by Allie Therin
Arthur gave Rory a pointed look. “Her name’s Molly, is it? And she’s pouring you special drinks?”
“She’s a friend.” Sebastian took his seat. “So. Are you going to help us with the siphon or not?”
“I’m afraid there’s a point that’s sticking for me.” Arthur leaned forward. “If you want your siphon so badly and you think this seller in Paris has it, then why are you still in London?”
Sebastian’s mouth flattened. “That’s not your concern.”
“If you want to use my name on an auction, it very much is,” Arthur countered.
“Obviously I have a reason,” Sebastian said tightly.
“And you’re going to have to share it if you want me to consider this,” said Arthur. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand why you were working with Baron Zeppler when you clearly hate both him and Hyde.”
“Again, not your concern,” Sebastian started.
But Rory interrupted. “Yeah it is. Baron Zeppler might’ve tricked your family, but you had to have eventually discovered he was trying to collect relics for himself. So why’d you stick around once you knew he was a liar?” He leaned forward. “You kidnapped me outta my own antiques shop. You owe me a reason why.”
Sebastian seemed to deflate at that. He glanced around, then, after a long moment, blew out a breath. “The paranormals who made the original relics put their own magic in them; one relic, all their magic. But Rory and Gwen kept their original subordinate magic, and added the relics’ magic that was strengthened for five hundred years. They are now far more powerful than paranormals were ever meant to be—and so is Baron Zeppler. He also controls a relic that augments his own magic. A brooch.”
“How?” said Arthur. “How did he figure out how to unlock it?”
“By murder and accident,” Sebastian said grimly. “I won’t tell you how, but his coincidental success was why he was already obsessed with the relics when he lured Gwen to him.”
Rory frowned. “What’s its magic?”
“It lets magic work on paranormals just as well as the mundane,” Sebastian said quietly, his fingers wrapping around his glass. “His telepathy would work on even you and Gwen, and like your magic, it’s too strong for me to weaken.”
Rory gestured at Sebastian’s wrist, where the ink of his tattoo poked out from beneath his sleeve. “But telepathy doesn’t work on you, does it? Because that tattoo your cousin inked on you traps it in a whirlpool, same as her paintings do. I couldn’t see you in history and neither could Zhang from the astral plane. So if telepathy doesn’t work, what does? What’s Zeppler got on you?”
Arthur thought he could guess. “Blood magic.”
Sebastian’s tiny wince was confirmation enough.
Rory’s eyebrows went up. “Why? ’Cause it’s violation magic?”
“Remember what Zhang told us in New York?” Arthur said. “Blood magic isn’t in a mundane person’s aura or a paranormal’s magic. It’s directly in the veins. I assume it’s stronger than everything except the relics themselves.”
Sebastian looked down at his drink. “Zeppler doesn’t work alone,” he finally said. “He has a devoted second in command. In English, they call him the Puppeteer.”
“Oh, marvelous, that’s not terrifying at all,” Arthur muttered.
Sebastian turned his tonic water, tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of the clear glass. “Zeppler takes the blood of everyone bound to his service to secure our cooperation. With a drop of your blood, the Puppeteer can make anyone, paranormal or not, do anything he wants.”
Rory and Arthur exchanged a glance. “Mind control?” asked Rory.
“Body control.” Sebastian was still staring at his glass. “Your mind becomes a helpless prisoner while your body, and your magic, is no longer yours to control.”
The way he said it—Arthur could hear the scars in his voice. Discomfort curled in his gut. He liked to think he was a hard man to scare, but the very idea of what Sebastian was hinting at made Arthur ill. “Christ,” he muttered. “Do you know if he has Gwen’s blood?”
Sebastian shook his head. “The Puppeteer was on a side mission when Zeppler went to Paris with the Venom Dagger relic. Zeppler was too eager to try to unlock the dagger to save Gwen’s blood, or Ellis’s, for the Puppeteer. If the baron has one weakness, it’s avarice.”
