Richter shrugged. “Distantly. My mother was a Helnwein before she married my father, a common policeman who swept her off her feet at a summer ball.” A ghost of a smile crossed his features. “The family was not pleased. They considered it a grave misalliance. But blood is blood and certain doors remain open to me that would be closed to others.”
“Can you get us access to them?” Viggo asked tensely.
“I can do better than that,” Richter said with a dip of his chin. “My cousin, Laurenz Helnwein, will be attending the opera tomorrow night. I can arrange for you to meet him there. He’s one of the current keepers of the family’s arcane collection.”
“Considering what we’ve heard of the family, I’m surprised he would so readily agree to meet with us,” Fairbridge observed warily.
Richter’s face tightened. “The Helnweins have had some troubles as of late. Strangers asking questions. Break-ins at properties that should have been impregnable. Two weeks ago, a man came to Laurenz directly.” His voice grew hard. “He wanted something from the collection. When Laurenz refused, he threatened his family.”
Evander frowned. “Let me guess. Winchester?”
“The very same. Laurenz described him perfectly—gaunt, pale, with burns scarring half his face. He said the man spoke of his employer with the fervour of a zealot.” Richter’s lip curled with distaste. “Whatever Winchester has become, he’s no longer the petty criminal who went to the gallows. Someone has given him power. And purpose.”
Evander exchanged a troubled glance with Viggo. It seemed they were dealing with another of “I”’s generals. A fanatic dedicated to serving his master even if it cost him his life, like Renwick and Musgrave.
“Laurenz will be at the Vienna State Opera at seven o’clock tomorrow night.” Richter permitted himself a wry smile. “He has a private box for the season and prefers to conduct sensitive business there. Claims the music helps him think. Personally, I suspect he enjoys making people sit through four hours of Wagner.”
Viggo made a sound that might have been a groan.
“It will provide excellent cover,” Fairbridge observed. “A public venue with private spaces for conversation.”
“Laurenz is many things,” Richter said. “Foolish is not among them. He knows someone is hunting his family’s secrets. Meeting in the open, surrounded by witnesses, is the safest option available to him right now.”
The inspector departed shortly after promising to meet them at the Vienna Arcane Division the next morning to give them more detailed intelligence on the dark magic activity in the city. He paused at the door.
“One more thing, Duke Ravenwood. Vienna’s magical underground is not like London’s. It is older, more entrenched, and far less forgiving of outsiders who stumble into the wrong shadows.” His gaze was grave. “Tread carefully. The walls have ears here and not all of them are friendly.”
A hush descended after the inspector left.
Evander quelled the sliver of dread coiling through him and addressed the room.
“We should use tomorrow to gather what information we can. Ginny, do you have contacts in Vienna?”
“A few.” Ginny’s eyes glinted. “They move in circles that might have heard whispers about this Mordecai Winchester.”
“Take Viggo with you. If Winchester is as dangerous as Richter suggests, I don’t want anyone moving through this city alone.”
Viggo’s expression suggested he had opinions about being assigned as a bodyguard rather than staying at Evander’s side, but he nodded curtly.
“Fairbridge, Rufus, and I will visit the city’s Arcane Division,” Evander continued briskly. “See what else they can tell us about Winchester and the underground activity Richter mentioned. Shaw, I want you to come with us and examine the evidence their forensic mages gathered more closely. There might be something they missed.”
“Already planning to, your Grace.” Shaw beamed. “I’ll bring my full kit.”
“And me?” Solomon asked with a raised eyebrow.
Evander frowned. “Stay close to the hotel. Keep your ears open. If anyone comes asking questions about us, I want to know immediately.”
CHAPTER 34
The Café Hausleoccupied a corner of Gumpendorfer Strasse. A relic from another age, its façade was adorned with faded gilt lettering and its windows clouded by decades of tobacco smoke.
Viggo followed Ginny through the entrance the next day. The heavy door closed behind them with a whisper of warm air and the rich aroma of roasted coffee. He scanned the interior guardedly.
Thonet chairs were clustered around marble-topped tables, velvet banquettes lined the walls, and an enormous brass chandelier cast amber light across a ceiling stained brown by countless cigars. Newspapers hung from wooden racks near the entrance, their Gothic script incomprehensible to Viggo’s eyes. Dotting the tables and corners were elderly gentlemen nursing cups of coffee while they conversed or read their paper.
“Charming,” Viggo muttered.
“The Viennese take their coffee houses seriously.” Ginny’s gaze swept the room. “A man can sit here all day with a single cup of mélange and no one will ask him to leave. It makes them excellent places for discreet conversation.”
