"Time is an essential matter now." Luc removed his gaze from the taxidermy animal heads on the wall and leaned back. "The Election is around the corner, and I would like, more than anything else, for you to continue putting your faith in me. As I have in you. The hotel will finish on time despite the incident. I would like you to show up and give a speech on the grand opening day. It's not much to ask, I believe, and it will show your position on the new bill regarding our budding gambling industry very strongly."

"Of course." The stout man who was clad in silver-grey velvet twisted his mustache. "I wouldn't want to miss that for the world, Master Luc. The problem is...As you know, my opponent, Mr. Robinson, has spread many rumors to tarnish my public image. Recently, he even threatened my life! Robinson is known to have connections with the other side of Bayport. It's a sound cause for concern, don't you think? My advisors suggested that I should limit myself to the city hall as election day approaches. It affects my campaign greatly, but what can I do? Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you take care of them for me. The naysayers, journalists, cultural critics...Anyone who stands in my way. Robinson included, preferably."

Luc cocked his eyebrows. The mayor, who failed to catch the sign, rambled on.

"Robinson's campaign shouldn't have started in the first place. I mean, someone needs to remind him of his place in this city. A half-breed running for mayorship! Hah. How preposterous! If he refuses to listen, we can be a little more forceful—"

Luc snorted loudly. He leaned forward with both hands covering his face. His shoulders trembled.

"Master Luc..." The mayor frowned in confusion.

Luc sucked in a long breath. His eyes were watery when he lifted his head. The corner of his lips twitched in a meager attempt to contain his laughter.

"You must have consumed a little too much of this fine wine, My Lord." He tapped the half-full glass on the table. His smile faltered. "I am not your servant. As a matter of fact, it's the other way around. Shall I remind you in which circumstance you landed in this position? Or why Mr. Robinson decided to run against you? What have you done in the past four years? How many times have I bailed you out? Now, you want me to take care of people? The balls you have. Tsk."

Luc leaned back to watch the man shift painfully in his seat. His lips, which resembled two dead slugs under his coarse mustache, pressed into a line. His face was beet red. Luc couldn't help but picture a plucked rooster sitting across from him. What an unfortunate sight that he was forced to witness.

He shook his head. "You shouldn't open your mouth and ask for my help with something so outrageous, My Lord. Mr. Robinson still has his part to play. So do you. Wishing death on your opponent is very... unwise, not to mention dishonorable. Now, 'honor' is a bit rich coming from either of us but all walls have ears. Remember that. You can entertain that daring thought of making people disappear all by yourself, but don't you dare breathe that in my direction." Luc's eyes bore into the man. "Now, of course, I won't stop you from securing a new sponsor, venue, or whatever else you may wish..."

"Master Luc, please!" The mayor lurched forward and grasped Luc's wrist with both hands. "Forgive me for my foolish suggestions! You must understand the situation—"

"Oh, I understand it perfectly." Luc swiped the man's chubby finger away. "This is not me putting a leash on you in this already fraught time. No, no, no. That would be heartless. I'm far from heartless. This is only a friendly reminder about our roles and initial agreements. No relationships can prosper when those things are neglected." Luc picked up his glass from the table and took a sip. "Now, let's talk about something more joyous, shall we? I heard your son is getting married." He smiled and put a tall object wrapped in purple silk on the table. "Chateau Lafite, fifty-two years old. Please accept my humble congratulations."

The mayor looked stunted. Rightfully so, as the bottle of vintage wine easily cost as much as a small house or one of his purebred steeds. For Luc, however, money was just a tool to play the game.

One he had been overeager to participate sometimes.

Many aspects of this mortal circus intrigued him if he was honest. The subtle art of gifting, for example, seemed silly at first, but Luc had soon learned its value and practiced to master it.

The respectable mayor was a high-functioning alcoholic and a pompous fool who thought too much of himself, but he got things done when needed, and that was why Luc couldn't cut him loose just yet.

