Page 39

The stench of the sewers was almost unbearable.

Viggo grimaced as he and Leon splashed through ankle-deep filth in their rubber waders and galoshes, the glow of their enchanted lanterns piercing the sulphurous gloom. They could not risk live fire down here, not with how flammable the noxious gases around them could turn out to be.

The damp air clung to the Brute’s skin, carrying with it the putrid scent of decay and God only knew what else. Behind them trailed a contingent of Met officers and mages, their weapons and warded shields at the ready.

“I take it you’ve navigated these tunnels before?” Leon asked, his nose wrinkled in disgust as he held a handkerchief to his face. The prototype device McAndrew and Mrs. Scarborough had made swung lightly against his chest.

“More times than I care to remember,” Viggo muttered. “Sometimes the only way to move undetected through London is beneath it.”

Leon cast him a sidelong glance. “Somehow I find it difficult to imagine someone of your stature moving ‘undetected’ anywhere.”

Viggo shot him a dark look. “You’d be surprised how invisible thralls can be in this city.”

The Frenchman had the grace to look chastened.

“How much farther, sir?” one of the Met officers called out from behind, his voice echoing uncomfortably in the confined space.

“Another quarter mile,” Viggo replied gruffly, ignoring the ‘sir.’ “The access point should be directly beneath the south wing of the Institute.”

They had entered the labyrinthine network of tunnels through a maintenance entrance near Russell Square and were following the route Richfield and Inkwell had mapped out for them. Richfield’s calculations had matched Viggo’s knowledge of London’s underground passages.

They reached a junction where four tunnels converged.

Viggo indicated the rightmost passage. “This way.”

“You’re certain this is the right direction?” Leon asked uncertainly as the Brute took the lead and headed into the tunnel.

“We’d make better speed if you stopped second-guessing me,” Viggo muttered.

Leon sighed and seemed to immediately regret the act when he inhaled a particularly foul vapour that made him gag.

Viggo swallowed a grin.

The tunnel gradually narrowed as they continued through the warren of passages, forcing them to proceed in single file.

The officer behind Leon muttered a string of colourful curses when a pair of rats slithered past his boot.

They soon reached a brick archway that looked considerably newer than the surrounding stonework.

“Almost there,” Viggo said. “This section was rebuilt after the Great Fire.”

He finally halted beneath an iron grating set into the ceiling of the tunnel. Unlike the rusted fixtures they’d passed, this one gleamed dully in the lantern light, its bars untarnished by time or the corrosive effluvia of the sewers. It had been bolted shut with a padlock.

“This looks new,” Leon observed.

Viggo frowned. “Yes.”

He passed his lantern to Leon and reached up to test the grate. As expected, it was fixed solidly into the stone. Muscles bunched in his arms as he strained. He ripped out the grating with nary a grunt, revealing a dimly lit chamber of some kind. The padlock splashed into the sewers at his feet.

Leon’s mouth flattened to a thin line. “I guess that’s one way of opening it.”

“It was the fastest method,” Viggo said succinctly.

He grabbed the edges of the opening and hoisted himself up with ease, his powerful arms making light work of his weight. Once inside, he crouched and surveyed his surroundings.

The room was small and unadorned, its stone walls bare save for a series of hooks. Stacked crates framed a closed door opposite him.

“All clear,” he called down softly. “Come up one at a time.”

Leon ascended first, the mage moving with the fluid grace Viggo had grudgingly come to admire over the past few days.

The Frenchman’s presence in the city might be a source of tension between them, but his physical capabilities were undeniable.

The Met officers and mages followed, each one helped up by Viggo.

They quickly disposed of their waders and galoshes.

“Where are we?” whispered one of the mages, a thin woman with spectacles who specialised in defensive wards.

“Some kind of storage room.” Viggo moved towards the door. “Stay alert. We don’t know how many people might be down here.”

He pressed his ear to the wooden surface and listened for any sound of movement beyond. None reached him. He tested the handle. It turned smoothly in his grasp.

“Ready?” Viggo asked, glancing back at Leon.

The Frenchman nodded, his hands already glowing with the pale light of his magic.

Viggo eased the door open and winced at the faint creak of its hinges. The corridor beyond was empty, the passage illuminated by enchanted sconces that cast a sickly glow across the stone floor. The air here carried a peculiar scent.

