Wonderstruck

by Allie Therin

  “You can dance, you know,” he said, when Arthur came back with a ginger ale for him and something a lot stronger for himself.

  “What?”

  Rory raised his voice to be heard over the music. “You can dance. I bet you had about a million lessons.”

  “I did,” Arthur acknowledged. “And my parents should have saved their money, because it stuck as poorly as Latin.” He gestured to the dance floor. “You go ahead.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” Rory admitted. “Where was I gonna learn to dance?”

  “You sing.” Arthur raised his glass to his lips. “I’ve heard you. Your voice is wonderful.”

  Oh. Rory shrugged, biting his lip to hide a smile from the compliment. “There’s music in church. Not much of that.” He tilted his head toward a nearby couple, where a man had dipped his girl so low her hair brushed the floor. She popped back up a moment later, laughing, skirt twirling as her partner spun her.

  Arthur grinned. “I suppose we’ll leave it to Jade and Zhang, then,” and yeah, those two were right up by the band’s stage, doing the Magnolia proud.

  The band wasn’t Stella’s but it was good, and Rory hadn’t seen so many live bands that he’d ever turn his nose up at one. Arthur had several dolls wander close, looking interested, but he only gave them friendly smiles, apparently genuinely content to prop up the wall with Rory. Arthur eventually left again to get drink refills, and Rory took a moment to watch, the dancers, the band, all of it. Jade was a particularly good dancer, drawing admiring looks from the fellas and some of the dolls. She wasn’t the only lady in trousers either, a reminder that this ship wasn’t American and neither were most of the people on it.

  There was a gentle tap on his shoulder, then Arthur’s voice, deep and close to his ear. “You all right?”

  Rory nodded. “Just kinda hitting me that I’m out of America. Three days late,” he added sheepishly.

  “Sometimes change takes awhile to sink in, and that’s true even if you’re not vomiting.” Arthur leaned even closer, his breath ghosting over Rory’s ear probably a little closer than two fellas should get in public. “You can still hear the music outside. Maybe we can find something more private.”

  Rory took his soda from Arthur’s hand and hastily got to his feet. He followed Arthur out to the wide deck, where couples had paired off in chairs and along the railing. One mom was tapping her toe while a baby slept on her shoulder, and a couple of kids in fancy clothes were dancing enthusiastically.

  Arthur led the way to the port side of the social hall, where the wind was blocked but there was nothing to block the view of—well, all that nothing. The stars, though; they were even more beautiful from the ship than they’d been from upstate New York, endless specks of glittering white spread across the deep black of the night sky.

  Rory leaned against the wall of the social hall, feeling the music vibrating within. “No land yet.”

  “We’re smack in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  “Didn’t actually need the reminder, thanks.”

  Arthur smiled. He was looking forward, out into the dark night as well. “I should teach you to swim. First class has a pool—we can sneak in.”

  “Hell no,” Rory said, with feeling. “I stick out bad enough in second. Besides, it’d be a waste of time. You, skintight bathing getup, dripping wet? I’ll be paying attention but I’m not gonna learn anything.”

  Arthur snorted. “I am going to teach you at some point,” he said, his tone a little more sober, “because I don’t think I can take thinking you’ve drowned again.”

  Rory stilled.

  “Earlier this year, I thought you’d fallen in the Hudson River, and then you did fall in the Delaware. And now we’re on a boat, and I’m finding it difficult to forget how close I’ve come to losing you to water.” Arthur cleared his throat. “So. You should let me teach you to swim.”

  “Aw geez.” Rory moved an inch closer. “Yeah, okay. I’ll learn. I’ll probably stare at you and get distracted a lot, but I’ll learn, yeah?”

  Arthur smiled, small but real and grateful. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

  “Putting up with you?” Rory scoffed. “You’ve been putting up with me puking since we got on this boat, staying in the cabin with me when you got better things to do.”

  “Everyone gets sick,” Arthur said. “And I assure you, I don’t have anything I’d rather do than be with you.”