Arthur tilted his head. “How are you free now?”
“I’m not,” Sebastian said, low and tense. “Gwen can’t see my magic, but she saw Hyde’s, and she saw the blood magic on him, same as what’s in my veins. Make no mistake; I’m not free.”
“The gallery of your cousin’s paintings,” Rory said, in realization. “Gwen and Ellis are hiding from the baron, but they’re trying to hide you from the Puppeteer, because if he finds you again, he’ll be in control of you. He could make you hurt everyone around you.” He swallowed. “He could make you kill someone.”
Arthur felt a twist of something like sympathy in his chest. To be under the constant fear that you might wake up someone else’s weapon was a terrible thought, and Sebastian was still living that experience.
“And now you understand why I stayed with the baron, why I followed orders, and why I can’t go get my own siphon in Paris,” Sebastian said testily. “And I hope you understand why I don’t talk about it. So acqua in bocca, yes?” he added pointedly.
Rory stilled.
Arthur glanced between them. “What did he say?”
“It means keep it to yourself, more or less.” Rory still looked confused. “You speak Italian?”
Sebastian shook his head. “Just a few phrases where the words sound similar to Spanish,” he said modestly. “I was stationed in Italy for a few months during the war. Bel paese, bella lingua, bella gente.” He added, to Arthur, “Beautiful country, beautiful language, beautiful people.”
“Oh.” Arthur glanced from Sebastian to Rory, whose jealousy and anger were gone, expression turned soft and curious. “Is that what you said.”
Arthur picked up his whiskey.
Smooth bastard.
* * *
They checked in on Jade and Zhang, but they wanted to stay and keep reading. Jade was sitting on the chaise with Gwen. Rory couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were talking quietly, a little less tense than earlier.
Jade had told Rory they’d been good friends. Rory wasn’t sure what exactly they were now.
“We have several books in Italian,” Sebastian said to Rory. “I’m doing my best, but I’m sure you’d do better.”
“I’m sure,” Arthur repeated, sounding broodier than usual.
“I’ll take a look,” Rory promised, then turned to Arthur. “We should probably check on Lord Fine,” he said quietly. “Because the more I learn about Baron Zeppler, the less I want anyone without magic near any of this.”
A flash of hurt crossed Arthur’s face. “I don’t have magic.”
“I didn’t mean—well, I kinda did, ’cause I worry about you—but I didn’t really mean it like that,” Rory hastily corrected, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I want you everywhere, you know that.”
Arthur sighed. “I suppose I can’t exactly be cross with anyone else for worrying,” he said, but at least the hurt was gone.
* * *
Not too long later, Rory found himself back in the dining room, because apparently dinner was always a formal affair in a viscount’s home, where even if there were only three people he still had to sit at the big dining room table and figure out which fork was which. The sun had set and old-fashioned lamps had been lit, the windows black glass between gaps in the giant drapes. Rory smiled awkwardly at the footman, Ned, as he set food on the table, because what was he doing sitting in a big fancy chair while someone served him?
As he shifted in the chair, he felt the ring in its box in his pocket.
&
nbsp; The siphon created the relics and kept them hidden, Sebastian had said. It’s the only way I know of to make another relic, or hide one.
So where is this siphon?
Stolen.
Rory turned the conversation over in his head as he ate his way through oysters, soup, and fish, but whatever angle he thought about it, his mind kept coming back to one thing. If the relics were supposed to be hidden—what was he doing trying to use one?
Ned brought out roasted pheasant, which sounded like a made-up bird but smelled great. Rory had just taken a big bite when he felt eyes on him.
“You’re remarkably civil tonight,” said Lord Fine. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Wesley.”
“I’m concerned for him, Arthur! He hasn’t glared at me even once—oh, wait, there it is, all is right with the world.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “Food’s good,” he said, taking another big bite. “Why would I be grouching?”
