Page 13

The morning sunlight streaming 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.

Shaw didn’t take offence at his words, too absorbed it seemed by what was eating at her. “About this French investigator. I should warn you, he’s rather— well, you’ll see soon enough.”

Before Evander could question her cryptic statement, footsteps came from the passage Shaw had just emerged from. An eerie premonition raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he listened to their familiar cadence.

No. It cannot be, surely?!

A tall figure turned the corner and strode into the room with the confidence of one who knew precisely the effect his entrance would create.

Evander would have cursed out loud had his breath not caught in his throat.

Hell and damnation!

The crowded reception grew quiet as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the flamboyant newcomer.

“Who the devil is this peacock?!” Rufus hissed to Shaw out of the corner of his mouth.

“I tried to warn you, sir,” Shaw said laconically.

The stranger had eyes only for Evander.

“Mon dieu! Evander Ravenwood, as I live and breathe.”

The man standing across from them was striking in every sense of the word.

Tall and lithe, with wavy blond hair that caught the light like spun gold and sparkling grey eyes that danced with mischief, his tailored royal blue-and-purple suit was cut in the latest Parisian fashion and accentuated his athletic build, the silver aiguillette on his shoulder that marked him as the French equivalent of a Special Arcane Investigator matching his many accessories.

“Leon,” Evander managed, his voice sounding strangely tight even to his own ears.

He glimpsed Rufus and Shaw’s startled glances.

Leon Beaulieu’s handsome face split into a dazzling smile as he closed the distance between them in three long strides. Before Evander could react, the Frenchman clasped his shoulders and pressed a warm kiss to each of his cheeks in the Continental manner.

There were gasps all around the reception, though none louder than Shaw’s delightfully shocked one and Rufus’s outraged inhale. Sergeant Griffiths looked like he was about to pop a clog behind the main desk.

Evander bit back a groan. This was going to make the Met’s infamous grapevine by lunchtime.

“Mon cher ami, it has been far too long,” Leon declared, his English perfect but for the musical lilt of his French accent.

He held Evander at arm’s length, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over him.

“The years have been most kind to you, I see. Though perhaps you work too hard, non? There are shadows beneath those magnificent eyes of yours.”

Evander felt heat creep up his neck. “It’s good to see you too, Leon,” he said stiffly, acutely aware of Rufus and Shaw watching this exchange with undisguised disgust and fascination respectively.

Leon turned his attention to his companions, his smile full of charm. “Ah. You must be Inspector Grayson,” he said, extending his hand to Rufus. “I have heard much about your excellent work.”

Rufus shook his proffered hand like it might be contagious, his expression a mixture of disapproval and wariness. “A pleasure to meet you…?”

“Please, you can call me Leon. My official title is Comte Beaulieu, but we shall be working closely together, after all.” The Frenchman’s gaze shifted to Shaw, his eyes twinkling. “And who is this enchanting creature?”

To Evander’s astonishment and Rufus’s displeasure, Shaw actually blushed.

“Lyra Shaw, Forensic Mage, Arcane Forensics Division, my Lord,” she simpered with a short curtsey, her usual brisk manner melting in the face of the Frenchman’s charms.

“Enchanté, Mademoiselle Shaw.” Leon took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I look forward to witnessing your expertise firsthand.”

The colour in Shaw’s cheeks deepened until they resembled apples.

Evander clamped down on his growing irritation and cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office,” he said coolly.

“Of course.” Leon released Shaw’s hand. “Lead the way, mon cher duc.”

The familiar endearment had Evander narrowing his eyes fractionally.

His former lover seemed intent on ignoring the fact that their breakup had been less than amicable when they’d parted ways over half a decade ago. Still, Evander felt the weight of Leon’s presence behind him like a physical force as they navigated the corridors of Scotland Yard to his office.

Memories he’d long since buried threatened to surface—of whispered conversations and stolen kisses in the library of the Royal Institute, of moonlit walks along the Seine, and of more intimate moments he dared not recall in present company.

He and the Frenchman had been a perfect fit in the bedroom, a fact that had long chagrined him considering their relationship had been less than perfect out of it.

“Your headquarters is most impressive,” Leon remarked as they entered Evander’s office. “Much grander than our humble facilities in Paris.”

“The Met spares no expense when it comes to magical law enforcement,” Rufus said, his tone suggesting he still found the Frenchman’s effusive manner disagreeable.

Evander gestured for Leon to take a seat. Shaw perched a hip on the edge of his desk, while Rufus positioned himself by the window, arms crossed and expression mildly belligerent.

Leon settled into the chair opposite Evander with the easy grace of a cat. He crossed one leg over the other and regarded Evander with undisguised interest.

“I must say, I was surprised to hear you had joined the Metropolitan Police,” his former lover murmured. “The last time we spoke, you were considering a teaching position at the Royal Institute.”

“Plans change,” Evander said curtly. He leaned his elbows on his desk. “Let’s discuss why you’re here, shall we? The message we received from the French magical authorities mentioned the disappearance of a Professor Henri Chevalier.”

Leon’s expression sobered. “Ah. Straight to business, as always.” He sighed dramatically.

“Very well. Professor Chevalier vanished four days ago. Like your Professor Whitley, he was last seen at his place of work, the Paris Institute for the Arcane. He never returned to his residence. His manservant reported his disappearance to the authorities the next morning.”

Evander digested this with a frown. “How did you figure out this was connected to our own missing elemental specialist?”

“Because Chevalier was a clever man and seemingly made plans in case something happened to him.” Leon reached inside his coat.

“He left a key and a notarised note with his manservant. It allowed us to gain access to a deposit box at his bank, in which we found this.” He placed a small, leather-bound journal on Evander’s desk.

Evander’s pulse quickened at the sight of it. “May I?”

“Bien sur,” Leon murmured.

Evander reached for the journal. Rufus and Shaw gathered around him as he carefully undid the leather straps holding it closed.

He opened it and began leafing through the pages.

“What the—?!” Rufus exclaimed.

Shaw lowered her brows. “It’s written in code.”

“Precisely.” Leon sighed. “That thing is currently as useful to us as a lead brick. We were about to call on a cryptology expert when news of Whitley’s disappearance reached our ears. We discovered correspondence from him at Chevalier’s home. It was clear they were in regular communication.”

Evander stared at Chevalier’s secret writings, his mind racing. He raised his head and finally met Leon’s gaze.

“Did the Paris Institute reveal to you what Chevalier was working on?”

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe the subject matter of his work is the reason for his disappearance?”

Evander glanced guardedly at Rufus. The inspector dipped his chin, clearly of the same mind.

“How much do you know about the recent dark magic incident in London?” Evander asked Leon quietly.