The events of the previous day weighed heavily on Evander’s mind as he and Rufus crossed Covent Garden on their way to Millbrook’s workshop, Shaw scampering ahead of them.
He’d spent the morning compiling his report for Commander Winterbourne, each word carefully chosen to convey the gravity of the situation without revealing too much about how he’d used his Archmage powers to accomplish a feat that would likely go down into the annals of the capital’s history as the strangest way a fire was ever put out.
As for the mages who’d been captured at the church, they were still unconscious. Mrs. Scarborough was in the process of examining the cursed gems on their necks to determined what kind of magic the dark mages had used to control their minds.
Evander had met briefly with the curse-breaker to apologise for what had happened the last time they’d met. Mrs. Scarborough had brushed aside his apologies with an embarrassed expression.
“It is I who should be asking for your forgiveness, your Grace,” the curse-breaker had said with a grimace. “Had you not used your Archmage powers when you did, I would have been in serious trouble and Mr. Graveoak would have died for certain.”
The afternoon sun struggled to pierce the perpetual haze hanging over London as they turned into the street where the Charm Weaver’s atelier was located. Evander got a taste of the unwelcome fame his future might hold when they approached the unassuming facade of the establishment.
Two familiar figures stood guard outside.
“Constable Fitch, Constable Bartley,” Evander greeted lightly with a dip of his head. “I see you’ve drawn this assignment again.”
Fitch snapped to attention.
“Yes, your Grace!” he barked, his gaze gleaming with reverence.
Bartley practically vibrated with excitement beside him.
“Is it true, your Grace?” the constable burst out, unable to contain himself. “About what happened at the church yesterday? They’re saying you summoned a tidal wave out of thin air!”
Evander stared. “I’m afraid the reports have been somewhat exaggerated.”
Rufus cut his eyes to Shaw. The forensic mage avoided his gaze and began inspecting her boots with questionable eagerness.
Fitch elbowed his partner.
“Don’t be daft, Ollie,” he hissed. “It wasn’t a tidal wave. I heard his Grace called down lightning from a clear sky!”
Evander swallowed a groan. The rumours were getting worse by the minute.
Rufus scowled at Shaw.
The mage shrugged innocently. “You’d think they’d never seen magic before.”
“I’m pretty certain you were the first to hound his Grace this morning about it when he arrived at Scotland Yard,” Rufus said scathingly.
Shaw sucked air between her teeth. “Hound is a strong word, sir. I prefer expressing healthy curiosity.”
Evander sighed at their habitual bickering and proceeded inside the building without waiting for them. The familiar scent of metal, oil, and chemicals lingered in the air when he entered Millbrook’s workshop.
Rufus and Shaw soon joined him.
“Let’s go through everything again.” Evander swept the room with a sharp gaze. “We must have missed something yesterday.”
They spent the next hour meticulously combing through the workshop. Evander examined Millbrook’s magical artefacts and equipment while Rufus pored over the Charm Weaver’s ledgers and papers. Shaw scrutinised every nook and cranny with the specialised forensic tools she carried in her bag.
Evander was studying the half-finished pocket watch he’d spotted the previous day when Shaw mumbled to herself.
“I wonder why everything happened here.”
Rufus looked up from a stack of invoices. “What’s that?”
Evander turned from Millbrook’s workbench.
Shaw squatted at the other end of the room. She was staring at the blood stain Evander had exposed the previous day.
“Millbrook was struck here.” Her brooding gaze moved to the furnace and the area next to the table where Evander’s Shadow Imprint had revealed the spot the Charm Weaver met his dire end. “He likely stumbled or was dragged over there.”
Rufus frowned. “And?”
“Millbrook put some pretty clever wards on this workshop to alert him to intruders.” Shaw chewed her lip. “He must have known when that mage broke into the building. So why was he still standing here? Why didn’t he try to leave?”
Evander’s scalp prickled.
“Maybe he didn’t know whoever broke in intended to kill him. Or maybe he got distracted by a formula or one of those engineering diagrams.” Rufus indicated the chalkboard.
The Artificers at the AFD had already examined Millbrook’s work and concluded there was nothing sinister about what he was doing in his workshop.
Still, Evander had a feeling Shaw was on to something.
It was in moments like these that the forensic mage demonstrated exactly why she was a rising star in the Arcane Division.
He watched as she rose, her focused gaze scanning the area around her. She took a step here and there, her fingers occasionally brushing against surfaces.
A sudden stillness came over her in front of the hearth.
“Your Grace, I think Millbrook was surprised here.”
Evander and Rufus joined her in a few quick steps.
Shaw pointed to a barely visible scuff mark on the floor.
“It looks like he might have struggled with his assailant before he was struck on the head. There’s a faint impact mark on the mantle, just here.” Her finger traced a fresh chip in the stone. “The poker probably missed him the first time. I’d wager Millbrook was standing here when his attacker arrived. But he wasn’t just standing idle.” The forensic mage narrowed her eyes. “He was doing something. Something that had his whole attention.”
Evander followed her stare to the hearth. His pulse quickened.
