Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 11

“His name is Alastair Millbrook,” Rufus said sombrely. “He was a talented Charm Weaver and renowned craftsman known for his ability to create powerful magical artefacts.”

Evander frowned at the body of the dead man on the examination block of the morgue. He had heard of Millbrook.

Heavy rain drops struck the imposing arched windows of the special wing of Scotland Yard that housed the Arcane Division. Even the dreary daylight seeping inside the chamber could not mask the marked lividity of Millbrook’s body.

A tall, gaunt man with a pale complexion and a shock of white hair was deftly incising the corpse, scalpel slicing through skin and fat with a proficiency that spoke of years of experience.

Dr. Ambrose Mortimer put the knife down and reached for the bone saw. “You might want to step back for this, gentlemen.”

Rufus and Evander moved away from the table.

“Did the Charm Weavers Guild mention anything else of interest about Millbrook?” Evander asked above the shrill whirr of the device. “Something that might give us a clue as to why he was murdered?”

Rufus pressed a handkerchief to his nose, his face pale at the sight of Mortimer retracting the two halves of the dead man’s breastbone and exposing the contents of his chest.

He’d never been a fan of necropsies.

“The guild master mentioned the victim hadn’t attended the last two guild meetings.”

Evander filed this information for future consideration. Rufus had officially handed the case over to him when he’d arrived at Scotland Yard at noon that day. The inspector would be staying on to assist him, as per the recommendation of the head of the Homicide Unit and Evander’s own commander.

“Did Millbrook specialise in a particular kind of magical artefact?”

“The guild master didn’t specify. All he said was that Millbrook’s clients tended to be aristocrats interested in having items with peculiar functions made for them.”

The image of the crystal vial danced before Evander’s eyes. He’d given the object to the Artificers’ department an hour ago.

Mortimer’s eyes narrowed behind his goggles a moment later. “It appears Miss Shaw was correct. Our friend’s arteries have indeed been drained of blood.” He poked around the thoracic cavity with a metal probe before looking up and meeting Evander and Rufus’s stares. “Whoever removed the heart did so with a precision that can only be attributed to a highly skilled magic practitioner.”

Evander exchanged a startled glance with Rufus.

“Do you mean to say the murderer has committed this kind of crime before?” the inspector said sharply.

Mortimer shrugged. “If he has, he’s either done a good job of burying the bodies or practiced on plenty of animals. I have never observed this calibre of magical excision before and I’ve done plenty of necropsies in my time.” The physical examiner paused. “Oh, and I noted something interesting when I examined the skull. He had suffered some kind of blow to his head before his death.”

Unease chilled Evander’s skin.

He’d been right about this case giving him a bad feeling.

He walked over to a worktop and picked up the specimen vial containing the black substance they’d recovered at the scene of the crime.

“What of this? Any idea what it could be?”

“Oh. You mean this thing?”

Rufus gagged a little when Mortimer pulled out a long, stringy, dark clot from one of Millbrook’s main blood vessels. It was identical to the blob in the vial.

The physical examiner studied it under the light of his head lamp, his eyes gleaming with fascination.

“I am not certain yet, but I am willing to bet it is some kind of breakdown product of the magic that was used to perform this heinous act.”

Evander lowered his brows. “Do you believe it could be dark magic?”

Mortimer dropped the congealed mass in a bowl. “It is difficult to be certain. All I know is I’ve never seen the likes of it. Fascinating, isn’t it, your Grace?” He beamed at Evander, his entire face transforming with an expression akin to an excited child unwrapping his birthday presents. “Why, nothing gets the mental juices going like a good old mystery.”

Rufus looked like he was ready to bring up his breakfast at the mention of juices in the context of a necropsy.

Mortimer ignored the inspector’s sweaty complexion, picked up his scalpel, and leaned over the body. “Now, Mr. Millbrook, what shall your intestinal organs reveal to us?” He cackled under his breath.

