to kiss him, to break the tension between them. Physical yearning he could handle. Parisee’s eyes darkened, and then he stepped back, breaking the spell. “This shouldn’t hurt.”

Constantin closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on anything but his nearness and scent, the pull and tug of the stitches being removed. It was near impossible, but he clung to the reminder that this made him a man, not a shadow. Then Parisee smoothed something soothing and pungent on his cheek. “That should do it,” he whispered. “I’ll be in my study for a few hours. I need to get my thoughts down over the incident before I forget.”

Then he was gone before Constantin could gather his wits and thank him.

*

THE OPEN WINDOW brought in a warm breeze that dug under Constantin’s skin and made him want to tear down the four walls surrounding him. Ever since he’d been kicked out on the streets, he had not spent significant time indoors. It was a beautiful summer day, not a cloud in sight, and he was stuck inside with a cantankerous chevalier who was far more interested in his chemical experiments than he was in engaging in conversation or eating, for that matter, if Constantin didn’t push the issue.

Constantin glanced at the table where Parisee was once again bent over a microscope, muttering to himself as he studied and took notes. He could not take another afternoon of this. Even tinkering with his projects and the failed filtering mask wasn’t enough to divert his interest. It didn’t help that Parisee constantly drew his gaze—from the way the sunlight picked out the red and gold highlights in his curls, or how his eyes lit up with excitement when he noticed something new in his experiments.

He was a chevalier and a noble, while Constantin was a vagabond. Besides, the man was on the edge of crazy, if not over the cliff. He had spent restless, agonizing hours keeping watch over the man as he’d ranted and raved about going into the music and argued with unknown tormentors. His sudden snap back to sanity had been as unsettling. He’d questioned Constantin relentlessly both about the incident and if there had been any contact with Nightingale. Afterward, he holed himself up in his study for hours. Today hadn’t been much different.

“I’m going out,” Constantin announced, setting down the mask.

Parisee waved a hand in vague acknowledgment, and then his head jerked up. “Wait. What?”

Constantin gestured to the sunlight streaming in through the windows. “I’m going out, talk to some of my contacts, investigate how many people went missing in the last unscheduled mess.”

“You can’t go out.” Parisee glanced at Constantin’s neatly arrayed worktable that contrasted with his own chaotic space. “You haven’t finished working on the filtering mask. The mists could come back any day, and at this point we have no way of knowing when.”

Constantin shot Parisee an exasperated look. “How can I fix something when I don’t know what went wrong? I need to think the problem through, and I can’t think anymore right here. I need space.” He’d untied Parisee from the bed just yesterday, and the man still wasn’t quite all there. The muttering had gotten worse and was constant.

“It appeared to be working fine. It crept up on me unawares.” Parisee shoved a hand through his hair and glared at the mask, not quite meeting Constantin’s eyes. “I can’t rule out the mists affected me through skin contact either. I tried keeping myself covered, but what if some vapor slipped through?”

“I’m not sure it came through skin contact because I would’ve been affected too.” Constantin picked up the mask and examined it. At least he had the man talking and maybe he could keep the flow of conversation going if he worked on the mask as Parisee requested so churlishly. This was better than the interrogation. At least he was talking to him and not some unseen phantom.

“But we don’t even know why some are affected and not others!” Frustration screamed in his voice.

“Have you discovered any elements in your experiments?” Constantin asked before Parisee could go off on one of his agitated rants.

Parisee frowned fiercely at his array of beakers. “There are unusual properties in the water. I need more time though and to get more samples when the fog comes back. I need that mask fixed.”

“Well, I need a break to clear my thoughts.” Constantin set the mask back down again. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Constantin, be serious. The magicman is still out there. You’ve sensed it sniffing around more than once. It’s not safe for you to go out alone.” Parisee’s brows drew together in worry. “I suppose an hour away from here couldn’t hurt either of us. I could go with you.”

Constantin couldn’t miss the expression of longing the chevalier cast toward his equipment. It would be hard to resist if the man ever looked at a lover that way. “I’ve been on my own, protecting myself since I was a boy. I’m not worried about Nightingale.” Well, not too worried anyway. He’d stick to crowds and hide in the shadows the moment he sensed the bastard.

For the first time all day, Parisee let their eyes meet, and Constantin felt a spark of heat. Constantin knew men who had denied their desires to the public but revealed their true natures behind closed doors. Not this man. He gave his scientific equipment more attention than Constantin. It was backward from all the experience that Constantin had of men in power.

