Page 6

All heads turned as an elderly man in elaborate robes of midnight blue and silver emerged from the foyer. Though his back was slightly bowed and his skin wrinkled, he moved with the grace and authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

Evander experienced a complex surge of emotions at the sight of Cornelius Rigley. Respect mingled with wariness. Nostalgia tempered by regret.

The man had been his mentor during his student days, pushing Evander to strive for excellence while simultaneously attempting to mould him into the Institute’s ideal of what a mage should be.

Evander was aware Rigley had long held suspicions about his true abilities, his identity as an Archmage a secret he could not readily reveal during his years at the Institute.

Even now, over half a decade later and with his own considerable power and status, Evander couldn’t quite suppress the instinctive straightening of his spine in the old man’s presence.

“Headmaster Rigley.” Dearmont groomed his features into an impassive mask and inclined his head respectfully. “I was just explaining to Duke Ravenwood that?—”

“I heard quite clearly what you were explaining,” Rigley interrupted a tad sharply.

He dismissed Dearmont with a glance and addressed Evander.

“Duke Ravenwood. It has been too long since you graced these halls with your presence. Though I confess, I had hoped your next visit would be under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Pleasant circumstances, my sweet fanny,” Shaw muttered behind Evander.

Rufus hushed her.

“Headmaster Rigley.” Evander dipped his head stiffly. “I thank you in advance for your cooperation and that of your staff in our investigation.”

The glint in Rigley’s eyes told Evander he’d grasped and heeded his subtle warning.

“I apologise for my faculty’s conduct, your Grace. The Royal Institute has always valued its relationship with the Crown and its representatives.” Rigley paused. “Even when those representatives choose unconventional paths.” His gaze flicked meaningfully to Evander’s uniform.

Evander swallowed a sigh. He could tell Rigley still resented him for not accepting the position he’d offered him all those years ago. It had been the old man’s intention to eventually cede the position of headmaster of the Institute to him.

He introduced Rufus and Shaw to Rigley.

The headmaster acknowledged them with polite courtesy.

“Now then, I believe you wish to examine Walter’s chambers?

Professor Harrington will show you the way.

” Rigley turned to a young woman with brown hair and blue eyes standing a little way behind him.

“Cecillia, if you would please do me the favour of escorting our distinguished visitors to Professor Whitley’s quarters? ”

She bowed her head at Rigley, her face inscrutable. “Of course, Headmaster.”

“I know the way, sir,” Shaw protested.

Rigley flashed the forensic mage a small smile. “Still, it would be best if you had an escort.”

Evander masked a frown at this, unsure if it was a hint or a threat.

A strange expression darted in Cecillia’s eyes as she met his gaze fleetingly.

Rigley looked calmly at Evander. “I trust what you find will put Lady Whitley’s mind at ease.” He turned and addressed his faculty and the gawping students with a gentle clap of his hands. “Come now, let us all get on with our day.”

Dearmont watched Evander leave while the crowd dispersed, jaw clenched and fingers curled into fists at his sides.

As they followed Cecillia inside the Institute, Evander couldn’t help but note how Rigley’s cooperative demeanour seemed at odds with the mild tension evident in his bearing.

The old mage was being helpful, but there was a guardedness in his eyes that suggested he was measuring every word and every gesture as he’d interacted with Evander.

Shaw’s voice distracted him.

“What was that tosser’s problem anyway?” the forensic mage hissed.

Rufus cut his eyes to her. “How about you mind your language, Shaw?”

“This is me minding my language, sir,” Shaw grumbled. “I could have referred to Professor Dearmont as a pox-ridden prick if I so wished.”

Cecillia choked on a snort.

Evander sighed as Rufus and Shaw bickered in low voices.

They traversed grand hallways lined with portraits of distinguished mages from centuries past, the painted eyes seeming to follow their progress. Students pressed themselves against walls to let them pass as they headed deeper into the building, many whispering excitedly behind their hands.

Evander noted this with a wry twist of his lips.

The news of his presence and his confrontation with faculty would be all over the Institute by lunchtime, the establishment’s gossip network having always moved with supernatural efficiency.

By nightfall, the story would no doubt feature him breathing fire and Dearmont cowering in terror.

He became aware of Cecillia’s side glance as they negotiated a sweeping staircase to the first floor.

“I do not believe we’ve met before, Professor Harrington,” Evander said curiously.

“I joined the Institute the year after you left, your Grace.”

Surprise danced through him. “You must have impressed Headmaster Rigley to have made professor so quickly.”

An odd smile curved Cecillia’s mouth. “I did. Though many would claim I achieved the position through other means.”

