Page 87 of Arcane Entanglement

He’d spent the morning compiling his report for Commander Winterbourne, each word carefully chosen to convey the gravity of the situation without revealing too much about how he’d used his Archmage powers to accomplish a feat that would likely go down into the annals of the capital’s history as the strangest way a fire was ever put out.

As for the mages who’d been captured at the church, they were still unconscious. Mrs. Scarborough was in the process of examining the cursed gems on their necks to determined what kind of magic the dark mages had used to control their minds.

Evander had met briefly with the curse-breaker to apologise for what had happened the last time they’d met. Mrs. Scarborough had brushed aside his apologies with an embarrassed expression.

“It is I who should be asking for your forgiveness, your Grace,” the curse-breaker had said with a grimace. “Had you not used your Archmage powers when you did, I would have been in serious trouble and Mr. Graveoak would have died for certain.”

The afternoon sun struggled to pierce the perpetual haze hanging over London as they turned into the street where the Charm Weaver’s atelier was located. Evander got a taste of the unwelcome fame his future might hold when they approached the unassuming facade of the establishment.

Two familiar figures stood guard outside.

“Constable Fitch, Constable Bartley,” Evander greeted lightly with a dip of his head. “I see you’ve drawn this assignment again.”

Fitch snapped to attention.

“Yes, your Grace!” he barked, his gaze gleaming with reverence.

Bartley practically vibrated with excitement beside him.

“Is it true, your Grace?” the constable burst out, unable to contain himself. “About what happened at the church yesterday? They’re saying you summoned a tidal wave out of thin air!”

Evander stared. “I’m afraid the reports have been somewhat exaggerated.”

Rufus cut his eyes to Shaw. The forensic mage avoided his gaze and began inspecting her boots with questionable eagerness.

Fitch elbowed his partner.

“Don’t be daft, Ollie,” he hissed. “It wasn’t a tidal wave. I heard his Grace called down lightning from a clear sky!”

Evander swallowed a groan. The rumours were getting worse by the minute.

Rufus scowled at Shaw.

The mage shrugged innocently. “You’d think they’d never seen magic before.”

“I’m pretty certain you were the first to hound his Grace this morning about it when he arrived at Scotland Yard,” Rufus said scathingly.

Shaw sucked air between her teeth. “Hound is a strong word, sir. I prefer expressing healthy curiosity.”

Evander sighed at their habitual bickering and proceeded inside the building without waiting for them. The familiar scent of metal, oil, and chemicals lingered in the air when he entered Millbrook’s workshop.

Rufus and Shaw soon joined him.

“Let’s go through everything again.” Evander swept the room with a sharp gaze. “We must have missed something yesterday.”

They spent the next hour meticulously combing through the workshop. Evander examined Millbrook’s magical artefacts and equipment while Rufus pored over the Charm Weaver’s ledgers and papers. Shaw scrutinised every nook and cranny with the specialised forensic tools she carried in her bag.

Evander was studying the half-finished pocket watch he’d spotted the previous day when Shaw mumbled to herself.

“I wonder why everything happened here.”

Rufus looked up from a stack of invoices. “What’s that?”

Evander turned from Millbrook’s workbench.

Shaw squatted at the other end of the room. She was staring at the blood stain Evander had exposed the previous day.

“Millbrook was struck here.” Her brooding gaze moved to the furnace and the area next to the table where Evander’s Shadow Imprint had revealed the spot the Charm Weaver met his dire end. “He likely stumbled or was dragged over there.”