“You should be.” Parisee brushed his scarred cheek with gentle fingers.

Constantin caught his hand. He greatly desired to say something that would cut this tension between them, but the words caught before he could form them. His name was almost on Constantin’s lips. He didn’t know what to say to a man like the chevalier. Their worlds were so different, and Constantin suspected anything he had to say wouldn’t be welcome. To reinforce that belief, Parisee pulled away as if burned.

“I’ll be back,” Constantin announced, and this time Parisee did not try to stop him.

Constantin was not in the habit of conversing with many nobles, but he’d observed enough while skulking through their homes, hunting down mysteries. It galled him he needed one’s help. But Parisee was different. It was his own problem that those differences crept under his skin. He shouldn’t allow one man to have such a hold on his interest.

Constantin headed out on foot into the sunshine. Its warmth gleamed on his face, chasing away the shadows haunting him. He considered checking in on Gabrielle’s friends at the orphanage before he discarded the plan. True, Nightingale hadn’t been able to sense him when he’d twisted the shadows around himself. However, he didn’t want to rely on that fragile shield or use it so much that Nightingale found a chink in the armor and exploited it.

It felt too much like a betrayal of the other children trapped by the monster. He had to find a way to lure Nightingale out. It wasn’t enough knowing they were laying a trap for it at the château. It made no sense that the magicman hadn’t confronted them by now. It had to know they were in Paris. They flaunted it in its face before the baron’s brush with the mists. Maybe prancing around in the streets alone would draw it out.

Despite the sunshine, there were few pedestrians on the bridge to the Rive Gauche. Most people wanted to remain close to home these days. As he walked by the work gangs clearing out the debris of torn-down buildings, he heard his name hailed.

He glanced around, his eyes narrowing as his shoulders tensed. There was no sign of Nightingale lurking. Of course, it wouldn’t announce itself first. Still, Constantin couldn’t rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation between his shoulders.

“Monsieur Severin!” Foreman Lyon called his name again and waved.

Constantin debated for a moment. He’d be an excellent source of information if he wasn’t too irritated about Constantin’s disappearance. He waved back and headed in the man’s direction. “Where’ve you been?” the man demanded, his hands on his hips. He gestured toward the workingmen. “You’ve been missing for weeks. I thought the mists got you.”

“Non.” Constantin shrugged. “I got caught up searching for some children who went missing. Hooked up with the chevalier that’s in town investigating. I should’ve told you after everything you tried to do for me, but it has been chaotic.”

Monsieur Lyon studied him with an assessing gaze. “Working with the chevalier appears to be treating you fine. Can he do anything about it? Their reputation isn’t what it once was, but I can’t think of anyone else who could tackle it.” He paused and spit at the ground. “The emperor has left on his tour, and the police nationale aren’t even taking names of the missing anymore.”

Constantin rubbed his chin, relaxing as the man didn’t take offense at his disappearance. They could use more eyes and ears in the city. “The baron is certainly dedicated to his calling. He’s working himself to the bone to find the cause. Have you had a lot more problems with people going missing?”

“Every time the mists roll through.” The man grunted. “Mostly newcomers. The old hands know to take cover. There’s always new people in the city. We have a fresh problem now that’s causing more issues.”

Intrigued, Constantin turned his full attention to him. “A recent problem? Specific to you or more widespread?” He thought of Nightingale with a grimace. “Isn’t there enough going on?”

“You’d think.” The man gestured to the worksite. “After every mist, we discover stolen materials, parts, supplies. I tried posting guards, but they either go missing themselves or complain about strange monsters roaming the mists. Is it related? At first I thought it was competitors taking advantage. But that’s foolhardy to risk, especially since the broadside warnings are no longer accurate. I wouldn’t usually hold credence with tales of monsters, but I’m about ready to believe anything.”

“Strange monsters?” Constantin thought back on his desperate foray into the mists to search for Parisee. He hadn’t been in them long, and he’d focused on locating Parisee. He hadn’t noticed anything odd, but if Nightingale could roam through the fog to hunt, why not other monsters? “Does the monster look tall and lean, like a gentleman of means?”

The foreman shot him a look of disbelief. “That doesn’t sound monstrous. Non, these things have overlarge eyes and a strange mouth that hisses. Or so they say. Personally, I think they’re letting their fears get the best of them.”

Parisee would want to know about this development. “Have you always had an issue with items going missing?”

“There’s always some on any site, but not like this. In the last several weeks, it’s gotten noticeably worse.” The man scrubbed a hand through his hair. “How am I going to get these jobs finished?”

