by Allie Therin
Zhang’s shimmering projection passed through the wall. Rory poked his head out of the gallery’s doorway to find a painting-lined hall. Zhang pointed to the left and the faint sounds of a crowd.
“Straight ahead, past the music room, until you come to the main hall that leads to the ballroom. The guests are in there and Ace will be looking for you.” He glanced back at Rory. “You good?”
It was said with genuine concern, not condescension. “Copacetic.” Rory clutched his tray and swallowed hard. “I worked in a restaurant. I can pretend to be a waiter.”
“We’ve got you.” The air shimmered and Zhang disappeared, maybe back to Jade to patrol the outside of the mansion.
Rory followed Zhang’s directions, the narrow hall opening in a much wider one packed with women in sequined dresses and men in tuxedos. More art lined the walls with glass case displays every few feet, like exhibits at that Museum of Natural History Rory had heard about. He kept his head down and his tray in front of him like a shield as he wove through the crowd, following the flow to the ballroom—
“Oh good, you’re empty.”
Rory nearly tripped over his feet as a middle-aged woman with a blond bob and black dress snatched Rory’s tray out of his hands. “Hey! That’s my—”
“You take Ned’s tray instead,” she said. “I need him to get more drinks.”
“But—” A man about Jade’s age pushed his full tray of canapés into Rory’s hands, oysters, deviled eggs, celery with a dab of pink mousse—
“No more dawdling!” The woman’s eyes raked over him and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You’re a mess. Take that tray in, then do something about that hair.”
Yeah, sure he would.
He pretended to walk toward the ballroom, then just before the doors, ducked off to the side behind a glass case with a huge marble head. Rory helped himself to a deviled egg and scanned what he could see of the ballroom.
But as his gaze landed on a familiar figure, he nearly choked. Arthur was surrounded by six beautiful women, all laughing, eating his charm up, one of them touching his arm—
Rory’s face flushed hot. Arthur looked incredible in his tux and fit perfectly into the fancy crowd. Not like Rory, an outsider trespassing in a house that hated him for being born in America when his mom was from somewhere else.
Luce dei miei occhi, baciami. Rory hadn’t been able to help it, his heart so full of feelings for Arthur that his lips remembered the language he used to hear when he was loved.
Of course, Arthur had already known baciami meant kiss me.
That realization sat like lead in Rory’s chest.
’Course he’s got those dolls all over him. He’s probably got dolls and fellas after him across the world. And you still want him for yourself.
Rory took a tight breath and looked away, trying to stay calm. But as he did, he saw a clean-cut man making his way through the wide hall to the ballroom. The coat and hunter’s cap were gone, replaced with a double-breasted suit, but Rory wasn’t going to forget a face he’d watched murder a man in cold blood.
Rory froze. The man spoke to no one as he darted down the hall, the other guests paying him no attention. He came to a stop just by the ballroom entrance, his jaw set tight, his narrowed eyes fixed on a single point. Rory followed his gaze straight to—
Arthur.
* * *
Where the blazes is Rory? Arthur tried to keep the concern off his face and instead play his role and find his best smile for Alice’s pretty sorority sisters.
“Look at you in a tux,” said Josephine, as she ran a hand over his arm. Her ginger bob was sleek and shiny, and her bright red lips were a perfect match for her dress and nails. She and Jade would get along like a house on fire. “You still look like a quarterback.”
“Goodness, how I used to look forward to the Yale games.” That was Emmeline, a petite socialite with neat blond finger waves, nothing like Rory’s messy curls. “It was never quite the same after you went off to the army. Do you still play?”
“A municipal league.” He’d been recruited after Benson discovered Arthur could still throw a football fifty yards and hit a target.
He shot a glance to the ballroom doors over the women’s heads. Hurry up, Rory. Christ, what if he was lost in the mansion? Lost in a vision?
He forced a smile for Emmeline. “Are you following the new National Football League—”
“Never mind the sports talk, I need your tailor’s name,” Josephine said. “Your tuxedo is a work of art. Perhaps I can get one made for dear Edgar, although he doesn’t have your...build,” which was a tactful way to say her lawyer husband wouldn’t have lifted anything heavier than a copy of the New York Tax Code.
“I’ll speak with him.” Arthur was fairly certain Dear Edgar wouldn’t venture into Mr. Dannenburg’s neighborhood on pain of death, but the man could use reminding there was an entire city beyond Fifth Avenue. “I must say I’m favoring a more casual style these days, however. Newsboy caps, tennis shoes, that sort of look.”
Josephine squealed. “Oh, how charming! I absolutely must see you in a cap—”
A crash shattered the peace of the hall just outside the ballroom, startling the musicians into a moment of painful discord.
