Chapter Nineteen

“HOW’D IT GO in Paris?” Régine asked as she met them in the château’s courtyard. “Ma tante Salome and Mahout returned. They insisted,” she cut in when Michel-Leon protested. “Let them stay, Michie.”

“The murderer of their husband and father is still inside!” Michel-Leon flung his hand toward the château as Constantin climbed down from the carriage. “What if it gets free?”

“If it gets free, there will be enough warning with traps going off for them to get into a hiding place,” Régine replied while she unhitched the horses from the carriage. “It will be searching for sustenance, not revenge, not yet, not until it has fed. Besides, I’m not sure it can break free. It’s weakening more every day. They need this, Michie.”

“I’m going to have that conversation with Nightingale,” Constantin said. “Maybe I will jog something useful from it.”

Michel-Leon turned worried eyes on him. “I cannot stress this enough. Be careful. Remember what happened last time.”

Constantin’s gaze dropped to Michel-Leon’s mouth, and the man flushed. “I’m not likely to forget. We should revisit the situation under different circumstances.”

Michel-Leon reddened further as Constantin turned away, and he overheard Régine’s curious whisper, “What happened that you didn’t tell me?”

He smiled as Michel-Leon made a noncommittal response. Dealing with Régine would occupy his attention and perhaps force him to think a little more on their kiss.

The kitchens smelled of fresh baked bread and not the usual stew. Salome stood at the table, rolling out piecrust with her sleeves pushed up past her elbows and her hands floured. She glanced at Constantin with red-rimmed, tired eyes. “Don’t you start in on me. We’re back and we’re staying.”

“I’m not the one you need to argue with.” Constantin paused, awkward with everything he wasn’t sure he should do or say. But her pain reached out to him, and he moved toward her without thinking. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and laid his scarred cheek on the top of her head. “Welcome home, Salome. We missed you.”

With a choked-off sob, she turned her face into his chest and held on a moment before straightening and pulling away. “Go on. You have things to do. Dinner won’t be served for a few hours yet.” She dabbed at her eyes with the end of her apron and went back to her piecrust.

Constantin paused, struck by the sense of her pain being momentarily eased. He wasn’t sure what he had done, but maybe there was something to Michel-Leon’s claims about the fey kissed. He headed deeper into the château, the evil presence of the magicman filling his mind. Régine was right. It was weaker, but the heart of it remained strong.

He paused outside the doorway to the balcony and laid his fingertips against the barrier. It was foul beyond there, the kind of evil that stained everything it touched. He heard a familiar footstep behind him and turned his head. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Neither did you,” Michel-Leon said. “I would not have the magicman hurt you more.”

“Pourquoi?” Constantin’s lip curled as he shot Michel-Leon an angry, defiant stare. “Because you care so much about a rootless, dangerous man. Let me handle this.”

Nightingale waited for him, facing the doorway with all of its arrogance. The creature had prided itself on its appearance, taking care its clothes were well-kept and in the latest style and that it was groomed to appear respectable. Now it was disheveled and dirty, its exterior reflecting the monster within. More of its fey nature was apparent in the sharp features and red-stained hands and mouth.

“Looking seedy there, old man.” Constantin glared down at Nightingale. It had been a man once from what Michel-Leon had told him, but whatever was human in it had died long ago.

A cutting smile crossed Nightingale’s lips. “I’m still strong enough to take you out, little Constantin. Why don’t you come down and join me? Let’s share in old memories.”

“When I come down there, it’ll be to stab a knife through your withered heart.” Constantin rested his forearms on the railing, conscious of Michel-Leon lurking in the passageway. He was convinced Constantin needed a guardian angel, and it shamed him that he was grateful for his presence. “So what are you feeding on if there are no children around for you to torture?”

“Memories, Constantin.” Nightingale’s smile fell away. “I especially have sweet memories of how well you fed me. I can still hear your screams. And how you fought everything I devised for you, fought to the bitter end. It made you taste that much sweeter.”

Constantin’s vision tunneled onto the hated figure in front of him as the pit in his stomach went ice cold. “Those memories won’t sustain you forever, and I have the pleasure of watching you rot in front of me.” A hand gripped his shoulder, and Constantin felt Michel-Leon’s comforting aura. “I told you to let me handle it.”

