by Allie Therin
Because he was going to the meeting at Arthur’s apartment tomorrow. He had to. Not that he believed Arthur would actually pay off Mrs. Brodigan’s debts—
Do you have a single thought about me that doesn’t assume I’m an asshole?
Rory paused. Then he shook his head. He wasn’t falling for pretty words and promises. But even if he couldn’t trust Arthur to come through for Mrs. Brodigan, Rory still had to go to that meeting.
After his magic emerged, he’d been forced to accept his life would be short. His powers were a constant assault on his sanity, and if Lorna McCaffrey had taught him anything, it was that he was ultimately doomed. But after four years of fear, now when he closed his eyes, the fraying string that held him to the present felt more solid, and he could still hear Arthur’s voice in his head.
Then you hold on to me, because I won’t let go.
Rory had to go to that meeting, because he had to know what had happened between him and Arthur.
Chapter Eleven
It was nearly nine fifteen and Rory still hadn’t shown.
“You’re wearing a hole in the carpet,” Jade said mildly. She was on the settee, wearing a man’s suit again, a houndstooth check Arthur wanted to steal for himself. She looked in the direction of the study’s empty table and tilted her head, listening. “And Zhang says you should relax.”
Arthur ignored them and continued to pace. “What if he didn’t wake?”
“Ace—”
“We kept watch on him night before last night, but what if it wasn’t long enough? What if he dreamed about my tailor again and got stuck? If my suit cost that boy his sanity—”
The bell rang. Jade gave the table a knowing look.
“Don’t you two gang up on me,” he told her. “Just for that, you can get the door.”
She smiled, not looking sorry in the least as she waved a hand. A moment later, the front door swung open by itself. “Hello?” came the tentative call.
Arthur raised his voice. “In the study.”
Rory appeared in the door frame a moment later, scruffy in his cap and suspenders again but otherwise whole. “Sorry I’m late,” he said awkwardly. “I overslept.”
He looked confused as he said it. That wasn’t reassuring.
Arthur pointed at him. “What’s the year?”
Rory’s gaze had traveled to the sun pouring in the study’s large windows, wide eyes making him look even younger than twenty. But at Arthur’s question, he scowled. “I know what year it is.”
“You want your breakfast, you’ll tell it to me,” Arthur said. “And it better be the right one.”
“Ignore Ace,” Jade said, as she got to her feet. “He worries.”
“I do not,” Arthur lied.
Jade took her own advice and ignored him, already leading Rory to the sideboard, where Arthur’s occasional housekeeper, Mrs. Polkowski, had put out coffee and pastries before she’d gone back to Arthur’s parents’ city home.
“It’s because he doesn’t have powers of his own, you know,” Jade was saying to Rory. “I’m afraid he thinks we’re all volatile, delicate flowers.”
“And you’re not?” said Arthur.
Jade gave him a flat look over her shoulder. “He’s fine, Ace.”
Arthur huffed, but Rory did look hale enough, so he grudgingly sat back in his club chair. “Must be that luck of the Irish,” he said dryly.
That earned him another scowl, Rory glaring up from under the cap and behind the glasses. Still cute, damn him. The eyes alone ought to have been illegal.
Rory looked away from Arthur to the study’s large and empty table. “So who’re you and what’s your deal?” he said to the table. “You’re all...glowy.”
Arthur picked up his coffee. “Rory, these are two of my associates. You’ve met Miss Robbins, and the gentleman you can see but I can’t is Zhang Jianwei.”
Rory jerked his head back toward Arthur. “The what?”
Arthur brought the cup to his lips. “I assume you can see Zhang?”
Rory pointed at the table. “The Chinese fella in the fancy suit and bowler hat, sitting right there? Of course I can see him, he’s glowing like a firefly. What do you mean you can’t—” He paused, staring hard at the table, then said, “What the hell is an astral walker?”
“Zhang can walk in the astral plane,” said Arthur. “Which is a charming way to say he can send part of himself across Manhattan without ever leaving his bed. Other paranormals can see him when he does so, but he’s quite invisible to the rest of us.”
