Starcrossed (Magic in Manhattan)

by Allie Therin

  Jade grinned. Arthur made a face. “You two could wait for me to leave before you flirt, you know.”

  “Whether or not this woman is involved in any of this,” Jade said, ignoring his whining, “we still don’t know why anyone would want to curse an alderman.”

  “Maybe it’s not because John Kenzie is an alderman,” Zhang said slowly. “What if it’s because he’s related to Arthur?”

  “What could that have to do with it?” said Arthur.

  “You’re up to your ears in the paranormal,” said Zhang. “I just think we shouldn’t rule out that you might be the real target.”

  A cold anger mixed with dread went down Arthur’s spine. This was something else he hadn’t anticipated in America. Abroad, he was alone. Here, he was intricately entangled with his entire family of innocents.

  “If someone out there takes issue with me, they had best come for me,” he said tersely. “And not for my brother or anyone else I care about.”

  Jade’s and Zhang’s expressions said they understood. But of course they did; they had it even harder. They had non-magic family they loved and worried about too, and their families weren’t just in danger from magic, they were at risk from their own country’s laws, and great, now Arthur was worried about their families.

  “Can you describe Shelley?” said Zhang. “I’ll look for her too, and I’ll check on your brother and parents.”

  Arthur gave him a grateful look that lasted until Zhang added slyly, “And Rory’s almost here. I’ll let you keep your own eyes on him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rory waited until the taxi had puttered out of sight before descending the stairs to the tobacco shop with the heavy curtains in the window and the hand-lettered out-of-business sign. He’d caught the cab straight from the antiques shop, and the messenger bag he’d taken to Hyde Park was still slung over his shoulder. He’d been walking okay, and was able to put a good amount of weight on his ankle as he stood and did the knock—two long, three short, two long—then wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the night’s icy cold. He was uncomfortably aware of his bare head and wild curls, and even more aware of his new jewelry. He rubbed the ring on his left forefinger, still stuck on, and sighed.

  Someone pushed the curtains aside, eyed Rory, then closed the curtain. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a Black man with broad shoulders and a patient expression. “Go home.”

  Rory scowled. “I’m here to see Jade.”

  “Sure you are.” He leaned in. “Scram, all right? This is no place for a kid.”

  “I’m not a—”

  The door shut firmly in his face.

  Rory swore and stomped back up the stairs. He went around the corner and into the alley, crunching through lingering spots of dirty snow until he reached the side door, which he began to bang on with his fist.

  A moment later, the air around him flickered as Zhang’s astral projection appeared in the alley. “You planning to bring every cop in the city to Jade’s doorstep?”

  “The bouncer streeted me before I ever got in the door.” Even on the astral projection, Rory saw Zhang’s expression twitch. “It’s not funny! Let me in already.”

  Zhang disappeared. About two minutes later, the alley’s side door was opening, revealing Jade’s brother Benson. Through the open door, Stella’s heart-stopping vibrato drifted into the night. “Sorry about that,” said Benson, who looked just as amused as apologetic as he moved out of the way and let Rory into the thankfully warm space. “But Grover’s got a job to do and you are kind of a peanut.”

  Rory was still scowling as he stepped out from the back hall and onto the main floor and went to look for Arthur.

  * * *

  Arthur made his way to a pair of free stools at the end of the bar, where he could just about see the Magnolia’s main entrance that connected it to the back of the abandoned tobacco shop. On stage, Stella had the crowd in her hand with her version of “Hard-Hearted Hannah,” the sequins of her gown and feathered headband glittering like diamonds in the spotlight. At the table in the front, someone in a tuxedo with close-cropped hair and lipstick raised their glass to Stella, who tossed them a wink.

  Arthur took a seat, resting his elbow on the bar top as he swirled his still mostly full sidecar. So it’s casual for you? Jade had said. You wouldn’t mind Rory scarpering off with another man?

