Chapter 22
Fairbridge extracted himself from a conversation with a French shipping magnate and made his way over, Solomon trailing close.
“We need to investigate the basement,” Evander said without preamble. “Shaw found evidence of Noctis Bloom near a guarded door.”
Fairbridge’s expression hardened. “That’s a foolish idea, your Grace. We established that the purpose of tonight’s outing is to gather information only.”
“This is gathering information,” Evander countered.
“I’m going with him,” Viggo grunted.
Fairbridge’s mouth flattened to a thin line, his cold gaze switching between the pair of them.
“Since it seems I won’t be able to dissuade either of you, the rest of us shall do our best to keep Brassard and his associates distracted. But if you put yourselves in danger—”
The unspoken warning hung in the air between them.
Evander knew Fairbridge was threatening to report him to the Ministry of Arcane Affairs and General Hartwick if his or Viggo’s actions jeopardised their mission objectives.
“We will handle things discreetly,” Evander reassured.
A muscle worked in Fairbridge’s jawline. He eventually relented, though not without a final parting shot.
“Don’t do anything that will expose us.”
Evander looked across the ballroom to Ginny. She met his gaze a moment later. He subtly rubbed his nose with a knuckle.
Ginny bobbed her head imperceptibly and turned to Brassard. She whispered something to the viscount. The man smiled and signalled to the musicians to pause.
Brassard’s voice rang across the ballroom in the lull in the music.
“A toast! To tonight’s successful soirée and to the most lovely of companions.” He kissed Ginny’s hand with obsequious attention before lifting his glass.
Evander and Viggo slipped away whilst the guests cheered and raised their glasses.
It didn’t take them long to find the servants’ corridor.
Narrow and poorly lit, it was a stark contrast to the opulence of the public rooms of the mansion. Evander registered the faint smell of Noctis Bloom Shaw had detected as they approached a bend. They turned the corner and came in sight of the far end of the passage.
A heavy oak door stood flanked by two men in dark coats who were most definitely not household servants.
Evander’s pulse quickened, magic seeping into his veins.
“I’ll take the one on the left,” he told Viggo in a low voice as they headed down the corridor.
The Brute nodded.
The two men straightened at their sight, their hands moving subtly toward concealed weapons.
“Wrong turn, sirs,” one of them said gruffly in French. “The facilities are back the way you came.”
Evander smiled pleasantly. “I don’t think so.”
He moved before either guard could react, his wind magic slamming into the man on the left and sending him crashing into the wall.
Viggo was already on the second, one massive hand closing around the man’s throat before he could cry out and the other disposing of the pistol that had appeared in his hand.
The Brute rendered the two guards unconscious with efficient brutality.
They dragged the limp figures into the linen cupboard they’d passed and gagged and secured their limbs with strips torn from some sheets before returning to the door.
It was locked.
Coolness blossomed in the centre of Evander’s chest. He focused a burst of ice magic on the mechanism and cracked the lock.
“You’d make a good thief,” Viggo grunted as Evander carefully opened the door.
The stairs beyond descended into darkness.
Evander summoned a small flame to light their way instead of using the enchanted crystal in his hidden cane.
The fire danced above his palm as they crept downward.
The cold soon hit him, along with the dark magic he’d sensed in the building.
Both grew stronger with each step, pressing against his senses like a physical weight.
The scent of Noctis Bloom was unmistakable now, sweet and cloying.
The basement was larger than he’d expected. A series of interconnected chambers stretched out in the gloom, extending beneath the entire mansion.
“It’s freezing down here,” Viggo muttered.
Dread coiled through Evander. He recalled what Solomon had reported about the shipment that had come through the Seine dockyard.
They entered the first room off the stairs.
Crates were stacked against the walls, some open and spilling straw packing material.
A familiar metallic tang danced across Evander’s nostrils.
He moved to the nearest packing case and felt his stomach clench as he lifted the flame above it.
Inside, nestled in protective padding within a metal box packed with ice, was an object he recognised all too well.
“That’s the Magical Conduit device we found in Whitley’s secret chamber,” Viggo stated grimly, peering over his shoulder.
Evander examined the brass and glass contraption without touching it, his skin crawling at the foul magic emanating from within.
