The Irregulars

Chapter One

Paris, December, 1940

Even though Alec Boudreaux had been conjuring for more than half his life, it still made his hands hurt every time. Working his way home along the darkened Rue Crémieux, he was still trying to shake the tingling from his hands. Of course, he did so cautiously, as there were always eyes watching these days, and someone who was especially focused on their hands was likely to draw the wrong kind of attention.

Not that Alec needed any reminders of that fact. The signs were everywhere, posted in the windows of the shops nestled cheek by jowl along the picturesque street. Propaganda images warning Parisians of Der Böse Zauberen ("Evil magic") or shouting simply Achtung Zauberen! Elsewhere, the signs simply warned Zauber est verboten. This last sign made Alec shake his head. "Magic is forbidden." To the average Parisian, the sign might not warrant more than a casual glance. They would most likely assume that it was another piece of propaganda in the Nazi's ongoing purge against anything that did not fit into their ideology. Most Parisians did not take the banning of magic literally. They assumed it was a broad-stroke outlawing of everything from soothsaying to tarot card reading to holding up amulets in hopes of protection. However, Alec knew better. Magic was very real, as was the war the Nazis were waging against its use.

Since the Germans first stormed into Paris six months ago, they had been quietly rounding up everyone who could conjure even the most basic spells. They placed them on trains to Berlin and other hidden locations, where they were to be dissected and studied. Rumors abounded of Axis-funded experiments conducted in the shadows as Nazi scientists attempted to learn the secrets of magic users by whatever means they could, no matter how abhorrent.

Some were allowed to stay, providing they could prove useful, which is how Alec now found himself returning from a private showing at an exclusive, members-only nightclub for a host of German officers. Sitting there, watching them awestruck at his abilities, hearing their whispers and seeing their secret rituals up close, he saw the truth of the Nazi agenda. The truth that the rest of Paris could not, or would not see. No, the Germans weren't out to demonize magic. They were out to steal it for themselves.

This last notion made Alec think of his brother and the last time he had seen him, in their small flat in the 3rd arrondissement. As the Germans had gone from house to house, battering down doors and taking anyone who could conjure, Ethan had told Alec to run. Alec had resisted at first. He was sixteen, almost a man. But Ethan, five years his senior and the de facto man of the house since their father had died, wouldn't hear of it.

"They cannot be allowed to take what you have, Alec," he said, even as the soldiers pounded on the door of their apartment. "You have to go now!"

"What about you?" Alec protested. "I'm not the only one with gifts. I can't let them take you too!"

"I can take care of myself!" Ethan said. "I'll be fine. Now go!!"

"You promised mom that you would take care of me," Alec said, desperate to stay with his brother.

"I am taking care of you, brother!" said Ethan as the door to their apartment finally splintered apart. "I am keeping you alive. Now run! RUN!"

So Alec ran, cursing Ethan's stubbornness as much as his own cowardice. He ran and hid in the catacombs under the city for several weeks until he felt it was finally safe to resurface. Luckily, he knew the tunnel system under Paris quite well. When he and Ethan were children, their mother had taken them down there and shown them the passageways and corridors she herself had explored as a girl. Sometimes,Alec felt more at home down there than he did in the surface world. His mother had been gone for two years now, but when he was underground, he still heard her voice, excitedly guiding him along the hidden pathways, stone passageways, some of which hadn't been walked upon in more than 500 years.