Wonderstruck

by Allie Therin

  Ellis raised an eyebrow. “Creepy,” he said, which pretty much summed up Rory’s feelings about all magic that took blood.

  A minute later, Ellis was sucking his bleeding finger and the final hand of the siphon clock was set to Leo.

  “Now close your eyes,” said Rory. “The less you know about how this works, the better.”

  “Whatever you say, kid.” Ellis closed his eyes.

  Rory waited a moment, then waved his hand in front of Ellis’s face. Satisfied Ellis wasn’t peeking, Rory twisted the final dials along the outside of the clock until the Tropic of Capricorn was aligned with sunrise and the Tropic of Cancer was aligned with sunset.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then Ellis gasped, his eyes flying open.

  Rory grabbed Ellis’s wrist and pinned it, forcing his hand to stay in place at the top of the siphon clock. “Stay put,” he ground out. “Concentrate on pulling the magic from your dagger.”

  Ellis gritted his teeth, and his arm was tense under Rory’s hand.

  But he stayed in place.

  Rory could almost taste the magic in the air, his skin prickling uncomfortably like he was being stuck all over with needles. The Venom Dagger’s jewels were glowing. “It might be working,” he whispered.

  “It feels like a current’s running through me,” Ellis ground out. “So it better be.”

  The hands of the siphon clock finally began to spin counterclockwise, achingly slowly at first, then moving faster and faster. The sensation of needles on Rory’s skin grew stronger, his blood tugged at uncomfortably, like a too-strong magnet coming for his veins.

  Rory watched, holding his breath, as the jewels on the dagger’s hilt began to dim—

  The siphon clock abruptly stopped.

  Then all of the hands suddenly spun clockwise, so fast Rory could hear them whirring.

  Ellis gasped.

  “No,” Rory said desperately, holding Ellis’s hand down as magic poured the wrong direction. “No, wait, that’s not right—Ellis, the clock, focus on the clock—”

  But it was too late.

  Ellis’s eyes flew open. He yanked his hand off the siphon clock, out of Rory’s grip, and stared at his wedding band.

  Rory threw up his hands and cursed. Loudly. “I told you to concentrate on the clock!”

  Zhang’s astral projection suddenly flickered into view. “What’s going on?” he asked, just as a stampeding of feet came from the landing.

  The door flew open. “Teddy,” Arthur barked out, Jade and Gwen behind him. “Are you all right—”

  “No, I’m not all right!” Rory pointed at Ellis. “I told him to take off that gold ring but this jackass wouldn’t listen!”

  He stormed closer to Ellis, the magical discharge in the air making his teeth hurt. “I was trying to siphon the magic out of your dagger and into the air. I was trying to destroy it. But you wouldn’t listen, and you let all that magic pour into the gold instead, and now we haven’t destroyed anything, we just transferred it and made a new Venom Dagger relic out of your ring!”

  There was a collective wince.

  “Oh Lord,” Jade muttered. “Well... I suppose we’re not worse off.”

  “Maybe it’s a step up?” Zhang said weakly. “He can’t stab people with a ring.”

  Ellis spread his hands innocently. “I can’t stab people with a ring.”

  “Shut up,” Rory snapped at Ellis. He stood up and spun away. “Ace, I told him—”

  “Rory, you’re irritable because of the magic still dancing around the room,” Gwen said, far too reasonably. “I feel it on my skin as well; it’s very aggravating. That’s why you’re overreacting.”

  “I’m not overreacting!” And okay, yes, he was, but Rory also had good reasons to be angry. “How I’m acting isn’t the point anyway; the problem is Ellis being unable to follow simple directions. What’s wrong with him?”

  “Ouch,” Ellis muttered.

  Rory scowled and stomped toward the balcony doors, every inch of his skin crawling, his blood and bones complaining.

  Behind Rory, Gwen whispered, “The magic really is unpleasant. Maybe we should give him a moment outside. Ellis and I can go downstairs; I could use the space myself.”

