by Allie Therin
“Buongiorno, bello,” Rory whispered, and then froze. Was he supposed to have left already?
But Arthur’s eyes lit with pleasure. “Oh, that’s enchanting too.” The arm around Rory’s waist tightened to tug him closer. “You trying to make sure I don’t let you out of this bed?”
More of their skin came into contact, sending electric sparks across Rory. “Why would I want you to?”
“Because you’re too sore for round two.”
Rory squirmed even closer, intertwining his legs with Arthur’s longer ones. He was sore, in new and interesting ways. It wasn’t a deterrent. “Wouldn’t it be round three?”
“Now you’re making my point for me. Someone’s got to put your well-being first, and it’s clearly not going to be you.”
But Arthur seemed reluctant to let him go, and it wasn’t like Rory was gonna move away first. He traced his finger along a scar on one strong shoulder, gaze dropping to the handful of scars across Arthur’s chest, scars from a war he wanted to protect Rory from seeing. How’d Rory snag a man like this? For once, his heart, body, and mind were in complete agreement about what they wanted. He’d swear even his magic wanted Arthur.
“All I’m hearing is you can’t keep up with me,” he said, dragging his finger up to Arthur’s stubbled jaw.
“Now you’re just trying to get into trouble.” Arthur caught Rory’s finger with his teeth, then let it go with a playful nip. “It won’t work.” His smile faded. “Last night,” he started, uncharacteristically hesitant, “you, um, you said I anchor you—called me the lifeline out of your vision?”
Because I found you, Ace, you got me out. A relic’s got nothing on you.
“I said a lotta things,” Rory said awkwardly. Geez, he had to learn to bite his tongue; Arthur was going to think he was screwier than the asylum had. “Scryers never make any sense. Sorry for the crazy talk.”
“Oh.” Some emotion flashed over Arthur’s face, too fast for Rory to catch. “Crazy talk. Of course.”
“Hey.” Rory furrowed his brow. “Are you—”
Arthur cut him off with a kiss that left Rory’s head spinning. “Catch a little more sleep,” he said against Rory’s lips.
Sleep wasn’t what Rory wanted. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
“I can’t have you, but I can at least have a shower.”
Rory shuddered. “You must love to torture yourself.”
Arthur blinked. “What’s torture about a hot shower?”
Rory’s eyes went wide. “You have hot water? In your private bathroom?” No lines, no shivering with a washcloth in front of an icy sink while someone banged on the door? “Could I maybe—after you—if there’s still any left—”
Arthur cut him off with a groan. “You’re breaking my heart.” He rolled on top of Rory, grabbing Rory’s hands in his own and pinning them to the bed next to his head. “Shower with me—and shower only,” he warned, before Rory could speak. “Nothing more exciting is going to happen, no matter how sweet your Italian or how pretty your eyes. Understand?”
Oh, Rory understood all right. He understood Arthur shouldn’t pin a fella to the bed with that sexy strength if all he wanted was a shower.
* * *
“You’re such a shit.”
“Yes I am.”
Rory sounded proud, damn him, and maybe a little loopy. Arthur glared into the mirror at the reflection of Rory, sprawled on his stomach across Arthur’s bed in nothing but glasses, his curls an adorable mess after being tumbled in the bed with wet hair.
“Don’t you go thinking you can just bat your eyes at me and get your way,” Arthur warned, buttoning up his shirt. “That was a one off.”
“Three off.”
“Shut up.”
Rory smiled his ridiculously endearing little smile and rested his cheek on a pillow.
He’s actually smiling—and because of me. Arthur forced himself to look back at his own reflection. “No time for a morning shave now, thanks to you.” He ran a hand over his jaw and made a face. “I’m going to spend the day looking like a pirate.”
“You make a good pirate,” Rory said dreamily. “Bellissimo, not just bello, ’cause you’re the most handsome fella in the whole city.”
