by Allie Therin
They made it to the French coast in the middle of the night, and Zhang found them a deserted beach to come ashore. It was a short walk to a small seaside village, where a car was parked along the side of the road. Ellis got behind the wheel with Gwen and Jade up front, Rory in the middle between Arthur and Zhang in the back.
Arthur leaned forward. “Should we ask them if they arranged for this car?” he whispered to Jade. “We’re not stealing this, are we?”
“Of course not.” Jade paused. “You know, I said that with a certainty I’m not entirely sure the situation deserves.”
“Hey, Jade,” said Ellis, “start this baby up, would you?”
Jade gave Arthur an apologetic look.
“Don’t be like that,” said Ellis. “We’re borrowing it. We’ll leave it somewhere it can be recovered.”
Arthur rubbed his temples as Jade sighed and moved her fingers. The car’s engine roared to life a moment later.
The French country roads seemed mostly empty. The wind through the car’s windows was warmer than it had been in London, the whistling layered over the rumbling motor and murmured voices of the others. Arthur’s body was radiating heat next to him, and the rush of action had left Rory worn in its wake. He couldn’t resist resting his head on Arthur’s arm, dozing lightly, distantly aware of the tires on the pavement and Arthur’s small adjustments to let Rory sleep on him.
He woke fully to a city at night, glowing street lamps lining the blocks and none of Manhattan’s new skyscrapers dwarfing the shorter four-and five-story buildings. Cafes dotted the ground floors of the buildings, some of them still open, their bright yellow lights spilling onto the sidewalks and the knots of people tucked intimately around small tables.
Ellis pulled the car to the curb in front of an awning where muffled, lively jazz drifted out. Jade and Gwen went inside while Zhang’s astral projection followed. Ellis drummed his fingers on the wheel.
“Stella used to headline here,” Arthur said quietly, to Rory. “If it’s still the same proprietor—”
“It’s still Carmen, and she’s expecting us.” Ellis glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe it’s different when your daddy’s a congressman, but most of us can’t show up to Paris during the world’s fair and get rooms without notice. Give us some credit. We didn’t come here without a plan.”
“I mostly certainly do assume you have a plan and I just don’t know it,” Arthur said dryly. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Gwen and Jade returned a couple minutes later with a woman of about forty with a curly bob and russet-brown skin, dressed in flowing trousers and a drapey blouse with a giant bow. She wore a top hat and had a long cigarette holder in one hand, and she was smiling at the other two like a fond aunt.
The other three men instantly climbed out of the car to their feet and Rory scrambled to match their manners.
The nightclub’s music was louder on the sidewalk as Arthur extended his hand to Carmen. “Hola, señora,” he said, with a genuine smile. “I wasn’t sure if you were still here or if you’d returned to Havana.”
“Arthur.” She let him take her hand, still looking fond. “How wonderful to see you again.”
Carmen’s accent was similar to Sebastian’s but more pronounced, the way Rory’s mom’s had been. She shook Ellis’s hand, Zhang’s hand, and then turned to Rory. “Benvenuto, signore,” she said.
He bit his lip, a small, surprised smile forming that she’d welcome him in Italian. “Hey,” he said, waving awkwardly.
“You must all be tired.” She clapped her hands. “Come in, come upstairs.”
* * *
The three floors above the cabaret had been converted to rentable space at least a century earlier. Arthur hadn’t lived here himself; during his time in Paris, he’d leased a small flat in the sixteenth arrondissement, courtesy of his family’s connections. But he’d come here to visit Jade and hear Stella sing, and the nostalgia hit hard as he climbed the stairs with their same worn carpet, especially as Gwen and Ellis’s lovestruck murmurs came from just in front of him.
Those were some of his most treasured memories. And of course, two years ago, his aura had also been whole, not torn and disintegrating, only bandaged by Rory’s magic—
Arthur shook his head, like he could banish the thought.