“Rufus, did Mortimer mention anything about soot on Millbrook's body?”
Rufus lowered his brows as he thought back to the physical examiner’s report. “Now that you mention it, yes. There was some soot under his fingernails. We assumed it was from his work, but?—”
“But what if it wasn’t?” Evander finished.
They stared at one another, the thrill of being close to uncovering another clue brightening their gazes.
Evander crouched in front of the fireplace and called on his wind magic. He wielded his powers and carefully lifted away the layers of soot and ash filling the hearth, only to stiffen a moment later.
Rufus frowned and leaned in closer. “What is that?”
Blood pounded in Evander’s veins as he studied what he’d unearthed. He carefully lifted the object in a handkerchief.
It was a small wooden cylinder about the length of his palm, looked to made like a piece of kindling.
He could feel magic humming faintly from it.
“It’s enchanted.” Surprise jolted Evander when he recognised the power tickling his skin. “Some kind of fireproofing spell.”
His gaze swung to the hearth. The reason he hadn’t sensed its presence yesterday was likely because Millbrook had concealed it deep beneath the ash.
Shaw shifted from one foot to the other. “Go on, your Grace. Open it!”
Evander twisted the top of the cylinder with delicate precision, Rufus and Shaw watching with bated breath. Something rattled as he upended the contents in his hand.
It was a key wrapped in a blank piece of paper.
Evander held the metal up to the meagre sunlight seeping through the window, his heart racing.
It was too small to be intended for a regular door lock.
A safe, perhaps? Or some kind of box?!
Whatever the key represented, it was their first solid lead to Millbrook’s murderer.
“Why put it in that?” Shaw said.
She pointed at the scrap of paper in Evander’s hand with a puzzled expression. The edges were torn, indicating Millbrook has hastily ripped it from a page.
The hairs lifted off Evander’s nape, warning him they were on the cusp of another discovery.
“Maybe he wrote something on it in invisible ink,” Rufus suggested. He flinched at Evander and Shaw’s stares. “What? It could happen.”
“You’re a genius, sir!” Shaw blurted out. She fixed Evander with an excited look. “I bet it’s enchanted, your Grace.”
Evander nodded, the thrill shining in the forensic mage’s eyes dancing through him. He focused his powers and rubbed the paper carefully between his fingers, trying to gauge the magic it contained.
His belly clenched at what he sensed.
Fire Magic? Again?! But—how? Millbrook wasn’t a fire ? —!
Realisation struck him like a bolt of thunder. His gaze landed on the engraving tools next to the half-finished pocket watch.
“Of course,” Evander mumbled numbly.
“What is it your Grace?” Shaw asked tensely.
“I was wondering how Millbrook was able to cast Fire Magic,” Evander explained. “He didn’t. He used his engraving tools to carve out fire magic spells.”
Rufus and Shaw stared wide-eyed at the items on the workbench.
Evander couldn’t help but experience a deep sense of admiration for the dead Charm Weaver.
Alastair Millbrook had been a genius.
“So, you’re saying he used Fire Magic to enchant that paper?” Rufus said, his tone still sceptical.
“Yes.”
Shaw’s expression grew determined. “I hate to sound like an arsonist, your Grace, but there’s only one thing for it.”
Rufus’s eyes rounded.
“Wait! You surely don’t mean he should?—!”
A hard smile curved Shaw’s mouth. “Too late.”
The air was shimmering around Evander’s fingertips, fire magic pulsing in his blood stream in a controlled flow.
Rufus sucked in air when sparks lifted off his skin and ignited the letters hidden in the paper, scorching out a word.
Rosa.
They stared at it breathlessly.
“Is that his wife’s name?” Rufus said.
Shaw shook her head. “His wife is called Martha.” Concern wrinkled her brow. “We still don’t know her whereabouts or that of their son William. Their family home in Finsbury was empty when we last called there two days ago. Neighbours reported they hadn’t seen a soul on the premises in well over a week.”
Evander’s mind raced.
Does that mean Millbrook knew he was in danger and had his family go into hiding?!
“Millbrook’s family might be able to tell us who Rosa is and what this key opens.” Evander turned to Rufus. “We should send a message to Nightshade . Viggo and his people can help us track them down.”
Rufus nodded reluctantly. “I’ll get Fitch onto it.”
It was late afternoon by the time they finished checking the workshop for further clues and finding none. Bartley was snoring softly where he leaned against the wall when they exited the building.
The constable woke up with a guilty start when Rufus shut the door sharply.
“It’s a good thing we weren’t attacked by dark mages, Bartley,” the inspector said sourly.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the constable mumbled, cheeks growing a more ruddy colour than usual. “My ma says I have the constitution of a sloth.”
“Why don’t you two take the evidence back to Scotland Yard before you sign off for the day?” Evander suggested to Shaw and Rufus. “We should give that cylinder and the key to the Artificers to analyse.”
Rufus frowned. “Won’t Graham be waiting for you at the Met?”
“I told him I wish to walk home today.”
“Alright,” the inspector said reluctantly. “Be careful.”