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Viggo narrowed his eyes.

They were too graceful to belong to a thrall.

He lunged forward in a single explosive motion, hand reaching for his pursuer’s throat.His fingers closed on fabric.

The figure twisted with impossible speed.

The sudden chill in the air made Viggo’s skin crawl and his breath mist before his face.His shoulders knotted when he recognised the sensation.

His instincts had been right.His pursuer was a dark mage.

The figure’s outline blurred and wavered, as if the very substance of the man was dissolving into the surrounding shadows.Though Viggo tightened his grip, it was like trying to hold on to smoke.A low, sibilant whisper reached his ears then—not words, but a sound reminiscent of what Fletcher had described: many voices murmuring just below the threshold of comprehension.

“Who sent you?”Viggo demanded, his voice a threatening growl in the gloom.

The figure gave no answer save for a soft, mocking laugh.There was a sudden surge of foul power.Viggo stiffened as the shadows in the cooperage coalesced around them both, the darkness icy cold against his skin.He was reaching for the pouch of anti-magic devices inside his coat when he realised he was alone.

His quarry had vanished.

Viggo stood motionless, senses straining against the silence.Nothing remained of his pursuer but a lingering chill in the air and the acrid scent he now recognised as the telltale marker of shadow manipulation.

“Damn it all to hell!”he cursed under his breath.

Their investigation into the missing thralls had clearly stirred the hornet’s nest and quickly at that.It seemed whoever was behind the disappearances had eyes and ears throughout London.

A troubling thought brought a heavy frown to his face.

The enemy may even have infiltratedNightshade.

Viggo exited the cooperage, his eyes scanning the fog-shrouded street with renewed vigilance.Their plan to use Solomon as bait had just become considerably more dangerous.If their enemies were already watchingNightshade’s movements, they would need to be exceptionally careful.

One thing was certain.They were on the right track.

And someone was very concerned about what they might discover.

Chapter13

The morning sunlightstreaming through the windows of Scotland Yard cast pale beams across the polished floors of the west wing.Evander stood in the busy reception area of the Arcane Division, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against his thigh as he awaited the arrival of the French investigator.

Viggo had not come to the townhouse last night.

He was distracted from his restless thoughts by the sight of Rufus checking his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes.

“The eight o’clock train from Dover should have arrived by now,” the inspector said with a frown.

“Perhaps there was a delay,” Evander murmured, his mind still preoccupied with the events of the previous evening.

Dinner at Ginny’s had been a subdued affair without Viggo’s presence.Though Ophelia and Rufus had provided pleasant company, Evander had found himself unable to shake the feeling that something significant was brewing beneath the surface of their investigation.Ginny had noticed his preoccupation and attempted to draw him out, but even her considerable social skills had failed to fully engage him.

I should apologise to her when we next meet.

“Your Grace.”Shaw’s voice echoed along the corridor leading to the reception, her coat flapping behind her as she hurried towards them.“The French investigator is here.He just finished signing in at the gates.”

Evander nodded.“Thank you, Miss Shaw.”

Shaw hesitated and pursed her lips.

“Why do you look like you’ve bitten into a lemon?”Rufus grunted.