Rory was a step behind him, even tenser than normal. “Will we be next door to each other?” he whispered, reminding Arthur that Rory had bolted himself into his own room like a prisoner for years. The fact that he slept peacefully next to Arthur was a battle hard won, and even with their link, he wasn’t going to be comfortable alone in a strange place.
But Gwen looked over her shoulder. “You two are sharing.”
Rory’s eyes widened. “But—”
“This isn’t America,” Gwen said. “And compared to most of the tenants here, you two are positively dull.”
“I love to be the boring one,” Arthur said, as he reached back with his hand, his fingers lightly brushing Rory’s.
Their room was barely bigger than the skinny bed, with a narrow window framing a partial view of the neighboring building’s roof. Arthur leaned on the door to shut it behind him as Rory shoved off his jacket and flopped on the bed on his stomach.
“So tired.” He pulled off his glasses and fumbled to put them on the windowsill. “You can crash on top of me if you want, I probably won’t notice.” He rested his cheek on his own arm, his long-lashed eyes already closing. “Come on, bello, c’mere. I can actually sleep when you’re around.”
Arthur smiled, but his stomach was roiling.
If you ever get tired of me—if you ever take your magic away—I may die.
Just thought you’d like to know.
He took off his hat and held it in too-tight fingers. Gwen was right; he couldn’t keep this from Rory. He himself would never forgive Rory for keeping a truth like this from him and Rory deserved to know.
But how the hell was he supposed to tell Rory he was now responsible for Arthur’s life?
Rory’s eyes were fully closed, his expression soft, his breaths slowing. Arthur slid off his suit jacket and slipped out of his vest, trousers and dress shirt, folding them on the room’s single other piece of furniture, an ancient writing desk. He climbed into the bed, maneuvering until Rory was tucked under his arm, his head resting on Arthur’s chest. Rory curled into him with a soft noise of contentment.
The small window was open, letting in the night breeze and the sound of the club below, the upright bass, a soulful trumpet, a man singing. Cars passed along the street with rumbling engines, and the night air smelled faintly of diesel and rain.
Arthur was warm and almost criminally comfortable, and yet his entire chest ached as he glanced from the soft curls resting on his heart to the ceiling above.
This had all been fine when it was Rory’s magic that needed Arthur’s aura.
He wasn’t sure he could handle the reverse.
Chapter Nineteen
The floors were quiet when they woke, most of the tenants either night workers at the club or up late for other reasons, carousing perhaps, or simply Bohemians making art.
They’d agreed to meet the others for breakfast. Rory followed Arthur to a cafe a block over, with a walk-up counter inside. Arthur ordered in apologetic English, mostly by pointing at various things on the paper menu, and a few minutes later they had two china cups of coffee and a plate of flaky pastries that looked too delicate for Rory’s chapped hands.
They sat on the same side of one of the tiny iron tables along the sidewalk. The morning was cool but promised a warmer day, the sun shining and the air almost dewy. The trees that rose out of the sidewalk had small green leaves and the last of their pink spring flowers on their branches.
Arthur seemed quieter than normal that morning as he sipped black coffee. Rory passed him the sugar. “You okay?
”
Arthur smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks for asking.”
“That’s not an answer,” Rory pointed out. “You know, your ex is full of it. I’m not young. You don’t need to overprotect me.”
“You’re an adorable paranormal who believes twenty-one is so old you don’t need protection,” Arthur said dryly, stirring a heaping spoonful of sugar into his coffee. “That’s not going to trigger my anxiety at all.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “I told you back in Boston and I’ll tell you again: keeping secrets to protect me needs to stop. You gotta tell me when something’s wrong, so I know if I gotta kick someone’s ass.”
Arthur’s smile turned more real at that. “My hero,” he said, playfully but not sarcastically. He absently touched his chest, over his heart.