“We are stronger together, Constantin.” Michel-Leon squeezed his shoulder and let go of him to stand by his side. “Have you thought about what we discussed, Poitou? Do you wish to tell us what you know about the mists? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I don’t need your deal, chevalier.” Nightingale’s cold, inhuman gaze flicked to Michel-Leon before concentrating on Constantin again. He sensed an old, bitter sensation as Nightingale’s mental fingers stroked his soul. Constantin’s hands tightened on the railing as he shoved back at the magicman’s invasion. “I will take what I need right here.”

Memories slammed into Constantin’s consciousness, fueled in a powerful flood from the monster below. Bits and pieces carved out of him and soiled were being forced back into him helter-skelter in a sick parody. With each one the memory came so sharp and clear that Constantin could taste it, could feel it.

With a howl of rage and fear, Constantin struck back. He banished the boy he’d once been, even as Nightingale sank its claws and teeth into his spirit as the creature tried to feed on him and tear his soul free at the same time.

Two could play this game.

Constantin reached out as he had the day he’d wounded Nightingale. It was easier this time, his path surer as he put together what he did with Gabrielle and reversed it. No healing light for the magicman. After this many centuries, there was nothing left to heal. Only fire and pain for this monster.

The magicman screamed, and the shrill sound filled him with the sweet taste of victory. He hungered for more of Nightingale’s fear and pain. And then it was there, coating his tongue and enveloping him in a tainted embrace.

“How does it feel, Nightingale?” Constantin rasped. “How does it feel to be fed off of?”

*

MICHEL-LEON STARED at Constantin in horror as the ancestors’ voices shrieked at him. His face was drawn into a mask of rage and vengeance. “Shut up!” he snarled, struggling to think with so many talking at once. He pushed the ancestral voices away and locked them behind the wall Janvier had helped him create when he was a child. One that allowed him to keep his sanity at times like this.

Michel-Leon muttered the words to a glamour, and the electricity hummed in a ring around the monster. Lightning arced out, slamming into Nightingale and throwing it to the floor. Michel-Leon didn’t like the hungry, feral look in Constantin’s eyes or the way the magicman shrieked as it diminished before Michel-Leon’s eyes. Its hair thinned to wisps. Its skin became like paper. And as it changed, so did Constantin, appearing more fey than he had before. His features sharpened, the scar on his cheek standing out in puckered relief as color drained from his face.

Lightning arced into Nightingale as Michel-Leon grabbed Constantin and shook him. “Let go of it! Constantin!”

Constantin’s lips peeled back in a parody of a smile, and though he was facing Michel-Leon, he was staring right through him. Michel-Leon narrowed his eyes, gauging Constantin’s awareness of what was around him. Violence would make him fight back harder.

He cupped Constantin’s face in his hands. “Come back to me, Constantin.” He kissed him, and Constantin stiffened in surprise as Nightingale’s shrieks cut off to whimpers. Constantin trembled, and Michel-Leon slid his arms around him as Constantin clung to him.

“The watcher is twisted. Corrupted.” The ancestors broke through the wall to give him a warning he didn’t want. “He had taken a step away from the dark path and then turned right back down it.”

Michel-Leon closed his ears to the whispers. Non. He refused to believe it, refused to believe Constantin couldn’t turn this around again. He’d witnessed what had caused it. He had some answers he sought, enough to give a proper warning.

“Michel-Leon?” Constantin whispered against his lips in a shaken, dazed voice.

“It’s me.” Michel-Leon pulled back enough to search Constantin’s face. The kiss had accomplished what he’d intended for it to do. It had snapped Constantin out of his link with the magicman, but a part of him longed for a proper kiss. One born from each of them seeking it out and not a moment they were pushed into.

He traced his finger over the scar on Constantin’s cheek and forced himself to meet his gaze. To his immense relief, it was Constantin who looked back at him, the fey, feral mien fading. The stain of it remained with a cold taint in his eyes, but Michel-Leon had hope it could be healed.

It would be healed.

“Welcome back.” Michel-Leon grasped Constantin’s shoulders. “It’s dangerous for you to be here. This is the second time Nightingale has linked with you.”

