Wonderstruck

by Allie Therin

  “None,” Benson said flatly. “But apparently Jade is encouraging her.”

  “That’s right, it was my idea,” Jade said unapologetically. “I’d sleep better knowing there were more eyes on my family. Zhang and I are traveling so much and we’re going to have to leave again.”

  Again? Rory’s heart plummeted. But you just got back.

  Benson turned back to Jade. “Then we’ll get a big guy to do it—”

  “May I have an interview, at least?” came Sasha’s voice, from behind Rory.

  Rory stiffened. Had Sasha been behind them on their way out? Had she seen them? Had Rory risked Arthur’s reputation because he couldn’t keep off him—

  Sasha walked right past Rory and Arthur, her attention on Stella. Stella glanced her way. And then she took a second look, a little slower.

  Benson groaned. “Look, miss,” he said nicely to Sasha, as she came to stand next to Jade. “I’m sure you’re very competent. But it’s a dangerous job, and we can’t give it to a pretty girl just because she found us vodka.”

  Stella’s gaze was still on Sasha. “That vodka was from you?”

  “A present.” Sasha made a modest hand wave. “For Rory’s birthday, and for the most beautiful voice and beautiful woman in all of America.”

  Stella’s smile became a grin. “Oh, I like you. You’re hired.”

  Benson groaned again. “This is not how you choose a bouncer—”

  “Aleksandra Ivanova has some unique qualities—” Jade started, just as Stella said, “Then she can be my personal bodyguard.”

  Benson gestured broadly around the alley. “We need muscle—”

  Without fanfare, Sasha lifted the back end of the car blocking Stella’s car in, and pushed the entire vehicle forward until Stella’s car had enough space to pull out.

  Benson stared as Sasha smiled at Stella.

  Jade cleared her throat. “She’s a paranormal,” she said to the still-staring Benson, sounding amused. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

  Stella slapped her bag against Benson’s chest. “Hold my purse.”

  Benson fumbled not to drop the bag as Stella strode forward, holding out her hand to Sasha. “Welcome to the Magnolia’s staff, Miss Ivanova.”

  “Sasha.” She took Stella’s hand, their eyes locked. “And if the bodyguard position is open, I would choose that over bouncer.”

  Benson covered his face with his hand.

  Rory grinned. Well, maybe Sasha wasn’t too concerned about a little affection between men.

  Jade smiled knowingly at Rory. “Arthur can leave his car here,” she said. “I’ll walk you to the street and help call you two a cab.”

  Chapter Six

  Rory had only the ride to the Upper West Side to come up with a plan.

  “Switch hats with me,” he said to Arthur, in the back seat of the cab. “And let me have your suit jacket.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” Arthur muttered, but he was already passing over his fedora. Unlike Rory, who’d spent his own drunk cab ride trying to flirt, Arthur hadn’t said anything that would make a cabbie blink. “You realize your cap isn’t going to go with my suit.”

  Rory pulled Arthur’s fedora over his fluffy hair. “Put it on anyway.”

  “But to complement this cap I ought to do something like a herringbone tweed. I’m wearing wool pinstripes and you know, I don’t think the band is going to fit my head—”

  “Make it work, Ace,” Rory ordered. “And hurry up with the jacket.”

  “Bossy.” Arthur wriggled out of his jacket with difficulty, maneuvering gracelessly in the tight back seat. “Do you like chocolate?”

  “You know I do.” Rory turned sideways on the back seat and tugged on the black pinstriped suit jacket over the waiter’s uniform he was still wearing. “What’s that got to do with anything?” he added, as he smoothed the sleeves, which came halfway down his hands. It was way too big, but he’d have to hope no one gave them too much attention.

  “I brought you some chocolates from Montreal,” said Arthur. “The box is in my trunk. But don’t say anything about it, it’s a surprise for your birthday.”

  Rory bit back a smile. “Yeah, you got it,” he promised.

  As the cabbie parked, Rory dropped his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Doorman asks who I am, tell ’em the nephew story, all right? Theodore Kenzie.”

