Chapter 23
Evander’s scalp prickled when he recognised the voice of the man the others had called Guillaume.
The dark mage’s angry gaze shifted to Evander, scanning him. He scowled when he spotted the chain that had slipped out from underneath Evander’s collar. “An Illusion Amulet. Which means you must be the Ice Mage!”
Dark magic thickened the air as the mages circled them.
“Kill them,” Guillaume ordered coldly. “They cannot make it out of this basement alive.”
A barrage of inky projectiles arrowed toward Evander and Viggo from every direction.
Fire magic flooded Evander’s blood and sparked off his body. He retaliated with a circle of flames that obliterated the corrupt bolts and forced the mages to scatter.
Evander didn’t give them time to counterattack.
He ground his teeth and summoned his earth magic. Shackles of dirt and rock exploded into existence at his silent command and bound the cursing mages’ legs in place.
Fear flickered in Guillaume’s eyes for the first time as he struggled vainly to escape the bonds.
Evander crossed the room and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
“Who are you and Brassard working for?!” he hissed in the man’s face. “Is it ‘I’?!”
The ugly laugh that escaped the dark mage made the hairs rise on Evander’s nape.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Guillaume’s lips twisted into a bloody smile. “London will be your grave, Ice Mage.”
He reached inside his pocket before Evander could react, removed a black crystal, and tossed it into his mouth.
Evander’s mouth went dry. He let go of the man and retreated a couple of steps.
Midnight Obsidian!
Viggo cursed as the other dark mages did the same. “Watch out!”
The pressure inside the room plummeted, making Evander’s ears pop. The coldness that descended upon the chamber next was bone-deep and made his breath mist in front of his face.
The mages’ eyes grew black with corruption, just as Musgrave and his associates’ had when they’d swallowed the Midnight Obsidian crystal under the Institute in London.
“For the new order!” Guillaume snarled.
The darkness that exploded around Evander and Viggo swallowed all light and sound and plunged them into an inky void.
Evander’s stomach curdled when the dark mages’s spells caused crimson strands to bloom amidst the shadows, the tendrils merging until they formed gleaming bolts of Blood Magic intended to skewer them alive.
Evander clenched his jaw and lifted the lid on his magic.
The elements roared to life around him, fire, wind, ice, and earth forming shields that blocked the vicious attack and made the basement tremble.
He felt Viggo move and heard a curse somewhere on his left.
The sound of scuffling feet reached him next.
It was followed by the grunts of impact and the cracks of what might have been skulls against stone.
Flames surrounded Evander in a bright halo as he burned away the shadows wreathed with Blood Magic inch by stubborn inch.
When light finally returned to the chamber, all their attackers lay unconscious on the floor, Guillaume groaning faintly as he bled profusely from the gash in his temple.
Viggo applied one last kick to the man’s head and wiped blood from a cut on his cheek.
A distant crash echoed from somewhere above them.
Evander’s heart stuttered.
It had come from the direction of the main salon.
“The others!” He bolted toward the exit.
“Wait!” Viggo barked.
The Brute moved quickly to the workbench and gathered the scattered manifests. Some had been damaged by the shadow explosion and the flames, the ink bleeding and paper singed, but enough remained legible.
They took the stairs two at a time and burst back into the servants’ corridor to find it mercifully empty. Evander’s throat constricted as they headed swiftly toward the ballroom.
The sounds of the party had changed.
The music had stopped, replaced by raised voices and what sounded like—
“Is that applause?” Viggo said in a low voice as he hastily readjusted his clothes.
Tension knotted Evander’s shoulders when they slipped inside the ballroom through the back door. He stopped and stared, startled.
Fairbridge was concluding what appeared to be an impromptu magic demonstration. Champagne flutes floated above the small whirlwinds dancing above his palms, drawing gasps of delight from the assembled guests. Brassard stood nearby, his expression one of wonder.