“You can’t see him,” Rory repeated. “You can’t see the glowing man sitting right there at your table?”
Arthur shrugged. “I told you I’m not special like you.”
“Oh, you’re special all right,” said Rory. “You’re doing business with a man you can’t see—” He threw up his hands. “He just said excuse me and disappeared!”
“Well, Zhang’s a busy man,” said Arthur. “His family runs a tea parlor in Chinatown. He probably had to help a customer. He’ll be back.”
“But you won’t even know,” said Rory.
“Maybe not,” said Arthur, “but there’s no need to make a businessman travel through the mundane plane when Jade can see him just fine.” He leaned forward. “She’s the brains of this operation anyway, and clearly the beauty as well.”
“Shameless flattery.” Jade passed Rory a danish. “Watch yourself, Rory. Arthur’s charm’s as dangerous as any paranormal power. If you’re not careful, he’ll have you eating out of his hand.”
Rory eating out of my hand. There was a thought.
Rory gave Arthur a challenging stare. “Is charm what fixed my glasses?” he said, taking a big bite of the danish without bothering to take a seat.
“No.” Arthur drew the word out. “That was a new screw.”
Rory’s free hand flew to the frames. “You fixed them for me? Yourself?”
Arthur shrugged. “My second-oldest brother has specs and five children. I keep a toolkit on hand.” Rory was staring at him like he’d sprouted tentacles. He winced. “I’m sorry, should I not have?”
“No, I just—never mind.” Rory leaned against the study wall and took another big bite. “You said second-oldest brother?”
Arthur made a face. “I’m the youngest of six. Three older brothers, two older sisters, all of them convinced I’m perpetually three.”
“Ah.” Rory stuffed the rest of the danish in his mouth. “That’s why you boss around everyone else.”
“I like him,” Jade said to Arthur.
“You like everyone,” Arthur returned.
She grinned. “Zhang’s coming back. What can you tell us?” She and Rory were both quiet for a long moment, eyes on the table, then Jade furrowed her brow. “The ship is en route from China, but she’s Swedish,” she said to Arthur. “She took the Atlantic Lane and passed the Cape of Good Hope some weeks back, and could arrive in the Port of New York any day. But we still don’t know which relic.”
Rory was reaching for another of Mrs. Polkowski’s homemade danishes but at the word relic, he looked to Arthur expectantly.
“An object that’s become a vessel for magic,” said Arthur. “Like a ring, as you unfortunately discovered, or a dagger, or a choker. Something that can be worn or used as a weapon.”
“We’ve tried to piece the story together,” Jade said as she took her seat. “By which I mean Zhang pieced the story together, because his family has hunted relics much longer than we have. Best we can tell, there are seven relics in existence, enchanted centuries ago by a group of paranormal nobles hiding from a Spanish Inquisitor who could see magic. Each noble stripped out their power and transferred it to an object they could still use. But to drain and confine magic takes magic, and the magic trapped in the relics fed on its own chains until it became far
stronger than the paranormal’s original power.”
Rory went a shade paler. “And you have one in New York? With another one on its way? Are you screwy—”
“They don’t work,” Arthur said quickly. He exchanged a brief glance with Jade. “They can’t possibly. Relics were bound to their original creator. When the creator died, the relic’s power became locked away, and we think the power will stay locked away unless the relic is bound to another paranormal. But no one knows how to do that. Hardly anyone can even see a relic for what it is.”
Rory scoffed openly. “That’s a load of bull. I knew the instant I opened that box. That ring hits like a torpedo—”
“On a subordinate paranormal,” Arthur interrupted.
Rory bristled like an angry cat. “Subordinate?”
“It’s not an insult,” Arthur said. “Not any more than it’s an insult to say your eyes are subordinate to sight, your ears to sounds, your tongue to taste.” He set down the coffee and steepled his fingers. “Think of magic as radio waves. Most paranormal powers make magic—most powers transmit. Jade transmits her telekinesis to move objects. Zhang transmits himself through the astral plane. But magic also broadcasts its own signal, and some powers receive. Your psychometry receives magic into your mind from the objects you touch.”
