Katie rose and took her in her arms. “There, there,” she murmured, patting the young woman’s back. “It will be alright.” She shot a harried look their way, her alarm evident for the first time.
“Will it though?” A muscle jumped in Solomon’s jawline. He jutted his chin at Evander. “Willhe be alright?”
Viggo waited for Evander’s answer with the same breathless expectancy as everyone else in the room.
Evander hesitated. “I don’t know,” he finally said with unvarnished honesty. “There has never been a case like this.” He studied Tom with a faint frown. “As far as I am aware, there has never been a thrall like him in the entire history of magic.”
The blood drained from Tom’s face. Ginny reached over and took his trembling hand.
Evander squatted next to the young man and took a gentle hold of his shoulder.
“We will get the best minds in this country to look into this, Tom,” he said quietly. “You have my word.”
Tom nodded weakly, his entire body radiating dread.
Viggo’s stomach clenched. He could see his own trepidation mirrored in Evander’s tightening expression.
Whatever Musgrave had done to Tom in that godforsaken lab, it had changed something fundamental inside him. Something that Viggo feared could rock the very fabric of the British Empire and lead to another War of Subjugation.
They took their leave a short while later.
Viggo and Evander pulled back a little as Tom and Emily said their goodbyes to the others at the door.
“How did it go at the ministry?” Viggo asked quietly.
“I’m probably going to get an earful from Winterbourne.”
Viggo grimaced at Evander’s resigned expression. “That bad, eh?” He lowered his voice. “See you tonight?”
Evander dipped his head imperceptibly.
“I would like that very much,” he murmured, brushing his hand lightly against the back of Viggo’s.
It took all of Viggo’s willpower not to pull his lover into his arms there and then and kiss him. He swallowed a groan.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Weak sunlight piercedthe grim skies and cast long shadows through the tall windows of Scotland Yard as Evander and Rufus climbed the stairs to the fifth floor of the west wing, on their way to Winterbourne’s office. The building smelled of coal smoke, ink, and the faint acrid tang of magical residue that never quite left the Arcane Division.
Evander’s anxious thoughts lingered on Tom Simmons. He feared the silver lines beneath the young man’s skin were only the beginning of the radical changes taking place inside the thrall’s body.
The trapped energy he had sensed within Tom felt worryingly like twisted magic threatening to break free of its vessel. He suspected the only reason Tom had survived the forced transference was because of his unique constitution.
According to scientific hypothesis first postulated byLes Prophètes Illuminésand more recently researched by Professor Whitley and Professor Chevalier, some thralls possessed unique nervous systems that allowed them to store magic inside their bodies.
If magic could be forcibly transferred into thralls and allow them to use it—however imperfectly—it would shatter everything our society was built upon.He frowned as an unpleasant thought came to mind.Did “I” foresee this?
Fergus Brent, Winterbourne’s secretary, glanced up from his desk as they approached the commander’s office. He stiffened and shot out of his chair.
“Ah, Duke Ravenwood, Inspector Grayson,” he blurted in an overbright tone that immediately raised Evander’s suspicions. “Please wait a moment. I shall inform the commander of your arrival.”
Evander narrowed his eyes slightly. His gaze swivelled between the secretary and the double doors leading into Winterbourne’s office.
“He has a guest?”
A thin sheen of sweat beaded Brent’s brow. “I’m not in a position to divulge that, your Grace.” He swallowed nervously.
The man would never make a good spy.
