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Evander swallowed and did his best to keep a straight face.“You’re going to be a mess at the altar.”

“That is not helpful, Evander,” Rufus groaned.“Keep teasing and I’ll choose another groomsman.”

By the time Evander’s carriage delivered him to his Mayfair townhouse, night had fallen and he was looking forward to the prospect of dinner with Viggo and his friends.

Hargrove greeted him at the door with his usual efficiency.

“Good evening, my Lord.”The manservant took Evander’s coat.“I trust your day was productive?”

“More frustrating than productive,” Evander replied with a weary sigh.“I shall have a bath and get ready.”

“Of course, my Lord.I’ll have it prepared immediately.”Hargrove hesitated.“There’s a message for you from Mr.Stonewall.It arrived an hour ago.”

Evander’s spirits lifted at the mention of Viggo.“Where is it?”

“In the study, my Lord.Along with your other correspondence.”

Evander swiftly made his way to his office, where the evening post had been neatly arranged on a silver tray.Viggo’s note was on top, the paper folded and sealed with plain wax.

Evander broke the seal and unfolded the message.His heart sank.

Evander,

Regretfully, I must cancel our dinner engagement with Lady Hartley this evening.Urgent matters atNightshaderequire my immediate attention.I shall explain when we meet next.

Yours with affection,

V

Evander frowned.The note was short, even for Viggo.He’d given no indication of when they might next see each other.

“Is everything alright, my Lord?”Hargrove asked from the doorway.The manservant had followed at a discreet distance.

“It seems Mr.Stonewall has been detained by business matters and won’t be able to attend tonight’s dinner function at Lady Hartley’s,” he murmured.

Though the peculiar timing of Viggo’s cancellation nagged at Evander, he pushed the concern aside as he headed upstairs to freshen up.At least he would have pleasant company this evening.

Chapter11

Gas lamps castfeeble pools of light across the narrow streets of Whitechapel, their glow barely penetrating the thick fog that had rolled in from the river.Viggo pulled his coat tighter around his broad frame as he navigated the labyrinthine alleyways of the East End, Solomon and Finn flanking him like shadows.

The stench of the slums, a noxious blend of sewage, coal smoke, and human misery, hung heavy in the damp air.It was a smell that Viggo had grown accustomed to over the years, though he never quite managed to ignore it entirely.Tonight, it seemed particularly oppressive, as if warning them of danger.

“Thirteen thralls,” Solomon muttered, his breath misting before him.“I can’t believe thirteen people vanished without a trace and not a single copper appears to give a damn.”

“That’s hardly news,” Finn said, his usual levity absent from his voice.“When have they ever concerned themselves with the plights of our kind?”

Viggo shot them a glance.“Evander cares.”

“One mage doesn’t change the system, Viggo,” Solomon countered, though without his usual bite.

Viggo frowned.His thoughts had been circling back to Evander all evening.He would have to make amends for failing to make their dinner plans.For now, the missing thralls demanded his full attention.

They turned into a cramped courtyard off Brick Lane.A collection of dilapidated tenements loomed over them, dark rooflines dotted with chimneys spitting out thin trails of smoke.The building they sought was marginally better maintained than its neighbours—a lodging house known to accommodate thralls who worked for the more respectable establishments in the city.

“This is it,” Solomon confirmed, checking the scrap of paper in his hand.“Third floor, room twelve.”

They’d spent the better part of the afternoon talking to the relatives of some of the missing thralls and interrogating other magicless folks in half a dozen taverns and boarding houses.It was Hawk who’d come up with Daniel Fletcher’s name as they attempted to piece together information about those who’d vanished.