Starcrossed (Magic in Manhattan)

by Allie Therin

  “Nice place.” Rory hesitated. “Are you...part of Zhang’s family?”

  “Cousin.” She glanced over her shoulder in a friendly way. “I’m not a paranormal, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

  She had a soft accent, about as strong as Sasha Ivanova’s Russian one. Rory ducked his head. “But you know about magic? Um...obviously,” he tacked on awkwardly.

  “Obviously,” she said, but it was teasing, not mean.

  They walked down a hall, past a private eating area with a large circular table just visible behind red curtains. He could easily picture the table full of a big happy family, spinning the lazy Susan in the center to pass the food around. He smiled a little wistfully.

  They didn’t go into the kitchen but out to another hall and a staircase. Ling pointed down the stairs, at a plain door with a small woven tapestry hanging at eye level. “The library is in the basement.”

  As he started to squint at the tapestry, she waved her hand in front of his eyes “If you try to read it, you’re suddenly going to want to be somewhere else very urgently.”

  Roy instantly averted his gaze. Getting trapped in that painting in Luther Mansfield’s house had been enough for one lifetime. “Is the sign enough to keep people out?”

  “There are several other types of guardian magic in the library.”

  Guardian magic. That was new, but then most things were, at least, since he’d met Arthur.

  Ling was looking at him curiously. “But Jianwei says you have control of a relic.”

  “Yeah.” Rory stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think that’s guardian magic, though. It mostly just wrecks stuff.”

  She grinned. “I was thinking that of how some of the guardian magic would react to you,” she said, “and to paranormals with magic as strong as yours.” She made a thoughtful face. “Most of it would still keep you out. But we’ve made sure it’s safe for you.”

  Behind the door was a basement with an unusually high ceiling, with floor-to-ceiling shelves that must’ve held a couple hundred books, along with three small statutes, an abacus, and two vials of what might have been Pavel’s potions. There were trunks on the floor and velvet curtains covering the high, sidewalk-level windows. In the center, under a brass hanging pendant light, was a large circular table stacked with even more books.

  Zhang’s astral projection was hovering by the table, speaking Chinese with a woman older than Jade but younger than Mrs. Brodigan, with black hair styled in a neat bob and reading glasses perched on her nose.

  Zhang gestured at the woman. “This is my mom, Mrs. Wang.”

  Mrs. Wang took off her glasses. “And you’re the psychometric.”

  Rory stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, as the door snicked shut behind him.

  Zhang flickered for a moment. “Jade and I are almost here.”

  Mrs. Wang pointed at one of the biggest books on the table. “We’re looking for magic that could give someone nightmares.”

  Rory stepped to the edge of the table as she turned the book so he could see. The writing was Chinese he couldn’t read, but he could see a drawing of a small pouch on the page. “You think this could be cursing Arthur’s brother? What is it?”

  “Spell bag.” She pointed to the picture. “A variant of the potions your alchemist friend makes. But a spell bag would cause more general nightmares, not a specific vision.”

  “And I haven’t found any in Arthur’s brother’s office,” said Zhang.

  “I could go,” Rory offered. “If I get my hands on John’s desk, maybe I can see something.”

  “Perhaps.” Mrs. Wang gestured at the empty seat on her side. Rory awkwardly sat down, very aware that his coat was still mud-stained from his fall on the Hudson River bank and he hadn’t had a chance to patch up the latest rip.

  But Mrs. Wang was looking at him with interest, not judgment. “Are you doing all right?” she asked, sincerely. “Psychometry can be an overwhelming ability.”

  Rory glanced at Zhang helplessly.

  “He’s anchored it to a friend,” Zhang quickly cut in, and Rory relaxed a little at Zhang covering for him. Zhang gave Rory a reassuring smile. “It’s rare, but you’re not the first person in history to do it. Happens sometimes between close friends or siblings.”

  “Siblings?” Rory leaned in. “So could Pavel make a link—”

  But Zhang was shaking his head. “You need an aura to link it to. Sasha’s a paranormal. We don’t have auras, we have magic instead.”