“I didn’t realize you ever stopped.” Lord Fine picked up his own fork. One of his forks. Geez, why did they all have so many forks? “So. Rory Brodigan. I assume with that alias now known by your enemies, you may be needing a new one. Are you going to pretend to be Irish again?”
Rory bristled, but Lord Fine held up his hands. “I didn’t mean it as a barb,” he said, sounding sincere. “I wasn’t trying to needle you, I’m genuinely curious. You’re rather fascinating.”
Rory furrowed his brow. “I don’t think I am.”
“Do you imagine I’ve met many twenty-one-year-old antiquarian prodigies who’ve been kidnapped by bootleggers?” Lord Fine said dryly. “And I get this sense that there’s even more to you than you’re letting on. I can’t quite put my finger on what else you’re hiding, but Arthur seems to be in on it, at least, so I assume it’s interesting rather than troubling.”
Rory hunched. “Um—”
“He’s very interesting,” Arthur cut in, too brightly. “And I’m afraid he and I will be busy tomorrow—”
“You will be,” Lord Fine agreed. “The veterans’ luncheon starts at eleven.”
“I can’t,” Arthur started impatiently.
“You should go,” Rory interrupted.
They both shot him equally puzzled looks.
Rory looked Arthur in the eyes. “I read that story about puppets today,” he said pointedly. “And maybe I think I should go read more about puppets and you should go make sure Lord Fine here doesn’t go thinking he should be reading about puppets.”
“I’m fairly certain I’m not going to think that,” Lord Fine interjected, glancing between them in confusion.
Rory held Arthur’s gaze. Last thing they needed was Lord Fine getting too interested in anything that could lead him to the paranormal. He’d been too close already, back in the antiques shop in New York.
Arthur sighed. “Fine,” he said to Lord Fine. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Excellent.” Lord Fine clapped his hands. “And since you’re not busy tonight, how about I teach your infant some billiards?”
Rory wrinkled his nose. “What, pool?”
“Do you know how to play?” When Rory shook his head, Lord Fine said, “Then I’ll show you.” He leaned forward. “With the caveat that it is impossible to teach anyone to play billiards without getting rather handsy.”
“Oh, you don’t gotta worry about that,” Rory said. “Ace reminded me today that he doesn’t ever get jealous.”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Really.” Lord Fine glanced at Arthur, eyebrow raised. “You don’t mind me bending your precious angel over a billiards table and teaching him how to handle my stick?”
Arthur smiled with narrowed eyes. “I’ll teach him myself.”
“You’ll do no such thing, you’re wretched at pool,” Lord Fine said. “What’s your objection to me doing it? Apparently you’ve even told your sweetheart that you don’t suffer jealousy like other mortals.”
Arthur frowned. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“It’s fine, Ace, I know I’m the one who’s gotta get it together.” Rory turned to Lord Fine. “Sure, I’m all yours. Get as handsy as you want with me, Ace won’t care.”
Lord Fine smiled winningly at Arthur. “As handsy as I want.”
Arthur’s gaze darted between Rory and Lord Fine. “What if we play cards instead?”
“And keep a nice, respectable distance between us all.” Lord Fine’s smile turned amused. “Sure. Poker?”
Rory hesitated, shooting an uncertain glance at Arthur. “We played a few rounds on the ship, but I was on the verge of puking the whole time. And if you two high hats are wanting to make bets, I’m not gonna pretend I can keep up.”
Lord Fine waved a careless hand. “I’ll fund your bets. No, no, I insist,” he said, right over Rory’s protest. “I’m going to get back every penny when you lose it all anyway.”
Rory folded his arms. “Who said I was gonna lose?”
“Oh please, that’s a given.” Lord Fine added, gratingly condescending, “Don’t worry, duck. You don’t have to be good at things. You just sit there and be pretty, and I’m sure that’s all Arthur needs.”
Rory narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, all right. Let’s play.”
* * *
“What the hell,” Lord Fine said, as Rory raked in all of the chips from their final round.