“Fine, I’m a radio.” Rory’s eyes narrowed. “What difference does it make?”
“It’s why you sense an unbound relic while Jade, Zhang, and most others of your kind can’t,” said Arthur. “Because even among paranormals, an ability that receives magic is rare.”
Rory’s eyes blazed. He slammed his second danish down on the sideboard and stormed out of the study without another word.
Oh hell. “Excuse me,” Arthur said to Jade, and scrambled after Rory.
He caught up at the front door, where Rory was getting into his coat. “Rory—”
“Screw off.” Rory went for the door.
“Theodore—”
Rory whirled on him, white with fury. “You don’t get to use that name,” he snarled in a half whisper. “And I don’t care what you bribe or blackmail me with. You can take your relics and shove them. I’m not your fucking hunting dog.”
“That wasn’t—” Rory turned, but Arthur got between him and the door, both hands up in surrender. “Hear me out.”
“The hell I will.” Rory jabbed a finger in Arthur’s chest, chin up so he could look Arthur in the face. “Miss Lorna warned me about people like you, people who’d want to drain me for their own gain, and here you are, asking me to risk my life, my sanity, for your hobby.”
“Hobby?” Anger spiked in Arthur. “I don’t do this for sport. What do you think will happen if an object of unspeakable power ends up in the hands of unspeakable evil? The world just fought the worst war in its history—now imagine it with magic.”
Rory went rigid. Arthur drew himself up to his full height. “Seven years ago you were a child, but I was in Germany,” he said, glaring down, “and that wasn’t a hobby either. These relics must be found. But if you’ll stop assuming the worst of me for even a moment, Rory, you’ll notice I haven’t asked you for a single thing.”
Rory opened his mouth—then shook his head. “I came to your meeting. Pay Mrs. B.’s debt and leave me alone.”
And he shoved past Arthur and out the door.
* * *
Rory ignored the elevator and thundered down the four flights of stairs. He’d just burst out of the doors of Arthur’s fancy building and onto Central Park West when he heard the footfalls behind him. “Rory, wait.”
Don’t stop. Don’t listen.
Arthur was getting to Rory like a craving. Rory’d overslept that morning; he slept like garbage most nights and he never overslept. But one day with Arthur and Rory was sleeping like a baby, leaving Hell’s Kitchen, acting like he got to do the things normal people did. But Rory wasn’t normal even by paranormal standards and he couldn’t afford to forget it.
“I said screw off,” he snapped at the handsome figure on his heels.
But Arthur was in his path. “Rory, please.” Geez, for a big fella Arthur could move fast. He hadn’t even put on a coat to chase Rory out, but he didn’t seem to care about being cold, standing tall and strong in nothing but his shirt and vest. “You could be in danger—”
“Yeah, from you,” Rory snarled. “I was fine until you and your relic came along and I’ll be fine again when you leave.”
“Because you’ll lock yourself up in that jail cell of a room?” Arthur said, with surprising heat. “Like you’re dangerous, like you’re some kind of criminal?”
Rory’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand.” To his humiliation, his voice cracked, and he whirled away.
But Arthur stayed with him. “You could explain it to me.”
“Or you could go chase yourself,” Rory bit out over his shoulder.
“I can’t,” Arthur said, more quietly. “I can’t watch another paranormal become Pavel Ivanov.”
Rory paused, fists clenched. Don’t be weak, don’t be tempted, don’t let Arthur in—
“Who’s that?” he said, before he could stop himself.
“A Russian subordinate paranormal on the Lower East Side.” Arthur’s expression was sober. “An alchemist. He can touch an ingredient and scry its alchemical potential, create potions of the most wondrous magic you’ve ever seen.” He swallowed. “And I’ve never heard him speak.”
Chills went down Rory’s spine. He wrapped his arms around himself and said spitefully, “Maybe he doesn’t like you.”
