by Allie Therin
“Oh, Arthur’s back. And a mess.”
Rory’s heart plummeted. “What? Why?”
“Because he couldn’t find you at your boarding house, so he went to the antiques shop and found it up for lease. Then he went to Mrs. Brodigan’s apartment and found she moved out of her flat today. So he called Jade and me, frantic, and now I’ve found you dead on your feet but still being worked, and guess how well that’s going over?”
Oh, Rory’s mouth formed.
“He’s on his way from Hell’s Kitchen,” Zhang said tensely.
Rory leaned on the sink, exhausted, happy relief coursing through him. “You’re really all back?” he said hopefully.
Zhang huffed, his expression softening. “Just let Arthur bring you here, okay?”
“Where’s here?”
But Zhang had faded from view.
Rory hastily put as many dishes as he could to soak in the sink. He’d be the first one here in the morning anyway; he’d finish up then. He tossed his apron into the laundry chute and got his hat, money, and lock from the locker, heading out through the staff hallway that kept the workers unseen by the hotel guests in the lobby.
He’d just reached the sidewalk when the red Cadillac pulled up along the curb. And Rory didn’t care how angry Arthur was, he just wanted to see his face in person.
He was stumbling forward as Arthur leapt out of the car, leaving it idling as he scrambled around to the sidewalk. Travel rumpled, in only his shirtsleeves and vest with no hat, with more than a day’s worth of stubble on his face—Arthur was still always going to be the best-looking man Rory’d ever seen.
They were on a Fifth Avenue sidewalk in the middle of Midtown, and even at ten thirty on a cool April night there were taxis driving past and people loitering. They stopped short of each other, maybe a foot of space between their bodies. “I missed you—” Rory breathed, just as Arthur said, “You shit, I was so worried—”
They stared at each other, and Rory thought he might explode from not being able to hug, to touch.
Arthur took a deep breath through his nose. “Car,” he bit out, and there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. He opened the passenger door and held it open for Rory.
Rory stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. “Probably not the time to make fun of you for acting like a gentleman even though I’m not a doll.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
Rory ducked his head and slunk into the car.
A moment later, Arthur got in the driver’s seat, and then he reached past the stick shift to grab Rory’s hand tightly, low, where no passersby would see.
Even the small touch was electric, sending pleasure and a kind of familiar affection through Rory. He tightened his fingers around Arthur’s. “I missed you so much.”
Arthur shot him a dirty look. “I’m so angry with you,” he said, although he hadn’t let go of Rory’s hand, and he wasn’t crushing it, just holding it like he couldn’t bear to let go.
Rory frowned. “What’d I do?”
“Are you seriously—” Arthur cut it off. “We’ll talk about it later.” He let go of Rory’s hand with obvious reluctance, and shifted the car into gear.
Rory slid closer across the bench seat and put his hand on Arthur’s thigh. When Arthur glanced at him, Rory said, “I haven’t seen you in weeks and weeks. I don’t care how cross you are, no way I’m not touching you unless you tell me you don’t want it.”
Arthur swallowed and looked back at the road. “I want it,” he said quietly, voice tight. “What happened with the antiques shop?”
Rory bit his lip. “Mrs. B’s gonna be Mrs. M now.”
“Mrs. M? You mean—oh,” Arthur said, in realization. “She’s marrying her suitor. She sold the shop.”
Rory nodded once, the ache fresh, his genuine happiness for her intertwined with his own loss. “She’s moving to Boston.”
Arthur let out a quiet breath, some of the tension leaving him. “I’m sorry, darling.”
“Not your fault.”
“You lost the closest thing you have to family, and I wasn’t here.”
Also not his fault. Rory stared out the windshield. “Did you have any luck with the pomander at Niagara Falls?”
Arthur snorted bitterly. “Not even a little.”
Damn. They were driving up the east side, past the new high-rises and the old mansions. Arthur’s parents lived somewhere around here, and so did his alderman brother, John. “We’re not going to your place?”
“Not yet,” Arthur said, and before Rory could ask where they were going, he added, “Have you been to my flat at all while I was gone?”
