by Allie Therin
“It is not as if you set this trap on purpose.” She leaned forward again. “Rory adores you. You cannot let that innocent risk taking a human life without warning, much less yours. He would drown in guilt for the rest of his life.” She added, quiet and fierce, “Perhaps you don’t know what it’s like to believe you’re the reason the love of your life is dead, but I do. And I will not be party to condemning anyone to that misery.”
Arthur ran both hands over his face. She was right, but Christ—to put that guilt against the burden of his entire life on Rory’s shoulders. To make Rory hear he was the only thing keeping Arthur alive, because Arthur was dying—
“Then let me tell him,” he said. “On my terms, when I’m ready, when I—when I can wrap my mind around this. You owe me that much.”
She huffed, and a tense silence fell between them.
“... Fine,” she finally said. “I will honor that. I suppose I do have rather a debt.”
Arthur looked up in surprise. “Did you actually just acknowledge that you were wrong to chain me up and torture me?”
She rolled her eyes, and deadpanned, “I suppose I usually reserve that sort of play for Ellis.”
And despite the roiling in his stomach, Arthur snorted. “And now you’re actually jesting with me.”
“Who’s jesting? You’re not in our bedroom.”
Arthur snorted again, shaking his head. For a moment, they could have been back in Paris, before Baron Zeppler had torn them apart, when Ellis would talk sports with him and Gwen would read his aura like a fortune-teller, just to make him laugh.
Arthur did miss them.
But he wasn’t stupid enough to trust them.
He rubbed at his eyes just as the pocket door slid open.
“The seller sent a new telegram,” Jade said, looking grim. “He’s willing to meet Arthur, but only tomorrow evening and in a very short window. We don’t have much time to get to Paris and form a plan; we need to leave tonight.”
“It does help to cross the English Channel when you have an amulet that controls the tide—” Gwen suddenly cut her own words off as she and Jade stared very hard just to the right of Arthur, listening intently to silence.
Arthur side-eyed the empty space, quite certain he was standing in Zhang again.
The next moment, Jade met his eyes, and Arthur’s stomach plummeted, because hers had widened with alarm. “Jianwei just saw a man fitting Rory’s description of the firestarter paranormal from Boston,” she said. “He’s searching the streets, and he’s not alone.”
Chapter Eighteen
One moment, Rory was sitting on the chaise, eating cookies—biscuits, Gwen called them. Next moment, the red curtain was shoved aside, and Sebastian and Ellis were in the room.
“Go,” Sebastian was saying to Ellis. “I’ll buy you time to get to the dock.”
Rory stood. “What the hell is going on?”
“You brought a friend from America,” Ellis snapped. “Jack Mercier, paranormal with a fire aura, knows Baron Zeppler. Ring a bell yet?”
Rory’s heart leapt into his throat.
“I know who he is,” said Sebastian. “If he saw you in the tube station, he could have guessed you were hiding in the area.” He grimaced. “Or maybe his partner found and followed you.”
“Partner?” Rory repeated, just as Zhang’s astral projection shimmered into view.
“Mercier has another paranormal with him.” Zhang was flickering as he did when he was projecting in more than one place. “Short and blond, with a cleft chin.”
“That sounds like François Chance, a teleporter skilled at tracking.” Sebastian was standing straighter, abruptly reminding Rory he’d been a soldier like Ellis and Arthur. “They often work together.”
“You should have told us you had this asshole after you,” Ellis snarled at Rory. “You think Gwen and I have been playing some sort of game? We’ve had Mercier on our tail before.”
Rory’s mind abruptly went back to Manhattan, to the day months ago when he’d been unable to scry a lead statue with a burn mark in a shipment of art from Gwen. Had that been from Mercier? “He’s got fire in his aura. Is he related to your friend, Philippe?”
“Distant cousin,” said Ellis. “Except Philippe was a good man. Mercier’s a ruthless son of a bitch who went looking for the baron on purpose because he wanted some of Zeppler’s magic. And I’ve heard of Chance. He had his magic screwed up by a relic, same as Hyde, same as Gwen. Sebastian’s magic won’t work on him. We’re all in danger. You get that?”
