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Dr.Mortimer had sent word that he wished to see them as soon as they returned.

Evander led their small procession of four through the familiar maze of hallways, Viggo’s shoulder occasionally brushing against his where he walked beside him.

“Should he really be tagging along?”Leon said where he trailed behind with Rufus.

The Frenchman had been unusually quiet since they’d departed the Institute.Evander suspected their findings had rattled him, especially since it appeared the French Ministry of Arcane Affairs may have committed inhuman crimes towards thralls in the name of scientific research.

“Winterbourne gave his permission,” Evander shot over his shoulder.

He glanced at Viggo.The Brute’s face was set in forbidding lines, his expression increasingly troubled since they’d left the Institute.

“Are you alright?”Evander asked quietly.

Viggo’s dark eyes met his.“I can’t stop thinking about those diagrams of thrall brains,” he admitted in a low voice.“If this group—theseProphètes IlluminésLeon mentioned—were involved in such unethical experiments…” He lapsed into silence, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

“We don’t know that for certain,” Evander countered softly.

A ghost of a smile crossed Viggo’s face.“Ever the optimist.”

“Someone has to be,” Evander replied with a sad smile.

The Arcane Forensics Division maintained their morgue and necropsy rooms on the third floor of the west wing.A distinctive chill permeated the corridor they entered, ice magic being in use to preserve the bodies being kept there.

The main examination room was located at the end of the long hallway.Dr.Ambrose Mortimer greeted them with his usual macabre cheerfulness when they entered.

“Ah, your Grace!Inspector Grayson.”The tall, gaunt physical examiner offered them a ghastly smile from where he was cleaning his equipment at a metal sink.“And company, I see.”He studied Viggo and Leon with undisguised curiosity.

“This is Viggo Stonewall ofNightshadeand Leon Beaulieu, Special Arcane Investigator from Paris,” Evander introduced briskly.“They’re consulting on our case.”

Viggo gave a stiff nod while Leon inclined his head politely.

“The famous Ironfist Brute and a French Arcane Investigator in my humble domain?”Mortimer’s eyes glittered as he washed and dried his hands.“What an honour.”

“Have you completed the necropsy on James Harker?”Evander prompted, directing his attention to the sheeted form on the table.

“Indeed, your Grace.”Mortimer’s expression sobered as he joined them.“I must say, the findings are most unusual.”

He pulled back the sheet with practiced efficiency, revealing the body of a young man.James Harker appeared to be in his early twenties, with unkempt brown hair and the lean frame common among London’s working class.His skin had taken on the waxy pallor of death.

“At first glance, death by drowning seemed the obvious conclusion,” Mortimer began, gesturing to the body.“The usual signs were present—lungs filled with water, foam in the airways, and so forth.However, upon closer examination, I discovered something quite extraordinary.”

The pathologist lifted one of Harker’s eyelids, revealing an iris shot through with faint silvery lines that seemed to glow weakly in the lamplight.

“What in God’s name?”Rufus murmured.He leaned closer, a handkerchief pressed to his mouth and nose.

“Precisely my reaction, Inspector.”Mortimer moved to a nearby bench and retrieved a small glass vial containing a viscous silvery liquid.“I found traces of this substance throughout his body.It was particularly concentrated in his brain and nervous system.”

Viggo stiffened.“What is that?!”

“I’m still trying to determine its nature and I will need to have Mr.Brown confirm it, but I suspect what we’re looking at is the breakdown product of magic.”Mortimer met Evander’s gaze steadily.“Though it looks different from the black substance we found in Alastair Millbrook’s body, the way it formed may follow the same scientific principles.”

Shock reverberated through Evander.Rufus gasped.

Leon stepped forward, his expression strained.“May I?”He gestured to the vial.

Mortimer handed it to him.

The Frenchman held it up to the light, his grey eyes narrowed in concentration.