Arthur froze, hands on his tie. He raised his eyes skyward. He was going to end up wrapped around Rory’s little finger with all the backbone of a piece of string. Heaven help him if Rory ever called him his lifeline again—
But no. That had been crazy talk, apparently. Arthur wasn’t Rory’s lifeline, or his anchor, or anything particularly special at all, and he needed to get over it. He had no business trapping a twenty-year-old into anything more serious anyway.
“I can’t believe you started that shameless display in the shower.”
“You’re the one who finished it in the bed.”
Arthur’s hands slipped and he cursed as he pulled his tie too tight. “Jade will be here soon,” he said, before they could continue that distracting subject. “I can loan you something to wear.”
“I got yesterday’s clothes.”
“You need something clean. You were literally lying in the streets of New York in your old clothes.” Arthur bent to open a drawer. “And not all of your shirt buttons survived.”
Rory scrunched his nose. “I had all my buttons when I got off the street.”
“But not after I got my hands on you.”
Oh, Rory’s mouth formed. “Give me your rattiest stuff then.”
“You’re getting my smallest stuff.” All of which would still be too big, but that couldn’t be helped. Arthur tossed the stack of clothes on the bed next to Rory—who caught his tie and tugged. Confused, Arthur let himself be pulled down—
And then Rory kissed him.
Arthur caught his breath. “We don’t have time for another round,” he protested into the kiss, but he was already weakening—
“Nah.” Rory pulled back, his soft smile on his lips again. “I’m not trying to get you back in bed, luce dei miei occhi. I just wanna kiss you.”
“Oh.” Arthur ruthlessly stamped the rising soft feelings down. Crazy talk, Ace. Rory said his words were crazy talk. You got to be his first—it doesn’t mean he wants you as his last. Focus on the job. On keeping him safe.
He forced a smile. “Big night tonight. You should get dressed,” he said, and made himself walk away.
* * *
By the time Rory made it out of the bedroom, Jade had arrived and was standing by the front door in her coat.
“It could work,” she was saying, looking very serious. “It wouldn’t be my first choice—or even my third—but if I have to—”
Rory’s foot made a noise on the hardwoods and both of them looked his way. He’d done the best he could with his suspenders and rolling up the sleeves of Arthur’s giant shirt, but he must still have looked ridiculous because Arthur immediately ripped his gaze away and muttered, “Oh, I was not prepared for that.”
“The clothes were your idea,” Rory said defensively. “So you can deal with me looking stupid ’cause I’m not changing—”
“I never said stupid.” Arthur glanced back at Rory, then quickly looked away again with a curse.
Jade was smiling. “Oh, that is precious. I see why you’re a wreck.”
Too late, Rory realized what it looked like, him coming out of Arthur’s bedroom in Arthur’s clothes. And to be fair, it was exactly what it looked like, but he wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously and said, “Ace’s just being nice, loaning me some clean clothes—”
“How sweet are you, trying to protect him,” said Jade. “But it’s all right, I know Ace likes men.”
She knew? Rory hugged himself tighter. “You’re not gonna tell anyone?”
She gave him a look that was both exasperated and fond. “Are you planning to
tell anyone you know a telekinetic bootlegger?”
Rory bit back a smile and shook his head.
“And now he’s almost smiling.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, I am a wreck.”
“And it’s wonderful.” Jade reached into her suit jacket and withdrew a silver cigarette case. “Here’s your case. Stella still had this from that pianist in Paris. But you remember that Gwen can see magic through objects, don’t you? This will hide Pavel’s potions from her aura-sight about as well as your briefcase lock hid the ring from Rory’s psychometry.”
“I remember.” Arthur took the case. “And I’m going to have it modified.”
“What do the alchemist’s potions do?” Rory asked curiously.
“Ah,” Arthur said awkwardly, “we don’t know.”
“You don’t know? And you’re gonna use them?”
“One should always have a Hail Mary up their sleeve.” Arthur shrugged. “Why not three?”
“Pavel doesn’t make harmful potions,” said Jade. “Just extraordinary ones. He made one once that let me walk on air.”