  “None of us have eaten for hours,” Jade said, just as quietly. “What if Zhang and I find something, bring it back? Arthur, would you like to join us?”

  “I think I should talk to Rory,” Arthur said.

  And normally Arthur’s voice would make Rory feel better, more anchored. But Arthur had secrets again, secrets about his aura, which was full of Rory’s magic.

  Rory didn’t want to talk to Arthur. Not when Arthur wasn’t willing to talk back.

  “I really would give him a moment by himself, Arthur,” Gwen said. “At least wait until the magic dissipates.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Arthur said. “Maybe I can make him feel better. Even if I can’t, I want to be here for him.”

  Rory fell back to the morning only weeks ago in Manhattan, Arthur over him on the bed, between his legs, their soft kisses and whispers as friction built between them.

  Ace, you being here for me—you don’t know how much that means.

  I am here. Maybe one day that won’t surprise you anymore.

  Rory ground his teeth together and reached for the balcony doors.

  There was more muttering behind him, then a moment later, the lounge door was closing across the room and Arthur’s familiar presence was right behind him.

  “Ellis is a useless asshole,” he said supportively. “Come on, it’s terribly stuffy in here. Stand on the balcony with me and cool off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rory gripped the balcony’s rail tightly with both hands. The smoking balcony was barely wide enough to stand and four stories up. The rooftops of Paris stretched out in front of them, never-ending city lights that reminded him of the white-capped waves of the open ocean.

  “We can try again,” Arthur offered.

  “It was bad enough the first time, like getting tattooed on every inch of my skin and bones,” Rory said crossly, moving over toward the corner of the balcony. “I don’t want to go through it again.”

  His pain and frustration were rushing to the surface, unstoppable as water coming to a boil. “Why didn’t Ellis listen to me? I get magic, more than anyone else besides Gwen. Why does everyone keep treating me like I’m some idiot kid?”

  “You’re not—”

  “You do it more than anyone else!”

  Arthur looked hurt by that. “I don’t,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?” Rory said, with bite. “How come Gwen and Ellis know there’s something wrong with your aura and I don’t?”

  Arthur took a sharp breath.

  Rory turned, putting his back to the side railing so he and Arthur faced each other from opposite ends of the balcony. “You’re keeping secrets from me about your aura? That’s my magic in there. If I did something to you—”

  “You didn’t,” Arthur said quickly, almost urgently. “Not like that.”

  “Then like what?” Rory demanded. “Why do you keep these things secret from me? Did I do something to make you think I can’t handle your bad days, or your past? Look what happened when you kept secrets about Hyde.”

  Arthur winced but said, “This is different.”

  Rory swore under his breath. “I bet it’s not different,” he said tightly. “I bet you’re just always going to find some excuse not to involve me when things get rough for you.”

  Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Rory ran a hand through his uncovered curls, the beautiful cap he loved that Arthur had bought for him still safe in his room. His anger and irritation were being drowned by hurt. “All that stuff you said, back in New York—that you’re here for me, t
hat you’re gonna stick around—that meant something to me. But it was bullshit, wasn’t it.”

  “Teddy—”

  “No, Ace.” Rory was shaking his head. “I need to face it. Maybe you’re slumming, or maybe you feel sorry for me, but I’m not your equal, and you’ve never seen me as one.”

  Arthur stared in shock. “That is not true—”

  “I can’t trust your words when your actions tell me different,” Rory said. “And how am I supposed to trust someone who doesn’t trust me back?”

  Arthur looked like Rory had hit him. “How can you say I don’t trust you?”

  “Because you keep telling me I can come to you for help,” said Rory, heart aching in his chest. “But now it seems like you need help, and you won’t come to me.”

  A tense silence fell.

  After several moments, Arthur abruptly turned, the railing against his stomach, his gaze going to the street four stories below. Staring down at the cars and sidewalk, he was still wearing his tuxedo, like something out of a dream against the backdrop of the Paris night.

