“Please, sit. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering refreshments. Belgian hospitality, you know. We take these things very seriously.”
As if summoned by magic, a servant appeared with a tray laden with coffee, hot chocolate, and an array of pastries that made Shaw’s eyes widen with delight.
“Now then.” Willems settled into an armchair that creaked ominously under his weight and somehow managed to slosh coffee onto his waistcoat in the process. “I understand you’re here investigating some rather nasty business. Dark mages, mysterious disappearances, ancient artefacts—all very thrilling stuff!” He waved a hand and managed to get coffee on the rug.
Fairbridge’s expression remained carefully neutral. “I believe Commander Winterbourne briefed you on the nature of our investigation?”
“Oh, yes. Terrible business with that Professor Musgrave fellow.” Willems shook his head sadly, dabbing at the coffee stain on his waistcoat with a napkin and only succeeding in spreading it further. “We’ve had our own troubles here, you know. Researchers going missing from our Institute for the Arcane, strange rumours circulating in certain circles.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the crumbs now decorating his lapel. “Dark magic, they say. Very hush-hush.”
Evander studied the inspector carefully. There was something about the man’s demeanour that didn’t quite ring true.
“What can you tell us about the Brussels Institute for the Arcane?” he asked.
Willems brightened. “It’s a wonderful establishment. Very prestigious. Though I confess the academics there tend to look down their noses at us simple police folk. They think us and our investigation beneath them, you see.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “It must be all those theories and ancient texts. Goes right over my head, I’m afraid.”
Evander was beginning to doubt that very much. If Willems was indeed the bumbling fool he appeared to be, him being assigned as their Belgian contact could only mean two things. The local authorities in Brussels didn’t believe what was happening in their city was linked in any way to the events in London and dark magic and simply intended to humour Evander’s team and their investigation during their stay in the city. And Winterbourne’s assessment of Willems was flawed.
Since Evander knew Winterbourne was rarely wrong when it came to judging people, this meant Willems was putting on a deliberate performance. One likely intended to lull people into a false sense of security.
“And the missing researchers?” Rufus asked. “Have you any leads on their whereabouts and why they went missing?”
“Like I said, there’s talk of dark magic being involved but we have yet to find any definitive proof of that,” Willems said amiably.
“Did any of them have connections to a group calledLes Prophètes Illuminés?” Evander said, trying to keep impatience from creeping into his voice. “Or was anyone studying magical transference?”
Something flickered behind Willems’s jovial expression then, his eyes going razor-sharp for a heartbeat. It was gone so quickly Evander almost missed it.
“Les Prophètes Illuminés,” Willems repeated slowly. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in some time. Disbanded years ago, weren’t they? Dabbled in things best left alone.” He shookhis head. “We haven’t found any links to that group. But we are continuing to make enquiries.”
“How about suspicious deaths among your thrall population?” Viggo asked in a hard voice, his attempt at civility slipping. “Bodies with their skin or eyes marked with strange silver lines?”
Willems rubbed his chin thoughtfully, spreading more crumbs. “We have had a number of unexpected thrall deaths lately,” he acknowledged. “But none marked the way you describe. We received the official report from London and have performed necropsies in line with the recommendations put forward by your chief medical examiner.”
Evander exchanged a troubled glance with Viggo. The thralls deaths in Brussels probably had dark magic at their source. But the absence of arcane residue was worrying. His mind raced.
Has our enemy’s research on magical transference advanced enough not to leave any sign of forced magic?!
A knock at the parlour door interrupted his thoughts. A hotel porter entered, bearing a silver salver with two envelopes.
“For Duke Ravenwood,” he announced.
Surprise danced through Evander. He accepted the correspondence with a nod of thanks and stiffened when he saw the first envelope.
It bore the elaborate seal of the German Imperial household.
The second was smaller, the paper plain but of good quality and stamped with their hotel’s name.
He opened Victoria’s message first and scanned the elegant script.
It was an official invitation to attend a reception at the Royal Palace that evening. Formal attire required. Considering how quickly the missive had come, Victoria must have had someone from her entourage watching out for their arrival.
The second envelope was a telegram forwarded from the hotel’s front desk. Evander’s pulse quickened as he read the message. It was from Leon.
Informant will attend reception tonight. Will make contact. Trust no one else.
Beaulieu
Evander passed both messages to the others. Fairbridge read them with his usual inscrutability while Viggo’s hands crumpled Victoria’s invitation slightly.