“Who could blame him?” Arthur said lightly. “Pavel’s sister, Sasha, says he used to talk all the time. But something happened during their war and now his alchemy subsumes him. He spends most of his days lost to scrying. And Pavel is not the only paranormal I’ve known to suffer, Rory. Magic is dangerous.” His eyes softened with what might have been pity. “I’d wager you know that better than me.”
Rory shivered and looked away.
“Pavel saw you when you opened that ring box, you know.”
Rory drew back. “Saw me?”
“An unbound relic will broadcast its magic like a radio,” Arthur said. “And you subordinate paranormals in range will pick up the signal, whether you want to or not.”
“So keep your damn box shut—”
“I will keep the ring shut in its box,” Arthur said tightly, “but you just heard that another relic is on its way to Manhattan. And until I can find it and lock it up, you’re at the mercy of your own powers.” He folded his arms. “While I’m hunting that relic, I’m making plans to send Pavel and his sister upstate. My brother has an estate in Hyde Park that always needs extra hands and he’s willing to give work to friends of mine. The countryside is lovely in winter, it’s far from the city and the magic, and there’s plenty of room for you too.”
Rory’s chest clenched with want. Arthur was worse than a siren, tempting him with all the things he couldn’t have. “Yeah, room to chain me in a basement and make me scry things all day.”
“My family doesn’t even know magic exists. But you would be busy. Harry has five rambunctious children who demand endless hide-and-seek in the mansion and armies of snowmen built on the lawns. The nannies could use your help.”
Aw geez. Rory loved kids. He could barely imagine that kind of heaven.
“What’s your game?” he demanded. “What’s it matter to you if me and the alchemist lose our heads?”
“Why do I need a reason to be a decent human being?” Arthur said heatedly. “If I can protect you two from the relics, I will. You don’t have to face this alone.”
Rory’s throat was thick. “And who asked you to care?” he said hoarsely, blinking rapidly against his hot eyes. “You got no right to stick your nose in my business.” He jabbed Arthur in the chest again. “Your ring controls the wind
.”
Arthur stared. “You saw—”
“I saw its past when that thing sucked me into a vision for hours,” Rory snapped. “It controls the wind and now you know and you don’t need me anymore. And I sure as hell don’t need you.”
This time, when Rory stormed away, Arthur didn’t follow.
Chapter Twelve
Well, that couldn’t have gone worse if I’d tried.
Arthur sighed heavily as he shut the front door of his flat. Jade was deep in conversation with Zhang in the study, from the one side Arthur could hear. He left them to it, ducking into his bedroom for his illegal liquor stash, because if he had to face how badly he’d bollocksed up his attempt to talk to Rory, he was going to face it with Irish whiskey in his coffee.
He brought the whole flask into the study, dropping heavily onto the settee. He eyed Jade as he unscrewed the cap and poured a splash into his coffee.
“—you’re certain?” Jade was sitting at the table now, staring intently at an empty chair. “Because that would be terrible news.”
Oh. Lovely. Arthur tipped another inch of whiskey into the coffee.
Jade said her goodbyes to Zhang a moment later. Arthur gave a wave in the general direction of the table, too morose to even stand as Zhang presumably left the astral plane and returned to his body. “Dare I ask what the terrible news is?” Arthur said, as Jade got to her feet.
“Our Ellis Island watch list got a hit.” She bit her lip. “Gwen.”
Arthur’s heart leapt. “Gwen? She’s here, in New York—wait.” He sat back on the settee. “She hasn’t been in touch and you don’t look happy. Is she not here to see us?”
“I don’t think so,” Jade said sadly. “Luther Mansfield’s the one who bought her passage from England.”
“Mansfield?” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “The same Mansfield who lambasts my father in the New York Times for being soft on immigration? The hypocrite who publicly claims immigrants will ruin this nation as he privately bleeds them dry in his textile factories?” He huffed. “I’d assume more hypocrisy, making an exception for the white people of England—”