Many gifts had been exchanged between them over the years, and the one from Luc this time bore the message: "I know you. I value you, but I'm watching you."

He believed it had been delivered effectively based on the look on the mayor's face. Time to leave.

Luc stood up and put on his top hat. "It's always been a pleasure, My Lord. I'll be looking forward to the invitation."

"Invitation...Oh, yes, of course!" The mayor woke up from his daze. "We would be honored to receive you on that day, Master Luc! In the meantime...I will discuss the preparation for my next speech with my advisors. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to send words."

"I sure will," Luc smiled.

***

The trees and buildings moved backward as the coach gained speed. Luc couldn't focus on a single thing on the road thanks to the tingling in his palms and the back of his neck. He scratched these areas absentmindedly.

His business was booming as usual. One good thing about employing only capable individuals was that, sometimes, he didn't need to lift a finger, but that also defeated the purpose.

Luc had built an empire—juggling many things and wearing many hats through the centuries—just so he wasn't bored to death. Time changed, but humans didn't. Himself? Even less so on this aspect. Mingling with the nobles and politicians was just a part of the deal that never excited Luc. These distinguishing members of society often vexed him with their beady eyes, slimy hands, and deception-weaving tongues, but they were useful. Luc had brainstormed about some projects for after the city election was over—something that would require little to no involvement from these humans. Something interesting and different enough, but he had not made up his mind. Then, the incident at the hotel construction site happened. It was like an answered prayer to his constant boredom.

Praying? When was the last time he even thought of that?

No matter what, sitting on his thumbs and waiting for the next blow wasn't Luc's style. Finn and Patrick had come back with some interesting leads. The young worker he had met that day, Otis, seemed to be an important link. Orphaned, he had wandered across the country until he ended up in Bayport about five years ago. Otis had worked all kinds of jobs, but no matter how hard he worked, life didn't seem to get any better. Every penny he made would be washed down a card game in some dingy pub or a bet on a back alley fight. He had lost more than he had won and eventually resorted to taking loans from shady characters all over the city to feed his addiction. Things became tougher after Otis got married and created four more mouths to feed. His wife nagged daily about how piss-poor of a provider he was and cursed the day she had met him.

That must be the source of desperation. Otis had met a man just a day before the construction site incident and again two days ago. No one seemed able to identify or even describe this man properly.

He could be a passing-by nobody, but Luc's intuition begged to differ. His premonitions would be helpful, but they had not come back in months.

Did his kin find a new way to meddle? Or did his mind do the job all by itself?

Luc felt lonely and a bit vulnerable—even more than usual—but there was nothing he could do besides wait.

The noises outside pulled him back to reality. Luc lifted the leather flap that covered his coach window. A sea of colorful vendors and people filled his vision. Everyone moved in different directions and spoke in different tones and dialects. Most looked tired and dirty, draped in layers of worn fabric, but many seemed genuinely happy. Contentment softened their hard features. Children ran around, chasing after each other and carriages, hoping for some loose coins thrown at them.

What did these people know? What did they have that he did not?

Everyday trades and affairs unfolding before Luc's eyes on the long, busy street made him almost wistful. He had never intended to stay in one place for long or had anywhere he could call home. How could he after what he had lost? What he had been so willing to throw away? Right here on Circus Row, however, something had taken root.

His mind recounted the events of last night and early this morning, in and out of order but in sync with everything he had experienced since the day he decided to make a stop in Bayport. Just a stop, that was what he had thought.

The memories formed a stream of warm, sticky, but pins-and-needles substance, wrapping tightly around his heart.

Home. Would he ever find it again?

Luc mused as the coach turned into a small, quiet but well-kept lane lined with sycamores and chestnut trees. It separated the back gates that belonged to villas like his from a large park.