  Rory bit his lip. It still seemed hard to believe that Arthur was just as into him, but it was impossible to ignore what was staring him in the face. “I can see it now, here on the ship,” he said hesitantly. “You’re so happy to be getting outta New York. You got a lotta pressure on you there.”

  Arthur glanced down at him, brow furrowed. “That’s true. I love the city, and I’m sure I always will, but it comes with expectations. What about it?”

  “You coulda left and taken the pomander abroad a month ago,” said Rory. “But you were sticking around. For me.”

  “You’re worth it,” Arthur said simply.

  Rory couldn’t help moving another inch closer at that.

  “And what do you think of getting outta New York?” Arthur said, straight faced.

  Rory half huffed, half laughed in surprise at Arthur’s imitation of him.

  “I’m serious,” Arthur said, grinning. “You’ve only left the state twice and now you’re on the open sea with your whole country behind you. What do you think?”

  Rory stared out past the railing, where the rising moon had lit the sky. The wind was fresh and salty in his nose, on his skin, the ship vibrating from the engines as it rolled through the waves. He was only inches from Arthur’s warmth, drinks in hand, and through the wall, he could make out that the band had started up “Rhapsody in Blue.”

  “I’m on a big ship, not locked up in my room, scared of myself,” he finally said, his throat tight. “I’m going on a new adventure, to a whole new country, with friends.” He swallowed. “I think maybe, if she could see me right now, my mom would be happy. And you’re the one who would’ve made that happen.”

  Arthur’s hand made an aborted move in his direction, then he dropped it with a quiet curse. “Darling,” he said softly.

  Rory nudged him pointedly. “Let’s go back to our room. I got three days I want to start making up for.”

  * * *

  The evening before they were due to dock, Arthur went to the second-class barber to get cleaned up. Rory, who was never gonna see the appeal of letting some other man run a knife over your face, went to wait on the promenade.

  He was holding his cap against the wind, watching the waves, when Zhang’s astral projection shimmered into view, floating in the air past the rail.

  “I have to tell you something, but you need to keep your eyes on me.” And before Rory could even process that, Zhang added, “You’re being watched.”

  Rory’s eyes went wide and he started to turn.

  “That was why I said eyes on me,” Zhang hissed.

  Rory forced his eyes front. “Who?” he said, in a whisper that would be lost to the waves and wind.

  “White man, maybe early forties. Tall and thin. He doesn’t match your description of the firestarter, Mr. Mercier.”

  “Oh, I’m being followed by some other random fella now?”

  “I don’t know if he’s following you,” said Zhang. “But he’s watching.”

  “Rory, there you are.” Jade’s voice broke through the crowd, bright and cheerful. “It’s a beautiful day, walk with me.”

  With gratitude, Rory turned to her. He offered his arm like Arthur always did for dolls, and she took it. They walked about halfway down the ship, then stopped at a different part of the railing, leaning casually against it.

  Zhang flickered back into view in the air in front of them. “He didn’t fol
low.” He frowned. “Either he’s not a paranormal or his acting belongs on a stage, because he doesn’t seem to see me at all.”

  Rory blew out a breath. “What’s he want?”

  Zhang shrugged helplessly. “It might not even be you, exactly. Arthur’s been in the papers a few times and his family is well known; it’s possible he’s watching you because he recognized Arthur and he’s looking for your connection.”

  Rory groaned. “That might be worse.”

  “Or neither is good,” said Jade pointedly.

  “Or maybe he was just watching because we’re all on a boat and he has nothing better to do,” said Zhang. “Maybe we’re jumpy.” He didn’t sound convinced, though.

  “I’d rather be safe than sorry, especially if it could be about Ace.” Rory held his cap more tightly against his head as the wind blew. “Did you see where he came from? ’Cause I’m gonna go scrying.”