Arthur was also staring at Rory in shock. “You cleaned us out.”
“It’s that, what’d Ace call it, that luck of the Irish,” Rory said, trying not to smile. Lord Fine gave him a filthy look, and Rory had to bite his lip not to grin. “Look, I’m not gonna keep your money.”
“You should, you won it,” said Arthur.
Rory shrugged. “But you two were just going easy on me because I just learned,” he said innocently. “Letting me win, right?”
Arthur and Lord Fine exchanged a glance.
“So it wouldn’t be right to keep it,” Rory said. “It was never mine anyway.”
Lord Fine groaned. “This is actually worse than the losing. He robbed me, and now he’s magnanimously returning it out of pity.”
A few minutes later, Rory was crossing the threshold to the guest room. Arthur followed him right in and shut the door behind them.
Before Rory could kiss him, Arthur grabbed him by the suspenders and tugged him close. “All right, confess,” he said, bending down to bump Rory’s nose with his nose. “You already knew how to play poker. You were toying with me back on the ship and tonight you swindled us.”
“I never played before you taught me, honest.” Rory grinned. “But yeah. I took you for a ride.”
Arthur furrowed his brow.
Rory wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and stood up on his toes so Arthur didn’t have to stoop. “Turns out it helps at poker when you can see the history of the cards in your hand—including the cards they were next to in the deck.”
“Oh, you absolute brat.” Arthur sounded delighted. “How do I keep forgetting you’re full of magic to your eyeballs and that you do, on occasion, use it for more than saving the world?”
“I was just messing with you two,” Rory said with a grin, moving his hands to Arthur’s broad chest and pushing gently but pointedly toward the bed. “I know it’s cheating to use magic; I was never gonna keep the money.”
“You are a marvel.” Arthur let Rory move him, let himself be steered backward until he hit the mattress and went down on his back. “I can’t believe you used your magic to take advantage of me.”
“I’m about to take advantage of you all over again,” Rory told him, and crawled on top of him.
Chapter Sixteen
Arthur went to the book-filled back room in the morning with Rory, who seemed unusually distracted, touching his pocket more often than usual.
; “Everything all right?” Arthur asked, as they approached the door in the alley. The bowls of food scraps were out again, a mangy cat skittering away as it saw them.
Rory touched his pocket again, where he kept the ring in its lead box at all times now. “I’ll tell you later.”
Arthur frowned.
Jade and Zhang were already there, sitting on the striped chaise with a notebook. Jade motioned for Arthur to join her. “Gwen was telling the truth, the seller of the siphon will no longer work with an alias,” she said. “He wants to know who he’s been dealing with.”
He was willing to take the risk, of course, but it wasn’t his alone. “If I use my name, will it come back to my family?”
“Shelley was targeting your brother with her nightmares, and Hyde knew all about you. I’m afraid we should assume Baron Zeppler knows who your family is already,” Jade said quietly. “And Gwen and Ellis shared Mansfield’s ledger; your name is in there. You’re listed as the—his words, not mine—weak link in your family and a possible target.”
“Flattering,” Arthur said dryly. “This is your way of telling me it’s too late to hide; my name has already gone out into the paranormal world as a possible rube?”
“There aren’t very many names in there who could afford what the seller is asking,” said Jade. “It’s known you were at Mansfield’s mansion the night he was murdered. I think we might have to accept that your name may be more than just out.”
“The watcher on the boat,” Zhang said. “What if it wasn’t about Rory for Zeppler, but you for the seller?”
Arthur rubbed his temple. He had never wanted magic so close to his family, but here he was. “If I’m known, then there’s no choice. I might as well exploit it.”
Jade touched his arm. “I’m sorry you’re in this position.”
“Not your fault,” he said firmly. “Yes, I’m in. The telegram can come from me. Let’s find this seller.” He looked across the room. Rory had gone straight to Sebastian, and the two of them were talking quietly. “Excuse me.”