“Oops,” said a familiar voice, tight with anger. “Didn’t see you there.”
Arthur’s heart leapt as he clenched a fist, relieved and irritated at the same time. “Excuse me,” he said to the gasping partygoers, and hurried out into the hall. A silver tray of canapés was overturned on the marble floor, and a woman with a blond bob had Rory by the collar.
“What have you done, you clumsy brat?” She gave Rory an angry shake. “I don’t have lollygaggers or incompetents on my staff. You can show yourself straight to the door without pay—”
“Surely you wouldn’t sack your waiter for a simple accident?” Arthur snapped, barely restraining himself from physically removing her hand from Rory.
Rory’s eyes went to Arthur, defensive and angry, and that didn’t bode well. But at least the woman dropped Rory’s shirt like it’d burned her.
“Begging your pardon, sir.” She plastered an immediate, sycophantic smile on her face. “But he’s made a terrible mess—”
“Messes can be cleaned,” Arthur said flatly. She began sputtering more apologies, but he ignored her and took Rory by the arm more gently than she’d manhandled him. “Come along, waiter, let’s make sure you didn’t get hurt in that fall.”
He tugged Rory about halfway down the wide hallway before he hissed, “We are trying to stay unnoticed. You just got the attention of the entire ballroom—”
“Mansfield’s pal, the one with the knife,” Rory whispered heatedly back. “He’s here and all his attention was on you.”
“What?” Arthur spun around, dragging Rory with him. He looked all up and down the hall. “I didn’t see him. I don’t see him now.”
Rory looked too, then swore, too loudly and in Italian, making several well-dressed heads turn in their direction. “He’s gone.”
So much for subtlety. Arthur pulled Rory over to an alcove behind a shiny, full-size suit of armor. He clasped Rory’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
“’Course I’m not hurt. I crashed into him on purpose.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “You purposefully crashed into Mansfield’s henchman—”
“You bet I did.” Rory jabbed Arthur’s chest with his finger. “I saw him kill someone and he was staring right at you. You think I was gonna just stand by?”
“Never risk yourself to protect me,” Arthur said heatedly. “I can take care of myself—”
“Unless you’re too busy flirting.”
Arthur dropped his grip on Rory’s shoulders and drew back. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t see him.” Rory’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes too brigh
t. “’Cause you were too busy flirting with the world, half of Fifth Avenue’s skirts on your arm.”
“I was busy looking for you,” Arthur snapped. “Those skirts are friends of my sisters—you can’t possibly be jealous.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Rory scoffed bitterly. “Street rat’s got no business being jealous of the classy dolls on your level—”
“That is not what I meant.”
Heads were turning in their direction. This was not a conversation for public—this was how rumors started—but how could he let Rory go on believing that?
“I meant that you can’t possibly be jealous because there is nothing to be jealous of.” He lowered his voice to the barest whisper. “I like men.”
Rory wrapped his arms around himself defensively. “I’m not so stupid I missed that.”
“You’re not stupid or any of that other rot you’ve said.” Arthur took a breath. “Only men. I love women as friends, as sisters—but I only like men.”
Oh, Rory’s mouth formed.
“Yes, oh,” said Arthur. “And if I was too distracted to see Mansfield’s henchman, it was because I was worrying about you.”
Rory hesitated. “But I was okay.”
“I didn’t know that!” Arthur forced his voice back down to a heated whisper. “For all I knew, Gwen or Mansfield had you, and since it seems to have escaped your notice, I have become rather attached to your well-being.”
“Oh.” Rory hugged himself tighter, eyes big and vulnerable. “Is that your fancy way of saying I mucked everything up?”
It was Arthur’s accidental admission that he was altogether too attached to Rory, full stop, but what he said was, “It’s my fancy way of saying your jealousy is misplaced.”
“All right already.” A faint blush colored Rory’s cheeks. “I never slept with someone before. I didn’t know it’d feel like that to see you flirt.”
Ouch. Arthur hadn’t considered that. “I don’t mean anything by it,” he started, a little stiffly.
But Rory waved his hand. “I know, and I’m not trying to say you got to stop. Just cut me a break. Big six like you, bet you get jealous too.”
“I most certainly do not.” Even as Arthur said it, he realized it might be a bald-faced lie. He generally wasn’t one for jealousy, but if he ever saw another man make a pass at Rory, there might be blood.
“Yeah, well, good for you, ’cause I about lost my head.” Rory scuffed his foot on the ground. “’Specially when I put together that you already knew what baciami means.”
