Chapter 6
The back rooms of Nightshade’s headquarters smelled of tobacco smoke, old leather, and the faint metallic tang of the Thames that seeped through every crack of the Stepney building above them and the limestone caves housing the information guild.
Viggo leaned his hands on the scarred oak table in the middle of the chamber that had served as their war room for the better part of a decade and studied the map of Liverpool’s docklands spread across it.
“You’re certain about this?” Finn Callaghan asked, his Irish lilt more pronounced than usual. His green eyes flicked up to meet Viggo’s. “Liverpool’s crawling with Marsden’s lot. They won’t take kindly to Nightshade sniffing around their operations.”
“Since when have we cared what Marsden thinks?” Viggo said flatly.
He tapped a finger on the warehouse district marked in red ink.
“The Noctis Bloom trade is coming through here. Evander’s investigation proved Renwick and Musgrave were using it in their experiments.
We need to know who’s supplying it and where it’s going. ”
“And you want me to find out whilst you’re off gallivanting across Europe with your duke.” Finn’s lips stretched in a flinty grin. “Some of us have all the luck.”
“It’s not gallivanting,” Viggo said, unable to mask the defensive note creeping into his voice. “It’s an investigation we’re helping the Met out with. And nothing is set in stone yet.”
“Right. An investigation.” Finn crossed his arms. “With the man you’re shagging. I can’t even begin to imagine the hardship.”
Viggo narrowed his eyes. “Finn—”
“I’m just saying.” The Irishman waved a hand. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least make it convincing.”
The door behind them creaked open before Viggo could formulate a suitable retort. Solomon entered. He was followed by a figure that made Viggo’s chest tighten with a complicated mix of relief and guilt.
Magnus Graveoak had to duck to fit through the doorway.
At six foot eight, the man was a giant even among Brutes. But it wasn’t his size that caught Viggo’s attention. It was the haunted quality that still lingered in his dark eyes. The way he moved with careful precision, as though testing whether his body would obey him.
Over a month had passed since they’d found him in Scotland Yard’s holding cells, the cursed gem Renwick’s dark magic associates had implanted in his body to control him removed by Evander in an act that had seen the duke reluctantly reveal his Archmage status to the world.
The Brute looked better than he had. Some colour had returned to his olive skin and the tremors that had plagued his hands were less frequent. But Viggo knew recovery from what Magnus had endured would take far longer than a mere month.
“Viggo,” Magnus said with a curt nod. “Solomon said you were briefing Finn on Liverpool.”
“I am.” Viggo straightened and studied his old friend carefully. “You shouldn’t be here. The Met healers said you need rest.”
“I’ve had enough rest.” Magnus’s jaw set in a stubborn line that Viggo recognised all too well. “I want to help.”
“Magnus—”
“I need to do this, Viggo.” The giant’s hands clenched at his sides. “I need to do something useful. Something that matters. I can’t just sit in that room and—” He trailed off and swallowed hard. “Please. Let me go with Finn.”
Finn stiffened at this, his unease clear.
Viggo exchanged a look with Solomon. Though his friend’s expression was carefully neutral, Viggo knew him well enough to read the message there.
Let him try.
“Fine,” Viggo said reluctantly. “But Finn’s in charge. You follow his lead, understood?”
Magnus’s shoulders relaxed fractionally. “Understood.”
Finn recovered his composure and clapped Magnus on the back with surprising gentleness for a man who usually treated everyone like they were made of iron. “Good to have you. Let’s take it slow. We’ll start with basic surveillance, see how you handle it.”
“Alright.”
Magnus’s words held a fragility that made Viggo’s chest ache and filled him with fresh determination. Though Renwick’s death had made up in part for what Magnus had endured, the real culprit was still out there.
He focused on the map once more. “Right. The operation. Finn, you’ll have three of our best watchers—”
“Four,” Solomon interrupted.
They turned to look at him, Viggo the most surprised of everyone.
“Four watchers,” Solomon repeated, crossing his arms. “I’m going with Finn.”
Viggo’s eyebrows rose. “You said you wanted to come to Europe if Winterbourne got approval from the Ministry. In fact, you threatened to stow away aboard the train and ship to Europe.”
Solomon’s expression remained carefully blank. “Liverpool needs more bodies. And you’ll have enough people watching your back in Europe. Not that you need your back watching.”
“Solomon—”
Solomon’s voice hardened. “It’s not up for debate, Viggo.”
Viggo frowned. Something was off. Solomon had been insisting for days that he wanted to go to Europe, had practically demanded to be included despite still recovering from the injuries he’d sustained during the Institute raid.
He narrowed his eyes. “This is about Lady Hartley.”
A muscle twitched in Solomon’s jaw. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Viggo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’ll most likely be part of the European investigation if Evander has his way. You were planning to come. Now you’re suddenly backing out?”
“The Liverpool operation is important—“
“The Liverpool operation will be fine with Finn, Magnus, and our regulars.” Viggo pinned his friend with a sharp stare.
Solomon was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “She’s a noble, Viggo. I’m a thrall. What exactly do you think is going to happen if we spend weeks travelling across Europe together?”
“The same thing that’s been happening between Evander and me for months?” Viggo suggested drily.
“That’s different. You’re—“ Solomon stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind. The point is, it’s not wise. Better to end it now before it becomes complicated.”
“Bit late for that, I reckon,” Finn muttered.
Solomon shot him a glare.
Viggo studied his friend’s stubborn expression and recognised the fear beneath it. He’d felt the same thing himself, in the early days with Evander—the certainty that what they had couldn’t possibly last, that the gulf between their worlds was too vast to bridge.
“You’re scared,” Viggo said quietly.
“I’m being practical.”
“You’re being a coward.”
Solomon’s eyes flashed. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Viggo pushed off from the table and crossed over to the thrall. “I know that look, Solomon. I’ve worn it myself. You think if you run now, it’ll hurt less than when she inevitably leaves you for someone more suitable.”
“She will leave me,” Solomon said flatly. “That’s how this works.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she won’t.” Viggo gripped Solomon’s shoulder. “But you’ll never know if you don’t take the chance.”
Solomon looked away. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is. But hiding in Liverpool isn’t going to make what you feel for her disappear.” Viggo’s voice gentled. “Come to Europe. See what happens. If it all falls apart, at least you’ll know you tried.”
His friend was quiet for a long moment. He finally exhaled slowly. “Fine. But when this blows up in my face, I’m blaming you.”
“I’ll accept full responsibility,” Viggo said drily. “Why, I’ll even pay for your drinks for a month.”
Finn had been watching this exchange with ill-concealed amusement. “So that’s settled then. Solomon’s going to Europe to pine after Lady Hartley and I get Magnus all to myself in Liverpool. Anything else?”
Viggo returned to the table. “You leave tomorrow morning. And Finn?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. If there’s even a hint that Renwick and Musgrave’s associates are engaged in dark magic activity in Liverpool—”
“I’ll pull out immediately,” Finn finished. “I’m reckless, not stupid.”
“That’s debatable,” Solomon muttered.
Finn grinned and flipped him an obscene gesture.
They spent another hour going over the details—contacts, safe houses, emergency protocols. By the time they finished, afternoon had given way to evening.
Viggo ate with everyone in the staff dining room before walking Magnus out of Nightshade. The giant paused and turned when he exited the rear of the building housing Jack Stonewall’s merchant company.
“Viggo?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For—” Magnus’s throat worked. “For not giving up on me.”
Viggo’s chest tightened.
He watched Magnus disappear into the Stepney streets before heading in the opposite direction. He had somewhere else to be tonight.
Somewhere that felt increasingly like home.