Page 5

Alarm rippled through him at the sight of Lyra Shaw being manhandled by a man who was doing little to mask his hostility towards the forensic mage.

“I have every right to be here, you louts!” Shaw protested, her voice carrying across the courtyard. “This is an official investigation!”

“And I’ve told you that the Institute does not recognise the Met’s authority in this matter.” The thin man with the expression of barely concealed contempt who had her by the collar sneered. “Professor Whitley’s absence is a private matter.”

One of the figures flanking him tossed Shaw’s bag onto the steps. An outraged sound left the forensic mage at the clatter of the precious forensic tools inside.

Evander narrowed his eyes. He recognised the faculty member with his hand on Shaw.

Gordon Dearmont had once been his classmate.

A nobleman who believed that bloodline was stronger than merit, he and Evander had often clashed during the social debates held regularly among the student body.

Judging by the silver embroidery on his midnight-blue robes, he was now a professor at the Institute.

Evander quickened his pace, Rufus close behind. He climbed the steps and picked up Shaw’s bag.

“Lord Dearmont,” he called out sharply, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I see your hospitality remains as warm as ever.”

Dearmont turned. His eyes widened momentarily before his features settled into a mask of cool politeness. He let go of Shaw.

“Duke Ravenwood. What an unexpected pleasure. And it’s Professor Dearmont.”

Evander did not miss the impudence underscoring his tone.

Shaw’s face brightened with relief as she joined Evander and Rufus.

“Your Grace! Inspector! Bloody hell, am I glad to see you. These pompous gits”—she gestured emphatically at Dearmont and the two robed figures flanking him—“were just explaining how a missing professor is apparently none of our damn business, despite the fact his poor wife is half out of her mind with worry.”

“Is that so?” Though Evander kept his voice steady, he did not hide the steel beneath it.

“‘Git’ is a bit of strong word, Shaw,” Rufus reprimanded without real vigour.

“I call it as I see it, inspector,” Shaw grumbled as Evander passed her bag over.

She inspected the contents and visibly sagged.

“Nothing is broken.” The mage shot a dirty look at the portly professor with the florid complexion who’d unceremoniously flung her things out of the building.

“No thanks to that fat-fingered bastard,” she muttered, to Rufus’s growing consternation and the hidden smirks of several students.

Dearmont’s gaze shifted from Evander and lingered on the inspector with undisguised scorn.

“I’m afraid we’ve already had the pleasure of Inspector Grayson’s company.

I hear his enthusiasm during his last investigation left much to be desired.

I sincerely hope this is not going to be repeat of that ghastly incident, Ravenwood. ”

Evander noted the casual drop of the honorific his station merited with an inscrutable stare.

Rufus straightened to his full height, his jaw clenching and a muscle twitching near his temple as he struggled to contain his ire. “I was merely doing my job. As we all are right now.”

“Your job,” scoffed the portly professor next to Dearmont, “seems to be harassing respectable magical institutions based on the flimsiest of pretexts.”

“A missing person is hardly a flimsy pretext,” Evander countered coldly, keeping a tight rein on the irritation causing magic to flare inside his chest. “You may believe yourselves above the common concerns of society, but that is far removed from the truth. Particularly when the person in question is a distinguished member of your faculty.”

“Professor Whitley has taken leaves of absence before,” Dearmont said dismissively. “His wife is hysterical. There’s no need for the Metropolitan Police to involve themselves.”

“And yet, here we are,” Evander replied in a deadly tone. He stepped forward until he practically stood toe to toe with Dearmont.

A tense silence fell over the group. Evander could feel the weight of dozens of stares from the students and faculty members who’d paused to watch the confrontation. The air thickened with unspoken challenge.

Dearmont curled his lip, evidently unimpressed by Evander’s stance.

“With all due respect, your Grace, your current occupation does not grant you special privileges here. The Institute governs itself.”

“With all due respect, Professor ,” Rufus interjected, his patience visibly wearing thin, “a man is missing and the evidence suggests foul play. We have jurisdiction.”

“Evidence?” The portly professor snorted. “What evidence could your little forensic mage possibly have gathered in the short time she was allowed inside before we discovered her snooping?”