Rory swallowed. “I didn’t think—”
“Thinking’s exactly the problem!” snapped Ellis. “You’ve made the list of a telepath’s most wanted. When are you going to get it into your head that nowhere is safe for you anymore? You can’t hide from thoughts.”
Zhang’s projection faded, then strengthened again. “They’re searching the streets. But every time they get close to this alley, they turn around.”
“That may not last forever. Mercier has seen my tattoo, he knows Isabel’s paintings exist. If Chance can’t find Rory, Mercier may start to suspect de Leon magic.” Sebastian was standing at the curtain, eyes on the gallery. “I’ll find them and hold them off so you can get to Paris and the siphon.”
Rory felt frozen in place. “But Ellis just said your magic doesn’t work on the teleporter.”
“It doesn’t,” Ellis said impatiently. “You’re not doing this, Seb—they’ll drag you back to the Puppeteer.”
“If I don’t and Mercier believes I’m hiding you, he’ll set the entire alley aflame to burn us out.” Sebastian’s eyes stayed on the gallery and he wasn’t budging. “I’m not risking innocent lives. I can distract them so you can all get out safe.”
“Not all of us.”
Rory turned at the hoarse whisper.
Arthur was standing by the pocket doors, looking very pale. “If they were following Rory,” he said, still hoarse, “they may have seen him at Wesley’s house.”
“Oh hell.” Rory turned pleading eyes on Sebastian. “You gotta go check on Lord Fine.”
“If I can distract them, I can also keep them away from your friend,” said Sebastian.
“Are you certain?” asked Arthur. “Or will they drag you to the Puppeteer, and then come back to clean up loose ends?”
Sebastian bit his lip, and that was answer enough. “But if you’re not in the gallery—and if you’re not with me—if I don’t try to stop them, Mercier and Chance can follow you to the dock.”
“And we can handle them,” Ellis said impatiently. “They won’t be counting on Gwen and me to be there too. That makes five paranormals.”
“Five paranormals and me,” said Arthur testily. “Why do you lot keep assuming I’m useless?”
Rory grabbed Sebastian’s arm. “It’s all of us versus one helpless idiot lord. Please. Don’t throw yourself at them, all right? Go to Kensington. Take some paintings or something.” He added, pointedly, “Innocent lives, right? What if they started the search for us at his house? Lord Fine doesn’t even know magic exists.”
Sebastian huffed, but that seemed to have done it, because he nodded reluctantly. “All right, I will. I’ll leave two minutes behind the rest of you.”
Arthur tugged Rory’s arm, and he didn’t need more urging. The two of them scrambled after Ellis out the back to meet the others in the alley.
Gwen was already there, next to Zhang’s physical body, who was holding Jade’s hand. “There’s always taxis waiting outside the tube station,” said Ellis, going to her.
“Molly at the pub will let us cut through the kitchen,” said Gwen. “Sebastian’s cousin, Isabel, put up several flyers in the windows. Come on.”
Rory hurried down the narrow alley behind the others. “Of course you got a magically hidden escape tunnel for your magically hidden lair,” h
e murmured.
“Maybe the kid who brought the tail should keep his trap shut,” Ellis snapped.
Rory gritted his teeth but shut up. They slipped into the back door to the pub’s kitchen. The pretty barmaid was washing dishes. “Oy, you all right, Gwen?” she called, as they filed past her in a line. “Where’s Sebastian?”
“Sorry, Moll, but the less you know the better,” Gwen called back, as she pushed open the kitchen door and deftly avoided a very surprised man with pints in both hands.
Outside Liverpool Street station, several black Beardmore taxis were idling at the curb. Zhang was in front, opening the door for Jade and Gwen.
“I’m not taking more than five,” the driver was protesting, gesturing at their group.
“But we are only five,” said Gwen.