In the heart of this park, an elegant white gazebo overlooked a large manmade lake. Everything was frozen solid now, but when spring came, the ice would melt. She would be stronger then and, hopefully, her desire to explore would grow. Mouse's world must feel very limited at the moment, but it didn't have to be that way.

They could take a stroll there every afternoon, and morning if she wished to. She could feed the ducks and swans. Humans loved the whimsicalness of caring for these small, fragile creatures. It made them feel important. Needed. It gave them a taste of what it felt to be Him.

In the end, how different were they? What set Luc apart from the beings he had sworn to hate?

Not much was the answer. They were all created in His image.

A distinctive, suffocating smell cut through Luc's train of thought. Chaotic noises drowned out Albert's "God Almighty!".

Luc yanked the door open and jumped out before the coach could stop. Albert's call faded behind him, and the wind stole his hat, but Luc ran as fast as his mortal body allowed. He knew the important documents, banknotes, and ledgers would likely be untouched in the safe. Still, he ran.

A thick column of black smoke cloaked his three-story home. It reached the sky like an ominous giant hand. People ran around like ants with buckets and hoses, shouting for one another. The pumping in his chest and veins got louder to the point of deafening. Someone tried to stop him, but Luc snatched the bucket from the person's hands and poured the water all over his body instead.

Must play the part. Even when his world was ablaze.

Many "Master Luc!" echoed around him as he dove into the inferno. This was nostalgic, reminding him of Home and his forced descent upon this planet. Luc made sure no one followed him before calling loudly.

"Mouse! Mouse! Where are you?"

He received no answers. Luc listened as closely as he could through a dissonance of crackling noises and muffled, incoherent voices from outside. Nothing was alive in here besides his stubborn heart and the flame that engulfed every familiar corner. Luc squinted his eyes and ran into every room from the ground floor to the first one, calling, lifting countless pieces of burned furniture until he got to her room.

Little Mouse.

Her empty bed warped in extreme heat, and the bedding was burned to crisp. Luc could still picture the shape of her body there.

She had escaped, and by the look of it, for a while. He got what he wanted. No more distractions, doubts, or leverage they could use against him. His problem solved itself. But as Luc stood in the partially burned door frame, wiping the ash off his face, it hit him. Hard. He had expected, but not this. Not the way his heart was filled with lead and cotton at the same time. The bizarre feelings crept in like a band of thieves, stealing the little clarity he had.

The fire raged on around him. His hair sizzled and fluttered in the broiling air. His skin changed color, bubbled, broke, and healed itself over and over again. The smell was nauseating.

Luc lifted his head and watched the small chandelier swing like a dying fairy. It screeched before crashing to the floor, sending millions of glass fragments in all directions.

What a pity.

He picked the pieces of broken glass from his frock coat one by one when a group of people led by a familiar face charged up the stairs.

"Master, are ye a'right? Are ye hurt?" Albert screamed like a lost child who finally saw his mother. "Let's git ye out o' here!"

They ushered him out, and Luc didn't fight them. He took a deep breath once his feet touched the cold cobblestone and walked toward the park.

"Master!" Albert chased after him and yanked him back by his elbow. "Where are ye goin'? What were ye thinking running into a pure burnin' house lik' that?"

It was very out of line and very Albert. Luc sighed and took in his coachman's appearance. Albert looked just as bad as he did, if not worse. The man was covered in soot and a corner of his coat was burned.

"She could've been inside." Luc turned away and continued walking.

"What?" Albert followed while scrubbing his face with his sleeve.

"She could've been inside," Luc sighed, pressing on each word. "Would you do any differently, Albert?" His eyes bored into the man.

Albert opened and closed his mouth like a stranded fish several times before he could find his words again.

"Let's search for th' lassie, Master," he pleaded. "We can do it. We can gather th' men 'n' comb through th' area. She couldn't have gone far."

Luc would answer that maybe she ran away wasn't such a bad thing and they should just let her go when a sudden sharp pain whipped through his body, making him fold forward.