  Rory leaned on the railing, drained and hurt. Maybe this was it, the moment Arthur woke up and left him for someone better than a bastard from Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe Rory had just sped its coming up.

  Except Arthur hadn’t left. He was still staring into the street, fingers wrapped around the railing of the tiny balcony.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, barely loud enough to be heard. “Life has given you so many reasons to be careful with your trust, and now I’ve gone and made you think you can’t trust me, because I keep expecting you to be vulnerable when I won’t do it myself.” His gaze rose, to the roof of the building across the street. “And I am so deeply sorry if I’ve ever made you believe I could look at you and not see an equal.”

  Rory swallowed and folded his arms.

  “But”—Arthur straightened his spine, and looked over at Rory—“I meant every word in New York. As long as you want me, I’ll fight to keep you.”

  Rory blinked, his stomach swooping.

  “I do trust you, and I am about to ask for your help.” Arthur’s voice was still quiet but steady, his gaze unwavering. “But whether you give it to me or not, I’m right here, and I’m not going to walk away.”

  Rory groaned. “Aw hell.”

  He strode across the balcony and took Arthur’s face in his hands, pulling him down to his height, so their eyes were locked.

  “I’m sorry I snapped; you didn’t deserve that,” Rory said tightly. “And if you come to me for help I’m always gonna give it, because I’m so in love with you.”

  Arthur took a breath. His arms went around Rory with crushing strength as Rory tilted his head back, and their lips met, the kiss stretching out for an endless moment above Paris.

  Then Arthur suddenly froze. He pulled back, his lips an inch from Rory’s. “Get away from me.”

  “What?” A stab of pain went through Rory’s heart. “Ace—”

  “Get away.”

  But before Rory could move, Arthur shoved him.

  Rory stumbled backward from the force, smacking into the railing on the other side of the balcony hard enough to make him grunt. The ground flashed before his eyes, four stories down, and he scrambled for the curved iron, grabbing it like a lifeline.

  He looked over at Arthur in shock. Arthur’s arms were still outstretched, muscles flexed like he was in the boxing ring.

  And his eyes were full of fear.

  Rory gripped the railing more tightly, dread twisting in the pit of his stomach. “Arthur?”

  “Teddy,” he whispered. “Run away from me.”

  And then Arthur was moving again.

  Rory gasped, throwing himself under Arthur’s arm on the tiny balcony in a desperate lunge. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, catching the side of his head on the iron rail.

  There was a thump behind him, and he jerked his head just in time to see Arthur pass through the balcony doors into the lounge, barely breaking his stride as he scooped up the siphon clock.

  A second later, he was out the lounge door.

  “Arthur!”

  Rory scrambled to his feet. He darted across the lobby and out to the landing. But Arthur was bigger and faster, and Rory couldn’t keep up as he chased Arthur down the stairs.

  He sprinted out of the cabaret’s building and onto the sidewalk just in time to see Arthur run into the busy street.

  “No!”

  Brakes screeched. Arthur hit the ground in a roll, popping back up like a puppet on strings on the other side of the road.

  The driver of a convertible car stood up, shaking his fist, and shouted in French.

  As Rory ran forward, Arthur grabbed the driver and hauled him over the car’s side with the strength Rory rarely saw him fully deploy. Arthur shoved the driver to the side of the road and climbed into the car.

  Then, before Rory could reach him, Arthur drove away.

  Rory skidded to a halt in the street. A chorus of honks rang out around him as he stared in horror at the disappearing taillights.

  “Like a puppet,” he whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Arthur’s hands calmly turned the steering wheel of the Delage DI. His feet calmly pressed the clutch, the brake, the gas pedal. His body calmly drove him out of Paris completely out of his control as his mind screamed.

  I shoved him.

  The moment replayed itself over and over in his mind: Rory smacking into the balcony’s railing with bruising force, the shocked hurt in his eyes, how he’d had to dodge away from Arthur’s fists.

  Stop. Turn around. Go back to Teddy.