  Arthur looked at him for a long moment. “I like that,” he said quietly.

  “Good,” said Rory. “So you can—”

  “Although the nephew part is a bit odd, come to it, isn’t it, considering we—that we, well—considering I’m very clearly not your uncle and not exactly looking to fill that particular role in your life—”

  “Definitely talky after drinks,” Rory muttered with affection, and passed the cab fare to the driver in the front seat.

  Arthur managed to walk on his own, looking mostly dignified and only stumbling the tiniest bit as the doorman opened the door for them.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kenzie,” he said, as he held the door. Rory’s too-small cap sat awkwardly high on Arthur’s head, but if the doorman noticed he was too polite to say it. “Welcome back to New York. Your trunk was delivered to your apartment earlier this evening.”

  “Thank you, that’s appreciated,” Arthur said magnanimously, adding, “Come along, nephew,” as Rory tagged close behind. He didn’t think he’d seen this doorman before, but just in case he kept his head down and his trap shut.

  They made it up the elevator and inside Arthur’s apartment. Just the sight of the foyer was enough to loosen the constant tension in Rory’s shoulders. He’d missed this place so much. Even with the dusty scent of weeks of emptiness, it felt more like home than his boarding house ever had.

  Emotion welled in his chest, and as soon as the door was shut he pushed Arthur against it and stood on his toes to press their lips together.

  Arthur made a surprised but happy noise. “I missed you,” he said into Rory’s mouth, sliding his back down the wall until he was low enough that Rory could come down flat on his feet and keep the kiss going.

  “Missed you too.” Rory pulled back, just an inch, with a rueful smile. “I got a lotta things I wanna do to you, Ace,” he said, cupping Arthur’s stubbly jaw in his hands, “but it doesn’t feel right if you’re drunk.”

  “Drunk, what? Me? Psht.” Arthur clumsily put his hands in Rory’s hair, knocking the fedora to the floor. “I’m not drunk. And even if I was, don’t let that stop you. Consider it open season on my body, like a fox hunt.”

  Rory huffed a line. “That is a terrible line.”

  “Shut up, it’s a great line, I’m always terribly eloquent. I really like your curls, have I told you that?”

  “Not like I get tired of hearing it,” Rory admitted. He scooped up Arthur’s fedora off the floor, then pulled a heavy, muscular arm over his shoulder again. “I’m putting you to bed. Not like that,” he added pointedly.

  He steered Arthur down the hall to the bedroom and the big four-poster bed. After tugging the cap off Arthur’s head, he carefully tossed the hats onto the seat of the bedroom’s one velvet chair. He gently but pointedly pushed Arthur down to sit on the mattress’s edge, then climbed on to straddle his lap.

  Arthur’s arms came around his waist. “This is nice.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Rory said quietly. More than nice. Rory had missed him so much his untouched skin almost hurt.

  The position put him slightly higher than Arthur, so that Arthur was the one who had to tilt his head back for them to kiss as Rory worked at Arthur’s tie, vest, and the tiny buttons of his shirt. Arthur tasted of oranges and licorice, his stubble the thickest Rory had ever seen. He brushed it with his lips, then his own jaw. “I wish beards were popular. You’d look good with one.”

  “Christ no, it grows thick
as fur. Two days without shaving and I’m indistinguishable from a bear.”

  Rory laughed out loud. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He slid Arthur’s shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in a sleeveless white undershirt, soft against his calloused fingers. He was getting better at navigating Arthur’s fancy, complicated clothes.

  He pushed Arthur down on his back on the bed and then slid from his lap.

  Arthur sat partway up on his elbows. “Where are you going?”

  “You still got shoes and pants I need to take off.”

  “Oh.” Arthur flopped down obligingly. “Yes, absolutely, get rid of the pants, very clever idea.”

  Rory snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up. You’re sexy, sure, but you’re also zozzled.”

  “But if we don’t have sex, you’re not going to want to be here.”

  Rory froze, hand on Arthur’s oxford. “What are you talking about?”

