“I found something.”
Evander rose and crossed the room swiftly, pulse racing and the others in tow.
Fairbridge flicked a deadly looking knife from inside his wrist with practised ease and carefully lifted the edge of the endpaper at the back of the book he’d been examining.
Evander’s mouth went dry.
Tucked underneath it, sitting flush against the hardboard, was a single sheet of paper folded in two.
“How did you even spot that?” Rufus muttered.
“I have keen eyes. And the glue is fresh.” Fairbridge lifted his finding out of its hiding place and handed it to Leon.
The paper was crisp and new, the ink unfaded as Fairbridge surmised. Evander scanned the words over Leon’s shoulder. Though they were in French, he grasped their meaning easily.
“Henri,”Leon translated for the others.“If the hands of Fate ever lead you to this letter, then I am probably long dead. I believe I’ve finally uncovered a piece of lost text relevant to the Crimson Codex. It’s called the Mercier journal. In it, Les Prophètes Illuminés referenced a ‘place of convergence.’ It may not be in Vienna, as Musgrave initially suspected, but in Brussels. At first I thought the reference was metaphorical, but it is quite possibly literal. I think Les Prophètes were describing an actual location—a place where ley lines converge and magical barriers are thin. It may be where the Crimson Codex has been hidden all this time. I fear?—”
The letter ended abruptly, as if Molyneux had been interrupted mid-sentence.
“Anyone else heard of this Mercier journal?” Fairbridge asked quietly. He returned to the window and positioned himself next to the curtains.
Leon’s knuckles whitened where he held the paper.
“Yes. It was mentioned in one of the texts written byLes Prophètes Illuminés.It’s been presumed lost for decades. Where could Molyneux have found—” He stopped, the blood draining from his face as his gaze swept the chaotic study. “Mon Dieu! He had it here. That’s why they killed him!”
“They must have taken it,” Evander said darkly.
“We must warn Princess Victoria and her entourage,” Fairbridge stated with cold conviction. “She could be in danger if dark mages are planning something in the city. And speaking of danger, we’re being watched.”
Evander joined him. At first, he saw nothing unusual—pedestrians going about their business, carriages passing by, the usual bustle of a busy Paris morning.
Then he noticed him.
A man in a dark coat stood across the street, partially concealed in a doorway. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t browsing shop windows or acting like he was waiting for someone. He was simply watching the building.
Their eyes met across the distance.
Evander moved, magic bubbling through his veins. He yanked the bottom of the sash window up and hooked one leg over the sill.
“Your Grace, please tell me you’re not thinking of—” Fairbridge protested.
“I damn well am!” Evander growled.
He ignored the loud protests behind him, lifted his other leg over, and dropped down three storeys, wind magic lightening his body and forming currents under his feet that buffeted his fall.
Startled cries erupted from the crowd as he landed on the pavement beside the gendarme guarding the door in a low crouch. The police officer stumbled back and swore.
Evander was already up and running.
He heard another commotion behind him as he broke through the cordon and dashed across the street. He darted around carriages and foot traffic, protests and curses rising around him. Evander ignored them, his attention focused on his target.
By the time he reached the doorway, the man was long gone.
Evander spun on himself and looked around wildly, seeking a trace of dark magic he could follow. He found none.
Leon and Fairbridge were beside him a scant moment later.
“Please don’t do that again!” Leon snapped.
