Trey had been waved to a chair to wait, but instead he propped his shoulder against the wall and looked out of the window at the dreary sky and grimy city beyond. From the corner of his eye, he grudgingly admired Winter’s spellwork—the man was one of the best rune masters in Vaeland. His style was both efficient and elegant.
In contrast, Halford was entirely self-taught, his runes written in a slipshod manner, including some that he had made up. Even Trey, an independent thinker, had been startled upon first seeing them.
But it was their unique ways of looking at the world of magic that made Halford and Trey sympathetic to each other’s style. If it weren’t for Halford’s guidance, Trey would never have found himself in government employ. He’d been far too arrogant at the time.
He probably still was.
Prior to Winter’s appointment as supervisor of the Phantasm Bureau, his only interaction with Trey had been the one senior seminar the latter had taken with him at Holyrood. Both had come out of the experience with less than charitable feelings towards each other.
Now they treated each other with guarded respect and that was that. Trey was under no illusions that Winter only suffered his presence.
And he knew just what Winter would say—and do—if he found out about Arabella.
Winter finished his conference and dismissed runes with one precise gesture of his hand. He stepped from the circle and nodded at Trey. “Good afternoon, Mr. Shield.” Everyone was a Mister in the Phantasm Bureau, regardless of birth.
Did he emphasize afternoon with ironic inflection? Trey’s mouth hardened but he responded with chill civility. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Winter sat in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Last night, there was a significant disturbance near All Saints’. Sutton picked up your presence in the vicinity. What happened?”
“A barghest and some shrikers,” said Trey briefly. “I took care of them.”
“So near the cathedral? What would cause a barghest to venture so close to those wards?”
Trey twitched a shoulder. “It is that time of the year, sir.” Most people looked forward to the Vernal Rites with a sense of relief, believing that the darkness and cold of winter strengthened the demons of the Shadow Lands. Those with the gift knew that the new life of spring could be dangerously twisted by those same demons, strengthening them for a last push against the weakened defenses of Vaeland.
Thresholds, whether in between times or places, were dangerous.
Winter examined Trey in expressionless silence. Trey met his gaze with a bland one of his own. He kept his breathing deep and even, and his shoulders relaxed.
Dealing with Winter had taught Trey more composure than he would’ve thought possible a year ago. Their meetings tended to be terse and business-like, neither caring much for the other’s company.
Pity that the Viewing necessitated daily interactions. Winter was too conscientious to forego them.
Winter looked down at his desk. Trey recognized his own message, rimmed in frost and fuzzy at the edges, upon its rich rosewood surface. All the furnishings Winter had brought in were simple, but expensive.
It didn’t feel like Halford’s office at all now.
“What of the pawnbroker engaged in contraband smuggling whom you discovered this morning?” Winter placed an index finger on the note Trey had dashed off to the Office alerting them to Gibbs and his operation.
Uneasy, Trey wondered how much intelligence Winter could glean from his missive. He knew only a small extent of his supervisor’s gift. Winter, on the other hand, had access to all of Halford’s documents on him. Trey was grateful for the latter’s abrupt recording style and messy scrawl.
“He was killed by a ghoul last night.” Let Winter think he’d found Gibbs while following the ghoul. “It’s possible the murder and the smuggling are related. Perhaps he tried a spell that caught the ghoul’s attention. Internal could help us ascertain what he might’ve been doing.”
A frown bit deep between Winter’s brows. He gave a curt shake of the head. “Internal is just as busy as we are. We’ll have to take a defensive stance until the Rites are over. I’ll ask Sutton to keep watch for ghoulish activity, but we cannot commit to a full hunt right now.” He tapped the aether square, which curled in on itself and dissolved into motes.
Trey couldn’t let Winter move on just yet. “Lord Atwater was seen leaving Gibbs’s establishment two nights ago. I have yet to obtain an interview with him, though. If you could put in a word, I’d like to see him this afternoon.” He hated to ask the favor but it had to be done. Arabella was running out of time.
Winter’s eyebrows arched. “Lord Atwater?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you sure of this intelligence? How many of the disreputable inhabitants of the Fleet are even able to identify his lordship?”
“I have good reason to believe the witness is respectable and the intelligence worth investigating,” said Trey. “A few minutes of Lord Atwater’s time should suffice to tell me if that’s the case.”
“Very well. I shall see Atwater at a meeting this afternoon and ask him myself.” Winter dipped a pen in ink and wrote out a note to himself on a sheet of linen paper. He appraised Trey out of eyes that gave nothing away. “Will that satisfy you, Mr. Shield?”
It didn’t, but Trey jerked his head downward into a nod. He didn’t want Winter looking too closely into the identity of his witness.
And his supervisor didn’t explicitly say that Trey couldn’t question the politician himself. Though saints know that he won’t be very happy to find out I went behind his back.
“If that’s all, sir…” Trey turned towards the door.
“One moment, please.” Winter raised a finger. “It’s come to my attention that the niece of a genteel family is being kept in stasis after an accident that occurred
