by Allie Therin
Rory turned his wide eyes on Arthur. Arthur gestured for Rory to go first, the two of them following Wesley up the main stairs.
“Ground floor has the library, dining room, and morning room, with the garden outside,” Wesley said, as they walked. “This floor is the drawing room and smoking room, with billiards, if you play.”
“What the hell is a morning room?” Arthur heard Rory mutter.
At the next landing Wesley led them toward the street-facing side of the townhouse. “Rory, this will be your room.”
Arthur had stayed in this room himself the last time he’d been in London, so similar to his own room in Manhattan with its dark wood furniture and hand-carved moldings along the ceiling.
Rory was staring at the large bed and windows overlooking the quiet Kensington street. “I really can just sleep on a couch.”
“Nonsense,” Wesley said smoothly. “To be fair, Arthur is going to get a bed that’s barely wider than a couch, but he asked for it.”
Arthur smiled despite himself. Rory looked like he might rabbit any second, however. “Give us a moment?” he said to Wesley, who rolled his eyes but backed out of the room.
Rory turned big brown eyes on Arthur. “Ace—”
“Darling, you need to be in here,” Arthur said quietly. “It’s far more private. If you’re downstairs with the men on staff and Zhang drops in, they’ll hear you talking to him. Doesn’t do us any good for me to have privacy; I can’t see Zhang if I’m standing in him.”
“But you’re too nice for a basement,” Rory said, almost whining.
“I am not too nice for a basement, especially not Wesley’s basement, which are actually quite fine quarters. And I like knowing you’re in the nicer room for a change.” There was no staff to be seen, so Arthur took Rory’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead where his brows were still furrowed together. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll sneak up here every night.”
Rory scoffed. “Oh, we’re really gonna get up to that when your ex is down the hall?”
“You don’t want to fuck me in his house?”
Rory nearly choked. “Jerk,” he muttered, belying the insult as he stood up on his toes to kiss Arthur right on the lips.
After a week with a bed about the size of a pencil case, Arthur would have liked to push Rory right down on the very convenient mattress that would actually fit them both. Instead, he made himself pull back. “Get settled,” he said. “If Wes is still keeping his old schedule, dinner will be in the dining room in probably about an hour.”
Rory sighed. He looked around the room again, gaze lingering on the carved posters of the bed. “Why would he put up with you chewing him out and me in his swanky guest room when he could have foisted us on a hotel?”
Arthur shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid I’m still terribly American when it comes to understanding the aristocracy. Perhaps his manners can’t tolerate the thought.”
As he walked out of the still-open door, he found Wesley standing impatiently on the landing. “Well, you dote on him, don’t you?”
Arthur huffed. “Why were you watching us?”
“I wasn’t watching you, I was waiting for you,” Wesley snapped, which was a fair point.
Arthur folded his arms. “I don’t actually know where my basement room is. Are you showing me or do we need to exchange several rounds of insults first?”
“Who’s insulting you?” Wesley said testily. “I’ve never seen you happier.” He turned before Arthur could say anything else. “This way.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rory knew a lot less about aristocracy than Arthur, but he could guess you probably weren’t supposed to show up to dinner in the same clothes you’d just worn to sail across the Atlantic, and went to clean up. Lord Fine turned out to have a shower even nicer than Arthur’s. Rory meant to just rinse off but instead lingered under the spray, getting his thoughts in order.
We’re here to find Gwen and Ellis. We’re here because Baron Zeppler knows I’m alive, because he sent a paranormal after me, because maybe nowhere’s safe anymore so we might as well go looking in London—
He quickly pushed the thought away. Focus on something else. On the pomander. We’ve still gotta find a way to destroy it.
Memories of the pomander’s past teased at his mind.
The man walks through the castle, delicately avoiding the blood where it’s pooled bright red against the white marble floor. Behind him, the chants of his devoted non-magic followers grow louder. From somewhere deeper in the castle, someone screams. The man smiles—
Rory abruptly turned off the shower with a quick twist. Maybe they could convince Lord Asshole to go back to the Lake District, because the farther he was from all of this magic, the safer he’d probably be.
