by Allie Therin
Oh. Rory’s gaze drifted up to his own face. He’d jammed his cap down as far as it went, so his curls just barely poked out under the rim, but he wouldn’t be able to wear a hat tonight. He pulled the cap off and patted his hair. “Then maybe I should get rid of all this fluff for tonight,” he said, like it was no big deal, like he didn’t care.
Jade furrowed her brow. “That would be a tragedy. Why would you?”
Rory’s dad had hated his curls. When the church took him in, Rory was immediately ordered to cut it short and keep it that way. At least it’s blond, his dad would say, blue eyes cold, thin lips sour. Keep it short and maybe people will ignore the muddy eyes.
“I pass as English better with short hair.”
“I’m sure you do,” Jade said mildly. “But what do you want?”
Rory’s mom had loved his curls. Rory let her keep it too long, even when he was thirteen and all the other boys had short hair. Come un angelo, his mom would say, dark eyes sparkling, smile bright as the sun. Like an angel. “My Italian mom had curly hair too.”
Jade’s eyes softened.
Rory bit his lip. It was just hair. It shouldn’t matter. “Changing my hair would make Ace’s plan easier.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But Ace would say bugger the plan and storm the mansion solo before he’d change you.”
“Oh.” In the mirror, Rory’s reflection was suddenly smiling. “Well—never mind, then.”
* * *
From Chinatown Arthur had gone to his tailor, to let Mr. Dannenburg give him whatever accessories were in current fashion for black tie. Then it had been to the barber for a trim and straight-razor shave before home to get dressed.
His study phone rang just as he was tying his bow tie. “Rory is a marvel,” Jade said into his ear, when he answered. “He saved us an ungodly sum. The doorman is taking him up to your flat now.”
“We leave in fifteen minutes—where are you?”
“The lobby. I didn’t think Rory should be alone, what with the relic and all, but now that he’s entrusted back to your care I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”
Arthur frowned. “Why not just come up?”
“Because I’ve seen you dressed to the nines and it’s a sight that could raise the dead,” Jade said bluntly. “I don’t want to be in earshot the first time he sees you in a tux. I’ll let him swoon in private.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic—” The tone sounded in Ace’s ear; she’d already hung up. He gave the phone a dirty look.
As he set it back in the cradle, there was a knock on the front door. Arthur went to open it. “And how was Har—oof.”
His back hit the foyer’s coat rack as a chin-height blond tidal wave knocked him to the wall. “Look at you.” Rory pressed tight against him, up on his toes as his hands gripped Arthur’s lapels. “I miss you all day and now you look like a fantasy made real?”
Surely Arthur was the one in a fantasy, tackled in his own foyer by all this eager affection? Rory’s dark eyes were wild, his hands in urgent motion over every inch of Arthur. “You’re already the most handsome man I ever saw and now you’re in a tuxedo,” he said hoarsely. “I think you stopped my heart. Luce dei miei occhi, baciami.”
“Oh, you shit.” Arthur spun them so Rory was the one pinned to the coats. “The Italian’s a dirty trick.”
“And you togged to the bricks is fair play?”
“I’m wearing this tux for tonight’s job, not to make you suffer. Whereas you are purposefully speaking Italian to rob me of what little sanity I have left.” He grabbed Rory’s hands in his own and pinned them to the coats, next to Rory’s head. Rory’s coat fell open, and Christ, he was still wearing Arthur’s shirt.
You’ll be late, Arthur tried to tell himself, but his resistance was crumbling like a sand castle in the waves.
“Baciami, I know, is kiss me. What’s the other bit?”
Rory squirmed. “It, ah—” Pink began to spread across his cheeks. “It doesn’t matter—”
“Of course it matters. You’ve called me that twice.” Rory ducked his head, the soft skin of his neck exposed by the unbuttoned collar of Arthur’s too-big shirt. Stay strong, Ace. “Let me guess: it roughly translates to asshole?”
Rory winced. “Light of my eyes.”
Oh.
