Fairbridge was scowling. “That was incredibly reckless, your Grace.”
Surprise jolted Evander. He looked back and saw Rufus and Shaw begin to emerge from the building. He levelled a frown at Fairbridge.
Leon following him out of the window he could understand, the Frenchman being a wind mage among other things.
“You can wield wind magic,” Evander stated accusingly.
A muscle jumped in the spy’s jawline. “Yes. And I would have preferred not to reveal that to all of Paris.”
CHAPTER 19
The carriage carrying Leon,Evander, and the rest of the duke’s team had barely disappeared around the corner before Viggo turned to Ginny and Solomon, his mind racing.
“Solomon, reach out to our operatives working the docks along the Seine. See what they’ve heard about unusual disappearances, dark magic activity, anything that doesn’t smell right.”
Solomon nodded curtly. “And you?”
“I’m going with Ginny. Her contacts move in different circles than ours. My presence might convince them to talk.”
Ginny’s mouth thinned. “You mean you intend to threaten them if they don’t do as you say?”
“If needs be,” Viggo grunted.
Ginny blew out a sigh. “There will be no need for that. The people I know trade in the kind of information that doesn’t make it into police reports. As long as we have something to give them in exchange, they’ll talk.”
She produced a small card from her reticule, the cream paper embossed with the name of an establishment and an address in the 2nd arrondissement.
“That looks rather posh for an information guild,” Viggo said, unconvinced.
“The criminal elite in Paris move in elevated circles,” Ginny said tartly. “And it’s not a guild. It’s a salon.”
Viggo made a face. “So, that’s why I haven’t heard of them.”
Concern flitted in Solomon’s eyes.
“Be careful,” he said, his gaze lingering on Ginny a fraction longer than necessary.
Ginny’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. She nodded.
“We’ll meet back at the hotel before sundown,” Viggo said.
They parted ways outside the Institute, Solomon heading east toward the river while Viggo and Ginny hailed a passing hansom cab. The driver, a grizzled man with a cigarette seemingly permanently affixed to his lower lip, raised an eyebrow at their destination but said nothing as he urged his horse into motion.
Paris rolled past in a blur of grand boulevards and narrow side streets. The city felt different from London—older somehow, despite its gleaming new buildings. There was a weight to the air here, a sense of accumulated history pressing down on every cobblestone that made Viggo curious to find out more, even though he’d been to the city plenty of times before.
He glanced at the woman beside him. “Solomon cares for you, you know.”
“I know.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “I just wish he wouldn’t put up so many walls between us.”
Viggo hesitated, uncertain how much he should reveal about his friend’s confession from a few days ago.
“He thinks your affair is doomed to end in heartache,” he said quietly.
Ginny stiffened, head whipping around. “He told you that?”
Viggo nodded reluctantly in the face of her sharp stare. “He almost didn’t come on this trip.”
Ginny swallowed hard, her eyes darkening with emotion. “I did not enter this relationship lightly. He of all people knows this.”