He couldn’t sense magic the way mages could, but he’d been around it enough to recognise its effects. The atmosphere in this place was heavy, oppressive, as if the very air was saturated with malevolent intent.

From the way Leon’s face tightened, he was right on the money.

“Which way?” the Frenchman asked.

Viggo consulted the map Richfield had given them. “Left. If the facility layout matches the professors’ journals, there should be a junction ahead that leads to the holding cells.”

They moved cautiously down the corridor.

It ended in a T-junction, just as the map had indicated. To the right, Viggo could see a series of doors interspersed along the passage, while the left branch continued unbroken into darkness.

Viggo indicated the right path with a jerk of his head. “The cells should be this way.”

Leon frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because that’s where I’d put them,” Viggo replied simply.

Leon studied him for a moment before nodding. “Lead on.”

They proceeded down the right-hand corridor and passed several doors.

A quick inspection revealed them to be storage areas and small laboratories.

Viggo peered through an observation window in one and saw benches covered in arcane instruments and vessels containing mysterious substances. The sight made his stomach turn.

The faint sound of voices reached him after they’d advanced another thirty feet—a low murmur punctuated by an occasional thump and scrape.

Viggo stiffened and raised a hand, halting the group.

Leon moved to his side, his expression tense. “How many?” he whispered.

“At least two, possibly more.”

The mage who had spoken earlier stepped forward. “Sir, I can create a sensory ward to mask our approach,” she said in a low voice.

“Do it,” Leon instructed.

She traced a complex pattern in the air, her fingers leaving faint trails of luminescence that quickly faded. A bubble of magic expanded around their group, distorting the air slightly before becoming invisible.

“We’ll be harder to see or hear now,” the mage explained. “But it won’t last long—perhaps five minutes at most.”

“It’ll do,” Viggo said in a hard voice. “Stay close.”

They moved forward with renewed caution. The sounds grew clearer as they approached a section of the corridor that widened into a small antechamber.

Viggo’s heart lurched. He stopped in his tracks, Leon freezing beside him.

Two men stood with their backs to them, deep in conversation while they moved an unconscious figure towards a doorway.

Viggo stilled at the sight of the slender, pale-faced blonde the men were handling with nonchalant care, heedless of the way they kept bumping her head on the floor. He was pretty certain he was looking at Katie Stoker.

Leon’s eyes darkened.

Viggo could understand his fury. The blue robes the men wore were a symbol of the Institute he had once been a student of. The Brute was pretty certain they were not faculty members but dark mages who had acquired the attire to disguise themselves.

“—still unstable,” one of the men was saying. He was tall, with stooped shoulders. “The transference rate is improving, but the mortality rate remains unacceptable.”

“Musgrave doesn’t care about that,” the other replied dismissively. “He’s more concerned with proof of concept than sustainability at this stage.”

“Easy for him to say. He’s not the one who has to dispose of the failures.”

Viggo’s vision narrowed at their casual discussion of human lives. He almost took a step forward in his rage, but Leon’s hand on his arm restrained him.

“Wait,” the Frenchman mouthed silently.

The two dark mages continued their conversation, oblivious to the intruders behind them.

“When is the next extraction scheduled?” the taller one asked.

“Tonight. Musgrave wants to attempt a second full elemental transfer using the thrall we captured today.”

“You mean Lady Hartley’s new servant?”

Ice flooded Viggo’s veins. Solomon!

“Yes.”

“Is he mad?!” the smaller man hissed. “We’ve yet to see a successful full transfer who survived the experiment.

Sure, we’ve managed partial transfers, but you saw what happened with the last fellow he attempted to do a complete one on.

He burned from the inside out! There was nothing left of him but a husk!

” The dark mage gagged. “God, even thinking about how he smelled afterwards makes me want to vomit. I hope the thrall Musgrave is working on right now doesn’t end up the same. ”

The taller mage frowned. “Pull yourself together, will you? Besides, that’s not our concern. You heard what he said. His master wants results.”

Viggo couldn’t contain himself any longer. He shook off Leon’s restraining hand and strode forward, his massive frame emerging from the ward’s protective bubble.