Sometimes you had to give people enough quiet space for their words and feelings before they’d feel comfortable enough to share them. Rory could wait. He picked up one of the pastries and pulled off a corner, revealing buttery layers and an apricot jam filling. Geez. Forget the siphon, he was gonna sit here and eat forever.
“There is something I should tell you,” Arthur finally said.
“Okay, admitting that much is progress.” Rory popped the bite in his mouth. “You gonna tell me what it is?”
Arthur made a face. “Eventually?” he hedged. “I am...having some difficulty with it.”
Rory swallowed, a horrible thought occurring to him. “You leaving me?”
Arthur actually sputtered. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said severely.
Rory broke into a smile. “All right, then. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay? Together.”
Arthur watched him for a long moment. He opened his mouth—
And then closed it as the others appeared on the sidewalk. “Bonjour,” Jade said, taking one of the empty chairs as Zhang spoke to the waiter.
Rory pursed his lips. Their friends had the worst timing, but then, it wasn’t like he’d forget something was bugging Arthur.
Ellis pulled out Gwen’s chair for her, then snagged an extra chair from another table for himself. “No word from Sebastian,” he said, as he lit up a cigarette.
Rory frowned.
“He’s tough as nails,” Ellis added, with faith. “As long as he doesn’t get too close to Zeppler’s lackey with the blood magic, the Puppeteer, he’ll make it.”
As the waiter brought more coffees, Gwen reached into her bag and set something on the table in front of Rory and Arthur. “This is where our seller wants to meet.”
She’d brought a flyer, with a picture of a hot air balloon and the words spectacle de magie. “A magic show?” Rory guessed.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “No one could possibly be that unsubtle, could they?”
“He’s actually picked a perfect cover,” Jade said, as Ellis blew a stream of smoke away from the table. “The seller can hide in plain sight. And if anyone notices anything odd, they can claim it was part of the show.”
Three more tables were filling up around them, fashionably dressed couples and a woman with a fluffy white dog on a leash. A new waiter arrived, carrying a tray with a china cup of tea for Gwen and more pastries for everyone. Jade spoke with him in French for a moment, looking and sounding very at home on the pretty Paris street.
Rory helped himself to another croissant as Gwen tapped the flyer, her eyes on Arthur. “The show is black tie, limited seating.” She picked up her tea. “You’ll need tickets for the seller’s private box.”
“I can arrange that,” said Arthur. “How many?”
“Just you,” Gwen said, looking like she disapproved. “The seller agreed to make the trade at the show itself. He’ll hand the siphon over to Arthur if the meeting goes satisfactorily. But he insists you come alone or he’ll dismiss your bid.”
Arthur furrowed his brow and looked over at Jade. “I don’t care for this plan either,” she said grimly. “But if we don’t buy the siphon, someone else will. And we haven’t found any other leads to get the pomander out of action.”
Rory didn’t like it at all. “But how do we keep Ace safe?”
“I can follow him on the astral plane,” Zhang offered. “The magic show is in a performance hall near the exhibitions, an area full of pavilions and tents. If Arthur is willing, I can be his shadow while he runs distraction, giving the rest of you a chance to search and see if you can find the siphon before the seller takes most of Arthur’s trust fund.”
“I will gladly part with all of my money to make the world a better, safer place,” Arthur said. “You don’t have to steal the siphon when I can buy it outright.”
“We’re not stealing anything, we’re recovering stolen goods.” Ellis ground out the cigarette in the table’s ashtray. “Someone stole it from Sebastian’s family first. This dick’s a thief and that siphon isn’t his to sell.”
Rory had to agree with that. But there were still a lot of flaws in the plan. “You can’t really think everyone at the world’s fair is just gonna let us in wherever we want so we can look around. Maybe Zhang’ll be all right on the astral plane, but for the rest of us, everyone’ll just tell us to mind our business and scram.”
Gwen and Ellis exchanged a look. “Well, we have had an idea,” said Gwen. “But you probably aren’t going to like it.”
Rory folded his arms.
