Page 27

It was early afternoon when they returned to Scotland Yard.

Evander’s mind was still reeling from their discoveries at the Royal Institute as they navigated the corridors of the Arcane Division.

The device they’d found hidden in Whitley’s secret chamber was now safely stowed in a warded container Shaw carried in her tool bag.

The forensic mage had gone ahead to deliver the item to Elias McAndrew, the AFD’s chief artificer.

A message was waiting for him and Rufus when they reached the reception.

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—these Prophètes Illuminés Leon 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 of Nightshade and 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.

“I’ve seen mention of this before,” Leon said after a moment, his voice tight. “It was described in detail in the research archives of Les Prophètes Illuminés. They called it ‘arcane residue.’”

Evander didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “What’s its significance?”

Leon met his gaze, his own deeply perturbed. “It’s the physical remnants of magical energy that has passed through a vessel not designed to contain it.”

A chill ran down Evander’s spine. He glanced at the dead thrall on the table, his heart drumming a heavy beat against his ribs.

“Are you suggesting that someone attempted to channel magic through this man?!”

“That would be consistent with my findings,” Mortimer observed thoughtfully.

He moved to the next table, where he’d laid out Harker’s internal organs.

He gestured for them to look closer at the dead man’s brain.

“Note these lesions on the brain stem. It’s as though magical energy literally burned pathways through his nervous system. ”

“Like lightning through a conductor that cannot support the current,” Leon murmured.

Dread tightened Evander’s chest. In what way any of this was connected to magical transference, he could not yet tell. But he couldn’t help but feel the Frenchman was close to the truth.

Viggo’s expression darkened. “So you’re saying they’re using thralls as magic conduits?” His words fell like stones in the silent room.

“It appears that way,” Evander said grimly. “The question is, conduits for what purpose?”

“Not that it’s any consolation, but this may go some way towards explaining why all those thralls went missing,” Rufus contributed tensely.

Mortimer hesitated. “Though there are no marks on his body to suggest foul play, Mr. Harker may not have been in a fit state to save himself when he entered the water, hence the signs of drowning.”

A fraught hush descended upon the room, the implications of the physical examiner’s conclusion hanging heavy in the air.

The dread dulling Viggo’s eyes echoed Evander’s fears and made his insides twist all over again. Evander clenched his jaw.

How many more thralls would they pull out of the river before they stopped whoever was behind this?

“Dr. Mortimer, would you compile your findings in a full report for Commander Winterbourne?” he requested, keeping his tone level despite his churning stomach. “Include everything, no matter how impossible it might seem.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Mortimer replied with a slight bow. “I’ve already begun. It should be on his desk by this evening.”

They had just left the morgue when they were met with a breathless alchemist.

“Your Grace! Thank heavens you’re here!” She glanced nervously at Evander’s companions. “Mr. Brown requests your urgent presence in our lab.”

Evander exchanged a tense look with the others. They followed the alchemist swiftly to the AFD’s Alchemical Analysts’ lab.

Vincent Brown was bent over his workbench. The alchemist’s expression brimmed with barely contained excitement when he looked up at their approach.

“Ah, your Grace.” He beamed at the sight of Viggo. “Mr. Stonewall, a pleasure to see you again.”

Viggo greeted the alchemist with a faint smile.

Evander briefly introduced Leon.

Brown stared curiously as he greeted the Frenchman.

“I’ve completed my analysis of those glass fragments Miss Shaw recovered from the Institute.” The alchemist indicated what he’d been working on.

The tray on the bench contained the shards of glass Shaw had collected, now meticulously arranged to show their original form—a small, round bottle.

Evander’s pulse accelerated. “What did you find?”

“It was a most fascinating concoction.” Brown picked up a vial containing a pale purple liquid from a rack of tubes.

“I can understand why you and Miss Shaw originally thought it might be Noctis Bloom from the colour, but it was far from it. The residue contained in these fragments is a highly sophisticated transfiguration potion.”

“Transfiguration?” Rufus repeated with a frown.

“You mean like shape-shifting?” Leon said sharply.

Brown nodded. “Precisely. This particular formula is designed to alter the physical appearance of the imbiber—changing hair colour, facial features, even height to a limited degree.”

Evander gave the alchemist a puzzled look. “Why not just use an Illusion Amulet?”

“This potion has a long half-life,” Brown explained. “It offers more protection to someone who wishes to disguise themselves for an extended period of time. An amulet might fall off or get accidentally discarded.”

Evander rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “This vial was discovered the night James Thornfield went missing.”

“Could he have used the potion to escape the people who were after him?” Rufus suggested.

Leon lowered his brows. “That would be a clever way to fool his pursuers. The first-year student I spoke to did mention seeing two women fleeing across the quadrangle that night.”

“Which means he probably had someone helping him,” Evander concluded in a hard voice.

There was a good chance James Thornfield had gone into hiding instead of being kidnapped by whoever had gone after Whitley and Chevalier. They had to find him before their enemy did.

They thanked Brown and departed the lab.

Evander shot a frown at Rufus. “It’s about time we paid a visit to Lady Whitley.”

The inspector nodded.

“I’m afraid I shall have to pass,” Leon said, chagrined. “I have a report to write for my superiors in Paris.”

“And I need to return to the guild and help set up the bait plan for those dark mages,” Viggo admitted reluctantly.

Evander hesitated when they reached the reception. “Will I see you later?” he asked quietly.

Viggo’s soft smile set his heart aflutter. “We’re laying the trap involving Solomon tonight. It will be late, but I’ll make sure to come to you after.”