Back in the guest room, Rory put on his suit, because maybe he couldn’t stand Lord Fine but he was probably supposed to wear a suit for dinner in an aristocrat’s house, wasn’t he?
He’d just finished dressing when Zhang’s astral projection flickered into view.
“Got a minute?” Zhang asked, and yeah, okay, maybe Arthur did have a point about Rory needing the privacy the most, unless he wanted Lord Fine’s whole house to think he was screwy and talking to himself all the time.
Zhang gave him a quick rundown: he and Jade had gotten to the empty warehouse, and now they were canvassing, looking for Gwen and Ellis.
“I can come out tonight,” Rory said quietly. “They got a subway thing over here too, right? Maybe I get in the station, see if I can find something to scry and get its history.”
“Unless Sebastian de Leon is with them, of course,” Zhang pointed out. “I’m pretty sure he and his tattoo are the reason I still haven’t found them.”
Rory frowned.
“Give Jade time,” said Zhang. “She’s familiar with London, and she and Gwen were very close. She has some ideas on where to look. We’ll meet up with you and Arthur in the morning.”
Rory made it down to dinner only a couple minutes late, finding Arthur and Lord Fine already in the dining room, standing by the windows that overlooked a private garden that was several shades of pretty green.
“—but I really am busy, I’m not making that up just to get out of commitments I didn’t even know about—” Arthur was saying.
“What commitment?” Rory asked.
They turned in his direction, and if either of them was surprised he’d cleaned up, they were too cultured to comment. “Since Arthur has decreed that I’m to use my best manners with you, I’ll ask your permission,” Lord Fine said smoothly. “May I borrow Arthur on Friday, please?”
Rory blinked. “We just got here. What for?”
“A veterans’ event at the British Museum,” said Lord Fine. “I don’t have a plus one and they would be delighted if I brought along an American lieutenant.” He glanced at Arthur. “Are you going to congratulate me for being extremely polite and not mentioning that I can’t invite your fellow because he was in nappies while we were at war?”
“Oy,” Rory said testily. “I wasn’t a baby—”
“England went to war when I was twenty-one.” Lord Fine stooped down so he was eye level with Rory and added, saccharine-sweet, “How old were you in 1914, duck? Twelve? Thirteen?”
Rory made a face. “Nine.”
“Nine?” Lord Fine straightened, looking scandalized. “Christ, Arthur, did you leave my house and go straight to a nursery?”
Arthur groaned. “I did not, at any point, actually go looking for a twenty-year-old—”
“Twenty-one now, thanks,” Rory said irritably.
“Oh, twenty-one,” Lord Fine repeated. “Aren’t you precious and grown up.”
“You’re supposed to be polite,” Arthur said, as the footman entered.
Rory didn’t talk much at dinner. The food was good and h
e was tired and in a strange place, so he quietly ate as Arthur and Lord Fine caught up about Arthur’s family and Lord Fine’s friends. Rory could read between the lines, and it was becoming clear that Lord Fine’s friends were mostly other people with titles that he didn’t seem enthusiastic to talk about, and that he didn’t have family beyond some distant cousins.
Rory reluctantly felt a pang of empathy. Maybe it wasn’t just manners that brought Lord Fine back from the countryside to insist Rory and Arthur stay with him.
Lord Fine offered a nightcap after dinner. “Nah,” said Rory, because one experience with losing control of his magic thanks to booze was enough. He wasn’t eager to find out what he might try to do with the wind if he drank. “You two go.”
Arthur and Lord Fine both looked at him in surprise. “You don’t mind us drinking alone together?” Lord Fine asked.
Arthur met Rory’s gaze questioningly, and okay, maybe Rory deserved that, considering a couple months ago he’d nearly taken out the ceiling of Zhang’s library over Lord Fine’s stolen kiss. But Rory wasn’t going to keep Arthur from enjoying time with whoever he wanted. The idea that he might ever be that kind of jealous over Arthur made Rory squirm.
