Chapter 44
Paris was grey and cold when they arrived, the City of Light subdued under a blanket of winter clouds.
Leon met them at the station, his handsome face splitting into a warm smile when he spotted their party spilling out of the train.
“Mon ami!” The Frenchman pulled Evander into an embrace that lasted perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you for that assessment,” Evander said drily.
“I speak only the truth.” Leon’s grey eyes sparkled with familiar mischief, though concern lurked beneath the surface. “I received your briefing. You certainly know how to keep things interesting.”
Viggo made a sound that might have been a growl beside them.
Leon’s smile widened to a grin. “Ah, Mr. Stonewall. Still as cheerful as ever, I see.”
“Leon,” Evander interjected before Viggo could respond. “We don’t have much time. Our train to Calais leaves in two hours. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
The levity drained from Leon’s expression. “Of course. I already arranged a room at a café nearby. Come.”
They left the others in the station waiting room and followed Leon through the winding streets of the 10th arrondissement.
The café he led them to was small and unremarkable from the outside, but the private room he’d secured on the upper floor was warm and well-appointed, with a fire crackling in the hearth and a fresh pot of coffee on the table.
“Commander Rousseau sends his regards,” Leon said as they settled into chairs. “He’s been following your investigation with great interest. The French government is understandably concerned about the implications of what you’ve uncovered.”
“As they should be.” Evander accepted the cup of coffee his friend poured him. “Has there been any more dark magic activity in Paris since we left? What about those shipping manifests?”
Leon’s expression grew troubled. “There have been incidents. Nothing on the scale of what you encountered, but enough to suggest ‘I’’s network is larger than we feared: a disappearance in Lyon, strange disturbances in Marseille bearing the mark of dark magic, rumours of shadow creatures in the countryside.
” He ran a hand through his blond hair. “We’re still investigating the shipping manifests.
And Brassard and his men don’t know we’ve been tailing them. ”
Evander lowered his brows. Yet again, it felt like they were one step behind their enemy.
“Rousseau has authorised additional resources for our investigation,” Leon continued. “And we are continuing to liaise with the relevant authorities across Europe.”
Evander put his half-finished drink down and drummed his fingers on the table. “We have half the main body of the Codex now. Once we’ve had time to study it, we may find information that leads us to their ultimate goal.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
“Before I forget, there’s something else.” Leon reached into his coat and withdrew a folded letter. “This arrived for you yesterday, via diplomatic pouch from London. It’s marked urgent.”
Evander took the letter and frowned at the familiar seal of the Metropolitan Police. He broke it open and scanned the contents. His jaw tightened.
“Winterbourne. He wants a full debrief as soon as we return. The Ministry is eager to hear our report.”
“I’ll bet they are,” Viggo muttered darkly.
“There’s more.” Evander’s eyes found the postscript at the bottom of the page. “A report from Nightshade. Finn and Magnus are still in Liverpool. And Tom Simmons—” He paused, relief easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “His condition is stable.”
It was good news, or at least the absence of bad news, which after the past weeks felt like much the same thing.
They rose soon after and departed for the station.
Leon clasped Evander’s shoulder as he prepared to board the train.
“Don’t be a stranger.” His grip tightened briefly. “Whatever comes next, you don’t have to face it alone.”
“Thank you, Leon.” Evander covered his friend’s hand with his own. “Truly. For everything.”
Viggo watched the exchange with an expression that was carefully neutral. His hand found Evander’s when they settled inside their private carriage. He squeezed gently.
Evander squeezed back.
England rose from the dark waters of the Channel like an old friend, familiar and dear even under the dreary sky that greeted their ferry.
The white cliffs of Dover had never looked so welcoming.
They caught the train to London and arrived at Charing Cross just as the lamplighters were making their evening rounds.
The city wrapped around Evander like a well-worn coat when they stepped out of the station; the particular quality of the fog, the rumble of carriages on cobblestones, the distant chiming of church bells marking the hour.
He was home.
Winterbourne was waiting for them at Scotland Yard despite the late hour. His weathered face betrayed nothing as Evander, Rufus, Fairbridge, and Shaw filed into his office.
Viggo waited outside, Solomon and Ginny having already parted ways with their party at the station.
The commander listened to their report in silence, asking occasional questions but otherwise letting Evander speak uninterrupted. Fairbridge confirmed a few things at Winterbourne’s request, his tone impassive. When it was done, the commander sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
“Half the main body of the Codex in our possession,” he said finally. “And the other half in the hands of a dark mage who serves an enemy we’ve yet to identify.”
Evander dipped his chin. “That’s the situation, sir.”
“The Ministry won’t be pleased.”
“The Ministry is rarely pleased,” Evander said evenly. “But we achieved more than anyone expected. We rescued over a dozen prisoners, disrupted a major dark magic operation, and prevented the enemy from obtaining the complete text. Under the circumstances, I’d call it a victory.”
Winterbourne’s lips twitched. “I’m sure Lord Beckett won’t see it the same way.”
“Lord Beckett can go hang himself with his own cravat,” Rufus muttered.
“I’ll lend him the ladder,” Shaw said with a sniff.
“There’s an oak tree in his garden that might serve well,” Fairbridge contributed magnanimously.
Everyone stared at the War Office spy, Winterbourne included.
A bark of laughter escaped the commander before he could suppress it. He schooled his features into a stern expression once more, though an amused glint lingered in his eyes.
“Get some rest. All of you.” Winterbourne’s gaze swept over their group. “You’ve earned it. We’ll continue the debriefings tomorrow.”
They filed out, exhaustion settling over them like a physical weight now that the adrenaline rush of their mission had finally faded.
Rufus departed for his lodgings with a promise to check on Ophelia first thing in the morning. Shaw practically sleepwalked to the waiting carriage that would take her home.
Fairbridge lingered a moment on the steps of Scotland Yard.
“Your Grace.” The spy’s voice was quiet enough that only Evander and Viggo could hear. “What you did in that monastery—in the convergence and afterwards. It was an extraordinary feat of magic.”
Evander met his gaze steadily. “Will that be in your report?”
Fairbridge was silent for a long moment.
“My report will state that Duke Ravenwood and his team conducted themselves with courage and professionalism throughout an extremely dangerous mission, successfully achieving their primary objectives despite significant obstacles.” He paused, a wry smile stretching his mouth. “Some details are best left unwritten.”
Evander offered the spy his hand. Fairbridge shook it.
“Safe travels, Mr. Fairbridge.”
“Your Grace.”
The spy melted into the night, leaving Evander alone with Viggo.
“Home?” Viggo asked.
Evander studied the Brute.
His lover was tired, his clothes rumpled, his dark hair in desperate need of a wash. Yet, he was the most beautiful thing Evander had ever seen.
“Home,” he agreed.