A whisper underground. Aaronovich B.

My name is Peter Grant. I am a constable police, I am respected on the streets of London and I am also a student of a wizard. I work in the ninth department for the investigation of economic crimes, known as “madness”, and from the side of the slaughter department - as “oh, God, not they again”. But even their boss, professional and inveterate skeptic, inspector Sievella, has to call us to strange nightly incidents.

That is why at five in the morning I stood at the subway station and looked at the body of James Gallaher, a US citizen and student Faculty of Arts. And he wondered: how could he get to the destination, without getting to the chambers of the metro video surveillance, and why does the fragment, which stabbed the guy, have such a strong magical power? But the worst was waiting ahead. James Gallagher turned out to be the son of an American senator, and a special agent of the FBI contacted me and began to ask uncomfortable questions. For example, "What are you hiding?" Or "How did you create this light from the void?" The deeper the investigation led me to the labyrinth of channels, tunnels and abandoned bomb shelters that lay under the streets, the more I became convinced that the Lower London was no less complicated and densely populated than the upper one. And perhaps much more dangerous.