“Dark mages using the blackest of magic.”

I didn’t take my eyes off Mychael’s. “You have suspects?”

“I do.”

I met his response with silence. He knew one of the names I was thinking-no magic-linked mind reading necessary.

“It wasn’t Tam,” I said quietly.

“I know that.”

“Others won’t be so sure.”

“I know that, too.”

“Carnades despises goblins,” I said. “Especially ones as powerful as Tam.”

“Tam’s not the only dark mage on this island,” Mychael said. “I’m ashamed to say it, but more than a few of the Conclave’s mages and the college’s professors practice black magic. The vast majority of our mages and faculty want nothing more than to do research or teach. But some can’t take the temptation of that much power. Practicing black magic is illegal, but that doesn’t stop experimenting behind locked and warded doors. If they’re caught and convicted, they will be executed.”

“You’d think that’d be a deterrent.”

“The punishment is harsh, but it has to be. I’m responsible for the safety of thousands of students, mages, and citizens on this island. No one, or no thing, will endanger the people I’m sworn to protect.”

One of those people had gotten himself endangered right onto a slab in the morgue.

“Sedge Rinker said the dead mage was the chairman of the demonology department.”

Mychael nodded. “Professor Laurian Berel.”

“Those demons wanted something and they were convinced the professor had it,” I told him.

I didn’t know what “it” was, but recent near-death experiences had taught me that when bad guys wanted something, things would generally go to the lower hells in a handbasket if they got their hands-or in this case, claws-on it. And considering that the bad guys were demons, that trip to the lower hells could be literal.