Chapter 15
They parted ways with Princess Victoria in Calais, the future German Empress and her entourage setting off on the Northern Railway to Belgium.
The journey from Calais to Paris was uneventful, if one discounted Shaw’s enthusiastic commentary on everything from French architecture to the peculiar smell of Gauloises cigarettes that permeated their train.
The landscape rolled past in shades of grey and green as daylight faded to dusk.
Farms gave way to villages, villages to towns, until finally the sprawling mass of Paris emerged from the darkness.
By the time their locomotive pulled into Gare du Nord, the city was dressed in gaslight and shadow, its famous boulevards gleaming like rivers of gold in the night. They barely had time to check into the hotel the Met had booked for them before exhaustion claimed them all.
Evander felt bereft when he woke up alone in his room the next morning, Viggo’s absence making his stomach sink for a moment. It was surprising how quickly he had become accustomed to the Brute’s presence not just in his life, but in his bed.
He rose and walked over to the window in time to see the Tuileries Gardens appear in the dawn mist. Paris looked different in the grey morning light. Less magical and more dangerous.
A soft knock at the door announced the arrival of a servant with hot water for washing and a message that breakfast would be served in the hotel’s dining room within the hour.
Viggo and Solomon were already at their table when Evander came downstairs.
“Your Grace,” Viggo greeted with a curt nod.
“Mr. Stonewall,” Evander murmured, taking the seat opposite the Brute.
He was aware of the curious stares from the guests in the breakfast room as their waiter attended to him.
Even though they were wearing suitable attire for the venue, Viggo and Solomon stood out amidst the plush surroundings of the hotel.
This had more to do with the aura of danger the two men subtly radiated rather than their humble origins.
Shaw looked remarkably refreshed when she sauntered in ahead of Rufus a moment later, her eyes bright with excitement as she examined the ornate plasterwork decorating the ceiling and walls.
Rufus accepted a cup of tea from the waiter with the grateful expression of a man reunited with an old friend.
Ginny and Fairbridge came in last, the pair engaged in quiet conversation that broke off when they approached the table.
“Good morning.” Ginny ignored Solomon’s suspicious stare as she sat down. “Did everyone sleep well?”
There was a chorus of “Yes, thank you.”
Fairbridge murmured to their waiter in fluent French, his accent flawless. A paper magically appeared at his elbow within a minute. He opened it and perused the news while he sipped his coffee.
“Anything of interest?” Evander asked as breakfast was served.
Fairbridge met his gaze above the paper. “Possibly. We shall see if there’s a link when we meet Beaulieu.”
Viggo’s knuckles whitened on the handle of his cup.
Shaw leaned toward Ginny, one hand rising to partly cover her mouth. “Why does Mr. Stonewall look like he’s about to crush his porcelain?” she whispered.
“Because he’s jealous of Comte Beaulieu,” Ginny drawled.
Evander’s eyes shrank to slits. “I don’t believe it is necessary to our mission for you to reveal every tidbit of information about my personal life, Lady Hartley.”
Rufus sighed heavily.
Ginny arched an innocent eyebrow. “But your personal life is so fascinating, your Grace. And I say that as a courtesan who has been wooed by hordes of men.”
Solomon’s expression visibly cooled.
Rufus decided to focus on his food with the intensity of a man committed to ignoring the present conversation.
Shaw’s confusion finally cleared. She gasped, delight making her eyes sparkle. “You mean, you shagged the count too, your Grace?!”
Evander groaned as her squeal echoed around the breakfast room.
Their table became the focus of loaded stares.
Rufus stabbed a sausage with a ruthless movement. “How about you keep your voice down, Shaw?” he growled. “Better still, don’t talk at all.”
“But—Inspector!” Shaw protested in a low voice. “His Grace has bedded not just one, but two magnificent men. I am keen to know his secret.”
Ginny chortled while she delicately cut her bacon and pointedly ignored Evander’s death stare. Solomon muttered something under his breath. Viggo looked decidedly conflicted. Fairbridge’s paper trembled slightly in his hands.