Evander gave her a puzzled look.

“Do not mind me, your Grace,” Cecillia murmured.

Something caught her eye then. She stiffened and stopped in her tracks.

Evander followed her gaze out the window of the hallway they were navigating and across a courtyard featuring a garden with a fountain and benches where students and faculty could sit and enjoy the outer air.

A trio of figures in the dark blue robes were running along a passage on the third floor of the east wing of the Institute, their features indistinguishable behind the mullioned glass.

Cecillia began walking again, her robe swishing around her ankles as she quickened her pace. “We should hurry.”

Evander exchanged a faint frown with Rufus and Shaw as they kept up with her. “May I ask why?”

Cecillia’s expression hardened as she shot a glance to where she’d been staring a moment past. “Because it’s clear that farce you just witnessed at the entrance was a ruse to distract your attention.”

It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. Evander’s shoulders knotted.

“Shaw, how long has it been since you were removed from Professor Whitley’s chambers?” he asked urgently as he matched Cecillia’s strides.

“It’s been fifteen minutes, sir,” Shaw replied, confused.

Rufus’s eyes widened when he finally deciphered the meaning behind Cecillia’s words. “They wouldn’t dare interfere with a crime scene!”

Shaw sucked in air, outrage darkening her face.

They reached the third floor, hurried along a series of halls, and turned a corner.

A heavy door bearing a brass nameplate labelled “Professor Walter Whitley, Chair of Elemental Magic Studies” stood at the end of a short corridor.

It was ajar. Cecillia slowed alongside Evander, her face pale.

“Shaw?” Rufus asked the forensic mage tersely.

Shaw lowered her brows. “I locked up the premises, sir. Dearmont and his lackeys took the key off me before escorting me to the exit.”

Evander’s pulse raced as he took the lead and approached the door. He released a small burst of elemental magic when he got within five feet of it.

Nothing triggered his alarm.

Evander unfolded the enchanted cane strapped to the inside of his forearm and carefully pushed the door with the tip. It creaked fully open, revealing a spacious room lit up by the sunbeams streaming through the mullioned windows.

Shaw scowled. “It was not like this when I locked up, your Grace.”

A muscle twitched in Evander’s cheek. He could tell from Cecillia’s expression that she too was shocked by what she was witnessing.

Whitley’s office was in a state of disarray that could not be explained by the simple clutter of a busy and distracted academic.

Gaps dotted the bookshelves lining the walls, the leather-bound tomes and scrolls that had seemingly occupied the spaces lying pell-mell across the floor.

Cupboards were half-open, contents spilling out in a muddle.

The massive oak desk sitting under the windows also showed signs of having being hastily searched, its drawers ajar and half-melted candles and magical instruments lying on their sides between the papers strewn haphazardly across the surface.

Evander strode swiftly to a door on their left. It connected to a private suite with a small bedroom, bathroom, and dressing room. He frowned.

It was clear from their state that they too had been hastily searched.

“It appears your conjecture was correct,” Rufus told Cecillia in a hard voice as Evander joined them.

Cecillia swallowed. “Trust me when I say I wish I had been wrong, Inspector.”

“Do you have any idea who might have done this?” Evander asked, stopping in the middle of the floor.

He could not detect the tell signs of dark magic around them. There was no unearthly chill to the room, nor the faint stench that would have characterised the recent presence of a dark mage.

Cecillia hesitated. “No.”

“It’s clear Professor Dearmont and that fat-fingered fool are involved in this, your Grace,” Shaw protested. “We should just question the bastards.”

“We cannot go around accusing the faculty without proof, Shaw.” Evander frowned. “Besides, they have an alibi. They were with you when this happened.”

Shaw jutted her chin, undeterred. “What of the key they took off me?”

“The headmaster no doubt has a master key.” Evander moved past a sitting area with comfortable armchairs and squatted to examine the hearth.

The lack of cold ashes suggested it had been days since a fire burned there.

“And it wouldn’t be that hard to make a copy of the one in the charge of the caretaker. ”

He rose and turned to face a slightly deflated Shaw.

“Tell us exactly what the room was like when you walked in and what you found.”

The forensic mage hesitated and glanced at Cecillia.

“I believe Professor Harrington will prove of help to us in this investigation,” Evander reassured the forensic mage smoothly. He arched an eyebrow at Cecillia. “I take it you also suspect foul play was involved in Whitley’s disappearance?”

Cecillia hesitated before nodding.

“It’s not like Walter to disappear like this. He is very close to his wife. He would have told her if he intended to travel somewhere for a while.”