Solomon was a few feet away from Fairbridge, the only sign of his nerves his white knuckles where he’d fisted his hands by his sides.
Ginny materialised at Evander’s elbow.
“Where the hell have you been?!” she hissed. “We thought we heard crashes from downstairs. Fairbridge had to create a distraction.”
“With a magic show?” Viggo grunted.
Rufus and Shaw arrived in time to catch Evander’s explanation.
“We found their operation,” Evander said tensely. “I’ll tell you about it later. For now, we need to leave.”
Ginny’s eyes widened fractionally before her composure reasserted itself. “Then we’d best not linger.”
Evander caught Fairbridge’s eye across the way and gave a subtle nod toward the exit.
Ginny slipped through the crowd toward Brassard. Evander heard her and Fairbridge make gracious excuses to their host about early morning business meetings.
Disappointment clouded Brassard’s face. He kissed Ginny’s hand and followed her forlornly with his gaze as she and Fairbridge made their way toward Evander and their group, Solomon close on their heels.
They were almost out of the ballroom when a faint disturbance reached their ears.
Evander looked over his shoulder.
Brassard was staring toward the back of the chamber. Surprise widened his eyes. It rapidly gave way to suspicion.
Dread squeezed Evander’s chest when he saw what had captured Brassard’s attention. Viggo cursed under his breath.
A bloodied and battered Guillaume had stumbled through the back door.
The dark mage’s gaze found Evander as a fraught hush befell the ballroom. Accusation twisted his face.
“Get ready to run,” Evander warned stiffly.
The magic that washed across his skin in the next instant made him freeze. It was one he had only ever experienced a handful of times before in his life.
Warm and bewitching, it was a power meant to rob him of his senses. And it might have—had it been directed at him. He stiffened and looked sharply at Fairbridge.
The man’s pupils sparked a dangerous amber where he stood rigidly beside him.
The tension building in the ballroom faded.
The guests started milling about again, as if under a spell.
Guillaume had gone slack-faced where he stood, his expression glazed and his arms limp at his sides.
He twisted mechanically on his heels and left the ballroom.
Brassard ignored him and began talking to a group of men.
“What the hell just happened?” Shaw said dully.
“Let’s go,” Fairbridge snapped.
They didn’t have to be told twice.
The night air was blessedly cool after the cloying atmosphere of Brassard’s mansion. They hurried down the street and around the corner to where their carriages waited, the drivers looking bored until they spotted them.
Fairbridge climbed in beside Evander, Viggo and Ginny taking the seats opposite.
“I distinctly recall you telling me you would handle things discretely, your Grace,” he said icily as they lurched into motion.
Evander met his angry gaze guardedly. “You’re an Enchanter.”
His quiet words echoed in the stark silence, the only sounds that of their carriage rattling through the darkened streets of Paris while Brassard’s mansion glowed like a gilded fortress behind them.
Ginny and Viggo exchanged startled glances.
“An Enchanter?” Viggo repeated hesitantly.
“Someone with the power to influence the emotions of others,” Evander said quietly, never taking his eyes off Fairbridge. “To manipulate their minds and control their thoughts.”
“Is that what that was, in the ballroom?” Ginny said, admiration dancing across her face as she studied Fairbridge. “You enchanted Brassard and his guests?”
The man looked even less pleased than he’d done a moment ago.
Enchanters were rare. As rare as healers.
Though some ended up on the wrong side of the law, most chose professions that suited their skills best. Many became diplomats, some businessmen, others negotiators.
And then there were those who decided to embrace the more shadowy aspect of law enforcement.
Evander now knew why Fairbridge had always felt so dangerous.
The enchanters he had met in the past in his capacity as a Special Arcane Investigator had only ever been able to mesmerise one, at most a few people at a time.
Someone like Fairbridge, someone capable of bewitching an entire ballroom, was practically unheard of. Add to this his ability to wield wind magic and he became one in a million.
The one in a million General Hartwick had chosen to assign to this case as a spy.