Rory frowned. “Of course not.”
“So what was your plan for a bed tonight, when you got off work and your house was closed?”
Rory made a face. “I hadn’t gotten that far.”
Arthur’s hands were very tight around the steering wheel as he drove them farther north. “But you still have a maintenance key to my flat.”
“Well, yeah. I’d never lose that.” Rory heard Arthur take another breath through his nose. “So where are we going?”
“Harlem,” said Arthur, eyes fixed forward, his expression now shuttered in a way that made Rory feel like somehow he’d hurt Arthur deeply. “Not much farther now.”
Chapter Five
Rory looked so exhausted that Arthur debated calling the whole thing off. But as he pulled into the alley, Rory perked up like he’d drunk an entire caffettiera’s worth of coffee himself.
“The Magnolia?” he said as Arthur parked, already opening his passenger door. “Is Stella singing?”
The Magnolia’s side door swung open as he approached, Jade popping out in her swishy trousers and heels, Zhang’s physical form just a few steps behind. “There you are,” she said, beaming at Rory. “We nearly started without you.”
Rory lit up. “You look so pretty,” he blurted out as she took him by the shoulders in a hug and he hugged her back.
She pulled back a second later, still holding his arms. “Charmer,” she accused, her smile growing sweeter, then softening into something sad. “Oh, Rory. I’m sorry about the antiques shop.”
“S’all right,” Rory said, sounding as hollow as he had every time he’d mentioned it. “Mrs. B’s so happy. I’m happy for her.”
“I’m still sorry that happened while we weren’t here.” She squeezed his arms. “But why did Zhang find you working in a random awful kitchen? If you needed new work until we got back, why didn’t you come here, to the Magnolia?”
“Or to the Dragon House?” Zhang added. “If you want to wash dishes, we have dishes, and we don’t exploit our staff.”
Rory visibly swallowed. “I wasn’t gonna impose on your families when they gotta look out for each other,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around himself. “Your real families, like Mrs. B is gonna have now. I’m just—you know.” He awkwardly shrugged. “It’s just me.”
Oh, Christ. Arthur covered his face. “Jade, make him stop. I told him I’m angry and now he’s breaking my heart—it’s not fair play.”
Jade waved Arthur quiet. “Come on,” she said gently, to Rory. “Come inside and see if you still think you’re just you.”
She took him by the hand and tugged. Rory furrowed his brow but obediently followed her.
Arthur followed just behind as they walked past the hall with the office and dressing room, down into the actual club. Stella was singing in dazzling sequins, and at the foot of her stage, two small round tables had been pushed together. The tables were covered in full glasses and several people were already crowded into the seats. Zhang’s cousin Ling was among them, looking lovely in a cloche hat, sitting close to Pavel in a nice suit and Sasha, whose new bob was held in place by a feathered headband. Pavel and Ling were talking together, while Sasha’s eyes were fix
ed on Stella and the band.
Jade clapped her hands once. “Drinks, pass out the drinks! Everyone together, at the foot of the stage!”
Arthur moved into the tight knot of his friends as waiters were suddenly passing around wide-brimmed champagne glasses. Arthur accepted one and took a sniff. Sparkling grape juice—he should have expected that at the paranormal table.
He snagged a passing waiter. “Pardon me,” he said, “but do you have anything else special to drink tonight? Maybe a little stronger? Or a lot stronger?”
The waiter nodded in understanding. “Be right back.”
Jade was speaking seriously with a flapper who had a cigar clenched between her teeth and a large camera in her hands. As Stella brought “Everybody Loves My Baby” to a close, her gaze fell on Rory, then to Jade questioningly. Jade nodded, and Stella smiled wickedly, and Arthur was pretty sure he heard someone in the crowd swoon.
She turned to her band and said something too quiet for the crowd. Then she turned around. “And now for a little something special,” she said, leaning forward to accept the glass Zhang held up to the stage for her. She raised her glass. “A toast! To a young man turning twenty-one today.”