  No, it wasn’t casual for him, and yes, he would very much mind, so the least he could do was be honest with Rory. But what exactly was the right way to tell your current lover that you’ve been roped into a date with a former lover?

  There was movement to his left. Arthur glanced at the stool next to him, heart lifting—

  But it wasn’t Rory; just a stranger, a white man about Arthur’s age with short brown hair under a fedora and a nice navy suit. Cute enough; not Rory-cute, but who was?

  The bartender was at the other end of the bar, and the stranger didn’t motion to him. His eyes were on Arthur, paying attention to Arthur’s once-over, subtle as it had been. He leaned in close enough that his words would reach Arthur alone. “Saw you sitting over here by yourself.” His gaze traveled over Arthur, lingering on the cut of Arthur’s suit, the gold-and-pearl cuff links in his shirt, the new watch on his wrist. “Thought I’d come over and say hi.”

  Reporter? Police? No, unlikely a police officer would have made it inside the speakeasy, not with Zhang watching out for Jade and the other Robbinses. The stranger’s blue eyes were watery, his pale skin flushed; what were the chances a reporter was already two drinks in? With Stella on stage, the Magnolia drew adorers across genders and had a reputation of safety, so perhaps the stranger’s interest was genuine and his tongue loose enough to say it.

  Arthur gave him a polite but disinterested smile. “I’m afraid I thought you were someone else.”

  “Get to know me, then.” The stranger’s gaze darted back to the cuff links, then he put an elbow on the bar and leaned close to Arthur. “Come on, daddy, buy me a drink—”

  The edge of a breeze grazed Arthur’s skin as it rushed past, caught the stranger’s fedora, and sent it flying off into the crowded tables. The stranger grabbed his bare head with both hands, eyes wide.

  Arthur blinked. “An indoor wind appears to have blown off your hat,” he said, as neutrally as he could, because if he thought any harder about what that meant he’d either burst from anxiety or laugh. “Perhaps you’d best go after it.”

  The stranger scampered away. A moment later, a smaller body dropped into the vacated bar stool at Arthur’s left with a huff loud enough to hear over Stella. Arthur side-eyed Rory, who was red-faced, arms folded over his chest, and not meeting Arthur’s gaze.

  Arthur cleared his throat. “Most people just say hello.”

  “I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t trying to use magic against some innocent fella, no matter how much nerve he’s got.”

  “Yes, the man flirting with me had some nerve,” Arthur said dryly. “Says the paranormal who thought he’d start a tempest in my best friend’s business.”

  Rory winced. He held his hands out in front of him, the bejeweled gold ring incongruous against stubby nails and knuckles that were papery and split. “It’s like the ring picks up all my bad feelings and turns them into wind. I’ve been trying to get it off, I have, but it won’t budge.”

  The joint on Rory’s ring finger was red and painfully swollen. Guilt twisted Arthur’s stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m not helping by getting on your case. You’re hardly the first man to feel jealousy, and most men don’t have a link like ours complicating things.”

  “Nah, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rory said firmly. “You can flirt how you want. I don’t get to start windstorms over it.”

  “You didn’t do it on purpose,” said Arthur. “And I wasn’t flirting with him—it was very much one-sided.”

  “I h
eard.” Rory made a sour face. “Come on, daddy,” he repeated, with unhidden irritation.

  A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. “You could try that line on me. See what happens.”

  “Not in your wildest dreams.”

  Arthur broke into a grin. “Ignore him,” he advised, reaching for his drink. “He could have been a reporter looking for a scoop.”

  “Yeah, right,” Rory said, eyes narrowing. “No reporter would’ve been that into your cuff links. What a dick.”

  Could he be sweeter or more frustrating, thinking Arthur needed protection from gold-diggers when Rory himself wouldn’t take a cent? “I could buy you cuff links.”

  “What am I gonna do with cuff links?”

  “Wear them, if you like? Or if you don’t, you could sell them, and use the money to, oh, say, find another room?” Without vermin, Arthur just stopped himself from saying. “Then again, if a different room could be a gift, let’s just skip the cuff links altogether.”

