Chapter Seventeen

CONSTANTIN STARED AT Blaise, his heart catching anew. He’d grown in the intervening years and the fragile quality about him had steeled. This Blaise wouldn’t hide from what they felt. He could see it in his eyes, still as open and guilelessly blue as they had been before.

“Go on, little Constantin. Take what you want. What you’ve always wanted.”

Constantin shook his head, trying to shake off the power of Nightingale’s voice that sank into his brain, setting fire to his thoughts. His heart ached with the renewed pain of rejection. If he’d convinced Blaise to run away with him, then he’d still be alive. They’d still be together, and Constantin wouldn’t forever be alone.

“Constantin.” Blaise smiled sweetly at him and reached out his hand.

Constantin caught it and pulled him close. “You’re still alive? How? Nightingale told me you died after I left.”

Guilt clawed at him. He should’ve tried harder, been more persuasive in his arguments. There had to have been something he could’ve done that would’ve convinced Blaise that being with him was safer than staying with the monster. He buried his face against Blaise’s neck. “I won’t let it hurt you.”

“It lied to twist you up,” Blaise said, giving him a shake. “Everything it does is to cause pain. You know that. Snap out of it.”

The voice was right. The words were wrong. Blaise had never believed in Nightingale’s evilness. Constantin pulled back to view him, and Blaise smiled sweetly again. His lips moved, but no sound passed by.

“Take him. Make him yours again. Punish him for pushing you away.” Constantin heard Nightingale well enough though. That hated voice telling him to take what he wanted. The words pushing and prodding, tugging at every string that tied them together.

This wasn’t right.

Constantin pulled Blaise close again, cupped his cheek, and closed his eyes, seeking the sense of his soul. He knew what Blaise felt like. He’d been the first one Constantin could sense after Nightingale’s feeding opened up the ability within him. Constantin would know the fragile sense of his spirit anywhere.

The oily corruption of Nightingale hung over him like a shroud, but Constantin pushed through it to the man beneath. There was no fragility there, but a strength and purpose of will that blazed through. Constantin’s breath caught as the sense of Michel-Leon hit him. He was beautiful. With a sweet innocence that had remained intact, despite the horrors he faced as a chevalier.

That is what Nightingale wanted. He wanted Constantin to hurt him, to tarnish him, to destroy that innocence so he could find some sustenance from it. Constantin’s throat ached. He’d come so close to falling into that trap, twisted by his own desires for a man he couldn’t have and haunted by the death of a sweet youth from his past.

He pulled back, not looking at him even as he held onto the sense of Michel-Leon. He didn’t want to see what Blaise would never become. “Je suis très désolé.”

“Constantin, it’s me.” For a moment, the voice hovered between Blaise and Michel-Leon as the magicman fought to keep the glamour on him.

“I know.” Constantin stared into Michel-Leon’s eyes as the glamour shattered. He appeared so concerned, his eyes dark with worry, that Constantin moved before he thought. He cupped the back of Michel-Leon’s neck and kissed him.

Michel-Leon went rigid with shock, but he didn’t pull away. His heart beating faster, Constantin drew him closer, slanting his mouth to deepen the kiss. Michel-Leon made an odd little sound and clutched at him. His lips parted and Constantin took the invitation for a taste.

Sweet heat swept through him as Michel-Leon kissed him back, shyly at first, as if he had not been kissed in a long time. Constantin threaded his hands in Michel-Leon’s thick, soft hair, his breath coming faster. He hadn’t been wrong. Michel-Leon wanted him as much. The single question remained: How far would Michel-Leon let him go?

He wanted to take off the clothes that separated them and explore every inch of him in the big, lonely bed Michel-Leon occupied. He broke the kiss and pressed his cheek to Michel-Leon’s, needing to savor the contact a moment longer.

Mocking laughter came from below and reminded Constantin where he was. Who was observing them.

He pulled away. Stricken, humiliated that Nightingale put him in a situation where he’d been forced to reveal his growing feelings for Michel-Leon. He couldn’t look the creature in the eye.

“Now the chevalier knows you for the rutting beast you are, Constantin.”

“Silence,” Michel-Leon said in a venomous voice, and the shame was too much. Constantin left before he could hear any more. Once in the hallway, he began running from the specter of his past and his fear of the future that was now tainted.

*

MICHEL-LEON STARTED to follow but then turned back to the magicman. Constantin needed space to get himself back together. He’d further embarrass them both if he chased him.

He turned to the railing to stare down at the monster below. The creature was pleased with itself, but its use of magic to trick Constantin had cost it. New lines had etched into its face, bags sagged under its eyes, and its hair had gone snow white. The deterioration would speed up from here.

“You torment him to your own detriment, and still he’s stronger than you.” The magicman’s eyes went flat with rage as Michel-Leon’s words hit home. “How it must burn to have a child like him escape your clutches, to survive and thrive without you. You weren’t expecting that, were you? Or his audacity to challenge you now that he’s an adult.”

“I can crush Constantin’s mind anytime I wish to.” Nightingale’s finger stabbed the air, and then it straightened with a sly smile. “It amuses me to make him suffer. He deserves to suffer after what he has stolen from me.”