“But I hurt it this time.” The coldness grew stronger with Constantin’s fierce smile.

“At a cost, mon ami.” Michel-Leon didn’t know how he was going to tell Constantin that if he kept going down that road, he’d become what he hated. The seed had already been planted. He wasn’t entirely human anymore, but he wasn’t a magicman yet either. He would find the words and the way, but not here in front of the monster, who would consider it another weapon to use against Constantin. And Michel-Leon feared Constantin would be especially vulnerable to that weapon. “Promise me you won’t try to hurt it like that again. It leaves a shadow of it in you, and you deserve to be free of it. Healing eases that shadow. Heal, don’t feed.”

The fierce smile fell away, and a question appeared in Constantin’s eyes. “Do you care, Michel-Leon?”

“I do,” Michel-Leon admitted and felt a chink in his armor give way.

“Pourquoi?” Constantin pulled away. “I’m a vagabond with nothing to my name, no home, and one goal.” He flung his hand out toward the magicman. “To witness that thing destroyed.”

Now was not the time for vague half-truths or to fob Constantin off with a trite answer. Michel-Leon dug down for a way to express his feelings for Constantin. “Because you took a wounded child and made them a force for good instead of evil.”

“Gabrielle? Anybody would’ve”

Michel-Leon shook his head and pressed his fingers to Constantin’s lips. “I’m talking about you, Constantin. I have a great admiration for you. And you remind me I cannot forget the little costs in the face of the grand picture.”

Constantin flushed, and Michel-Leon squeezed his shoulders again. “Promise me you will not feed off the magicman. Promise me. I’ll believe your word. This is serious, Constantin.”

Their gazes locked for a long moment, and then Constantin nodded. “I promise.”

“Merci.” Michel-Leon let his hands fall away. “I’ll check on Nightingale, but for the moment, I believe it will be safer if you two are several floors apart. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen.”

“Do you think it’s safe for you to be here alone with it after what it tried?” Constantin stiffened as if he longed to look at Nightingale but dared not to as well.

Michel-Leon gestured to the magicman who had collapsed in a wizened heap, unaware of what was going on around it as energy crackled again. “It isn’t in a position to harm anyone. It won’t be long. Days at the most. Don’t come back here. I’ll let you know when the end is near. If you want to be there, then you may. But we cannot risk you being with it again. Understand?”

Constantin hesitated, measuring the steel in Michel-Leon’s words. “I hope you get the information you want from it first.”

“If not, we’ll find a way.” Michel-Leon waited until the door shut, and then he went to the railing and stared down at Nightingale. Despite its collapse, there was a gleam of uncanny alertness to its gaze. “I know you hear me, Poitou.”

A tic appeared in the creature’s cheek. “I am Nightingale.”

“Non. Names have power, and I will deny you the power of the monster you turned yourself into. Though I suspect you’ve always been one. I wouldn’t attempt feeding off Constantin again. He is not a terrified child anymore. His will to survive is stronger than you, and he will fight back to your detriment as you’ve learned.” Michel-Leon just didn’t want him to have to pay the consequences. “Are you ready to talk?”

The magicman pushed itself up to a sitting position and shot Michel-Leon a baleful glare. “This isn’t over, chevalier.”

“Non, it’s not,” Michel-Leon agreed, staring down the creature with dispassion. “But it soon will be. You attempt anything, and the lightning will strike again. It’s your sole warning.”

He left, pondering what to do next. His contact in Hamelin had sent him a ream of notes and an old book regarding magicmen and their link to the fey kissed. He’d read through it carefully again with what he’d learned today. Maybe there was something they could do to reverse the process. Michel-Leon wanted hard facts before he told Constantin what he’d done when he’d fed off the magicman. He wouldn’t take it well, but if they had answers…a direction…that would help.

There had to be a way. After all, Constantin had already accomplished it once when he had healed Gabrielle. Despite Constantin’s belief, he couldn’t do it for himself, Michel-Leon chose not to accept that. There had to be a way. Someone else he could heal from the wounds on their soul.

If there were no answers there, then he’d have to delve deeper into his ancestor’s memories. It would be dangerous, but Constantin was worth it.