  Rory rolled his eyes. “You make any progress with your brother’s problem?” he said, not even dignifying Arthur’s remark with a response. “Is there something I can scry that’ll help him?”

  Was Arthur really supposed to just let his lover sleep with rats and roaches? Could he convince Rory to spend every night in his bed instead? Arthur would have liked nothing better, but there were doormen and security at every entrance to his building. Rory’s coming and going from Arthur’s apartment would not go unnoticed.

  “No answers yet.” He swallowed. “But there is, ah, something else I should tell you.”

  “Sure.” Rory motioned at the bartender, and the gold of the ring caught the light again.

  Arthur eyed the ring for a moment. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. “It’s, ah, it’s not actually of immediate importance. I can tell you later.”

  “Just tell me now.”

  Arthur cleared his throat. “How’s the ankle?”

  “I’m walking on it, but you’re changing the subject. What’d you want to tell me?”

  “It’s about a man.”

  Rory’s expression twitched.

  “Right.” Arthur brought his drink to his lips. “We’ll just talk about it later.”

  “No, no, I’m good.” Rory quickly folded his arms, shoving his balled fists under his armpits. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” Arthur said dryly.

  “Yes. Come on, Ace. Stop patronizing me.”

  Arthur sighed. But it would be worse if he hid this. Rory would find out eventually. Better to get it out in the open before Wesley’s arrival in New York could do any harm. “John needs me to escort a guest to the governor’s son’s wedding this Saturday.”

  Rory dropped his gaze to the bar counter. “Governor’s son, huh.”

  “Not by choice, I promise.” Arthur hated how spineless the excuse sounded. “John needs the support for his next campaign, otherwise I wouldn’t—”

  “S’all right, Ace.” Rory bit his lip. “I’m not gonna get mad at you ’bout family responsibilities I can’t be a part of.”

  He accepted it so matter-of-factly that Arthur felt about an inch tall. Rory assumed he had no place in Arthur’s family’s world, but he’d still offered his help for John.

  “So are you taking some doll?” Rory’s eyes were still on the counter.

  “What? No,” Arthur sputtered. “I said this was about a man. I’m escorting a British aristocrat, ex-military like me. Lord Fine.”

  “Oh. Okay, that’s not—wait.” Rory’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do I know that name?”

  Just spit it out. Him knowing about Wesley cannot be worse than him thinking you’re going with a girl. Arthur wet his lips. “Because he was the last man that I—well. The last man before—ah. Before...you.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “He’s your ex?”

  A gust of wind sliced through the club, glasses shattering on the floor, the drum set crashing to the ground in a clash of cymbals. Mack the bartender ducked as bottles of liquor flew off the shelves, soaking the bar in gin and whiskey.

  Rory covered in his mouth, eyes wide with horror. “Oops,” he said helplessly, from behind his hands.

  Arthur leapt to his feet. “Tell the Robbinses I will pay for all of this,” he told Mack, as he grabbed the still-frozen Rory by the back of his coat. “With me, come on, let’s go.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rory let Arthur steer him through the frigid night, to where his red Cadillac was parked in an alley two streets down. He went numbly into the passenger seat and drew his legs to his chest, sneakers on the seat, and hiding his face against his knees as Arthur climbed in the other side.

  He didn’t look up as the engine roared to life. “I broke the whole club.”

  “You exaggerate,” Arthur said lightly, pulling the car away from the curb. “I’m sure some of the tables survived.”

  Rory groaned. “I’m gonna pay Jade back. I’ll work it off, I’d be great at bootlegging—”

  “I’m just as responsible,” Arthur cut in. “I should have waited until we were at my place.”

  “I don’t wanna wreck all your nice stuff either!” A gust of wind whistled outside the car, knocking a pair of trashcans to the street in a clatter. Rory took a sharp breath.

  “That might not have been you,” Arthur said quickly. “It’s February in New York, it’s always ghastly.”