  “So everyone’s got one or the other?” Rory pursed his lips. “Could we find someone with an aura for Pavel?”

  Mrs. Wang exchanged a glance with Zhang’s astral projection. “It’s...complicated,” Zhang offered.

  Rory furrowed his brow. “Complicated?”

  Zhang looked awkward. “Not everyone is comfortable with that type of magic.”

  What type of magic? The type of magic he already had in Arthur? Who wasn’t comfortable with that? Rory opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Mrs. Wang gave him a kind smile.

  “We know the Ivanovs. Ling is interested in alchemy and Sasha sometimes brings us Pavel’s potions.” She gestured at the vials on the shelf. “And we’re looking for another way to help him. Subordinate magic is difficult. Humans were not built to have magic at all, and certainly not to have magic flood into them like a river that’s broken its dam.”

  Rory let it go, not wanting to talk too much about his link with Arthur and why he had it. “The relics help. Maybe we could give a relic to Pavel if we could find another relic.”

  “We certainly could. Although,” Mrs. Wang’s smile turned wry, “is that going well for you?”

  He winced, but her words had been sympathetic, not judgmental. He relaxed a hair in his seat. “Not really,” he admitted. “Are you a subordinate paranormal too?”

  She shook her head. “Incorporeality.” When Rory blinked, she calmly passed her hand straight through the surface of the table. “I can phase through anything except lead.”

  “It’s why half our trunks are welded shut,” said Zhang. “Handy place to keep magical artifacts when no one else can get them out. Speaking of...”

  He disappeared. A moment later, there were footsteps on the stairs, and then the door opened.

  Rory got to his feet, brightening as Jade came in. She smiled warmly back at him. “Ace gave us your compass and your ring.” She held out cupped palms, the compass in one, the gold, bejeweled ring looking right at home with her pretty nails in the other. “Pavel’s magic should be gone from the compass by now, but we thought Ling may still want a quick look. The ring, on the other hand...”

  “Want us to keep it for you?” Zhang nodded at one of the sealed trunks. “We can’t put it in lead, because my mom can’t phase through that. But we can put the ring out of your reach until you want it back.”

  Rory sighed. “Yeah, that’s probably best,” he grouched. “I’ve been nothing but trouble as King of the Wind, and I can’t be trusted not to go cracking safes and searching through Ace’s stuff for it.”

  Arthur hadn’t come with them to the teahouse. “What’s Ace up to?”

  “Ah.” Jade exchanged an awkward glance with Zhang. “He’s heading to the North River piers to pick someone up.”

  Pick someone up? No, not just someone—someone coming in on a ship. Maybe from across the ocean. Maybe from London.

  Maybe his ex-flame, Lord Fine.

  In Jade’s palm, the ring twitched.

  Jade, Zhang, and Mrs. Wang all turned toward Rory in alarm.

  “Um.” He swallowed awkwardly. “How about we put the ring outta my reach right now?”

  * * *

  Arthur frankly would have been happy to pick up Wesley in a housecoat with ten days of stubble. But he was representing his family, s
o instead he found a barber for a decent shave and to undo the mess the sea wind had made of his hair. Then came a stop at his tailor, Mr. Dannenberg, to pick up a suit he’d ordered three weeks back. He changed into it there, a three-piece ensemble in a navy so dark it was nearly black, with a light blue shirt and a red tie. Mr. Dannenberg gave him a new fedora to match.

  He glanced at his impeccable reflection in the mirror and sighed. He’d have traded the lot for the potato sack Rory had mentioned if he could just go to the Dragon House and deal with all their magic questions instead.

  Wesley had of course traveled first class and didn’t have to deal with Ellis Island processing. Arthur drove across Lower Manhattan to the Hudson River, where Wesley’s ship was docked at one of the piers. The pier representative gave assurances he would arrange for all of Wesley’s party’s baggage to be transferred to the Waldorf and then vanished, leaving Arthur alone to face Wesley and his entourage.