Rory’s eyebrows flew up. “How’s this Pavel fella not the most dangerous paranormal you know?”
“He doesn’t have much control over what he makes.” Arthur sighed. “Or even when he speaks anymore.”
Uncomfortable sympathy twisted Rory’s chest. “Bet he likes Hyde Park, though.”
“I hope so.” Arthur added ruefully, “Don’t think I’m not wishing I could send you and Mrs. Brodigan there with him.”
Nerves flared in Rory’s stomach at the reminder of the night to come. But he looked up at Arthur and found he was steady. Ace’ll be there. I’ll be okay.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, with a tiny shrug, and then bravely added, “But the view’s even better here.”
Surprise crossed Arthur’s face. Jade grinned. “Flattered speechless is such a good look on you,” she said to Arthur. “Now you’ve got the case and I’ve got to run. I need to get a waiter’s uniform for Rory and meet the new supplier.” She and Arthur both shuddered.
“What’s bad about a new supplier?” Rory asked.
“The Magnolia has built a reputation for quality in a time when half the city’s gin mills serve drinks straight from the bathtub. New business partners are hard to come by, and harder to trust.” Jade shook her head. “This supplier claims to source from Quebec, but who can be certain?”
“I can.”
Two heads swiveled in Rory’s direction. He held up his hands. “Psychometric, remember?”
Jade’s eyes widened. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask—”
“You saved my life,” said Rory. “You don’t gotta ask.”
She beamed. “Rory, you’re wonderful.”
Arthur frowned. “You’re not actually going to spirit a paranormal off to scry spirits—”
“I absolutely am.” Jade winked at Rory. “Meet me downstairs.”
She disappeared. Rory reached for his own coat, and saw Arthur had gone tense. “Hey,” Rory said. “I’m gonna scry the containers, not drink the contents. Not like I wanna get zozzled again.”
Arthur made a face. “I suppose it wasn’t fun and games for you either.”
“Never is,” Rory said with feeling. “Lucky I had you.”
“It was my fault you were drinking—”
“I would’ve tried it eventually,” Rory said. “Imagine if I’d tried it without you.”
Arthur straightened, like every overprotective inch of him was rioting at the thought, and opened his mouth—
And then he deflated, all his light disappearing. “I’m sure you could find someone else to pull you out.” He looked out the window instead of at Rory. “No need for you to be stuck with me.”
“Stuck with you?” Rory scoffed. “Oh yeah, that’d be the worst. Next thing you know, someone’s gonna try and stick me with Buckingham Palace, and who wants that shack?”
Arthur cut his eyes back to Rory. “You’re very cute,” he said grudgingly, “but you’re also twenty. I’m not going to be your ball and chain.”
“Sounds like another way to say anchor,” Rory said, before he could stop himself.
A loaded silence fell. Then Arthur’s brow furrowed. “But you said—”
“Jade’s waiting, gotta go,” Rory hurriedly blurted. He stood on his toes to press a quick kiss to Arthur’s stubbly jaw then dashed out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As Arthur had hoped, Zhang knew a shop that could take an unassuming silver Parisian cigarette case and hide a thin layer of melted lead on the inside. Arthur examined the shop’s shelves as he waited, admiring a teapot with a painted dragon. “I don’t suppose this shop sells coffee percolators?”
Zhang gave him a puzzled look. “I doubt it. Why?”
“Just wondering.” Arthur moved to the next shelf to look at the many kinds of tea. As he bent to examine an oolong, he ran a hand absently over his jaw. It still prickled with the echo of Rory’s kiss. The innocent, no-expectations-attached affection was lingering with Arthur longer than entire nights with previous lovers. “So. You and Jade.”
Zhang raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to talk about this?”
“She’s my best friend. I hope you didn’t think you were going to romance her without the appropriate threats. You know, don’t hurt her, I know where you sleep, that sort of thing.”
Zhang snorted. “You don’t have to worry. And no disrespect, but she’s scarier than you are anyway.”