“And so what.” Rory scowled, cheeks red, eyes hot. “Italian was for my mom, it’s where my soft words are. I can still call you an asshole if you like that better.”
So this is what it feels like when your knees go weak.
Arthur glanced at the clock. “We have ten minutes until we have to leave.” He tightened his grip on Rory’s hands and pushed him meaningfully into the wall. “And you still need to put on your waiter’s uniform.”
Rory squirmed again. Arthur was getting the distinct impression he liked being pinned. “Come on, Ace—” and he was actually whining “—I can do that in like thirty seconds—”
“I’m not taking off my tux.”
Rory groaned. “Don’t make me beg—”
“You misunderstand.” Arthur dropped to his knees. “I am not taking off my tux. You, on the other hand, are about to lose all your clothes—and I am going to make you beg.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You’re late.”
The rendezvous point was off Lexington Avenue, some five blocks from Mansfield’s mansion, in the shadows of the skeletons of the new high-rise apartment buildings rising these days on every block. The cab idled at the curb as Arthur and Rory slipped into the alley to meet Jade. Under the bright full moon Arthur could see she’d forgone the suit and heels, although she was still in trousers, paired with military boots and a black coat.
“Of course we’re late.” Arthur took her large duffel bag and shouldered it himself. “You knew we would be. Don’t give us a hard time because the moon has you twitchy.”
“What’s the moon got to do with anything?” said Rory.
She glanced up the tall sides of the buildings to the night sky. “Magic comes in all flavors. Some paranormals have powers tied to nature, the moon most of all.” She sighed. “It does make me twitchy. But Ace is still late.”
“I’ll take the heat if you’re mad.” In the dark of the alley, away from prying eyes, Rory snuck close enough to tuck himself against Arthur’s side. His curls were free without his cap to clamp them down, and when he tilted his chin to look up it revealed the waiter’s bow tie around his neck. “Ace is worth it.”
Arthur’s heart fluttered. He gave Jade a smug look. “I’m worth it.”
She smiled grudgingly, her eyes soft. “I suppose he’s at least an upgrade over your usual style.”
Arthur’s most recent fling had been a prime example of his usual style, an English aristocrat who’d prided himself on lavish gifts, gilded speech, and cold disdain for any kind of affection. “Lord Fine would not have looked half this adorable in a waiter’s uniform,” Arthur said lightly, risking tugging on one of Rory’s loose ringlets. He didn’t take warm spring for granted after endless winter.
Her smile grew. “Fair enough.”
“Who’s Lord Fine?” Rory glanced between them. “You don’t know a real lord, do you?”
“He’s no one worth remembering,” Jade said firmly. “Tell us more about Mansfield’s henchman from your visions, the one who always has a knife.”
Rory shrugged helplessly. “’Bout Ace’s age, good looking, paler than me but hair’s darker. He stood up real straight, like Ace does.”
Arthur exchanged a glance with Jade. “That describes half the American and French armies. Could be another ex-soldier, maybe a mercenary Mansfield hired?”
“Maybe.” She looked troubled. Arthur wondered if she was thinking of the burn mark on the statue too. “You’ve got Pavel’s potions?”
“Right here.” Arthur pu
lled the cigarette case out of his tuxedo jacket and held it temptingly out to Rory.
“How’s that case gonna stop aura-sight?” Rory reached for it. “It’s just silver—” He hissed and yanked his hand away. “You coulda said you put lead in it!” he said, and shook his fingers out like he’d touched a live wire.
“I had to make sure it worked, and your subordinate psychometry was the best test.” Arthur tucked the case away. Rory was still giving him a dirty look, so he winked and said, “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yeah, you will,” Rory said meaningfully. “And I got ideas on how, starting with that thing you just did in the foyer—” He slapped a palm over his mouth and looked at Jade, wide-eyed. “Sorry,” he mumbled behind his hand.
She sighed, but Arthur could see another grudging smile forming. “Ace, get back in your cab. Rory, with me. Let’s get you in that mansion.”
