Brassard was either a dark magic user or had had dark magic rituals performed in his mansion. From Clementine’s sources, it was probably the latter.
“There,” Fairbridge said softly, inclining his head toward a portly man holding court near the fireplace. “Our host.”
Viscount Alphonse Brassard was smaller than Evander had expected, with thinning hair pomaded across a sweating scalp and eyes that darted constantly around the room. He wore his wealth like armour. A diamond stickpin, gold watch chain, rings on every finger. But there was something nervous in his manner. Something almost brittle.
Ginny let go of Evander’s arm and headed toward Brassard, her blue gown and glittering jewellery drawing admiring glances as she moved through the crowd. The viscount’s face lit up when he spotted her. He excused himself from his guests and met her halfway across the ballroom. Ginny extended her gloved hand with a dazzling smile.
Brassard bowed and kissed the back of her hand with fawning delight.
Ginny removed a fan from her reticule and moved it coquettishly in front of her face while she spoke to the man in a low voice. She indicated Evander and his entourage where they stood a short distance away.
Brassard pinned them with a curious stare before raising his glass and acknowledging them with a polite smile.
Evander and Fairbridge nodded in return.
They had passed the first test.
Ginny had Brassard laughing within moments, the man utterly captivated as he leaned close to her.
“She’s good,” Fairbridge observed.
“She’s the best,” Evander concurred. “Now, let’s work the room.”
Solomon’s face tightened, his gaze lingering on Ginny as he followed Fairbridge.
The next hour passed in a blur of vapid conversation and understated information gathering. Evander played his role impeccably, discussing trade routes and shipping costs with men who had no idea they were speaking to a duke, his American accent flawless. Fairbridge proved equally adept at social manoeuvring as he conversed a short distance away, his dry wit charming several guests who might otherwise have questioned their presence at the soirée.
Viggo and Solomon stayed close to them, ever the watchful bodyguards.
Beneath his exemplary performance, Evander’s attention remained fixed on the dark magic signature permeating the house. He’d sent out several weak pulses of elemental power and determined that it was strongest near the back of the mansion.
He was about to suggest to the others that they regroup near the hors d’oeuvres table when he realised Shaw was missing.
Evander excused himself from the group of men he was conferring with and discretely beckoned Rufus, Viggo close on his steps.
“Where’s Lyra?” Evander murmured.
“She went to the powder room.” The inspector frowned. “Though that was a little while ago.”
Evander’s shoulders knotted. He scanned the chamber, searching for the forensic mage’s mousy brown hair and petite figure. Relief flooded him when he spied her slipping into the ballroom via a back door.
She made her way swiftly through the crowd toward them.
Evander straightened when he recognised the familiar gleam in her eyes.
“She’s found something,” he said quietly.
They regrouped discreetly near a pillar.
“There’s a door at the end of the servants’ corridor,” Shaw murmured urgently. “It’s guarded. I found traces ofNoctis Bloomon the floor nearby.”
Tension radiated off Viggo. “The cellar.”
Evander’s pulse had quickened. “You’re certain?”
“I’d stake my reputation on it. The residue was fresh—no more than a day old.” Shaw’s gaze was bright with barely suppressed excitement. “Whatever they’re hiding, it’s down there. It might be that shipment theNightshadeoperatives mentioned.”
Evander caught Fairbridge’s eye across the room and gave a slight nod.
