Chapter 3
The stench hit Viggo the moment he turned onto Fieldgate Street.
It was the familiar aroma of Whitechapel—rotting vegetables, horse dung, unwashed bodies, and the acrid tang of coal smoke that hung in the air like a pestilent fog. Even the rain that had followed him from Stepney couldn’t wash away the grime that coated everything in this part of London.
Viggo drew a deep breath and savoured the familiar smells despite their foulness. This was his world. Not the marble halls of Belgravia or the polished corridors of Scotland Yard, but the narrow streets and crumbling tenements of the East End.
Solomon kept pace with him as they navigated the crowded pavement, neatly sidestepping a woman hawking wilted cabbages and a group of children playing in a puddle.
“You sure Evander said to meet him here?” Solomon asked warily, eyeing a suspicious-looking character loitering in a doorway.
“That’s what his message said.” Viggo had received the note when he’d returned to Nightshade’s headquarters that morning, after a night out casing the docks. It had been delivered by one of Evander’s footmen and contained an address Viggo recognised.
It was Tom Simmons’s home.
They turned down a narrow alley and emerged onto a slightly less derelict street.
The building they approached was one of the better-maintained structures in Whitechapel—a testament to the young thrall’s determination to create a decent life for himself and his younger sister despite their circumstances.
Viggo spotted Evander’s distinctive black carriage pulled up at the kerb, Graham in the box seat and young Samuel holding the horses. The coachman gave Viggo a respectful nod when he saw them. Samuel fairly beamed.
A second, far flashier carriage stood behind Evander’s, one Viggo recognised immediately. Painted a deep burgundy with silver accents that caught what little light filtered through the grey sky, Ginny Hartley’s transport was impossible to miss.
“Lady Hartley’s here too,” Solomon observed unnecessarily.
“So I see.” Viggo’s lips quirked at the way his friend’s eyes livened up. “Knowing her, she probably bullied Evander into coming along.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Solomon murmured a tad defensively. “She cares about Tom.” He sighed at Viggo’s amused expression. “Would you please wipe that smug smile off your face?”
Viggo grinned. “What smug smile?”
Solomon groused about certain people needing to keep their noses out of other people’s affairs as they climbed the steps to the front door. Viggo chuckled and rapped on the wood with his knuckles.
Though neither would admit to it, Solomon and Ginny were most definitely in the early throes of some kind of relationship. Only time would tell whether it would become something more permanent.
That thought sobered him a little. Ginny was a noble, just like Evander, and Solomon a thrall, like him. Their paths to happiness would always be thorny. It was something Evander and Viggo sometimes touched upon, in the intimacy of the duke’s bedroom.
Footsteps echoed from within the house. This was followed by the scrape of a bolt being drawn back. The door opened to reveal Emily Simmons, Tom’s younger sister. Her face brightened when she saw them.
“Mr. Stonewall. Mr. Barden. Please, do come in.”
Viggo and Solomon brushed past the young woman into a modest front room. The space was clean and well-kept, with simple but sturdy furniture and a small fire crackling in the grate. The warmth was a welcome relief from the damp cold outside.
“Everyone’s already in the parlour.” Emily gestured towards a doorway at the back of the room. She cleared her throat. “Katie is here too.”
Viggo caught the subtle emphasis on Katherine Stoker’s name. Emily’s skittish expression confirmed what he’d suspected for a while—something was developing between Tom and the young woman they’d rescued from Musgrave’s facility.
“How has Tom been?” Viggo asked quietly as Emily led them across the room.
The young woman slowed, her face growing serious. “Better. The nightmares are less frequent. But…” She faltered. “There are moments when I catch him staring at his hands with such a strange look on his face. And sometimes I see—” She broke off and bit her lip.
“See what?” Viggo prompted gently.
Emily hesitated as they approached the parlour. “It’s best he tells you himself.”
Evander and Rufus stood near the hearth, the mage still wearing his formal Met uniform from his appearance before the Parliamentary committee.