  Rory put his hands on the back of his head, the ring cold and hard against his scalp.

  Arthur gently cleared his throat. “Everything will be fine. We’ll find a way to get that ring off—”

  “Getting the ring off isn’t gonna change your ex being a real fucking lord.”

  “Well—no—but surely the ring is more pressing?”

  Rory groaned again. It was, or it should’ve been, but hearing Arthur had last been with a man titled Lord Fine... Rory could still see Ellis looming over him at Coney Island, could still hear his mocking Southern drawl. I’m trying to figure out why Ace is slumming with you. I don’t care that Ace’s got a taste for men, but it used to be good taste.

  “All your exes are classy like you, aren’t they?”

  “Who’s made you think that?” Arthur said sharply.

  “Your pal Ellis.”

  “Ellis? You can’t possibly be taking his words to heart. He would have let Brooklyn drown.”

  “Maybe, but he knows you and he’s right, isn’t he?” Rory ran a hand over his curls. “I’m not your usual style?”

  “You’re a paranormal antiques dealer who sees visions of magical pasts. There’s nothing usual about you.”

  Rory rolled his eyes and lifted his head. “You know what I mean.” The Cadillac had just turned south on Central Park West, the dark park on the left, streets passing on the right. “You ever kept a fella around who didn’t have dough or fancy manners like yours?”

  Arthur glanced at him. “Do you really want me to start listing my former lovers?”

  “No,” Rory blurted, chest tightening. “I just wanna know if you’ve ever been with someone like me before.”

  “There’s never been someone like you,” Arthur said quietly. “But that’s the point. Isn’t it?”

  Oh.

  They rode in silence for blocks, Rory stealing glances at Arthur, his heart beating too fast.

  “The way you’re looking at me should be illegal,” Arthur murmured, as they passed the big history museum Rory’d always wanted to visit. “An outrageous distraction.”

  “I’m trying to keep from starting a storm,” Rory said, jaw tight. “But I don’t know what the wind’s gonna do if I don’t get my hands on you.”

  Arthur took a sharp breath. He swerved the car over to idle at the curb, a block up from his building. “I am dying to have you in my flat tonight.”

/>   Then why had they stop—oh. Rory bit his lip. “But we can’t make a habit of going in together late at night. Doormen’ll notice.”

  Arthur’s torn expression said Rory had nailed it. “We can probably still get away with it tonight. I have enough guests.”

  “Not guests who look like me.”

  “I like the way you look.”

  “I don’t even got a hat right now,” Rory said, but that had made him smile. “I get it, okay? If you keep bringing the same scruffy fella over, people are gonna start talking.” He pursed his lips. “Delivery door? Staff stairs?”

  “There will still be security, especially at night.” Arthur rubbed his forehead. “I’m certain tenants still use those entries for exactly this purpose—”

  “But they’re probably sneaking dolls in, not fellas, and they don’t have brothers gearing up for a spotlight.” Rory pursed his lips. “Guess you can’t carry me through the lobby like it’s the woods.”

  Arthur snorted. “You hated that anyway.”

  “I never said I hated—” Rory chomped down his lip, too late. Arthur’s eyebrow was up. Rory huffed and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hate it,” he grudgingly admitted, because if Arthur thought Rory didn’t want something, he’d never do it again. “I mean, I like your muscles.” He wet his lips. “’Specially when you use ’em on me.”

  The heat between them kicked up another degree, enough that Rory was surprised they weren’t fogging the glass and drawing the attention of any passerby.

  “Is that right?” Arthur’s voice was taut and low enough to send shivers over Rory’s skin. “Well, if the universe would give us so much as a single moment in private, I would be happy to oblige. I would do some very good things to you.” He looked forward again, jaw tight. “Or some very bad ones.”

  Rory’s stomach jolted with excitement. They needed into Arthur’ s apartment now. He glanced over his shoulder, where Arthur’s giant raccoon coat was still laid across the back seat from the drive down from Hyde Park.