  But Arthur’s body continued to drive the Delage, and nothing he tried could make it stop. Sebastian de Leon’s words about the Puppeteer’s blood magic came back to him from London.

  Body control. Your mind is a helpless prisoner as your body, and your magic, are no longer yours to control.

  Arthur didn’t have magic of his own for the Puppeteer to control, only muscles, and oh Christ, he’d used them against Rory.

  As he drove, unable to change a thing, he could have sworn his aura was burning. Like an electric storm against his skin, same as it had in the barber’s chair—

  Oh.

  Oh, of course.

  Despair welled in Arthur. He’d been played for a fool, because he hadn’t thought of a barber as a danger. He’d let a stranger take a knife to his throat when they knew blood magic was on the table.

  Rory’s magic flared again in his aura, fiery lightning and fury, strong enough that Arthur’s eyes watered even if nothing else in his body twitched.

  Like Rory’s magic was fighting. Like it was trying to free Arthur.

  Teddy, come on, his mind shouted. You can do this.

  Except it wasn’t working. Because blood magic wasn’t in Arthur’s aura, the way Rory’s was, but anchored all the way into his veins. Arthur wanted to hold out hope, that maybe his aura and his blood were connected enough that Rory’s magic could fight its way into Arthur’s bloodstream and drive out the Puppeteer’s magic.

  But the farther he drove from Paris, the more that hope dimmed.

  And every time he blinked, he saw his arms and hands shoving Rory, saw Rory having to duck to avoid another blow.

  Yet no matter how much guilt choked him, his body drove on.

  * * *

  Rory ran back upstairs so fast his feet nearly slipped from under him. “Jade!”

  But the door to Jade and Zhang’s room was open, the room empty.

  Rory’s heart sank. He cursed, and then, not letting himself take time to doubt, he sprinted farther down the hall, to Gwen and Ellis’s room. He banged on the door with his fist.

  Gwen opened it. “Rory, what on earth—”

  “The Puppeteer got Ace.”<
br />
  Gwen cut herself off, her eyes going wide. On the bed behind her, Ellis shot to his feet.

  “He got Ace with blood magic.” Rory’s shoulders were heaving. “Ace just stole a car and drove off with the siphon. He’s heading east.”

  Gwen and Ellis exchanged a horrified look. “Are you certain?” Gwen said.

  “He shoved me.” Rory could still feel the ache where he’d smacked into iron, could still see the fear deep in Arthur’s eyes the moment he’d realized he’d lost control. “So hard I crashed into the railing.”

  He swallowed down the emotions that threatened to choke him. “Arthur would never hurt me. He’d cut off his own hand first.”

  “Shit,” Ellis muttered, exchanging a look with Gwen.

  Rory’s heart pounded in his chest. Was he doing the right thing, coming to them? What choice did he have? He couldn’t drive, couldn’t speak French, had no money to pay for a car to take him. “Jade and Zhang are still gone. I can follow the link to Ace, but I need help. You two gotta help me. Please.”

  Gwen and Ellis were still looking at each other. “I’ll go with him. You find Jade and Zhang.” Gwen’s voice came out heavy and strained. “We’re out of time.”

  Ellis paled.

  Rory looked between them in alarm. “What the hell does that mean?”

  But Ellis was shaking his head. “You two, go now. I’ll find the others and we’ll catch up.”

  “He left by car, we have to follow by car,” said Rory. “If we’re going too fast for Zhang to follow on the astral plane—”

  “You’re not the only one with a special magical connection to your sweetheart,” Ellis snapped. “We don’t have a link but we have our own ways. Get out of here already.”

  Gwen turned just long enough to kiss Ellis on the lips. Their left hands entwined for a long moment, Ellis slipping his fingers under Gwen’s smaller ones. “You be careful, daisy,” Rory heard him whisper. “Don’t give me another reason to tear Zeppler apart.”

  “I love you too,” she whispered back. Then she broke away and stepped out into the hall, setting off at a brisk pace. “Come on, Rory.”