  He stood on the crowded dock and watched the first passengers disembark down the ramp from the ocean liner: a white couple, the wife in thick furs, awkwardly clutching the arm of her husband as he held his hat in place against the wind; an elderly white gentleman with a cane and a bald head, escorted by a young woman who looked like his daughter.

  A short man in a flat cap elbowed his way to Arthur’s side. “You somebody we should know?” the man asked, eying his clothes and hat. He had a notepad in hand and eager expression. Almost certainly a reporter.

  “I’m no one important.”

  The reporter scoffed. “That’s why you got a coat that cost as much as that ship.” He jerked his thumb at the ocean liner. “Someone special getting off that boat?”

  Arthur looked back at the well-dressed people making their way down to the pier and didn’t answer.

  A moment later, a cluster of white men and women got off close together and there was Wesley. He stood straight-backed and strong as always, none of the travel-stained weariness or pallor of seasickness lingering on many of the other passengers. He was perfectly dressed, with a black homburg hat over his light brown hair, his expression as cool and dispassionate as it had been the day Arthur had said goodbye and left for Spain with Jade.

  Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me.”

  He slipped through the crowds until he was at the bottom of the ramp. Wesley had traveled with a small entourage who followed him down the ramp, couples and friends Arthur recognized from his own time in London. Wesley was scanning the crowd, and Arthur knew the minute he’d been spotted when gray-blue eyes widened.

  “Arthur.” There was an actual flash of emotion, too quick to read, and then it was gone, Wesley straightening as he stepped off the ramp and in front of Arthur. “I got the telegram on board that you would be picking us up, but I confess, I wasn’t going to believe it until I saw it for myself.”

  What on earth was proper etiquette for a situation like this? Handshake? Manly shoulder pat and a brusque good to see you, old boy? After a split-second hesitation, Arthur kept his hands behind his back. “Hello, Wes.”

  They held each other’s gaze as Wesley’s party disembarked around them, their eyes nearly level, their clothes nearly identical.

  Christ, they were like mirrors.

  Another voice interrupted the moment. “Sir, will you be needing anything for your drive with your friend?”

  Arthur glanced at the man at Wesley’s side, an average-sized white man with brown hair and a vacantly polite smile. He was standing slightly behind the other man, dressed smartly but not as finely. Not a friend, then. Arthur didn’t recognize him, so perhaps he was new to Wesley’s staff. Arthur probably should have expected Wesley to cling to old traditions and bring a valet to America.

  “No, Chester.” Wesley’s tone was dismissive. “I trust Mr. Kenzie has handled everything.”

  Arthur faked a smile. “I’m sure we’ll survive the fifteen-minute drive,” he said dryly.

  “A Kenzie, eh?” said a voice from Arthur’s side. “Any relation to our congressman?”

  With a start Arthur realized the reporter had followed him to the ramp. Wesley’s eyes darted to the man, and Arthur could see Wesley doing the calculations he’d done, the notepad in hand, the way the man was leaning forward to catch their words.

  “Or what about the alderman?” the reporter continued. “Rumor is, Alderman Kenzie’s not waiting for your dad to retire, he’s got his eye on the Senate. Any comment on that?” Without waiting for a response, he added, “Or a comment on your fancy guest? Governor’s got folks here for a wedding, you going to that?”

  The man was practically breathing on Arthur, but before he could come up with a polite way to tell the reporter to go away, Wesley cleared his throat. “Chester, give the man appropriate details. Arthur, where is your car?”

  Irritation rose in Arthur. Would have been nice to have Rory around, someone who understood how little Arthur wanted to talk politics with a reporter and have even a word of his own business given to the papers.

  But then, the reporter probably would have wanted to know who Rory was, and Arthur’s association with Lord Fine was far easier to explain.

  Arthur shook his irritation off. He made appropriate hellos and well mets to the others who’d come from London with Wesley, then gestured at the street, where several cars were parked to transport guests and luggage to the Waldorf. “We’re ready for you.”

  The others in Wesley’s party turned toward the curb, but Wesley himself pointed to Arthur’s car in the line of black vehicles. “Is the red one yours?”