"Master, are ye a'right?" Albert shouted.

Luc raised one hand to stop him from coming closer. He couldn't lift his head to look at Albert. All he felt was thirst. A terrible, familiar one.

***

Twenty men were mobilized from the stores and factories nearby—anyone Albert could round up at the moment. Tonight was the fifteenth. A big shipment of carbine rifles and revolvers was scheduled to come down from St. Shield by boat. That meant extra security at every level, not to mention loaders and coach drivers. The operation was stretched as thin as spring ice, but they only needed this group for a few hours.

That was also his hope.

He let Albert take over and lead the search party to wherever the man thought Mouse might be. His head rested against the coach's upholstered interior wall. The area was soaked with sweat. Since Albert helped him into this seat, the burning in his chest had not subsided, no matter how many incisions he had made in his palms and on his forearms. Luc squeezed the silver blade he had always carried with him again, savoring the biting sensation and watching his blood drip into a small puddle on the floor.

His eyelids felt like stones. This time was worse than the last. He could barely hold on to reality. It wouldn't be long before he must isolate himself and hunker down for what came next.

The urge.

His dreadful acquaintance.

Usually, despite the pain and sins he would inevitably commit in its wake, Luc somewhat anticipated it. Usually, he would reach out and find her there.

His heart's mirage.

She was the same as the last time they had stood face to face no matter how many centuries had passed, and he needed her. With the desperation of a drowning man.

But now wasn't usually. Now couldn't be a worse time.

He wanted to find Mouse—in his heart of heart, he couldn't lie that he did—but he couldn't afford to find her in this state. Luc felt the warm winds of Pisinia and a pair of familiar soft hands on his face. It made him want to scream. As if he had been shuffled through an endless tunnel of time and space, Luc was disoriented. Anytime he thought he could swim to the surface and gasped for air, he was pushed down again under waves of memories.

He was at the corner of his old tablinum where his back had been glued to the wall all night long. In front of him, she lay in her white stola. A beautiful slain bird. Her long, luscious mane of brown hair splayed on the mosaic tiles. Slowly, darkness bled into it, turning it jet. Her nomad eyes stared at a point beyond Luc. They had lost their spark.

Her lips gaped. No words or songs would ever come out of them again. No warmth. No life. He had robbed all that from her, and in turn, destroyed his.

...

A river of sanguine.

...

Fleshy pieces floated like fallen leaves.

...

She whispered to him in the language he did not miss. Did not want to miss. Her hair wrapped around his fingers. Soft like the dawn but cut deeper than any steel wire.

The strands turned red. Copper. He pushed her barely warm body away. Her head turned. You did this. Her eyes had claws.

Her beautiful eyes that were filled with sadness and judgment in every one of his trances.

When did they turn amber?

His fire. His Northern star. Luc wanted to crawl to her and pluck those jewels out of her face. He wanted to keep them for himself. He wanted to dig an entrance into her frail body, climb inside, and curl up next to her beating heart. Maybe, he wouldn't feel so cold, so alone.

No.

Luc collapsed on the floor. His body hit the hard wood with a loud thud that faded into the rhythm of horse hooves hitting the cobblestones. She had been through enough. He sniffed the carpet and watched the small dust cloud formed by the impact of his body. He refused to be the reason for her pain and suffering in the next few decades. If she could survive that long. If he could find her.

The way she looked at him last night lacked the usual hostility. It could be more. He wanted more.

Limbs would take many hours to regenerate if they were severe. It would be harder to maim or kill someone without the physical tools. Sure, he would have to hide it, but she would be safe.

It might come down to that.

One worry at a time.

***

The men split into two groups. One rode through the park while the other followed the coach to the market. Their trips had been fruitless. Everyone they had questioned either didn't see a red-haired, brown-skinned girl who was obviously not from this land or had lied about it.

Luc doubted that many Bayport citizens would have the balls to deceive him, but some still would. Some were ignorant. They couldn't help themselves. Deceit was in their nature.