  But the promenade was full of people, and so was the library, the galley, and the smoking room. Rory wasn’t exactly subtle when he scried, and there didn’t seem to be anywhere to go without an audience. He’d draw even more attention if he ran his mouth.

  Arthur joined them in the bar a little while later, and they filled him in. “Has this fellow turned up again?” he asked quietly, after ordering a whiskey.

  Zhang shook his head. “He hasn’t left the promenade.”

  Jade pursed her lips. “Suppose Zeppler does know we’re on board. He’s not going to send one man against three paranormals.”

  “Three paranormals and me,” Arthur said pointedly.

  “I don’t want a telepath near you either,” said Rory.

  “Baron Zeppler isn’t getting to you without going through me,” Arthur said stubbornly.

  Rory folded his arms. “You’re not the only one who gets to worry,” he said testily. “Especially when you keep ending up handcuffed by paranormals in tuxedos.”

  “Excuse you,” said Arthur. “What paranormals in tuxedos?”

  “I meant when you’re in a tuxedo—like at the Wonder Wheel. Or on that ship in Philly.”

  “So it only happened the one time. The two times.” Arthur huffed. “Look, if it happens a third time, then you can say it’s a habit.”

  “All I was trying to say,” Jade said patiently, “is even if all of this is nothing but justifiable paranoia, we’re making landfall in London tomorrow. And we need to be careful.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Land was a welcome sight after a week at sea. Arthur was up before dawn, watching the sun lighten the sky above the coast of England as their ship made its way east through the English Channel. By the time they were turning north, to the bustling Southampton docks, most of the ship’s passengers seemed to be out on the decks, anticipating landfall.

  Rory stood by his side, leaning on the rail, occasionally wiping salty ocean spray and misting rain off his glasses. “We made it.”

  “Was that ever in doubt?” Arthur said, amused.

  “Only every day,” Rory muttered, with feeling. “Ship’s nice enough, but I’m ready to stand on something that’s not moving.”

  First and second class didn’t have to go through customs like the rest of the ship. Having paranormal friends meant papers that passed any inspection, and very shortly they were walking through the terminal.

  “It’s not far to the train,” Arthur said, as he tried to act like having to carry his own suitcase off a ship wasn’t an utterly new experience. “Wesley’s warehouse is on the outskirts of London and it should be empty as he’s only just put it up for sale. With any luck, he’ll never be the wiser that we borrowed it; the paranormal world is no place for someone without magic.”

  Jade, Zhang and Rory exchanged looks.

  Arthur huffed. “You know what I mean.”

  Zhang cleared his throat. “It might be a little late for that.”

  Arthur gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

  “Because I just took a look at the street through the astral plane. And I think I see your lord friend waiting for you.”

  “Oh hell.” Arthur came to an abrupt halt. “What do we do?”

  Jade pursed her lips. “You two go to him.”

  “What?” Arthur and Rory said together.

  “The entire reason we were avoiding him was to keep him out of danger,” she said. “But if he’s here, if he somehow realized we were coming—how is it safer to leave him on his own?”

  Rory groaned but didn’t argue.

  Jade looked at Zhang, who nodded. “We’ll head to the warehouse as planned,” he said. “I’ll find Rory through the astral plane later.”

  “Aw, come on, don’t leave me,” Rory pleaded.

  “Sorry,” Jade said ruefully. “He’s not that bad.”

  “’Cause he never kissed your fella,” Rory muttered.

  Jade and Zhang disappeared in the opposite direction as Arthur gritted his teeth and pushed forward. A few steps through the crowd, and there, standing by his Bentley tourer, was Wesley.

  Wesley saw him instantly and threw up his hands. “Finally. Why the devil did it take you so long to get off the boat? You can’t possibly tell me you traveled second class.”

  “Hello to you too, and let me introduce you to the concept of stealth,” Arthur said, through clenched teeth. “And you are supposed to be in Windermere—”

  “I got a message about an inquiry into one of my warehouses from a Mr. James Arthur. How utterly ridiculous—just send a damn telegram next time.” Wesley eyed Rory, who was glaring hard enough that Arthur was grateful the ring was in its lead box and not on Rory’s finger. “I still don’t know what to call you.”

