A waiter in a tailcoat that had seen better days materialised beside them, his expression suggesting he’d witnessed every variation of human folly and found it all rather tedious.
“Gnädige Frau,” he intoned. “Mein Herr.”
Ginny rattled off something in German that made the waiter’s eyebrows climb toward his receding hairline. He nodded stiffly and led them toward the back of the establishment, past the billiard tables and through an archway hung with burgundy curtains.
The private room beyond was smaller and quieter. It was occupied by a single figure seated at a corner table.
The man rose as they entered. He looked to be about fifty, with a face that might have been handsome once but now bore the ravages of hard living. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and his eyes held the wary vigilance of a fox who’d escaped too many traps.
“Genevieve.” His voice was a low rasp, roughened by smoke or illness or both. “You look well.”
“Franz.” Ginny extended her hand, which he kissed with old-world courtesy. “You look terrible.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his weathered features. “Vienna has not been kind to me as of late.” His gaze sharpened as it slid to Viggo. “And this would be?”
“An associate. He can be trusted.”
Franz studied Viggo for a moment, assessing him with the air of someone accustomed to judging threats. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He gestured toward the empty chairs.
“Please. Sit.”
The waiter reappeared with coffee, a small pot of cream, and a plate of pastries that looked like they could rot teeth. Viggo positioned himself where he could watch both the door and the curtained archway.
Franz noticed and didn’t say a word.
“Your message was cryptic,” he told Ginny once the waiter had withdrawn. “Even for you.”
“The matter required discretion.” Ginny added cream to her coffee with precise movements and sat back, her cup cradled in her hands. “We’re investigating certain activities in Vienna. More precisely, incidents involving dark magic and a specific name.”
Franz went very still. “What name?”
“Mordecai Winchester.”
The colour drained from Franz’s face so quickly Viggo thought the man might faint. His hand trembled as he set down his cup, coffee sloshing over the rim.
Ginny looked surprised at this reaction, but hid it swiftly.
“Where did you hear that name?” Franz mumbled.
“Does it matter?” Ginny leaned forward, her tone implacable. “What can you tell us about him?”
Franz swallowed. When he spoke, his words came haltingly, as if dragged from somewhere deep and reluctant.
“Winchester was a monster. An earth mage of considerable power who took pleasure in causing pain. Ten years ago, he murdered three of his friends. But it was the way he did it that made him vilified by everyone.” Franz’s jaw tightened. “He used aBlood Magicritual, one so vile that even hardened criminals were sickened when they heard of it.”
Viggo straightened and exchanged a startled look with Ginny. “Blood Magic?”
Ginny carefully put her cup down. “We heard about that incident,” she said, maintaining a neutral tone. “There was no mention ofBlood Magicbeing involved.”
A humourless sound escaped Franz. “That’s because the Arcane Division investigator in charge of the case at that time was too scared to leave any record of it. But Winchester used that nasty power alright. I should know.” He met their stares, his owneyes hunted. “I was one of the criminals he fooled into providing him with the necessary ingredients for that ritual. I helped the authorities build the case against him in exchange for a pardon.”
Viggo digested this for a moment.
“Winchester has been seen in Vienna,” the Brute said quietly. “Recently.”
Franz flinched as if struck. “That’s impossible! I watched him hang. I even saw them cut his body down and bury him in an unmarked grave.”
“A senior inspector in the Arcane Division has several witnesses who can attest to his current presence in Vienna,” Ginny said flatly.