  “You hate being in my flat,” Arthur went on, mostly talking to the ceiling. “You’d rather sleep in your boarding house. Or not even your boarding house.”

  “No, I love your pad. I love it here.” Rory hastily put Arthur’s shoes on the ground and crawled up his body. “Bello, what’s making you say this?”

  Underneath him, Arthur looked unusually vulnerable, his cheeks still flushed and the sheen of liquor making his eyes brighter blue. “It was past ten when I picked you up. Your house was closed and you don’t have the shop. And you looked so exhausted, like you could barely stand.”

  Rory winced. “I’d been on my feet twelve hours,” he admitted. “The new job is—not great.”

  “But it’s better than turning to me?”

  “Well—I gotta work—”

  “Until midnight?” Arthur said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but you had my key. If your choice is taking my help or exploitation in your new job, am I actually worse? Am I worse than sleeping on the street?”

  “Arthur—” Rory rolled off him, to the side, and tugged Arthur over with him. He pulled off his glasses so he could rest his head on one of Arthur’s wonderful pillows, the two of them face to face, close enough Rory could still see him. “Of course you’re not worse than the street,” he said firmly. “I just need my own income, see? Because what if you—what if something changed between us and you got tired of—just, what if?”

  “But this isn’t a what if,” said Arthur. “This is me, right now, tonight, saying if you need help, I am here for you.”

  “I know, I just—” Rory made a face. “You got your own money, you wouldn’t understand. You’re untouchable.”

  “Untouchable.” Arthur reached out and stroked the side of Rory’s face. “You could go to any reporter in this city and have me ruined in a single sentence.”

  Rory’s eyes widened.

  “You could ruin me, ruin my family, and my friends—”

  “I would never—” Rory started.

  “You would never,” Arthur agreed. “Your magic in my aura would never hurt me, and you would never hurt me. But you don’t think you’re safe with me too.”

  “I—” Rory’s throat had grown thick. “I do, I am, I just don’t—I just don’t want to be a burden.”

  “You’re never a burden,” said Arthur, with feeling. “You make me happy.”

  Rory’s protests died on his tongue.

  Arthur ran his fingers down the bridge of Rory’s nose where his glasses had been. “I’m sorry you lost Mrs. Brodigan.”

  Rory swallowed. “It’s okay—”

  “I know. I know you’re genuinely glad for her. But I also know you lost your mother, and your father was terrible, and you’ve been left behind and abandoned too many times. It leaves scars, and if it means you can’t ever trust anyone, I’ll understand. Even if it’s me. Especially if it’s me, because I just left you too, and so I wasn’t here when you needed me.”

  “That’s not fair to you,” Rory said thickly. “I had your postcards. I had your key. You did more than you had to for me, you always do.”

  “I give a fraction of what I wish to and you still won’t take it. Your pain goes too deep.” Arthur touched Rory’s lips. “I don’t want to be one more person who leaves you.”

  Rory’s chest clenched.

  “Knowing what I know about magic, I feel responsible to the world to protect it,” Arthur said. “But I came back to New York to find the man who owns my heart in misery. If I go again, you’ll be hurt and vulnerable, and you’ll choose the suffering you think you’ve earned over the help you don’t think you deserve, and Teddy, I don’t know how to handle this heartbreak.”

  Rory opened his mouth, then closed it. He shouldn’t be hearing this; Arthur was still half drunk and spilling words he might not have said otherwise. But was this really how he felt?

  You’re never a burden. You make me happy.

  Rory kissed the finger against his lips, then leaned in to press his mouth to Arthur’s again. Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed as they kissed softly, sleepy and clumsy because Rory was exhausted and Arthur had driven all the way home after three a.m. magic to make it back in time for Rory’s birthday.

  Finally, Rory leaned back to reach the light, pulling the chain to darken the bedroom. The hall light was still on, spilling in and illuminating Arthur’s face, his high cheekbones and closed eyes under thick black brows. He was so big and strong that it was hard to remember he had soft spots that could get hurt too. Soft spots Rory hadn’t realized he could hurt.