“I’m not Ace’s jailer.” Rory leaned forward, into Lord Fine’s space. “You just keep your lips off him.”
Lord Fine raised an eyebrow. “You’re so surprisingly brave sometimes. It makes one wonder what you’ve got to back it up. Are you a student of a fighting discipline?”
“He’s a man of many talents,” Arthur said hastily. “Wes, I’ll take that drink upstairs.”
At the landing, Lord Fine headed toward the smoking room. Rory took a step toward the next flight of stairs, but Arthur gently snagged his wrist. “Join us?”
Rory hesitated. “I do trust you, you know,” he said, swallowing. “I don’t need eyes on you.”
“I want your company,” Arthur said. “You might even enjoy it; he’s usually got Cuban cigars, if you’re curious to try one, and I’ll be stripped to my shirtsleeves and bent over the billiards table.” He lowered his voice. “You can watch Wesley trounce me at pool, and then you can trounce me any way you like.”
A shiver of want went through Rory. “Yeah,” he said hastily. “Yeah, all right, I’m coming.”
Rory got back to his room an hour later to find someone had come in during dinner. They’d closed the curtains, tidied the two things Rory had left out, and turned down his duvet. Geez, Lord Fine was too good to turn down his own blankets?
He checked his suitcase and found the ring box in its place, a quick peek confirming the flash of gold within. He hastily shut it; he really didn’t need access to the wind around Lord Fine. He shucked his suit and stretched out on the bed on his back with his book.
It was as comfortable as Ace’s bed in Manhattan, the sheets far softer than the ones on the boat. Rory tried to read, but the words weren’t making much sense, and after a page, he let his head fall sideways against the fluffy pillow and closed his eyes.
What felt like only moments later, someone was gently taking his glasses off.
Rory’s eyes fluttered. “Ace?”
“Would you rather I were Wes?” Arthur’s voice was low and teasing. The room was dark now, Arthur having turned off the light, and he was setting Rory’s glasses on the nightstand. “Come here.”
Arthur spooned behind Rory, his arms coming around him to pull him against his shirt-covered chest.
Rory settled in, soaking in Arthur’s warmth, then distantly remembered, “We had planned—”
“This is just as good a revenge, if revenge is what you’re after,” Arthur said softly. “Wesley and I would never have just lain together like this.”
“Why not?” Rory said sleepily. “If anyone needs a good cuddle, it’s that asshole.”
Arthur made a soft half laugh. “Perhaps, but he didn’t want it from me. We were both so outrageously lonely when I was here but unfortunately terrible at comforting each other. We mostly just fought.”
“Bet Lord Fine never blew apart your best friend’s speakeasy ’cause he got jealous, though.”
Arthur laughed again. “Go back to sleep,” he said, kissing Rory on the head. “I’m here until that happens, and then I’ll sneak back up in the morning. I’ve got some good ideas for how to wake you.”
* * *
As it turned out, Zhang got to Rory’s room in the morning sooner than Arthur did. Arthur made it upstairs just in time to catch the end of their conversation, or at least Rory’s side of the end of their conversation. Rory filled him in on the rest: Gwen had sent a telegram to the warehouse via courier, nothing but a location and a cryptic message.
Arthur didn’t like it, but then, he didn’t like anything about the plan to get in touch with Gwen and Ellis. So, resigned as he was, he and Rory slipped out after breakfast to Liverpool Street and the Great Eastern Hotel. They walked through the stately lobby and into the nearly empty lounge, where tall glass shelves of fancy liquors stretched up to a gilded ceiling, ornate gold against the dark wood beams and walls. The bar was unmanned and Jade and Zhang were the lounge’s only occupants, sitting together on a velvet couch in a small booth and talking quietly with their heads close.
“You two continue to be ridiculously lovely together,” Arthur said, as they joined the couple. “Why did Gwen want us to meet here?”