“In Jade’s defense, she can always be trusted to do the right thing,” said Arthur. “Yes, she can kill you with her mind, but if she does, it’s because you had it coming.”
“Fair,” Zhang said, sounding just a little besotted. “How is your friend Gwen the scarier one?”
There had been a time in Paris when Gwen had been sweet and fun, when she’d make Arthur laugh by reading his aura like a Coney Island fortune-teller. But that was before Baron Zeppler and his relic, before they’d failed to find any way to help her, before she’d disappeared without a trace only to return tangled up with a loathsome Fifth Avenue mogul and another relic. “What kind of shape would you be in, if your magic had control of you for two years?”
Zhang winced. “Not a good one.” He picked up a brass tea strainer. “So Gwen’s a wild card. Then again, so’s the psychometric.”
“Rory’s a kitten,” Arthur protested.
Zhang raised an eyebrow.
Arthur sighed. “Fine. A hellcat in a cap and specs who could possibly figure out how to unlock all the relics and take over the world. But he’s scared of his own powers—”
“I like him too.” Zhang gave Arthur a look that was a little too knowing. “And I don’t think he means to be a danger. Then again, did your friend Gwen?”
Arthur’s jaw tightened and he didn’t answer.
* * *
Jade brought Rory into the Magnolia through the alley door. He lingered for a moment just inside the door, memories playing out in his mind, of Arthur half carrying him out of there, protecting a drunk twenty-year-old who’d lied like the fool he was.
“Tell me who and where you are.”
“You’re very strong. Strong and bossy.”
“Strong and bossy enough to handle a mouthy brat who defies the laws of man and nature. Now stay out of those visions and tell me your name.”
Geez. He’d known Arthur less than two hours before he’d demonstrated what a screwball he was. And instead of locking him right back in the asylum, Arthur had found a way to reach Rory and pull him out. Only Mrs. Brodigan’s sister, Miss Lorna, had ever managed that, and it’d taken days of scrying possible futures until she found a way to break the magic.
Arthur thought he hadn’t done anything special, thought he wasn’t special.
He was spec
ial to Rory.
The Magnolia was mostly empty in the morning, save for the cleaning crew and Jade’s sleepy-looking brother, Benson, who was sitting on the edge of the stage with a cup of coffee.
“You again,” Benson said with a yawn as he looked at Rory. “You’re Ace’s, right?”
You’re Ace’s. As if Rory belonged to Arthur. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and shrugged.
Benson yawned again. “You sober up okay?”
Rory ducked his head. Had the whole club seen him stuck in his own head, streeted by Arthur, talking bunk? “Eventually.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry if I was trouble—”
“We get people in here every night who are far more trouble than you were, and they don’t have your excuse.” Benson jerked his thumb at Jade. “You should see what happens when she’s tipsy. Lifts everything in eyesight that isn’t bolted down.”
“Lies and tall tales,” Jade said. “I couldn’t possibly lift a piano.”
Reassured that he apparently wasn’t the worst behaved or the weirdest thing to come through the Magnolia’s doors, Rory’s shoulders relaxed.
“Supplier’s due in an hour,” said Benson.
“We’ll start with the uniform, then.” Jade led Rory through the curtains and backstage, into a small hall that led to the dressing rooms. He followed her into the first dressing room as she opened one of the closets and rummaged around. “This should fit,” she said, finally straightening with a stack of folded black and white in her arms. She eyed Rory and grinned. “At least, fit better than Ace’s clothes.”
Rory snorted. “He’s prissy about clean clothes. His fault if he thinks I look stupid.”
“I assure you, stupid was not what Ace was thinking this morning.” She passed him the shirt off the top of the stack.
He held it up against himself, looking at his reflection. The size looked about right. “You think I’ll blend in okay with the other waiters? Will there be any other Italians?”
Jade hesitated. “Unlikely. Mansfield threw his money behind the Immigration Act last year and he’ll be making certain he broadcasts his politics to everyone who attends. He could hardly hire immigrants to work the party.”