Viggo’s chest tightened at the sight of his lover.
Even in the humble surroundings of a Whitechapel tenement, Evander looked every inch the duke; his dark coat perfectly tailored, his bearing unconsciously aristocratic as he drank tea delicately from a chipped cup.
The epaulettes on his shoulders gleamed faintly in the firelight.
Their eyes met across the room. Evander’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, a subtle warmth entering his ice-blue gaze that was meant for Viggo alone.
Though Viggo wanted nothing more than to question him about his hearing before the Parliamentary committee, now wasn’t the time or place for that.
Tom and Katie sat drinking tea with Ginny at a small table near the window.
“There you are,” Ginny said drily. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.” Her green gaze lingered on Solomon for a fraction of a second too long.
“Lest you forget, this is our territory,” Viggo said drily.
“Mr. Stonewall.” Tom rose, his tone full of gratitude. “I’m so pleased you and Mr. Barden could visit.”
Katie stood as well and smoothed down her simple grey dress.
She was a striking young blonde with intelligent dark eyes and an air of quiet competence.
A protégé of Lord Aldous Fairfax, she’d begun working at Hampton Shipping a couple of months before her abduction by Musgrave and his men.
It was a remarkable achievement for a thrall, made possible by her exceptional aptitude for mathematics and languages.
Viggo took in Tom’s appearance with a critical eye while Emily served him and Solomon tea.
The young man looked healthier than he had a week ago.
Some colour had returned to his cheeks and the haunted quality had faded from his eyes.
But there was something different about him too.
An indefinable quality that hadn’t been there before.
“Our apologies again for the intrusion, Tom,” Evander said smoothly after he’d finished his drink. “We wanted to see how you were recovering.”
“It’s no intrusion at all,” Tom said warmly. He glanced at Katie with barely concealed affection. “Katie and I were only discussing Euclidean geometry.”
Katie flushed but didn’t look away. “Mathematics can be quite beautiful when you understand its elegance.”
“Miss Stoker has been helping me catch up on my education,” Tom explained, a shy smile crossing his face. “I never had much schooling as a child, working the docks.”
Viggo felt a familiar pang in his chest. He and Tom shared similar backgrounds.
They were both orphans who’d survived on the streets through a combination of luck, determination, and the intervention of kind souls.
In Tom’s case, his sister Emily had kept them together.
In Viggo’s, his uncle Jack had found him before the streets could claim him completely.
“That’s very admirable,” Evander said kindly. “How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Well enough, sir. Mrs. Sinclair visits twice a week to check on me.” The young man’s expression grew conflicted. “She’s been very kind, your Grace. I don’t know how to thank you for—“
“No thanks are necessary,” Evander interrupted firmly. “What was done to you was an abomination. The least we can do is ensure you receive proper care.”
“He’s right, Tom,” Ginny said quietly.
A strained silence fell over the room.
Katie broke it with what Viggo was beginning to learn was her characteristic directness. “You should tell them, Tom.”
Tom blinked. “What? But I—” He stopped and swallowed, fingers clenching on the table. “I don’t want to unduly worry them.”
Viggo exchanged a confused glance with Evander and the others.
“Tell us what?” he said.
“Katie is right,” Emily said stubbornly. “If anyone can help you figure out what’s happening to your body, it’s them.” She paused and glanced at Evander. “Especially his Grace.”
Viggo stiffened. The way Evander grew still told him the same apprehension was suddenly coursing through his lover.
Tom seemed to come to a decision. He took a deep breath and turned his right hand over, palm facing upward. The thrall focused, his brow drawing into a frown. For a moment, nothing happened.
A chill danced down Viggo’s spine when silver lines became visible beneath his skin, the delicate traceries pulsing with a faint inner light, like lightning trapped underneath the surface.
Solomon cursed.
“Bloody hell,” Rufus breathed.
The lines faded after a few seconds, leaving Tom’s hand looking perfectly normal once more.