Luc struggled to climb back into his seat and find a more comfortable position. His body felt like a bag of rusty nails. He had been in this moving vehicle for what felt like an eternity while the horrible images that his mind conjured up piled on. The coach's rocking motion was perfect for this kind of torture.

Where could she be?

He had asked himself this question a million times during his few lucid moments. The city was a brick-and-mortar maze with many nooks and corners. Many questionable characters lurked in its shadow. In the dead of winter, they also lost daylight fast. A young, vulnerable girl such as Mouse wouldn't stand a chance.

Luc eyes flashed open when the coach stopped. He knocked on the panel that separated him and Albert's box seat three times. A few minutes later, the door was open and Albert poked his head in.

"Ye need somethin', Master?... God! Ye look lik' horse shite."

"Thank you, Albert." Luc cleared his throat. "How's it going? Where are we now?"

"Well..." Albert eyed his employer from head to toe. "We're on Spruce Avenue. We have covered th' neighborhood twice. Now, th' group that searched th' park has also come back. Nothing. There is only th' harbor left that was fairly accessible by foot from the house. That is if she wasn't kidnapped... It's mirk already so I think we should let th' lads leave—"

Luc shook his head. "They stay and continue the search."

"But Master, they need to git back to the warehouse before th' shipment—"

"The shipment will be fine. We have enough people at the warehouse... For now. Excuse me."

Luc rubbed his face and stood up. He leaned out the door just enough to wave the men who were waiting on their horses over.

"Gentlemen," he coughed into his handkerchief while scanning the group. "Whoever wants to leave is free to do so, but anyone who stays will receive an extra ten shillings on top of their daily wage, and whoever finds...this person I'm looking for will receive one hundred and twenty pounds as the reward."

One or two people whistled. A few straightened their backs. Their eyes twinkled like stars in the dark. The amount Luc had offered was months' worth of salary for only a few hours running around.* Many had never seen that much cash in their life. They would have to be quite dense to refuse.

Albert exhaled and rubbed his hands together. "Alright, lads. I will ride wi' ye, but first, I'll tak' Master Luc home so he can rest 'n' wait for our news. It's supper time—"

"Albert," Luc tapped his shoulder. "I don't care about supper. I'm not hungry, thirsty, or tired. Park the coach and we can all ride."

"Master... are ye sure?" Albert cocked his eyebrows and lowered his voice. "What about your...condition? Should we also notify Inspector Allen for help?"

"I can still manage, and no. No coppers. You know how those bastards are. They would just treat this as another runaway slave on top of trying to squeeze a free meal out of me. Normally, I wouldn't mind, but you know what they'd do to those slaves. Where they would take them first after finding them. To 'process'," Luc scoffed. "Allen is lazy, so my guess is his deputy would take care of that tonight. I don't trust that one. He has some special qualities... And she is no slave."

"I agree, but—"

"Enough, Albert." He coughed. "I don't have it in me to argue with you right now, but you just have to believe that we will find her."

"My apology, Master. Ye'r right" Albert took his bowler hat off. "I'm just a bawherr out o' my mind. The lassie could've been anywhere by now. And I know ye'r not well..."

"Yes, so we have to optimize our time and effort. I have you to watch my back, don't I, Albert?" Luc gave his coachman a faint smile.

"Aye, ye have me, Master."

The seriousness on Albert's face made Luc chuckle, but the simple action sent a new flash of searing pain through his body. Luc grabbed the coach's door frame until his fingers dug through the wood. He sighed at the damage and stepped down.

The frosty air grounded him, but the agony still rampaged. Luc focused on the ticking seconds from his pocket watch. The urge was near and far like a phantom.

*NOTE: 

£120 in 1850 equal to £20,120.81 in 2024 according to officialdata.org. Although A Mouse and The Fallen Star isn't based on our real world, this is to give some context to Luc's reward amount.