Evander swallowed a sigh. There were days when he worried about his associates in the AFD. He and Rufus left Mortimer muttering to the corpse and exited the morgue.

They bumped into Shaw in the corridor.

“Ah, there you are, your Grace,” the forensic mage said brightly. “I was just coming to see you. I’ve finished examining the scene of the attack near Hyde Park Corner.”

Evander straightened. “I can tell from your smile that you found something.”

Shaw rocked back on her heels. “I did indeed,” she beamed.

Rufus eyed her suspiciously. “Please tell me those wayward fingers of yours went nowhere near whatever evidence you unearthed?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you should place a bit more faith in your juniors, Inspector.” She exhaled noisily at Rufus’s doubtful stare. “I promise I did nothing untoward.”

“What is it you found?” Evander said.

“Some kind of purple powder,” Shaw replied as they started down the passage. “There was a trace of it on the tree suspect number three made contact with, as per your report. I’ve handed it to Mr. Brown.”

They made their way to the fourth floor of the south wing, where the holding cells designed to handle criminals and objects of a magical nature were situated. Like the rest of the imposing Gothic fortress that housed the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police, the rooms were heavily warded to protect against physical and magical attacks.

“How’s the prisoner, Sergeant Dwyer?” Evander said when they entered the anteroom.

The officer supervising the lockup that day rose from his desk, his expression weary. “I’m afraid he’s still refusing to talk, your Grace. Had he not begged for mercy like he did last night, I would have wagered he was a mute.”

Dwyer led them into the area with the holding cells. He inserted an enchanted key in the lock of the fortified room where the prisoner was being held, removed the wards on the bolts with the Met issued ring on his finger, and opened the door.

The Brute jumped up from the stone bench he’d been sitting on when they entered the cell, his foot rattling the tray containing his untouched food. He backed away until he struck the far wall and hunched down so as to make himself a smaller target, his eyes wide with fear behind the arms he’d raised to defend himself.

Surprise jolted Evander. He could see bruises on the Brute’s chest through his torn shirt. He cut his eyes to Dwyer.

“Did someone beat him?”

Dwyer shook his head vehemently at his cold tone. “No, your Grace. No one has touched the man. He wouldn’t allow a doctor to examine his wounds, let alone a healer.”

Evander pursed his lips and studied the Brute with a frown. Now that he saw him in the light of day, he was amazed he’d managed to stop him in his tracks last night.

The man was a hulking six foot eight, with a broad muscular frame and thick, trunk-like legs. His skin was a rich olive and his thick, black hair curled over his ears, framing soulful brown eyes that seemed to carry the weight of a troubled past. A thin, white scar ran from his left eyebrow to his cheek and a fresh cut scored the underside of his forearm, courtesy of Ginny’s blade.

“Who did that to you?” Evander asked curtly. He pointed at the injuries on the Brute’s body.

The Brute blinked. He unfroze after a moment and slowly straightened, as if the slightest wrong movement might bring about his downfall. He hesitated before indicating Evander with a trembling finger.

Evander blinked. “Oh.”

Remorse knotted his stomach. He found himself the focus of stares and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It must be from last night, when I fought him.”

Shaw wrinkled her nose. “What did you use, your Grace? A battering ram?”

Evander caught Rufus’s narrow-eyed look.

“We mean you no harm,” he told the Brute, injecting some warmth into his voice. “All we want to know is who you are and why you attacked my carriage last night.”

The Brute was silent for so long Evander began to wonder if they should get an enchanter to influence his mind and have him comply with their questions. It was a method he loathed using and had only ever done so a couple of times in the past, and as a last resort at that.

“I—” The Brute stopped and swallowed heavily. “I will talk. But only if you bring Viggo here.”

Evander’s pulse quickened at the name. Dwyer cursed. Shaw’s eyes rounded.

“Viggo?” Rufus asked harshly. “As in Viggo Stonewall?!”

The Brute licked his lips and nodded.