Chapter 31
Finding Benedict Simek proved to be far more difficult than any of them had anticipated.
The man had buried himself so deep in Prague’s underbelly that even Nightshade’s extensive network of contacts came up empty for most of the following day.
It wasn’t until late afternoon, after Ginny and Fairbridge had pooled their own resources with Solomon and Viggo, that they finally caught a break.
“He’s in Nové Město,” Solomon announced, striding into the hotel’s private dining room where the rest of them awaited news. “An old tenement building near the river. The informant says the place doesn’t appear on any official maps. Simek warded years ago to keep unwanted visitors away.”
Evander frowned. “I can’t say I blame him. If he knows even half of what we suspect he knows about the Codex, he’s been living with a target on his back for years.”
They set out as dusk began to paint Prague’s rooftops in shades of violet and grey.
The city felt different at this hour, older somehow, the weight of centuries pressing down on its winding streets and ancient bridges.
Viggo kept pace beside Evander as they navigated the maze of cobblestone alleys, his senses sharp despite the fatigue tugging at his limbs.
None of them had slept well after their excursion to the library.
Evander had returned the key and map to Pavel that morning and thanked the archivist for his help.
The address Solomon had obtained led them to a narrow lane that dead-ended against the crumbling wall of an abandoned church. At first glance, there was nothing there—just moss-covered stone and the skeletal remains of a wrought-iron gate.
“Are you certain this is the right place?” Rufus asked dubiously.
Solomon consulted the scrap of paper in his hand. “This is what our contact gave me.”
Evander stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. Viggo watched him extend a hand toward the seemingly empty space before the wall.
“There’s a concealment ward here,” Evander murmured.
“Can you break it?” Fairbridge asked.
“We don’t need to. We can undo it.” Evander arched an eyebrow at Shaw. “Did you bring it, Miss Shaw?”
The forensic mage triumphantly extracted a vial of silvery liquid from the small bag looped around her body. “Just like you told me, your Grace.”
Viggo stared. He’d last seen something similar in Whitley’s lab.
“Isn’t that the neutralising agent Mrs. Scarborough created to counter trigger wards?”
Shaw nodded. “She refined it so it can undo concealment charms.”
She applied a generous amount where Evander indicated.
Viggo tensed as the air rippled like water.
The illusion peeled away, revealing what had been hidden behind it.
A narrow building stood wedged between the church wall and a derelict warehouse, its facade so weathered it seemed to blend into the surrounding stone. The windows were dark, the door reinforced with iron bands engraved with runes.
Viggo exchanged a guarded look with Evander. It seemed Simek was not only reclusive but exceedingly paranoid.
Their satisfaction at finding the place curdled as they approached the building. Evander froze in his tracks, wariness tightening his features. Fairbridge paused beside him, shoulders knotting.
Viggo knew instinctively that the mages had just sensed something untoward.
He picked up on a familiar taint in the air, along with an oppressive chill that prickled his skin. His pulse quickened.
“Dark magic,” Viggo growled.
Evander narrowed his eyes. “It’s fresh.”
They moved swiftly, caution abandoned in favour of speed. Viggo reached the door first and didn’t bother with the handle. His boot connected with the reinforced wood and sent it crashing inward, the protective runes flaring uselessly against his magic-resistant body.
The interior was a scene of chaos.
Furniture lay overturned and splintered. Books and papers were scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. Scorch marks blackened the walls where magical attacks had gone astray and the air was redolent with the acrid stench of corrupt magic.
A strangled cry reached them from somewhere above.
“Upstairs!” Viggo barked.
They thundered up a narrow staircase, Viggo in the lead with Evander close behind. The sounds of struggle grew louder—crashes, grunts, the sizzle of dark magic being unleashed.
The noise led them to a door at the end of a small corridor. Viggo burst through it and rocked to a stop.
Eight figures in dark coats filled the cramped study, their hands wreathed in shadow and their eyes gleaming with malevolent intent.
In the centre of the room, a thin grey-haired man in rumpled clothes was pinned against the wall, a dark mage’s hands wrapped around his throat.
His face was purple, his feet kicking weakly as the life was choked out of him.