“Are you the only site that’s plagued?” Constantin asked.

“Everyone is. Even people who scoffed at our other woes have been making complaints. I have no idea what anyone would need all this stuff for or what they’re building. I’d notice if an unauthorized construction project was going on. I’d know if Haussmann had started something new.” Foreman Lyon threw up his hands. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Constantin eyed the site with an assessing gaze. “Wood, metal? Building parts or machine parts?”

“I’m more familiar with the tearing down and erecting buildings. I’ve never been much for machine work. Don’t have the talent for it, not like you.” Lyon’s shoulders slumped. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you had enough materials for a scaffolding. The rest is more suited for machinery than buildings, but it’s hard to say for sure without knowing what else was taken from others.”

“Interesting.” Constantin exchanged a sober glance with the foreman. “I’ll let the baron know. He might want to talk to you and your men.”

Some of the stress faded from the foreman’s eyes. “I’d appreciate it. If I hear anything new, should I send word?”

Constantin weighed the options. He wasn’t sure of the baron’s plans, and there was always someone at the château who would know their whereabouts. He was anxious to get back and check on Gabrielle. “Oui, send it to the Château des Ombres kitchen door. If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”

Constantin headed away, mulling the news over. There had to be a way to move around in the mists. If others could do it, then they could as well. They needed to figure out the how. He glanced back at the worksite, or the why. Parisee would be intrigued, and Constantin had better figure out what went wrong with the filtering mask before the man chose to do another one of his self-experiments.

*

MICHEL-LEON STRAIGHTENED as Constantin’s familiar footsteps approached, and a frisson of awareness swept through him. They’d only been in this close environment for a week, but a week was enough. The townhouse was too small. The intimacy of the space was getting to him. Michel-Leon wasn’t used to sharing space with anyone other than Janvier, certainly with no one as beautiful as Constantin.

Even his birth name was beautiful, and Michel-Leon had to remember not to address him so familiarly. It appeared to make him uncomfortable, and he never returned the gesture.

Besides, beauty he could ignore. What got under his defenses was the curiosity of Constantin’s mind. The way he searched for answers like Michel-Leon did and wasn’t satisfied until the answers made sense. His commitment to ridding the world of monsters was equal to Michel-Leon’s. Though understandably, his determination was more focused.

“The watcher returns.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Michel-Leon snapped.

“Who are you talking to?” Constantin asked, and Michel-Leon winced as Janvier’s warning came back to him. “Something warned you when I was spying on you that evening. Is that who you’re talking to?”

Maybe Constantin would understand, wouldn’t believe he was crazy. Most people assumed he was. Janvier assured him he was not. Some days Michel-Leon didn’t know. Michel-Leon turned to face his curious gaze. The walk had done Constantin good. He appeared less worn, and there was color to his cheeks.

“It’s like ancestral memory. The fragments of all the other chevaliers who have passed on, their knowledge and experience as voices in my mind. Only those born of chevaliers can hear it.” The whispering agitated again with Michel-Leon’s announcement. So what if Constantin knew their secret? The voices would die with Michel-Leon. “And sometimes they never shut up. Like now.”

“What is that like?” Constantin asked, his brow furrowing. “It must be maddening. How aware are they of what goes on? Do you have any privacy?”

“It has its moments. I’ve learned to block out most of it for some peace.” Michel-Leon met his gaze, reassured by Constantin’s reaction. “It doesn’t feel intrusive. Maybe it’s because they are the spirits of my ancestors and I’ve known them since I was a boy. I never felt spied upon until you came into my laboratory. You intrigue them. They don’t know what to make of you, but they don’t believe you are dangerous to me at the moment.”

“Merci, for your trust. It couldn’t have been easy to tell me.” Constantin stared over Michel-Leon’s shoulder a moment before focusing on him again. “I owe you an exchange of trust.”

Michel-Leon glanced at his experiments. He’d reached a wall. As Constantin suggested, time away might clear his mind. He could pick it back up again when they reached the château. It wouldn’t hurt to leave a sheet of stretched canvas on the townhouse balcony and a trough underneath to collect the water that beaded up during the mists. He’d run a new set of experiments after the next cycle. “Why don’t we talk about it over a glass of wine? I could use one while our belongings are packed.”

“Pack?” A startled look crossed Constantin’s face. “Why are we packing?”

Michel-Leon led the way to the small study and poured them both a glass of wine. “Janvier sent word with Hadrien and his daughter about the progress he made resetting the traps at the château. We need to get back to prepare our trap. They are gathering our things.”