Rufus’s knuckles whitened on his cutlery.
“I can’t believe I’m actually asking this, but why in God’s good name do you want to know that kind of information?” the inspector snapped.
Shaw sneaked a quick look around before leaning forward conspiratorially. She beckoned the rest of the table to do the same. They did.
“Because I am still a virgin. And I firmly intend to lose said virginity by next spring,” the forensic mage declared with brazen confidence devoid of any modesty.
The entire table froze and stared at her with expressions ranging from shock to delight to downright horror.
Ginny overlooked the way Rufus was opening and closing his mouth like a stunned carp and addressed the forensic mage with a blissful smile.
“Is there a particular reason you are so intent on achieving said goal, Miss Shaw?”
“Call me Lyra, please,” Shaw said briskly. “And yes, there is. I hear it hones the mind. You know,”—her voice dropped to a shrewd hiss—“sex. Why, look at his Grace.” She indicated Evander. “He’s as sharp as a button.”
A snort left Viggo.
Evander glowered at the Brute.
“I didn’t say a word,” Viggo protested, struggling to contain his laughter.
“You just said five,” Evander ground out.
“Do you have a target in mind, Lyra?” Ginny asked blithely.
“Don’t encourage her,” Rufus groaned, finally finding his voice.
Shaw ignored the inspector. “I do indeed, Lady Hartley.”
“Ginny, please.”
Shaw acknowledged this with a sharp bob of her head before directing a sheepish glance at Viggo and Solomon. “It is a particularly magnificent man belonging to Nightshade. I refer of course to Mr. Callaghan.”
Ginny’s elbow almost slipped off the table.
Viggo’s fork clattered onto his plate, his amusement fading fast. “What?!”
“Oh God,” Solomon mumbled. “Not Finn.”
Rufus had gone pale.
“Does she mean the redhead with the cocky grin?” Fairbridge asked Evander quietly, having evidently given up on reading his paper.
“She does,” Evander said dully.
Ginny recovered her composure, though her expression remained a little stilted.
“Are you certain you wish him to be the object of your affections?” she asked Shaw hesitantly.
Shaw blinked. “Who said anything about affection? He looks like he’d be particularly good at ridding a girl of her virginity.” She nodded sagely. “I did my research, you know. He apparently makes his women positively scream with pleasure when he rogers them with his big co—”
Ginny hastily covered Shaw’s mouth with her hand while Evander and every other man around the table except Fairbridge tried to sink into the floor.
“Now would be a good time to depart for the Institute,” Ginny said in an overbright voice.
“What a great idea,” Evander muttered darkly.
Twenty minutes later found them at the Paris Institute for the Arcane in the 6th arrondissement.
Unlike the London Royal Institute, which sprawled across multiple buildings, the Paris establishment occupied a grand mansion with a classical facade adorned with stone carvings of mythological creatures and alchemical symbols.
The place held an air of intimate elegance—more exclusive salon than academic fortress.
They were greeted by a neatly put-together secretary in the marble-floored entrance hall. He checked their credentials before politely indicating the interior of the building.
“Comte Beaulieu awaits you in the library.”
Evander recognised several faces from his studies as they were guided through corridors lined with portraits of France’s most distinguished mages—Flamel, Nostradamus, even the controversial Abbé de Villars who’d claimed to commune with elemental spirits.
The secretary opened an ornate double door and ushered them inside.
The library was arranged over two floors that rose to a frescoed ceiling.
Wrought-iron balconies lined the upper gallery, the delicate metalwork matching the spiral staircase in the corner of the room.
Dust motes danced in the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
The room smelled of old leather, beeswax, and the faint metallic tang of preserved magic.
Leon stood before one of the windows, his elegant figure silhouetted against the light. He turned as they entered.
Evander felt a familiar jolt of affection tinged with sadness at seeing his old friend and the man he had once cherished with all his heart.