“An interesting conceit, considering you stole from him first.” Michel-Leon braced himself on the railing and opened his mind further to the ancestors and their unceasing whispers. Those who had fought such monsters in the past vied for his attention.

“Do you apologize to the lamb when it graces your table?” Nightingale sneered. “The children are prey. Those who should shelter them cast them out, and I take them in. They are unwanted, unloved. If you valued them so much, you’d ensure their care. So spare me the lecture.”

Michel-Leon couldn’t deny the partial truths the magicman threw at him. If it hadn’t been for Constantin, no one would’ve ever noticed the children’s sufferings. There were too many in need of shelter, food, and love. They had to do better.

“Can the magicman crush Constantin’s mind?” Michel-Leon sent the silent question to the ancestors.

“The answer is uncertain. There are too many variables. The watcher is stronger than he appears, but there are still ties between them.”

Michel-Leon didn’t believe the magicman could fulfill its boast, not unless they gave it an opportunity. He didn’t intend to do that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep the two apart.

“Hungry?” Michel-Leon asked with a solicitous smile. “I suppose you could do with a meal.”

“We both know you’re not going to allow me to feed.” The hunger that crossed Nightingale’s face chilled Michel-Leon’s blood. Whatever humanity it once had burned away long ago. “Mark my words: I saw the birth of the chevaliers, and I’ll witness their whimpering end with you.”

The magicman’s words sent the ancestors whispering with recognition, but Michel-Leon concentrated on the monster before him. If they came up with anything useful, the voices would tell him, but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. He’d dig down the mystery of Nightingale’s words later.

“I’m open for negotiation.” Michel-Leon gestured toward the circle that bound the magicman. “If the information you give me is sufficiently valuable, then I’m willing to free you. Provided you leave the city and hunt elsewhere. Of course, that deal is void if I catch wind of your name again.”

“You lie.” The magicman stabbed a finger in Michel-Leon’s direction. “You won’t be satisfied until I’m dead.”

“Non, Constantin won’t be satisfied until you’re dead. Constantin is not here. I am. I have deeper concerns.” Michel-Leon cocked his head as a name came to him. “Etienne Corrilaut, the man known as Poitou, who aided another monster in the murder of children. That’s who you once were.”

A spasm crossed the magicman’s face. “That name no longer has any meaning for me. I am Nightingale.”

“Weren’t you burned at the stake along with your master?” There had to be a way to use this information to his advantage. All the pieces clicked together as the ancestors whispered again. “Oh non, you used a glamour to escape.”

“No one who served Gilles de Rais was innocent.” The magicman smiled up at him. “Do you want to know what he did with the children when he had them?”

“All that pain.” Michel-Leon closed his eyes, sick to his stomach as the whispering continued detailing crime after crime. Hundreds of children slaughtered when Etienne was starting out and how many hundreds more since then? He was grateful Constantin left.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe then that you’ll free me or let me feed.” The magicman swept a mocking bow. “I’ll have to rely on my ingenuity to escape and wallow in your blood for revenge when I do.”

Michel-Leon leveled a hard stare at the magicman. “Thousands will die with the mists. Hundreds have already gone missing. And that is before the swarm hatches. I’m willing to make a deal with a devil to stop that, even for a devil that tried to cause me personal harm. You answer all my questions about the mists, and I’ll set you free. That’s the deal. Consider it.”

He left in search of Constantin without triggering another glamour, though he longed to. It would give Nightingale time to consider his offer. He couldn’t give vent to his need to punish, no matter how much the monster deserved it. Time was running out. And the sole gamble he had to go on was that Nightingale’s sands were moving faster to its own destruction. The need to survive would win out in the end. It had to.

Now he needed to figure out what to say to Constantin. Michel-Leon checked their workshop first. Constantin was enough like him that he often tried to lose himself in a puzzle, but the workshop was empty. He’d eaten, so perhaps he was trying to catch up on the sleep that eluded them both.

He sat down at his desk, reluctant to barge in on Constantin while he was in the bedroom. The intimate space would’ve made him nervous without the added element of a bed being there. Michel-Leon felt his cheeks heat painfully.

This was ridiculous. He’d taken a vow of abstinence for a valid reason. Even if that reason was moot, according to Janvier, he didn’t need the distraction of a relationship. Chevaliers did not make good husbands or fathers or partners of any kind. Duty consumed them. Too taken up by the voices in their heads that drowned out conversations with living people.

He’d explain to Constantin that he was flattered. Well, more than flattered. He had not engaged in a dalliance in ages. There was nothing about Michel-Leon that had inspired passion or interest in men before. Not unless they wanted to use him. Constantin probably hadn’t wanted to kiss him at all. The magicman had pushed him into thinking he was somebody Constantin had lost.

That thought was depressing. Even if Constantin had grasped who he was kissing, Michel-Leon wasn’t the person Constantin wanted. He had to be as embarrassed as Michel-Leon was. There was no sense in tormenting them both further with a difficult conversation. He wouldn’t say anything.

Even if he wanted to kiss Constantin again. Even if he might want something more, they couldn’t, and that was that.