The spotlight swiveled and suddenly lit up their group and especially Rory, whose eyes went very wide behind his glasses.
“Cute fella,” said the flapper around her cigar, and snapped the camera.
There was a blinding flash in the dark club that left Arthur blinking. A moment later, the band struck up its first notes, and Stella grinned and began to sing. “Happy birthday...”
Rory went scarlet. Stella’s voice turned the simple song into a masterpiece as tipsy cheers and whistles came from the speakeasy crowd. Rory covered his face with his hands, watching Stella through his fingers, his face lit with a smile that went straight to Arthur’s heart.
Then Rory looked over at Arthur, and their eyes met. And despite his own hurt feelings, Arthur felt an overwhelming rush of affection. He raised his grape juice. “To you, sweetheart,” he said, too quietly to be heard in the crowd.
The spotlight swiveled to Stella again, leaving the rest of them in the softer dark. Jade tugged Rory toward Sasha, Pavel, and Ling. As he passed, Rory’s hand drifted out, and his fingers brushed Arthur’s, casual enough to be ignored by anyone watching, gentle as a breeze ruffling the leaves.
The secret touch still sent sparks like electricity through Arthur. He gritted his teeth, his emotions a tumultuous mess.
He watched Sasha and Ling enthusiastically hug Rory the way he couldn’t in public. What a good thing it was Arthur didn’t get jealous, because this certainly would be a moment he might feel jealousy. If he were that type of man. Which he wasn’t, so of course he wasn’t jealous as Ling pointed out Rory’s bow tie to Sasha, and really, had girls always been this fond of Rory?
There was a polite throat clearing at his side. “Your drink, sir.”
“Thank Christ.” Arthur turned to find the waiter, and plucked a cocktail glass off his tray, setting his untouched juice in its place. He brought the cocktail to his nose and smelled the bright scent of oranges. “What’s this?”
“The bartender’s calling it a Russian, sir.”
“And what’s in—never mind, I don’t actually care, I’m going to drink it regardless.” Arthur took a small sip, tasting orange juice and very little burn. “Not too strong, is it?”
“Well, actually—”
“Thank you.” Arthur tapped the glass. “Keep these coming, please.”
As the waiter disappeared, Arthur took another experimental sip. There was a faint licorice taste, perhaps from absinthe. There was a taste to remind him of Paris. Paris, where there would be a world’s fair with paranormals. Where he might have to go and couldn’t take Rory, even if Rory would apparently rather work himself to the bone than borrow Arthur’s bed.
On the other side of the table, Sasha tugged at one of Rory’s curls, making Rory smile.
Arthur took a bigger sip.
* * *
By one in the morning, Rory was contentedly slouched in a chair at the foot of the stage. It was warm in the club, and Stella had finished for the night, the band playing a soft instrumental cover of “The Man I Love,” one of Rory’s favorites. Some of the tables near the bar had been shoved away and couples were slow dancing. On his left, Zhang and Ling were chatting in Chinese, their words washing pleasantly over him.
It was nice to be off his sore feet, which he’d propped up on one of the other chairs as he helped himself to the last of their tables’ canapes. But as he popped another pastry pig in his mouth, Jade was suddenly taking the seat to his left.
“Thank you,” he started to say, then realized she was biting back a smile.
She waved away his gratitude. “Thank me by taking Ace home.”
Rory blinked. She pointed down the table, and she was definitely trying not to smile. Rory followed her finger to see Arthur, sitting across from Sasha and Pavel and gesturing more enthusiastically than normal.
As the band’s last notes and audience applause faded, Rory could just make out Arthur’s words. “I love your new hair, Sasha, it’s really lovely, you know, it just really suits you,” Arthur was saying, with absolute sincerity. “And Pavel, look at you, you’re dressed up too! The stylish Ivanov siblings, out on the town.”
Pavel blinked.
“Oh boy,” said Rory, but he was starting to smile too.
Jade was shaking her head fondly. “We left Niagara Falls at four o’clock this morning and didn’t stop for dinner. He’s barely slept, I bet he hasn’t eaten, and he’s the only one drinking at a table of completely sober paranormals. He’s going to be so embarrassed. Please go get him, Rory.”
