Chapter 17
The Marais district smelled of old stone, coffee, and the peculiar mixture of horse dung and baking bread that characterised most Parisian neighbourhoods.
Their carriage rattled through narrow streets lined with medieval buildings that leaned precariously towards each other, the daylight struggling to penetrate the shadows cast by centuries-old architecture.
Leon was silent beside Evander, his earlier levity vanished completely. He tensed when a small crowd came into view. They were gathered outside a narrow building with a faded blue door.
Evander narrowed his eyes. That had to be the crime scene.
Their carriage drew to a halt behind two police wagons. They stepped out onto the cobblestones amidst a sea of stares and headed for the building’s entrance.
A police cordon held back the curious onlookers, the translucent barrier shimmering faintly in the sunlight. The gendarme behind it recognised Leon and disengaged the magical device powering the cordon. He waved them through, his inquisitive gaze flitting briefly to Evander and his team.
Evander felt the corruption in the air the moment they stepped inside the building. He froze as it danced faintly across his skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
“Evander?” Rufus said, alert.
“I can sense a trace of dark magic,” Evander warned grimly.
Leon lowered his brows.
Rufus exchanged a guarded look with Shaw and Fairbridge.
They climbed three flights of narrow stairs, the taint of dark magic growing stronger with each step.
The apartment door stood open and was guarded by two more gendarmes.
Beyond them, Evander could see French police officers moving carefully through what appeared to be a scholar’s lodgings.
There were books and papers scattered everywhere, all signs pointing to a living space that had been violently disrupted.
One of the gendarmes at the door twisted on his heels at the sight of Leon.
“Inspecteur, vous avez des visiteurs!” he called out into the apartment.
A weary-looking man emerged from the lodgings. His dark uniform marked him as someone of rank and his eyes were bloodshot with fatigue.
“Comte Beaulieu, thank you for coming,” he said tiredly in French. “It seems we are very much in need of your expertise.” He stiffened when he spotted Evander and his companions on the landing behind Leon.
Leon made the introductions. “Inspector Durand, this is Duke Ravenwood, Special Arcane Investigator from London. He and his team are here on a special mission approved by our government.”
“Enchanté,” Durand murmured curiously.
“What can you tell us about the victim?”
Though Leon’s tone remained professional, Evander heard the tension beneath it. The last thing the Frenchman needed right now was another magic-related murder.
“His name is Gérard Molyneux,” Durand replied in heavily accented English.
“He’s a retired scholar. Lived alone. The concierge found him this morning when he didn’t collect his post.” The inspector consulted his notes.
“She became concerned and used her key to enter the apartment. That’s when she found him. ”
Leon had gone absolutely still. The colour drained from his face.
Evander’s pulse quickened at his friend’s reaction. “Leon?”
Leon met his gaze dazedly. “He’s one of the researchers we were trying to locate, here in Paris.”
Coldness filled Evander’s veins.
Durand stared between them before frowning at Leon.
“You knew Molyneux?”
“Only by name.” Leon recovered his composure with some difficulty. “He’s an old associate of Henri Chevalier, a professor at the Paris Institute for the Arcane helping me on my current case. His specialty was Arcane Cryptology.”
Evander digested this with growing dread. Unless Molyneux had other enemies, then there was a good chance he was silenced because of his knowledge about the Crimson Codex.
“Why don’t we examine the crime scene?” he suggested.
Durand looked distinctly uncomfortable at this.
“It’s alright, Bertrand,” Leon reassured. “Duke Ravenwood and his team are investigating a series of similar deaths. I’m certain their input will be beneficial to us.”
Durand hesitated before reluctantly bobbing his head. “I must warn you.” His gaze flitted to Shaw. “The body—it’s unlike anything we’ve encountered before.”
“Worry not, sir,” Shaw declared grimly. “We’ve probably seen worse in the armpits of London.”
Durand blinked.
Rufus sighed. “You get used to it.”
Durand led the way inside the apartment. “Molyneux is in the study. We’ve touched nothing except to confirm death.”
The dark magic saturating the area struck Evander immediately as they entered the apartment in single file. His stomach fairly churned with revulsion. This wasn’t just lingering traces—it was fresh, potent, and disturbingly familiar.
Tension radiated off Leon as he finally detected the corruption around them. Everyone else seemed unaware of it, which didn’t surprise Evander.
Only powerful mages could sense remnants of dark magic.
“How long ago do you estimate the time of death?” Evander asked Durand as they crowded inside a modest but comfortable main room.
“Less than two hours. The body is still fresh.”
Evander frowned. This would fit with what he was sensing.
He scanned the sitting area with its worn furniture. A small kitchen was visible through an archway. Bookshelves lined every available wall.
There was something else in the air, a sweet, sickly smell that made his nose wrinkle and his scalp prickle with instant recognition.
Shaw’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Noctis Bloom.”
Durand lowered his brows, confused. “Noctis what?”
“Noctis Bloom. It is a powder derived from a flower,” Leon explained. “The Metropolitan Police and the London Arcane Division have confirmed its use by dark mages.”
Durand stiffened. “Dark mages? Wait. You believe dark magic was used to commit this crime?!” He reverted to French in his alarm.
Several of the gendarmes looked up warily at that.
“We don’t just believe it, Inspector,” Evander said. “We know it was.”
Durand’s face tightened at his unshakable statement.
“Through here.” He indicated a doorway on the left. “I shall leave you to it.”
The study was worse than Evander expected.
The vestige of dark magic filling the space took the form of a bone-chilling cold that sucked all the heat from the vicinity and pressed against his senses like a suffocating blanket. He took a shallow breath and allowed a sliver of fire magic to warm his blood.
It became easier to breathe again.
Gérard Molyneux sat slumped in a chair before a large desk, his head tilted back at an unnatural angle.
His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling and his mouth was frozen in what might have been a scream.
But it was his skin that made Shaw gasp and sent a shiver of alarm racing down Evander’s spine.
It had taken on a greyish cast, as if all the colour and vitality had been leached from his body.
Papers were scattered across the desk and floor. Books had been pulled from shelves and left where they’d fallen. A lamp lay shattered near the window, the oil staining the floorboards.
“He fought back,” Rufus observed, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. “Or someone searched the place after he died.”
“Both, I think.” Leon moved carefully around the perimeter of the room, his eyes tracking something Evander couldn’t see. “The books near the desk were pulled down during a struggle.”
“But those by the window were moved more methodically,” Fairbridge observed thoughtfully.
Evander approached the body, every instinct screaming a warning. Now that he was in the room where the crime was committed, he could detect an added quality to the dark magic he’d detected upon entering the building. One he’d only recently come up against.
He focused his senses, allowing his Archmage abilities to map the residual energies clinging to the room and the corpse, hoping he was wrong.
It took but a moment for him to confirm his suspicions.
The realisation settled in his gut like ice.
This wasn’t just dark magic. It was the hybrid magic from the Musgrave case. The one he’d first felt in the hidden chamber beneath Whitley’s lab, in the Royal Institute for the Arcane in London.
A sick feeling swept over him.
He had a nasty suspicion as to why Molyneux’s body looked the way it did.