Jade shrugged helplessly. “Her telegram said start at the Great Eastern and go for a walk.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “A walk where?”
“Your guess is as good as ours,” said Zhang. “I haven’t found her anywhere on the astral plane, so I suspect she’s still with Sebastian de Leon.”
“Oh good,” said Arthur. “I’d like to hit him again.”
Rory frowned.
“What?” said Arthur.
“I don’t like that he used his magic on you.” Rory was still frowning. “But Hyde would’ve ripped me and my mind to shreds if Sebastian hadn’t come between us.”
Arthur huffed. “Don’t go soft for him,” he chided. “Handsome men are perfectly capable of being villains too.”
Rory stiffened. “You think he’s handsome?”
Arthur opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
“Why don’t we go for that walk?” Jade said hastily, standing. “Maybe Gwen’s missive will make sense outside.”
They walked down bustling Bishopsgate to a narrower side street near the tube station. Jade and Zhang were gazing appraisingly at the businesses at the bottom of the multistory buildings, a fish and chips shop, a pub, a chemist and an art gallery. “This is like being given a jigsaw puzzle without the box,” Arthur muttered.
“Yeah.” Rory’s gaze slid over the shops. Then he abruptly turned. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
“Oh yes,” said Jade. “Wasn’t the Great Eastern mentioned in Dracula?”
“I loved that book,” Zhang said.
The three of them turned around and started walking back in the direction they had come.
Arthur blinked, then scrambled to get in front of them. “Why would we go back to the hotel?” he demanded. “We just came from there.”
Jade opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding confused.
Zhang shook his head. “You’re right, Ace, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Exactly,” Arthur said. “Come on, we don’t need more things that don’t make sense.”
Their group turned around and began to walk again. The pub at the corner hadn’t opened yet, and neither had the fish and chips shop, but there was a light on in the art gallery. Arthur stared more closely at the painting in the window. It was a colorful Impressionist-style rendering of a coastal city, with church steeples rising up out of clustered homes and what might have been the Mediterranean in the distance. A couple, hand in hand, walked awa
y, toward the edge of the painting, on a boardwalk under a bright sun.
Sebastian de Leon’s cousin was a paranormal painter—
Rory abruptly turned. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
“Oh yes,” said Jade. “Wasn’t the Great Eastern mentioned in Dracula?”
“I loved that book,” Zhang said.
The three of them turned around and started walking back in the direction they had come.
Arthur blinked again, then once again scrambled forward and got in their way. “You just had that exact conversation.”
Rory, Jade, and Zhang looked at each other. “We did?” said Jade.
Arthur let out a sharp huff. “You three. Paranormals. We are not going back to the hotel.” He pointed behind them. “There is something strange in that street and we should start by investigating the art gallery.”
“What art gallery?” Rory said blankly.
“The art gallery!” Arthur said impatiently. “Across from the chemist.” He looked from Rory to Jade and Zhang, and found them staring at him with just as sincere confusion. “Oh, we are definitely starting with that gallery,” said Arthur. “You lot just—keep your eyes on your feet or something.”
Wrangling the others down to the gallery was a bit like herding paranormal cats who kept accidentally glancing at the wrong thing and getting the urge to leave. Finally, though, Arthur got his friends past the painting on display in the window and into the gallery itself, a small space with wood floors and statues on pedestals. Several framed paintings hung on the wall, but—tellingly—their canvases were covered with cloth.
“You three with me?” Arthur asked quietly, eyes on the biggest painting, covered by what looked like opaque window drapes.
“Mostly?” Jade was studying one of the statues. “I’m not walking out the door without my own consent, but something feels—odd.”
“Like Niagara Falls.” Zhang’s lips were pursed. “But—swirling.”
“Swirling?” Arthur winced. “Well. Thank you for not reassuring me in the slightest.”
“I got goose bumps all over,” Rory muttered. “This place is crawling with magic. Anyone else feel it?”