He handed Constantin a glass, took a seat, and held the glass up to the sunlight streaming in through the window to admire the deep burgundy color. It kept his gaze off Constantin. “You reminded me of how exposed we are here. I suspect the magicman is holding off because it’s uncertain of both my involvement and how you escaped it. I suspect that caution won’t last for much longer. If it attacked us here, the outcome wouldn’t be sure, and I like to be sure when it comes to such things. We may have one chance.”

“I don’t know if this will be any help, but I’m prepared to tell you some of my secrets.” Constantin took a sip of his wine and looked uneasy. “I’ve never told them to anyone. Not even my brothers. However, I think you might need some context for it, because I suspect my past plays a large part in how I learned the trick.” He paused and gave Michel-Leon a penetrating look. “Why did you tell me about the voices you hear?”

“In part because I have the bad habit of talking to them aloud. I didn’t want you frightened or to question my sanity. We’re going to need to trust each other.” Michel-Leon raised his glass toward Constantin. “Mostly, though, because you came into the mists after me at grave risk to yourself. You’re not a man to be taken lightly, merci.”

“I’d say I ran out there because you were my only hope. But that would be a lie.” Their eyes met, and Constantin’s gaze held him captive. “I went out there for you.” He clinked his glass to Michel-Leon’s and drank deeper.

Discomfited, Michel-Leon tore his gaze away and concentrated on the wine. He told himself it was a step closer. Constantin may keep him at a comfortable distance, but this was a sign he cared. “So you were about to tell me one of your secrets?”

“Oui. You know, I was one of Nightingale’s victims. When my mother and sister passed away with a fever, my father couldn’t face raising three young boys alone, so he gave us to Nightingale. I did what I could to shield my brothers. They didn’t sense what I sensed, but even then, living there in the orphanage was absolute hell for them too.”

Conflicting emotions played across Constantin’s face. Dredging up the memories couldn’t be easy. He had to be one of the bravest people Michel-Leon had ever met.

“The only thing that made it bearable was another young man there. His name was Blaise. We became close friends. Eventually, we became more. I fell in love with him.” Constantin grimaced. “Our bond affected the link with Nightingale. It was enraged. I thought it would kill me. Instead, it left me out on the streets. Said it would be crueler. I have no idea why it still could use Blaise, but not me.”

“I suspect your feelings for Blaise pushed you from childhood to adulthood for the magicman’s purposes. It’s a creature that feeds off the souls, off the emotions of children. Falling in love versus infatuation crosses a line you can’t retreat from,” Michel-Leon broke in quietly. “Blaise must not have had the same depth of emotion, which is why he remained.”

“Oui.” Constantin sighed heavily. “I gathered as much when I tried to convince him to run off with me. He refused to even consider the notion. However, I convinced my brothers.”

Michel-Leon smiled. “So you’ve stolen from the monster before. How it must hate you.”

“That idea pleases me, though at the time I was heartbroken and terrified. Being in its hell was bad enough, but it was a devil I knew. On the streets was a different story, especially when I had my brothers to support. I got them apprenticeships. They were rather angry with me, but their anger cooled when they found themselves in situations to their liking. I would’ve preferred to keep us all together, but it wasn’t possible.”

“Why didn’t you seek an apprenticeship of your own? You are intelligent and clever with your hands.”

Constantin grimaced and finished his wine. “I didn’t want to give anyone authority over me again or be stuck in one place. I wanted the freedom to disappear if I could. So I took the unknown dangers of the streets instead.”

Michel-Leon couldn’t imagine Constantin as a young, beautiful boy on his own. Every lecher and user would’ve considered him prey. “How did you survive?”

“By learning to do this.” Constantin held up his hand and concentrated on it. The surrounding light twisted, warping the eye for a moment, and then his hand disappeared. “I wrap myself in shadows, which also has the effect of Nightingale being unable to sense me with its mind.”

“That is a neat trick.” Michel-Leon reached out and touched Constantin’s hand. He could still feel it and at the brush of his fingers, the illusion shattered. “I suspect it’s because of the fey in you.”

Constantin caught his hand, their fingers clasping, and Michel-Leon’s heart leapt before he pulled back. “There is some link between the fey kissed and the magicmen, but the answer eludes me at the moment.” The comment was enough to get the ancestors to whisper again, but not enough for them to give him anything useful.

Constantin grimaced and shrugged one shoulder. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we were their preferred prey. I came across something interesting while I was out. Someone is taking advantage of the mists to steal from worksites. Considerable tools and materials have gone missing in the last few weeks.”