Rory bit his lip, gaze going to Arthur. Then he took a breath and nodded.
Arthur’s heart stuttered at the brave face Rory was putting on. “Find me as fast as you can,” he said, with a fresh pulse of anxiety for Rory’s safety. If Mansfield was willing to commit treason, to sell the relic to the Germans, what would stop him from selling Rory and his psychometry with it?
As Rory took Jade’s bag from Arthur and turned away, Arthur bent his head to Jade and whispered, “This is the worst plan we’ve ever had.”
Her eyes said she knew it too, following Rory as he walked down the alley. “We have two missions at odds with each other.”
Use Rory to steal the relic. Keep Rory safe. “You’re certain Plan B will work?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to it.” Jade set her mouth in a determined line. “But if it does—I’ll make it work.”
* * *
The cab took Arthur back to Fifth Avenue and up to Mansfield’s mansion, a Gothic structure rumored to be the subject of a bidding war among eager developers. Arthur glued a smile to his lips as he was shown into the mansion’s enormous reception room to greet his host.
“Arthur Kenzie.” Mansfield’s cold eyes lit. He was flanked by four men, none matching Rory’s description of the henchman with the knife. “You decided to grace my party with your presence. Your father must be in a fit,” he added with relish.
Arthur reluctantly shook his hand. “Luther, how are you,” he said tonelessly, in his most vacant party voice.
“Never thought I’d meet a Kenzie with a lick of class,” Mansfield went on, “instead of one kowtowing to the immigrants that swarm this city like roaches.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, how dare refugees knock politely at customs and ask not to starve. They should show the good manners of our ancestors and murder their way through this land. How gauche to not even bring slaves.”
Mansfield jabbed a finger at him. “You think you’re clever, but you’re just parroting your father’s politics. Use your head, boy. If you let everyone with a sob story in, soon America’s a ruin like Europe.”
Bit rich coming from a man whose fortune relied on exploited immigrants, to now rant about ruin from a Fifth Avenue mansion. Arthur forced a shallow society smile. “Lucky us, then, getting here while they still let sob stories in. If she’s cute in a skirt, why should I care where she’s from?”
Mansfield huffed loudly. “Idiot boy,” he muttered.
It was plenty loud enough for Arthur to hear, but he ignored it; if Mansfield thought him a fool, so much the better.
He left Mansfield behind as he moved into the open space with marble floors and an enormous chandelier and up the grand staircase curving up to the first floor. He needed to get eyes on Gwen, if he could—or, more accurately, make sure Gwen didn’t get her eyes on Rory.
Entering the grand salon, Arthur lifted a glass of sparkling grape juice off a passing waiter’s tray, eyes peeled for the fraudulent waiter he wanted to see. Give Rory time, he reminded himself.
He headed straight for the wall, where he’d have the best view of the room. By the west windows, a string quintet played a lovely arrangement of Vivaldi’s “Winter” and a table displayed hors d’oeuvres around a jellied salad of cabbage, sliced green olives, and diced tomatoes.
Arthur wrinkled his nose. He’d trade the lot for one pork bun from Dragon House. Or if Rory truly cooked Italian food, he could certainly make something far more enticing with those tomatoes—
“Arthur!”
He turned at the familiar voice. “Mrs. Younger,” he said to the lovely woman, one of his sisters’ longtime friends. Marie Younger’s dark bob was accented with a feather that perfectly matched her sequined gown. He took her hand in his own. “I knew this room seemed unnaturally radiant.”
“Always such a terrible flirt,” Marie said, smiling. “Alice didn’t tell me her favorite brother was coming tonight.”
Arthur raised a brow. “Harry’s here?”
“You wretch. You know you’ve been everyone’s favorite since you were born.” She tugged his arm. “Half the Vassar sisters are here and you look an absolute dream. Let me show you off. Josephine is going to cast a kitten when she sees Alice’s baby brother in a tux.”
You’re already the most handsome man I ever saw and now you’re in a tuxedo. I think you stopped my heart.