  Arthur loved the red Cadillac. He’d wanted one first in college, then while he was in the army, and then Europe. The car had been the one thing he’d bought for himself when he’d come back to America. “Yes. Why?”

  “It’s just loud, wants attention,” Wesley said dismissively, already walking toward it without waiting for Arthur. “It’s so very you.”

  Arthur sighed. Same old Wesley, all right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the library, Jade and Rory went upstairs to the family dining room behind the red curtain. Dinner was just getting underway, and the kitchen had given Rory something to eat, some kind of white steamed bun full of flavorful meat. Zhang said it was Arthur’s favorite. Rory was inhaling it.

  “How’s Ace?” Rory asked, as he swallowed his mouthful. “Should I go scry his brother’s office tonight?”

  “Perhaps. Jianwei didn’t find anything but maybe you will.” Jade lowered her voice. “Although, to be quite honest, I’m not convinced Alderman Kenzie is the real target.”

  “Then who is?”

  “Did Arthur tell you what he nearly dreamed last night?”

  Rory gritted his teeth. No, of course Arthur hadn’t. “He mentioned his brother but not any dreams of his own.”

  She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s really not my story to tell,” she said apologetically. “He should tell you himself.”

  “Oh, sure, ’cause that’s gonna happen.” Rory dropped his voice to a frustrated whisper. “Are you telling me Ace could be a target and we’re just letting that magicless high hat walk up and down Fifth Avenue alone?”

  Her lips twitched at that, despite the worry in her eyes. “Zhang is keeping an eye on the city from the plane. But the plane has been strange, as of late.” She looked troubled. “Arthur thinks he’s just going to make a quick drop at the hotel, then come here.”

  Arthur and his ex, together at a hotel. Rory’s bare finger seemed to pulse. Mrs. Wang had phased the ring inside a solid brass sphere that looked like a big marble, then she’d phased that into a heavy metal trunk that was welded shut. He wasn’t getting his ring back himself. A good thing. Probably.

  Rory crammed the last of the bun in his mouth before he could think too hard about having both the ring and Arthur’s former fella around at the same time.

  “The thing
is, I’ve met Fine,” Jade said, “and I’m afraid he’s a little higher maintenance than that.”

  Rory frowned. “I’m going to Arthur’s pad.”

  Jade cocked her head. “You’re welcome to stay here, you know, or we’re always happy to have you at the Magnolia.”

  And even though he was worried, an unfamiliar warmth crept through him. Been a long time since he had anywhere to go but his room or the shop. “Thanks,” he said, “but I bet you need to go check on your family too, and you haven’t gone yet ’cause you’re worried about Arthur.” When she bit her lip, he huffed. “I’m not as young or helpless as everyone thinks. I’m gonna go scry Ace’s place instead of City Hall. If someone’s ever tried to plant a spell bag or messed with his stuff, I’ll find it in history, and then we can make a plan to make them sorry.”

  “All right, then.” She had a small smile of relief as she patted his arm. “For the record, I’m worried about you too. But you make a convincing case.”

  Outside Dragon House, Rory gave himself a very fierce order as he headed up toward the train on Canal Street.

  Don’t get jealous. Ace said he doesn’t want his ex back. You’re gonna trust him.

  Rory stopped on the street and sighed. He did trust Arthur.

  It was the other fella he was worried about.

  Someone knocked into Rory’s shoulder. “Fammi passare, figliolo.”

  Rory startled as an older woman pushed past him and continued up the street. He glanced up, to the sign on the corner, and realized he’d hit Mulberry Street where it turned from Chinatown to Little Italy. Up ahead, he could hear more chattering in Italian, could see Italian on the signs hung outside the buildings. Ristoranto, said one. Pizzeria, another. Wooden carts lined the curb and Rory could smell the seafood and produce.

  Arthur had a whole kitchen to himself and the only thing he had in it was aspirin and instant coffee.

  He’d detoured into Little Italy before he’d realized he was moving again. The crowd on the sidewalk was thick and loud, but that just gave Rory an excuse to linger over a vegetable cart with stacked onions and garlic, trying not to look too obviously like he was smelling everything.