“We were thinking,” Gwen said patiently, “that you’re right—they’re not going to let us in to search wherever we like. So perhaps we don’t go in as us, per se.”
Rory scrunched his nose. “What’s that mean?”
“It means we’re not going to walk around like tourists, we’re going to pose as a magic act,” said Ellis. “Because tourists are supposed to stick to tourist areas, but performers are in the background, in and out of the tent.”
Zhang furrowed his brow. “A magic act,” he repeated dubiously. “Even though we’re all paranormals.”
“That’s what makes it work,” said Gwen. “Jade will be our magician. Ellis will be her apprentice and I’ll be her girl, and I don’t know exactly what that means, but there’s always a girl who stands around in a pretty dress and no one thinks too hard about why she’s there. And Rory, you can be Pierrot.” She cleared her throat. “Our sad clown.”
Rory narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s ingenious,” said Gwen. “We can’t expect you to keep up an act and this way you won’t have to. All you have to do is frown and you’re very good at that.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed further.
“Think about it, kid,” added Ellis. “Anyone asks you why you’re there, well tough shit, you can’t answer, you only communicate in pantomime. You don’t have to come up with some story; all you have to do is keep your mouth shut and make hand gestures.”
“I got a hand gesture for you right now,” said Rory.
But Jade looked persuaded. “It’s actually a very good disguise, and really a rather clever way to keep you from having to try to lie,” she said to Rory, and how could he argue with that?
“I already spoke to Carmen,” said Gwen. “She has costumes we can borrow.”
“Well, the rest of us can borrow.” Ellis pointed at Arthur. “She doesn’t have a tuxedo that’ll fit this giant.”
“I’m not that big,” Arthur protested. “Just—you know.” He gestured at himself with both hands, biceps flexing. “Shouldery.”
Rory’s gaze lingered on Arthur and the way his arms filled out the jacket. “Giant’s not an insult,” he said, with feeling. “But what’s Ace gonna do for a tux, then?”
Arthur sighed. “I may be able to find a tailor. I used to know at least three here in Paris who could suit me.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his pale skin stubbled with jet black. “I’ll need a barber too.”
“If you can clean up for
tonight and get your ticket,” said Gwen, “we’ll handle the rest.”
Arthur stiffened. “You want me to separate from Rory?” he said, looking at Jade.
“Do you see any other way?” she said softly. “It’s already past eight and the show starts at six.”
Rory furrowed his brow. “You don’t think the seller will take the siphon into his box at the show?”
Gwen shook her head. “He’s been paranoid the entire time. I suspect he won’t trust Arthur not to show up with an army; he’ll probably have it close but under guard.”
“If we want to search backstage, pretending to be part of the show is our best option,” Ellis added.
Rory looked over at Arthur. The tables were all full and crowded now, and as much as Arthur had said this wasn’t America, Rory was pretty sure he still didn’t get to kiss Arthur in the middle of a sidewalk café, no matter how nervous all of this made him.
Rory held Arthur’s gaze. “I’m only gonna do it if you promise to be careful.”
“That’s my line,” Arthur said softly.
* * *
They returned to the cabaret, where most of the others went to look for costumes. But Rory found himself corralled by Arthur into the single bathroom on their floor, which had blue-and-white-striped wallpaper and ashtrays on every surface.
Arthur pinned him up against the sink, the porcelain pressing into Rory’s lower back. Rory ached for the closeness too; this plan put Arthur in too much danger.
Their bodies were close enough Rory could feel Arthur’s body heat through his suit. Arthur bent his head and brushed his jaw along Rory’s. “If you’re going to paint yourself like a mime, you have to shave.”
Rory made a face. “Barely worth it,” he protested, snaking his hand up between their bodies to run it over the light stubble on his own face.
“Sorry, I have no sympathy.” Arthur held up a shaving kit. “There’s a safety razor in here if you’d rather that than the straight blade. I’m personally stopping at the barber’s, if you’d prefer a professional—”