Page 39 of Arcane Entanglement

Viggo’s stomach sank. “The case? I didn’t realise Magnus was being formally investigated.”

“Oh.” Evander’s expression turned contrite. “I apologise for the misunderstanding. We are not investigating Mr. Graveoak. The attack on my carriage is related to a case Rufus and I are working on.”

Relief shot through Viggo at that.

“Magnus Graveoak is the name of our Brute in the holding cell,” Evander explained at Rufus’s inquisitive look.

“Can I ask what your case relates to?” Viggo said curiously.

Rufus frowned. “I’m afraid that’s?—”

“It’s a murder,” Evander said.

The inspector gave the Ice Mage a chagrined look.

Unease prickled Viggo’s scalp. He exchanged a cautious glance with Solomon.

“You mean the man who was found dead in Bethnal Green two days ago?”

Full blown suspicion clouded Rufus’s face. Viggo could tell the inspector trusted him as far as he could throw him.

Evander met Viggo’s stare levelly.

“Do you know something about the murder victim?”

Viggo shook his head. “Only that magic was involved in his death.”

“Everything that happens in the slums eventually reachesNightshade’s ears,” Solomon explained at Evander and Grayson’s guarded expressions.

The two men shared a look.

“Then we may have need to call upon your guild for future assistance on this matter,” Evander said. “Is that something you would be willing to entertain?”

Viggo lowered his brows. “You wantNightshadeto help the Met?”

He couldn’t mask the disbelief in his voice.

“Yes.”

Solomon’s expression turned shrewd. “It will cost you.”

Rufus bristled. “I hope you’re not intending to rip off the Met, sir!”

Solomon’s eyes shrank to slits. “The last time someone called me sir, he had to look for his teeth in a ditch.”

Rufus scowled.

Evander sighed. “How about we go see Mr. Graveoak for now?”

Tension oozed through Viggo as Evander and Rufus led the way to the south wing of the complex. He could sense dozens of cool stares upon him and Solomon the farther they ventured inside the fortress.

It was clear not everyone appreciated seeing thralls in the hallowed halls of the Met. If Evander registered the veiled distaste being projected by his associates, he did not show it.

“Wait, your Grace!” someone shouted behind them.

They stopped and turned.

A petite young woman with dark hair and bright eyes was running to catch up with them, a ream of paper in hand.