Shaw bristled. “I wasn’t bloody snooping! I was conducting a lawful investigation, as is my damned right as an officer of the law, you insufferable ponce!”

Titters rose from a group of students. They cleared their throats and schooled their features into polite masks when they became the target of their professors’ glare.

“That’s quite enough, Miss Shaw,” Evander cut in, giving her a warning look.

Dearmont narrowed his eyes. “I think it’s time for you to leave. The Institute has its own methods for locating Professor Whitley, should that prove necessary.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Evander said stonily.

“Commander Winterbourne has assigned me to lead this investigation with the full backing of the Arcane Division. I would like to remind all of you that the Institute is not a sovereign territory, nor does it stand on foreign soil.” He scanned the hostile faces behind Dearmont before focusing on the professor.

“As such, you have to abide by the laws of this country.” Evander arched an eyebrow. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”

He was doing his best to hide his astonishment at the way Dearmont and some of the faculty were behaving towards them. This wasn’t mere academic arrogance. Dearmont and his colleagues were acting like they were protecting a secret, which only roused his suspicions.

The hairs rose on Evander’s neck with his next heartbeat, his pulse quickening at the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Shaw tensed when she sensed the magical pressure around them intensifying.

Dearmont glared at them.

“What are you doing?” Evander asked stiffly.

“It seems we need to be more persuasive.” Dearmont’s fingers twitched.

Evander’s spine stiffened, a cold jolt of alarm racing through him as he sensed the elemental magic gathering around the man. This wasn’t mere posturing anymore; it was an outright threat.

A gasp came behind him. Evander whirled around.

A thin tendril of wind magic had coiled around Rufus’s throat, lifting him an inch off the ground. The inspector’s eyes widened in shock, his hands flying to his neck.

“Bloody hell!” Shaw gasped.

White-hot fury surged through Evander, bringing forth his magic. The power crackling to life between his fingers caused the air to whoosh outward from his body.

The sight caused several faculty members to retreat hastily, pulling the closest students along with them.

The fear painted across their faces brought Evander to his senses. He took a deep breath and clamped down on the riotous magic roaring through his blood. When he spoke, it was with the deadly quiet before a storm.

“Gordon.” His voice was dangerously soft as he addressed his old classmate by his first name. “Release him. Now.”

“Or what?” Dearmont challenged, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Will you arrest me, Special Investigator ?”

Evander didn’t respond to the taunt. Instead, he surrendered to the anger churning inside him at the sheer audacity of Institute members who believed they could attack a Metropolitan Police officer without suffering any repercussions.

The power that flooded his veins was cold and fierce and as familiar to him as breathing.

The temperature around them dropped several degrees in an instant as he released his ice magic. Frost crystallised on the stone steps, spreading in delicate patterns across the ground and up the pillars of the portico.

The wind magic holding Rufus started to dissipate as Dearmont’s breath misted before him, glittering particles racing across the professor’s body and freezing his hair and skin.

His associates fell back with abject cries.

“I said, release him !” Evander growled.

Loathing filled Dearmont’s eyes. He retracted his wind magic.

Rufus crashed to the ground. His knees buckled under him as he gasped desperately for air, one hand clutching his throat while the other braced against the flagstones.

Shaw helped him up as he dragged himself upright, the stone truncheon that had materialised in her hand steady in her grip as she wielded it like a club, ready to defend her superior if needed.

Defiance burned in Rufus’s eyes as he glowered at Dearmont.

The professor ignored him and stared daggers at Evander.

“You dare use your powers against fellow mages?!” he spat.

“You cannot begin to fathom what I dare do, Gordon,” Evander said silkily, the power still thrumming inside him making his skin itch as it begged for release.

He looked around and met the anxious stares of the faculty as he raised his voice.

“Make no mistake. I will do what is necessary to conduct this investigation.” His gaze clashed with Dearmont’s once more.

“Now, will you let us in or shall I carve my own path to Professor Whitley’s chambers? ”

Rufus and Shaw drew closer to him.

Evander was aware it wouldn’t take much more provocation for him to give Dearmont and his colleagues a taste of the violence they’d just visited upon the inspector and the forensic mage.

The standoff might have escalated further had a commanding voice not cut through the tension.

“That is quite enough, Professor Dearmont.”