His appearance fit the description of Simek Solomon had obtained from his contact.
Viggo didn’t hesitate.
He crossed the distance to the mage strangling the occult researcher in two powerful strides and punched him in the face, his fist connecting with the mage’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the room. The man went flying into a bookcase that collapsed under the impact.
Simek crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.
“Protect him!” Evander shouted.
All hell broke loose as they came under attack from the dark mages. The opal rings they carried flared as black tendrils exploded from their enemies’ fingertips like living things.
The shadow creatures shrieked and retreated in the face of the disruptive magic from the rings.
The dark mages switched tactics, summoning spells next.
Viggo planted himself in front of Simek and caught the first volley of corrupt bolts on his forearms, the vile energy dissipating harmlessly against his skin.
Evander unleashed his powers across the way.
Fire and wind roared to life around him, forming a blazing vortex that drove three of the mages back against the far wall. The heat was intense enough that Viggo felt it even through his immunity, the flames casting dancing shadows across the chaos of the battle.
Fairbridge moved like a ghost amidst the enemy, his wind magic deflecting attacks whilst his hands and feet found their marks with the precision of an expert combatant. He disabled one mage with a blow to the throat, then spun to redirect a shadow bolt into the ceiling.
Rufus and Solomon fought back-to-back near the doorway, preventing any of the dark mages from escaping down the stairs.
The inspector wielded a heavy candlestick he’d snatched from somewhere, using it to crack skulls and bones even as he punched and kicked his attackers.
Solomon was a study in brutal motion, his years of street fighting evident in every strike.
Ginny had produced a knife from somewhere and was holding her own against a mage twice her size, her movements fluid and deadly as she avoided his blows and slashed his flesh.
Shaw sneaked around the edges of the room, grabbed Simek, and hauled him toward a corner where an overturned desk provided some cover. She crouched over him protectively, a stone truncheon forming in her hand as she activated her earth magic.
More shadow creatures came to life around them.
“There’s too many of them!” Rufus shouted as a monster grazed his shoulder.
“Then, let’s even the odds!” Evander snarled.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Ice exploded across the floor, catching two of the dark mages mid-stride and freezing them to the knees. Evander followed up with twin lances of compressed air that slammed them into unconsciousness before they could react.
“Everyone, drop to the floor!” Evander barked. “Now!”
Viggo obeyed, along with the others.
Evander raised a torrent of flames and obliterated the shadow creatures in one fell swoop, his hair and clothes moving violently in the magic storm around him.
Their attackers cursed.
Viggo smiled savagely, jumped to his feet, and waded back into the fray.
He caught a dark mage by the collar and hurled him bodily into another, sending both crashing through what remained of a wooden cabinet.
A third tried to flank him, shadows coiling around his fingers.
Viggo spun and drove his elbow into the man’s solar plexus before finishing him with a devastating uppercut.
For a moment, it seemed like they were winning.
Then one of the dark mages—the one Viggo had knocked into the bookcase—staggered to his feet and removed a black and red gemstone from inside his coat.
Dark magic surged from it and wrapped the man in inky billows before shooting toward his accomplices. Their bodies unravelled into tendrils of darkness that rapidly merged with the shadows pooling in the corners of the study.
“No!”
Viggo lunged for the nearest one. His hands closed on nothing but cold air, the mage’s shadow manipulation too fast even for his reflexes.
The men were gone in a heartbeat, their physical forms swallowed by darkness like they had never existed at all.
Viggo stood in the centre of the wrecked study, chest heaving and fists clenched at his sides.
“Cowards,” Solomon spat.
“Tactically sound cowards,” Fairbridge corrected, though his voice was tight with his own frustration.
Evander lowered his hands, the magic storm around him abating.
Viggo forced himself to unclench his fists and turned to where Shaw was helping Simek sit up against the overturned desk.
The occult researcher was a wiry man in his sixties, with unkempt hair and a haggard face. Bruises were already forming around his throat where the dark mage had tried to strangle him and a cut on his forehead leaked blood down the side of his face.
“Herr Simek,” Evander said, crouching beside him. “Are you alright?”