  He was too heavy to pull closer, so Rory crawled over him instead, fitting himself against Arthur’s back. He wrapped one arm over Arthur and threaded the other one under his head, and held on tight. “Perdonami,” he whispered into the space behind Arthur’s ear. Maybe it was chicken to apologize in a language Arthur didn’t speak, but soft words still came easier in Italian and Arthur had always understood that.

  Arthur made only a quiet sound in response, relaxing into Rory’s arms with a trust that made Rory’s throat tighten again.

  It’s not a leash, it’s a lifeline, Arthur had once snapped at him, trying to get Rory to take help he desperately needed. And maybe I can’t make you take it, but you can’t make me take it back. If you need it, my lifeline is there, and the only leash on you is the one you’re using to choke yourself.

  Four years ago, Rory had put his faith in a pair of sisters from Ireland, and they helped him escape an asylum and a lobotomy and move to New York City. But he’d locked himself up again after that, afraid of his magic, too afraid to take another leap of faith.

  Until Arthur had come into his life.

  He held Arthur possessively close and stared into the blurry dark. And as Arthur’s warmth spread into his cold bones, he could have sworn he almost felt a similar relief in his veins, his restless magic finding contentment in having Arthur back.

  “You make me happy too,” Rory said, in an even quieter whisper.

  Maybe he could finally be brave enough to break the leash.

  * * *

  The cheerful spring sunshine was a cruel asshole.

  Arthur groaned as the light hit his eyes, and pulled the pillow over his head. “I can save the world from magic, but I can’t spend a cent on decent curtains?”

  “Whoops, sorry, shoulda thought to shut those.”

  Rory.

  The night’s memories flooded back in a rush, because he was blessed—cursed—with remembering his drunken foibles as well as everything else in his life.

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” Arthur said, yanking the pillow off his head. “Not when I inflicted this on myself—is that coffee?”

  Rory—who looked more enchanting than anyone had a right to be in one of Arthur’s oversize dressing gowns—held out his hands, a china cup in one and two small white pills in the other.

  Arthur grabbed it all. “Angel,” he muttered,
and Rory’s face went pink.

  “It’s just coffee and aspirin—”

  “It’s not just coffee, it’s your coffee.” Arthur took a sip with deep gratitude; it was hot and extra strong, and Rory had put enough sugar to make it go down like candy. “No one else makes it like you.”

  He washed the aspirin down with more coffee as Rory closed the curtains, leaving just a small gap to let a little of the light in. It had to already be at least midmorning, judging by how the light was high in the sky instead of slanting into the east-facing windows.

  “I slept late,” Arthur realized, embarrassed.

  “Good,” Rory said, without an ounce of reproach. “Jade said you were up most of the night doing magic, then drove all day just so you could make it back for my birthday.”

  Arthur winced. “And then I got drunk like a complete wretch.” He set the china cup down on the nightstand. “Some birthday present—”

  “Getting you back was the best gift,” Rory said, with feeling. “And the Magnolia was amazing.”

  His tone was warm, but Rory was still standing by himself a yard away, fidgeting almost nervously on his feet. His curls were messy from sleep, and the dressing gown was too big in a distractingly charming way.

  Rory seemed to notice Arthur staring, and shrank a little. “I, um. I borrowed your robe.”

  “You did, and I’m torn between wanting to get you out of it and never wanting you to take it off,” Arthur said honestly.

  Rory made a small smile, biting his lip. He seemed oddly shy and uncertain. Could Arthur’s memory be faulty, and he’d done far worse than made an idiot of himself? “Did I do something last night that’s made you uncomfortable?” he asked worriedly.

  “Not at all,” Rory said quickly. “You’re not that kinda drunk. You’re cute, actually.”

  “Cute.” There was a word he didn’t often hear applied to himself. Arthur rubbed his aching temple. He didn’t want the answer to his next question to be yes, because he wasn’t at all ready to give up Rory’s company again, or possibly ever, but he made himself ask. “Do you, ah, have to work?”