Arthur made himself smile again, like his own heart didn’t ache like half of it was missing. Polite society couldn’t match Rory’s rough sincerity, and no one here was going to call Arthur the light of their eyes.
“As if I ever turn down a chance to surround myself with beautiful women,” he said, and followed her to the other side of the salon.
* * *
Rory stood behind the tree on the Central Park side of Fifth Avenue and stared at Mansfield’s mansion. “How long will Zhang take?”
“Patience, darling.” Jade straightened Rory’s bow tie. He tried not to fidget or watch the mansion with obvious nerves. “Zhang will be here, but there’s a lot of house to scope.” She raised her gaze to his face. “How’s your mind? Clear and in the present?”
“I’m okay.” He closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head in frustration. “I don’t sense the relic, though.”
“That’s why they keep it in a lead-lined box, specifically because of paranormals like you.”
The air next to Rory shimmered, then Zhang came into view. “There’s a second-story picture gallery on the back side of the mansion. Not far from the ballroom. It’s empty.”
“Perfect.” Jade patted Rory’s shoulder. “You up for a bit of climbing?”
* * *
There was a narrow alley behind the mansion and a high gate hiding the mansion’s garden. The gate was locked with a combination padlock and a security guard was patrolling just in front. Rory stood on the street corner and tried not to look too obviously like he was scoping the guard out. “How’re we getting past him?” he whispered.
Jade subtly moved one hand, and a moment later a car horn blared, echoing off the brick walls of the alley.
“Hey!” The guard took off running. “You can’t loiter here, this is a private event!”
“Oh, you’re the cat’s pajamas,” said Rory. “Magic swapsies?”
Jade grinned. “Except now you’re up. He’ll be terribly confused to find only an empty parked car. I’ll keep him busy while you get us through that lock.”
It was easy enough to scry the lock’s combination and get Jade and himself into the garden. They clustered together behind the bushes at the base of the mansion, directly below a large second-story window. Zhang’s astral projection blinked in and out as he split his watch between the grounds and the mansion. Jade took her bag from Rory and knelt with it on the ground, rummaging in the bag until she pulled out a long coil of rope.
Rory shed his coat, the cold night air cutting through the thin waiter’s uniform. “You sure you can’t just lift me up?”
&
nbsp; “For the third time,” Jade said, “my telekinesis doesn’t work on humans and is simply not strong enough to lift an object with a young man on it.”
Rory gave her his coat and she traded him for a folded white apron before stuffing his coat into the bag. “But your telekinesis was strong enough to get me outta the road.”
“Yes, and it wasn’t easy—we were both very lucky it worked. I’m not eager to test my limits again.” She got to her feet, loop of rope in hand. It began to unwind itself, the end slowly slithering up the mansion’s brick wall like a snake. “But I tie a very good knot and I’ll spot you from the ground.”
Rory tied the apron around his waist as he watched the rope reach the window, watched the window open itself and the rope slip inside. He’d be going in too, looking for that amulet. He shivered.
Zhang’s projection reappeared on the ground with them. “It’s clear. He can go in.”
“Why aren’t you coming up with me?” Rory said to Jade.
“I wish I was.” She sounded sincere. “But Ace and I both feel that I need to be on the ground, just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
She nudged him. “Climb, Rory. Find the other waiters.”
“And then find Ace,” said Zhang. “This is not a house to be discovered as paranormal. Ace will protect you.”
Rory could cling to that thought. He grasped the rope in one hand and gave an experimental tug. It held solidly.
As Zhang shimmered out of view again, Jade held up a silver tray. “Once you’re in, I’ll send this up to you.”
Rory took a breath and began to climb.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The second-floor gallery of Mansfield’s mansion was empty save for Zhang the sentinel. Rory awkwardly clambered over the windowsill, then leaned out the window and plucked the floating silver tray out of the air. He flashed Jade a thumbs-up he didn’t quite feel and turned back into the room, the rope untying itself behind him.