“They’re moving these through Paris,” he said slowly. He met Viggo’s troubled stare, his mind racing. “This is a distribution point.” He glanced at the crates filling the space around them. “And Brassard is a middleman.”
The Brute lowered his brows. “So ‘I’ is using Brassard’s connections to transport these? But to where?”
“Possibly Brussels, if Molyneux’s guess is accurate.” Evander’s heart slammed against his ribs at the enormity of the scheme they’d uncovered.
Viggo pursed his lips. “Why the ice?”
Evander hesitated and studied the diabolical contraption. “I’m not sure.”
Viggo moved to a workbench covered in papers.
“These are shipping manifests,” he said, leafing rapidly through the documents.
Evander joined him. Cold fingers danced down his spine.
The destinations were dock and train yards in Belgium, Austria, and Prussia, among other countries. His jaw tightened.
“They’re building some kind of network.”
“For what purpose?” Viggo muttered.
A door creaked somewhere in the darkness. They both froze.
Footsteps echoed through the basement—multiple sets, moving with purpose. Evander extinguished his flame and moved behind a stack of crates. He pressed himself against the cold brick wall, Viggo a solid presence beside him.
The footsteps had just passed the room where he and the Brute were hiding when a commotion reached Evander’s ears.
Someone was coming swiftly down the stairs. Not just someone but a couple of men by the sounds of things.
“Guillaume, we have a problem,” a voice said urgently in French. “The guards aren’t at the door.”
“And someone broke the lock,” a second voice spat out.
Evander held his breath in the brief lull that ensued.
“Find our rats,” someone finally commanded coldly. “They must be down here.”
Evander swallowed a curse. So much for discretion.
He counted at least six sets of footsteps spreading through the basement. Evander met Viggo’s eyes in the gloom, seeing his own grim determination reflected there. They were going to have to fight their way out of there.
Two men entered the chamber. A foul scent of corrupt magic washed through the room and raised goosebumps on Evander’s skin.
He mouthed the words “Dark mages!” to Viggo.
The Brute clenched his jaw and bobbed his head.
Evander gathered his magic as the first shadow rounded the corner of their hiding spot.
His blood ran cold when he recognised the figure.
It was the man from the Marais crime scene. The one who’d been watching them.
The man scowled, his expression showing a lack of recognition Evander was briefly grateful for. His hand shot toward Evander, the dark tendrils blooming around his fingertips causing the Anti-Shadow Magic ring on Evander’s hand to flare with light.
Evander was faster.
Wind magic erupted from his palm, catching the man square in the chest and hurling him into his companion. They went down in a tangle of limbs and startled curses.
Viggo launched himself at them before they could recover, his fist connecting with the jaw of the man who’d been at Marais. The crack of bone was audible even over the shouts now echoing through the basement.
“There! In the first room!”
More footsteps thundered toward them.
Evander spun as three figures burst through the doorway. Dark magic crackled around their fingers as they unleashed offensive spells. The shadows in the room converged upon Evander and Viggo.
Evander threw up a barrier of compressed air just as the first shadow creatures came to life with ear-splitting shrieks.
The monsters smashed into the wall of wind and recoiled when they came within range of the disruptive magic pulsing brightly from the ring on his finger, their forms unravelling chaotically.
A grunt reached Evander. He looked over his shoulder, alarmed.
Viggo’s face was a focused grimace as he grasped the dark bolts a mage had cast at him with his bare hands.
The tendons in his neck strained. He crushed the corrupt magic with a roar and advanced on the man who’d attacked him while the latter tried to raise another spell.
His fist connected with the mage’s face, sending him crashing into a stack of crates that collapsed with a tremendous clatter.
Evander moved and pressed his back against the Brute’s as they faced off against their adversaries, his pulse hammering in his veins. He clenched his fists.
He and Viggo could take their attackers out in seconds if they wanted to. But doing so would create a disturbance that would likely alert their host to their presence.
The dark mage from Marais staggered to his feet, blood streaming from his broken nose. Confusion clouded his face for a moment. It faded as realisation dawned.
“The only person I know who can smash aside magic with his bare hands is the Ironfist Brute,” he said in heavily-accented English.