“Looters probably,” Michel-Leon said with a dismissive wave. “Though they do so at grave risk to themselves.”

“I’m not so sure. Have you ever been outside when the mists arrive?” At Michel-Leon’s shake of his head, Constantin continued. He didn’t think seeing it happen from afar counted. “It comes at you in a rolling wave. It doesn’t move like any mist I’ve ever seen. The streets empty fast so someone might be tempted to try, but they wouldn’t be able to raid anything quickly enough to not get caught. The mists clear up almost as fast as they arrive, unless there’s natural fog mixed in. Then it might linger for a time, though no one risks going out. The people I talked with also mentioned strange creatures in the mists. If a magicman could move about, why not others?”

That was intriguing and something Michel-Leon would have to consider. He appreciated Constantin’s mind. The man had a way of raising questions that made Michel-Leon give deeper consideration into aspects he hadn’t before.

“We’ll talk about this more on our way back to the château. Meanwhile, I’m going to attempt to contact Napoleon again. The court is at Saint-Cloud or is it Fontainebleau now? Perhaps Lennox wasn’t invited, and I’ll get through to the emperor.” Michel-Leon grimaced at the wishful thought. “While we hunt down the reason for the mists, we still have a trap to set for a monster. We should get on with that.”

“Parisee, s’il vous plaît, tell me, what was it like.” Constantin’s eyes caught his. “When you were out in it and snared. I know you’ve been reluctant to talk about it, but the more we know, the better the chance we have at combating it. Isn’t that what you often say?”

Michel-Leon could not ignore the appeal in Constantin’s eyes, nor his wisdom. He drank some more wine as he gathered his thoughts. “It was…alluring. Only that’s not strong enough. It’s like if you took everything that drew you, the scent of a loved one, or the aroma of a hot meal after a long hard day, the glimpse of the sun after a week of rain. It wraps around your soul and fills you with longing until you have to follow and go to the music.”

As if his words cast a spell, both of them remained hushed. Then Constantin reached over and covered Michel-Leon’s hand with his own. “That wasn’t real, Michel-Leon. Here is.”

Michel-Leon stared down at their hands, his throat tight, and then the spell broke at a light knock on the door. Constantin pulled away, though the warmth of his touch remained. “Come in,” Michel-Leon ordered in a gruff voice.

Mahout came in and scanned the room as if searching for anything else that needed tending to. “Papa is almost done with your lab. I have your trunk packed and am getting ready to start on Monsieur Severin’s things, as little as they are. We will leave before the hour is up.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Constantin jumped up, but before he left, he turned to look at Michel-Leon. “This is real. Hold on to this life.”

Michel-Leon pondered Constantin’s words. As much as the call to the music still sang its siren song within him, there was another song in his life which drew him, and it was Constantin himself. Answering the first call would likely have led to his death, but he had no idea where the second would lead him.

The door to his study crashed open, and Michel-Leon jumped, spilling the rest of his wine on his shirt. Régine came through, her eyes alight with excitement as she hauled an older man behind her, a villager from the appearance of his clothes. “Michie! We may have a location.”

“Where?” Michel-Leon demanded, leaping to his feet. As he came around the desk, the man with Régine bowed low.

“My boys, my lord, s’il vous plaît—”

“Bother that,” Michel-Leon snapped, hauling him straight again. “We don’t have time for that nonsense. Where?”

“Here,” Régine said, spreading her map on his desk. Her finger stabbed at a location southeast of Paris, not too far from the Seine. “His boys described a creature that matches ours. Huge, they said, and it blended into the shadows. It appeared to have had many limbs.”

“I… I didn’t believe them,” the man said, his voice agonized. “I punished them for telling tales. They snuck out that night to search for the creature. I… I haven’t seen them since. S’il vous plaît, my lord. Help me find them.”

Michel-Leon closed his eyes, his heart twisting. The boys had been missing for far too many weeks. If they were lucky, they had died quickly. “Are there caves near your home? Caves your boys could’ve searched?”

“What is going on?” Constantin asked, coming to the door. “Do we have a lead?”

Michel-Leon ignored him, focusing his gaze on the stricken villager who nodded, wringing his cap between his hands. “There are, my lord, extensive ones. They aren’t supposed to go in there. They aren’t always stable, but we have caught them there before.”

This time Michel-Leon looked at Constantin. Finally, finally, they had a direction. “We have a lead. Have Hadrien bring the carriage around. We’ll go immediately. He can retrieve our things later.”