They emerged into a sea of Vienna’s elite. Women in elaborate gowns dripping with jewels moved alongside men in immaculate evening dress, silk rustling and the murmur of German conversation filling the cold air.
Evander extended his arm to Ginny. She was wearing an emerald gown that complemented her eyes and diamonds that caught the lamplight with every movement.
“Shall we?” he murmured.
Her smile was the very picture of aristocratic elegance as she looped her arm around his, though her eyes held a glint he was all too familiar with.
They had played this game dozens of times before, in the balls and party rooms of London.
Their group drew curious glances as they climbed the stone steps to the tall doors and stepped inside a foyer that felt like a living jewel box. Even Viggo looked impressed as he gazed at the polished marble and warm stone surrounding them. They ascended the grand staircase with a steady flow of patrons, passing beneath crystal chandeliers that cast dazzling prisms of light across the floors.
The interior of the opera house was even more magnificent than the exterior. Tier upon tier of gilded boxes rose toward a painted ceiling depicting scenes from classical mythology, the whole space designed to overwhelm the senses and remind visitors of their insignificance before such grandeur.
Shaw’s jaw dropped open as she stared at the vast space.
Inspector Richter met them in the vestibule, his evening attire polished and his bearing no less commanding.
“Duke Ravenwood.” He shook Evander’s hand and greeted the rest with a brisk dip of his chin. “Laurenz is waiting in his box. I’ll take you to him.”
They followed Richter through corridors lined with red velvet and past alcoves where patrons lingered with champagne glasses, to a private door on the third tier. Richter knocked twice, paused, then knocked once more.
The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man.
Laurenz Helnwein was tall and spare, with silver hair and pale eyes that held the sharp intelligence of a chess master. His evening clothes were impeccably tailored and a heavy signet ring bearing a family crest adorned his left hand.
“Duke Ravenwood.” His English was precise, accented but fluent. “I have heard much about you.” His gaze swept over their assembled group. “Please, all of you, come in.”
The box was spacious enough to accommodate their party comfortably, the plush seats arranged to provide an excellent view of the stage below. Heavy curtains could be drawn for privacy. Laurenz did so now, muffling the sounds of the filling auditorium.
“I appreciate you meeting with us, Herr Helnwein,” Evander said once they were settled.
Laurenz glanced at his cousin. “Klaus tells me you’re investigating the dark mages who have been plaguing our city.” His face grew troubled. “And that you believe their interest in my family is connected to something called the Crimson Codex.”
“We do.” Evander leaned forward. “We have reason to believe your family possesses a fragment of that text. A fragment these dark mages are after.” He paused. “We heard Mordecai Winchester paid you a visit.”
Laurenz’s eyes darkened.
“Indeed he did.” He was silent for a moment. “You’re aware that the Codex is not a single book but a collection of fragments the First Archmage deliberately divided and hid across Europe?”
Evander nodded briskly. “Yes. We learned this recently, in Prague.”
“Das Blutbuch. The Blood Book. That’s the Codex fragment my family possessed and that Winchester is after.”
The name made the hairs rise on Evander’s nape.
The orchestra below began its overture, the opening strains of Wagner filling the opera house. Laurenz seemed to draw strength from the music and squared his shoulders.
“What I am about to tell you has been a closely guarded secret of my family for generations,” he said quietly. “We have killed to protect it. We have died for it. And now, it seems, others are willing to do the same to possess it.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts.
“The fragment came into my family’s possession nearly three centuries ago. It was given to my ancestor by a dying man who claimed it contained knowledge too dangerous to exist, yet too valuable to destroy.” Laurenz’s voice grew heavy. “The man spoke of a catastrophe. A magical disaster that had occurred well before his own time, in a valley in the Alps.”
Evander’s pulse quickened. Beside him, he felt Fairbridge grow very still.
“What kind of catastrophe?” Evander asked carefully.
“The First Archmage.” Laurenz met his gaze. “You know of him?”
