Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 27

“Did something happen?” Rufus asked curiously.

Evander gave his friend a puzzled look as they got off the carriage.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re positively glowing.”

“Oh.” Heat rose in Evander’s face.

He could hardly tell Rufus that he’d spent a good hour relieving himself with the enchanted toy in his bedside drawer last night after Viggo had left, all while imagining it was the Brute’s cock that was firmly wedged inside his body and wrecking him until he fairly shuddered with pleasure.

Evander had wanted to pinch himself when he’d woken up, certain he’d imagined everything that had happened between them. One look at the love bite Viggo had left on his neck made him realise it hadn’t been a dream.

He still wasn’t sure what a future with Viggo would look like. But he wanted to see it nevertheless.

Evander’s chest tightened at the truth he had yet to reveal to the Brute.

It made him recall the scene that had met him when he’d gone downstairs that morning. He’d been greeted by a funereal atmosphere upon entering the foyer.

“My Lord,” Mrs. Sinclair had murmured despondently.

Hargrove had stood beside the housekeeper, the morning papers in a white-knuckled grip. The manservant had looked about ready to spit nails.

Evander’s shoulders had tightened. “How bad is it?”

“It’s worse than bad, my Lord,” Hargrove had grated out. “They’re saying your position in Scotland Yard is untenable and you should be summarily dismissed.”

Evander’s stomach had sunk at that. He’d clenched his jaw.

“Looks like some nobles in the House of Lords are really keen to get rid of me.”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He’d been a thorn in their side for years.

“What happened, my Lord?” Mrs. Sinclair had asked quietly.

Evander had met his former nanny’s steady gaze unflinchingly. Unlike Hargrove, she knew all his secrets, including the one that would rock the entire British Empire if it were to be made public.

Though he could not reveal the exact details of what had taken place the day before at Scotland Yard, Evander had told them he’d used his powers to save a man’s life.

His explanation had gone some way towards mollifying Hargrove.

Mrs. Sinclair had sighed. “I guess it couldn’t be helped. Please, pay no heed to the papers, my Lord.” She’d shot a narrow-eyed look at a scullery maid who’d slowed to gawk at Evander. “I shall ensure that our staff keeps their mouths shut.”

The maid had flinched and hurried about her business.

Rufus’s voice brought Evander back to the present.

“I saw the print rags this morning.” The inspector was frowning.

“Come now,” Evander said lightly. “You should know better than to believe everything you read in those gossip columns.”

A muscle jumped in Rufus’s cheek.

“How can you be so blasé about this? We’re talking about your future, dammit!”

Guilt stabbed through Evander at his worried expression.

“Nothing will happen. I may jest about it, but I should count myself lucky my status as an Archmage never came to light before now.”

Rufus swallowed heavily. His mouth flattened to a thin line a moment later.

“What of Winterbourne’s threat yesterday? He said the Queen could strip you of your role as a Royal Arcane Liaison and force you to resign from the Met once he informed her of what happened.”

“I have no doubt Her Majesty will be… upset .” Evander did his best to keep his voice neutral as an array of conflicting emotions formed a tight knot in his chest. “But she won’t make me relinquish my position.”

Rufus looked unconvinced. “How can you be so certain?” he said doggedly.

“Let’s just say Her Majesty and I go back a long way.”

Alastair Millbrook’s workshop bore an unassuming facade where it stood nestled amidst more opulent storefronts tucked between St. Martin’s Lane and Adelaide Street. The exterior was weathered brick, with frosted windows covered in intricate, gold filigree that prevented passersby from peering inside. A brass plaque was affixed to a wooden door painted a dark green. It read A. Millbrook, Artifice & Enchantments .

Shaw was waiting for them in the small foyer with a couple of constables Evander recognised.

“Top o’ the morning to ya, your Grace,” Shaw greeted brightly.

Rufus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously cheerful, Shaw. What did you break this time?”

“It was some kind of clockwork device, Inspector,” Constable Oliver Bartley snitched before Shaw could protest her innocence. The constable was short and round and wore a perpetually earnest expression on his ruddy face.

Shaw sucked in air, outraged at being ratted out. “How could you, Ollie?!”

Bartley’s ears flushed. “It’s not right to lie, Miss Shaw.”

Rufus said a rude word. “I was jesting. Did she really destroy a piece of evidence?!”

“We tried to stop her, sir, but she said she needed to examine the device closely and then it just sort of went— Poof! ” Bartley made an elaborate exploding gesture with his hand.

"Turns out the thing wasn’t meant to be treated like a maraca,” the lanky figure beside him contributed drily.

Freddie Fitch was known for being observant and quick-witted.

Evander had high hopes he would make sergeant by the end of the year.

“Best go in and survey the damage, your Grace, Inspector.” Fitch dipped his chin respectfully at Evander and Rufus. “We'll be out here, making sure no one else decides to come and play shake the priceless magical artefact.”

Shaw gave the constables a dirty look and avoided meeting Rufus’s eyes as she led them inside Millbrook’s workshop.

A whispered exchange started behind Evander.

“ Pssst !” Bartley hissed to Fitch. “We forgot to ask his Grace about that rumour! You know, the one saying he’s an Archmage!”

“Ollie?” Fitch muttered.

“Yes, Freddie?”

“Remember how I often tell you there are times when it’s best to keep mum?”

“Ah-huh?”

“Now’s one of those times.”

“Oh.”

Shaw sneaked a look at Evander. Having refrained herself the day before, the mage appeared to be bursting with questions. To Evander’s relief, she decided not to voice them in the face of Rufus’s warning stare.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to see, your Grace.” Shaw indicated the interior of the Charm Weaver’s workshop.

It ran the entire length and almost the whole of the width of the building.

A bright autumnal sunlight filtered through a multi-paned, arched window overlooking a small courtyard and garden at the back. It illuminated the ornate workbench sitting beneath the wide stone ledge and the array of tools and mysterious objects cluttering its surface.

The rays danced off a large brass-and-crystal ornery suspended from the ceiling, the device intended to map magical ley lines instead of celestial bodies. Shelves lined a significant portion of the room, racks crammed with bottles and vials of every shape and size. A pair of tall, wooden apothecary cabinets with assorted drawers framed a library nook containing a well-stocked collection of arcane texts, engineering manuals, and ledgers. One corner of the workshop was dedicated to metalworking, the space dominated by a magically-enhanced forge. An anvil and a table holding trays full of hammers, tongs, and alchemically-treated pliers stood next to the furnace.

Evander’s gaze landed on a wall covered in dozens of exquisite magical clocks. Each was a unique piece that would no doubt fetch several guineas on the current market. Their rhythmic ticking filled the atelier with an eerie susurration that made the hairs lift on the back of his neck.

Shaw’s voice nearly made him jump.