They were obviously six. The driver pinched his face in a frown, but when he looked again, this time his gaze slid right over Ellis without a flicker. “Oh, so you are. Sorry, luv,” he said to Gwen, as they began to cram into the back seat. While climbing in, Arthur accidentally smashed his hand right on Ellis’s face, so Rory was gonna guess Ellis was invisible now.
He turned and looked out the back of the cab as they pulled away from the curb. He thought, for a moment, he might have seen a flash of something—but then it was gone.
* * *
About forty-five minutes and a large bill later, they were pulling up to a small marina east of the city. Two large, square buildings sat along the river, closed from the look of things, and three boats were moored along the dock.
The taxi left them on the side of the road and puttered away as they walked down a short, grassy hill to the dock. The closest boat was about the size of a car but open, with three rows of wooden benches and no roof—and no life jackets. Nothing like the sleek and fancy thing Arthur’s brother had once taken him across the Hudson River in.
“Those are very small boats,” Rory said tightly.
“You’re not wrong,” Arthur admitted, also looking at the boats with trepidation. “We’re not actually crossing the English fucking Channel in a bit of glorified driftwood?”
“Hello, yes, this river reaches the ocean and I’m right here with an amulet that controls the tide,” Gwen said impatiently. “I’m basically a sea goddess now and you’re insulting my skiff.”
She strode down the dock without fear, the others right behind her. Rory took one step onto the dock, which shifted under his weight, and froze.
GO, he told himself. You don’t got time to be chicken around water, just GO.
Gwen, Ellis, Zhang and Jade were climbing in the boat. Arthur had walked almost all the way down the ramp, but he paused, looking back at Rory. “Come on,” he said, with urgency. “I’ll help you.”
But as Rory reluctantly stepped forward, magic burst through the air like a clap of thunder he couldn’t hear, and a blond white man appeared to block the dock in front of Rory.
“Evening,” said the blond, who had to be the teleporter, Chance. He raised his hand, and leveled a gun at Rory. “Nice to finally meet you.”
There was a whooshing sound. Chance disappeared in a blink, just as an oar sliced through the space he’d been standing.
Before Rory could move, the magic burst against his skin from behind, and this time the gun was touching his temple. “Don’t try that again.” Chance was right behind Rory. “I use lead bullets. You can’t move the gun, and you don’t want to test your telekinesis against my trigger finger.”
Rory’s gaze darted to the boat. Another oar was floating in midair, and Jade looked as furious as he felt. Arthur had stopped midstep, hand reaching for Rory.
Gwen folded her arms. “You’re bluffing,” she said coldly. “Baron Zeppler won’t let you kill a psychometric. He’d kill you three times over first.”
“Maybe I am bluffing.” Chance dug the gun into Rory’s temple. “Are you willing to bet his life on it?”
“Gwen,” Arthur said hoarsely.
Gwen’s expression turned completely unreadable at that. But she didn’t make a move.
“Back up,” Chance said, into Rory’s ear. “Nice and slow.”
“Go to hell,” Rory said through clenched teeth, trying to dig in his heels.
Then he felt it against his skin again: a burst of magic. For a split second, the pressure of the gun was gone—and then it was back. “What just happened?”
“Shut up,” snarled Chance.
“I know what that was,” Gwen said. “Because I lived it for two years. Zeppler broke your teleportation trying to unlock a relic, didn’t he? You can’t fully control it anymore, can you? Like Hyde with his transformation, or me with my aura-sight.”
“I said shut up,” Chance barked. “Mercier, what’s taking you?”
“We can’t all teleport, arsehole.”
Rory stiffened at the voice from Boston. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and felt, more than saw, the telltale glow of Mercier as he approached, his aura lit like coals ready to flare.
“Jack.” Gwen had raised her voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Don’t start with me, Gwen,” Mercier said warningly, but Rory felt the rippling heat as the flames rose another inch.
“Philippe used to hate water,” Gwen continued. “Does that run in your bloodline like fire, I wonder? Can you even swim?”
Rory just caught Mercier’s shudder. “That kid has a relic,” he said to Chance, in an undertone.