She didn’t have to tell Rory twice. He got to his feet, feeling the long day’s ache all over again as he made his way toward the others.
“Arthur.” Sasha rested her chin in her hand. “What are you drinking tonight?” She pointed at the empty cocktail glass in Arthur’s hand.
“Oh, you’ll love this,” Arthur said conspiratorially. “I asked for something special and they brought me a Russian.” He paused. “Four Russians. But don’t worry.” He waved the glass meaningfully. “It wasn’t very strong.”
Sasha and Pavel exchanged a glance, eyebrows up. Pavel leaned forward toward Arthur. “You know vodka has very little taste, yes?”
Arthur furrowed his brow. “Well, that’s true, but you can’t find vodka in America.”
Sasha covered her smile with her hand. “Unless your Russian friends help the speakeasy find a supplier.”
“Oh.” Arthur’s brow was still furrowed as he looked at his empty cocktail glass. “Oh no,” he said seriously. “Vodka and absinthe—what if I’m drunk?” His blue eyes went comically wide. “What if I’m drunk on Rory’s birthday?”
“Why would he mind?” Pavel said curiously.
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it, and Rory’s heart did a twist, watching even his drunk mind remember to bury the truth. “I don’t,” he interrupted quickly, before Arthur had to come up with an explanation. “C’mon, Ace, let’s get you a cab.”
“I have my car,” Arthur protested. He stood up, and then promptly lurched, catching himself on the back of the chair. “Whoops.” He leaned heavily on it, the chair looking dubiously able to support him. “Actually, Rory, maybe you should drive.”
“Or maybe neither of us should, seeing as you’re half seas over and I don’t know how.” Rory eyed Arthur for a moment. They had to be careful, but Arthur was teetering, and Rory wouldn’t be the first man to help a zozzled friend make it out. He ducked under Arthur’s arm and his knees nearly buckled; geez, Arthur was solid.
With effort, he took a step, pulling Arthur toward the back door. “Let’s go, soldier.”
“Mmm.” Arthur, bless him, was obviously trying not to put all h
is considerable weight on Rory. Trying, but failing. “I like it when you call me that.”
Rory bit back his squawk. He glanced up best he could, but luckily no one seemed to be giving them a second look.
“Not as much as bello, though,” Arthur went on. “Or any of your other fiendishly lovely Italian. Sorry, I get a bit talky after several drinks. Am I terribly heavy?”
“Nah,” Rory lied. It wasn’t like he minded being squashed by Arthur’s muscles. “And I could listen to you all night.” He wanted to drink that voice in, he was so happy to hear it again.
He managed to get the back door open and Arthur into the back hall. “My, how the tables have turned,” Arthur muttered to himself. “Served a dose of my own medicine. Hoisted on my own petard.”
That was cute, whatever it meant. He couldn’t wait to get Arthur somewhere he could kiss him. “What’re you mumbling about?” Rory said as he looked up, squinting at Arthur in the dark back hall.
“I accidentally got you drunk here once and had to carry you out. And now I’m in the same boat,” Arthur said ruefully. “And several other analogous idioms.”
“Yeah, you are.” There was no one else in the hall, so Rory chanced it, tilting his face up. He couldn’t quite reach Arthur’s face with his lips, so he bumped his nose against his scratchy jaw. “But you got me back to your place safe. And I got you now, Ace, I’ll get us back.”
They turned the corner at the end of the hall, and a bouncer got the alley door for Rory. As he levered Arthur through it, he saw three cars parked in front of Arthur’s in the narrow space. Jade was standing next to one of them with her brother, Benson, and her sister, Stella.
“How am I supposed to get out?” Stella was saying, gesturing to the middle car, which was trapped against the alley wall by the double-parked car in front.
“Grover’s looking for the driver,” Benson promised. “Now please tell Jade we’re not hiring her girl as a bouncer.”
“Oh?” Stella’s eyebrow went up with interest. “A lady with muscles?”