The noise stopped so abruptly that Ned wondered if his ears had simply given out. Ravenstone moved towards the door like a man bracing for the worst.

 Ned did not blame him. The sudden silence could mean that one of his sons was dead.

As they both rushed out, they saw Visconti opening the door of the study. The fine lines in his face seemed deeper, and even the usual amused twinkle in his dark eyes was gone. For once, he truly looked like an exhausted old man.

He put a hand on Ravenstone’s shoulder and said quickly, “The worst is over. He will remain unconscious for a day or two, but he will be fine. His mind just needs some time to heal.”

Ned saw they had heaved Singh onto a couch. It looked ridiculously small under the man’s large frame, but he was relieved to see that he was not tied up again.

St Clair sat on the carpet, holding his brother’s hand in his own. His handsome, boyish face looked haggard with exhaustion and pale as a sheet. Ned couldn’t help but feel for him. He was too young to feel responsible for all of this.

Ravenstone put a fatherly hand on the golden-brown locks for a moment, then brushed the bearded cheek of his other son with unexpected gentleness before he turned to Visconti.

“For God’s sake, Gio, how could this happen? Jas has practised mental shielding since he was a boy. I made sure of it.”

“A man in mourning for a loved one isn’t in the best state of mind to begin with. It’s a miracle he managed to come to you and didn’t lose control on the streets.”

“I want the names of every single bloody Enchanter in this city,” Ravenstone raged.

Visconti ran a hand over his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that, Henry. I need to use your telephone. I’ll explain on the way.”

Ravenstone glanced at his sons before he straightened his shoulders with determination and led the way. Ned watched them leave, then looked down at St Clair.

“Are you all right?”

It was a useless, stupid question, and he knew the answer, but there was nothing else he could find to say.

St Clair nodded but didn’t look up. He had let go of his brother’s hand and put his head between his knees.

“I should have stayed here with him. But he is the strongest man I know, and I never expected the Shadow would dare go after a witch of his calibre already,” he finally said.

Ned wasn’t quite sure if he heard a sob in his voice or if it was just muffled. He sat down next to him on the thick carpet and tried to find an optimistic tone.

“Well, it backfired. Mr Singh still has his powers and is alive. Maybe that will make the murderer lie low for a while, buying us some time.”

St Clair just made a noise that may or may not have been agreement. Tiny sparks of purple-tinted magic began springing from him.

“You look like a faulty electric wire,” Ned commented.

“How very charming of you,” St Clair muttered into his knees.

Ned touched one of the purple sparks. It instantly disappeared. “What is it?”

“The remnants of the Enchanter magic I drew from Jas. It takes a while until it is neutralised.”

Ned extinguished another spark with a fingertip, then briefly touched St Clair’s temple. The sparkling stopped. When he removed his finger, it began again, but it looked weaker.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

St Clair finally raised his head with a ghostly smile. “You said no flirting, no kissing, no touching.”

“I never said no touching. And anyway, this counts as first aid,” Ned replied firmly.

The fingers that intertwined with his own felt cold and stiff, but the effect was immediate. He could feel St Clair’s upper arm and shoulder relax against his. Ned let him rest in silence for a while, hoping no one would come in.

He tried to distract himself from unwanted sensations by observing the room. It felt stuffy and warm, even though there was no fire. The stench of sweat and scorched wool permeated the air, and there were large burn holes in the carpet.

He was still summoning the nerve to ask how that had happened when Singh suddenly shifted on the couch behind them. His muscular arm relaxed and fell off his chest as he sighed. Ned hastily let go of St Clair’s hand, but Singh just muttered something. Ned couldn’t quite make out the words, except for a name. Lilly.

“Is he calling for Miss Morton?” he asked.

St Clair nodded unhappily. He still looked worn out, but at least the sparkling had stopped.

 “They got engaged on Christmas Eve,” he said.

Ned glanced at Singh again and felt a pang of pity. What a tragedy to plan a life together with someone and then lose them within days.

Pushing the romantic notions aside, he returned to the more relevant things. “Was it his name that was misspelled in the notebook?”

“Yes. Singh. It’s missing an ‘h’ at the end.”

“But I spoke to her parents after we found her. They didn’t mention a fiancé,” Ned said.

They had mentioned a ‘highly unsuitable foreign-looking chap who pursued her’, but he thought it best not to repeat that. St Clair, however, seemed to know what he was thinking anyway and smiled mirthlessly.

He reached out to Ned, who took his hands and pulled him to his feet. St Clair made a few wobbly steps towards the desk and picked up an overturned chair to sit down before he spoke. His voice was quiet, as if he didn’t want the unconscious man to hear him.

“They thought he was not good enough for her. Maybe they would have accepted an earl’s bastard as a father to their grandchildren if he looked like you or me, but not one who looks so obviously Indian. My father didn’t take it much better either. He doesn’t think highly of actresses.”

“I see. Yet you conveniently forgot to mention that you have an illegitimate brother who is not only on that list but was also close to the last victim,” Ned said.

St Clair shrugged. “If I told you at once, you would have immediately suspected him. And anyway, most of the people on that list know each other. Some as friends, some as lovers, some as rivals. But if either of them was a Shadow, I would know.”

Ned was not so sure of that, but had no heart to reproach him further in the state he was in.

“Is there a way to say if he is missing any of his powers?” he asked instead.

St Clair looked at his brother’s still form and perked up a bit. “His powers are intact. Maybe he got the bastard first.”

“I doubt we are that lucky. But he certainly looks like he could kill a man through sheer strength.”

“He is a Beast Master. He can control animals and channel their abilities. But once you work out how to summon the venom of snakes, scorpions, and such, you don’t need strength to kill someone. One scratch is enough,” St Clair said, sounding quite proud of his brother.

Ned couldn’t help but glance at the signet ring with the silver raven. St Clair followed his gaze, and red patches appeared on his pale cheeks as he hastily tried to rise from the chair.

“I must call Inspector Blackwood. Maybe they’ve already found a dead body that…”

Ned saw that his limbs were shaking and pushed him back into the chair. “That’s probably what Visconti is doing. The only place you are allowed to go right now is your room.”

St Clair’s dark eyelashes fluttered. “Will you bring me to bed?”

“St Clair…”, Ned began impatiently, then quickly caught him as he suddenly slumped forward.

The brat was not flirting. Cursing under his breath, Ned steadied the unconscious body and let the feverish forehead rest against his cheek.

Those sons of Ravenstone looked nothing alike, but they sure knew how to collapse in a most dramatic fashion.