“So?” said Chance.
“So Zeppler told us he was the only paranormal with a relic’s power,” Mercier hissed. “He lied. The Puppeteer lied too.”
“What are you talking about?” said Chance.
“They were hiding,” said Mercier, in a furious whisper. “That means Sebastian. And if Sebastian is here, that means Becker can’t reach him. So Becker lied when he said he could pull our strings from anywhere on the globe, and I figure if I stay far enough away, he can’t touch me either.”
Chance stilled. “You would turn traitor?”
“I wanted more magic,” snapped Mercier. “I never signed up to be someone else’s match.”
Chance twitched, and Jesus, Rory did not want him to lose control of the gun still jammed against his head.
“Let the kid go,” said Ellis. “You want a fight, you know we’ll give you one.”
“I knew something was wrong when you came back from America,” Chance started. “I’ll tell Zeppler. I’ll tell all of them—”
But at that moment, Rory felt it again, the burst of magic crackling in the air, the pressure of the gun easing—
The oar came whizzing at Rory’s face like a javelin, so fast he couldn’t dodge.
Except it missed him by inches, smashing into Chance’s half-present form instead.
Chance howled, and the gun suddenly dropped from Rory’s temple. He sprinted forward, down the dock, just as Arthur lunged for him. Arthur spun them so Rory was behind him, which was ridiculous because Rory was about to pull a gale out of his pocket.
But Gwen was faster. The Thames rose up to a terrifying height just along the bank, like the water itself was reaching for Chance and Mercier. Chance disappeared in the blink of an eye but Mercier had nowhere to run. His terrified scream echoed off the empty buildings as the water swept him, the fire in his aura doused as he was pulled down into the river.
“Come on!” Arthur grabbed Rory.
A moment later, he was in the boat, and it was every bit as terrifying as Rory had thought it would be, but it was better than a man on fire and a teleporter. Arthur tugged him down to the middle seat as the motorless skiff moved itself into the river. It rocked unsettlingly, and Rory stuck himself to Arthur’s side.
They sped unnaturally fast and straight down the river. Gwen was at the prow next to Ellis, both of them facing backwards and her face buried in her hand
s. Ellis had his head bent close to hers, his hand on her knee, and Rory could just barely catch snippets of their conversation.
“—a sentimental fool, he could chase us to Paris—”
“—it’s okay, daisy—”
“—not just a light blinking out, I see people again—”
“—it was for Philippe—”
Zhang was on the back bench next to Jade, his eyes closed. Rory caught a glimpse of the firefly glow of his projection coming back to his body. He opened his eyes and looked at Jade. “Mercier’s alive,” he said, just loud enough for Arthur and Rory to hear. “The current carried him safely to the river bank.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “She spared his life?”
Zhang shrugged helplessly. “Looks that way,” he said, exchanging another glance with Jade.
Rory opened his mouth, but the boat rocked again, and he closed it before he thought about puking.
Gwen lifted her chin, serene as a princess, her moment of vulnerability gone—or buried where the rest of them couldn’t see it. “Sorry about that,” she said composedly. The amulet relic hung around her neck, the jewel glowing bright. “Chance shouldn’t be able to teleport onto our skiff at this speed. Smooth sailing from here on out, I promise.”
Eventually, they’d reached the end of the river and headed into the Channel. The waters at night were a deep, beautiful black, and the sky stretching out above was black too, the stars points of white, the lights along the coast dimming as they got farther from shore. It was cold out on the water, and Rory huddled close to Arthur, who was unusually silent, his cheek against the top of Rory’s head, his arm around Rory almost painfully tight.
“We left all our stuff at Lord Fine’s place,” Rory muttered. “You don’t think those paranormals will find him, do you?”
“I’m hoping Sebastian finds him first and there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say,” Arthur said, against his hair. “I’ll send Wes a telegram from Paris, tell him the bootleggers are back or something, and to get out of town. He’s smarter than his mouth sometimes makes him seem; he’ll listen.”