  “Funny, ’cause I got lots of ideas of what to call you,” said Rory.

  “All right, all right,” Arthur cut in hastily. “Wesley, thank you for coming to pick us up, although it really wasn’t necessary. Now, we were just heading to the train—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Wesley. “I brought the car. You’re staying with me.”

  “What?” Arthur said sharply.

  “I insist,” Wesley said simply, as if that was all he needed to say to get his way, and to be fair, it generally was. “I want the company.”

  Rory scoffed. “You mean you want Ace’s company—”

  “You’re both welcome,” Wesley interrupted. He considered Rory for a moment down the end of his nose. “Well. Perhaps welcome is too strong a word, but I’m extending the invitation, at any rate.” He pointed at his driver. “Marcus will get your bags. Is this it? Arthur, why are you carrying a suitcase? Where is your trunk?”

  Arthur got into the back seat next to Rory. The car took them through gray streets, the white clouds hanging low in the gray sky. The air was cool, a light rain coming through the car that was more a tangible mist that dampened skin and clothes than real raindrops. London felt familiar, the weather, the sights, all of it.

  “We’re going to the Kensington house. Arthur, you remember it,” Wesley said from the front seat.

  “Oh, of course Arthur remembers it,” Rory muttered.

  Arthur pressed his shoulder a little more firmly against Rory’s.

  The Kensington townhouse was as Arthur remembered it, four stories high with graceful bay windows on the ground and first floors. Some member of Wesley’s staff had arranged spring flowers on the front steps, bright yellow against the gray skies and white stone. Arthur had a moment of seeing double, his present layered over his past and the blur of days and nights spent drinking alone, missing Jade and the others, Wesley off somewhere busy with the deaths of his father and brother, his family’s estate, his new title.

  There was a comforting pressure suddenly against his side, Rory discreetly leaning in. “Hey.” The rough word could somehow be soft when Rory said it, brown eyes searching Arthur’s from under the brim
of his cap. “You okay?”

  The knot in Arthur’s chest loosened. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

  Wesley’s staff was the same as well, faces Arthur recognized but embarrassingly couldn’t put names to because he’d never bothered to learn who they were beyond “the cook” or “the butler” or “the fellow who made sure there was always whiskey.” Rory wasn’t going to be very impressed by that.

  Their bags were left to the staff as Wesley led them into the familiar entrance hall. He clapped his hands together. “Well, Arthur hardly needs a tour, I’m sure.” He looked at Rory like he might look at a dog who’d walked in with muddy paws. “Do you? Is property something you have any interest in?”

  Rory folded his arms. “Just show me where I’m supposed to sleep.”

  “Arthur, you’ll be in the guest room on my floor,” Wesley started. “And your...friend...can have the extra room in the basement—”

  “Rory’s taking the guest room,” Arthur cut in. “I’ll sleep downstairs by the staff.”

  “Nah, Ace,” Rory said, shifting uncomfortably. “If there’s a better room, it’s yours.”

  “Nonsense,” Arthur said pointedly. “He and I have history, yes, but you are as much his guest as I am, or as any lord or lady who’s come to visit.” He looked at Wesley. “He’s well aware I can sleep on the ground if I need to, and for all his posturing, he can and has himself.”

  Wesley’s mouth flattened into a thin line, but he didn’t refute it.

  “Lord Fine, you’re literally capable of manners fit for a queen,” Arthur added tersely. “I don’t care how you treat me, but Rory saved your life after you put his in danger. Act like the gentleman you’re supposed to be or we’re going to a hotel.”

  Wesley’s gaze lingered on Rory, who was still fidgeting like he’d rather be anywhere else. Then Wesley sighed. “My apologies,” he said, with so much grace that Rory’s eyes widened. “Welcome to my home. Allow me to show you to your room.”