“But I like it,” Arthur said immediately. “I would be happy to hear it every day. Every hour. And light of my eyes was new, and I—” He hesitated, but the fear that Rory might stop his sweet, heartfelt Italian made him admit, “and I like that one too.”
A startled smile lit Rory’s face like the sun. “Yeah?” His eyes were on Arthur, soft with affection, but then the smile faded and worry crept back in. “Listen, that fella with the knife had eyes for only you. We gotta—” He gasped, his eyes going wide and black as pools of ink.
“Rory!” Arthur lunged and caught him as he staggered.
“A painting on the floor—a safe open on the wall.” Rory was staring at Arthur without awareness or recognition, and his voice was too loud, drawing stares again. “Business in the smoking room now. She doesn’t like the way it feels when he opens the box.”
Christ. Arthur grabbed Rory’s hand in his own and pulled him as deep into the alcove as he could, hoping the suit of armor kept them from view.
“Rory,” he whispered hoarsely, “Teddy, come back.”
Rory gasped again, and then—
He was blinking at Arthur in confusion. “He—Mansfield—” Rory screwed his eyes shut, then said, “He closed the box.”
“Is that why your vision stopped?” said Arthur.
“I’m not sure.” Rory shook his head. “I saw Gwen, I saw Mansfield closing the box, but I think—I think I saw you too.”
Before Arthur could ask what that meant, Rory said, “Upstairs, to the south.” He rubbed his temple. “It was that study again—library, maybe, full of books and art. Mansfield said they were going to start in the smoking room, maybe they left.”
Behind the glass case, Arthur squeezed Rory’s hand. “And you, when and where are you?”
“With you.” Rory shrugged, his gaze on Arthur. “Not sure I care about the when or where anymore.”
“Oh, you shit,” Arthur said, with feeling. “Saying stuff like that when we’re in public.” He coughed. “Also I’m still going to need you to actually tell me the year.”
Rory didn’t mock him, just squeezed their joined hands. “It’s 1925. The year Zhang’s probably waiting on us.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rory tagged behind Arthur as they moved through the mansion, past the gallery he had climbed into and to the servants’ staircase in the back. His eyes were peeled for Mansfield’s henchman, but all he saw was a necking couple and a sour-faced maid smoking a cigarette. “You know where we’re going?”
“Mr. Humphries was able to get me the blueprints,” Arthur whispered back, and Rory remembered the friendly man from the skyscraper’s construction site. “Safer than risking Zhang mapping the place out when Gwen’s eyes could be about.”
There was a powder room just before the servants’ staircase and they squeezed inside it. Arthur inched the window open and made hand signals at the ground below. A moment later, Zhang shimmered into view, hovering just over the floor with half his body inside the bathroom wall.
Rory made a face. “That looks really weird.”
“I’ll assume that means Zhang’s here.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Third-floor library, south end. Can you check if it’s empty? Only you mustn’t be seen by Gwen.”
Zhang’s black brows drew together. “I can handle myself. Save your worrying for this one.” He jerked his chin at Rory.
“I’m doing just fine,” Rory said irritably.
Arthur furrowed his brow. “What did he say?”
“He says he’ll check the library,” said Rory pointedly. Zhang touched the brim of his bowler hat, then shimmered out of view. “I still can’t believe you work with a man you can’t even see.”
“I have you to speak with him. How is it different from listening to you on the telephone?”
“’Cause it’s magic, isn’t it?” Rory’s skin was prickling, and not in a good way from being in a tight space with Arthur, but in a caged, not-enough-room-to-pace sort of way. Mansfield had opened the relic, and Rory’s magic had taken him into the room without choice. Had it been Mansfield closing the box that ended the vision, or had Arthur somehow pulled Rory out?
Could Rory pull himself out, if he had someone to come back to?
Arthur was resting against the wall, still as a statue. “You’re looking at me.”
“I’m about to crawl outta my skin,” Rory admitted. “How’re you so calm?”
“Practice.” Arthur didn’t say it as a brag; he sounded resigned.
Rory’s heart ached at the thought of Arthur on a battlefield, waiting under pressure so many times he got used to it. He took a step forward in the claustrophobic space and put his forehead on Arthur’s chest.
Arthur startled, but his arms went around Rory a heartbeat later. “It’s not too late to get you somewhere safe.”
Rory scoffed. “Neither of us is gonna let an amulet that rules the sea end up with people who shouldn’t have it.” He closed his eyes, savoring Arthur’s warmth, breathing in his cologne. Would he ever smell this scent again without remembering being stripped in the foyer and Arthur’s mouth on his skin? “Least I got you.”
Arthur’s arms went almost painfully tight around him. “You’re so sweet, and yet I’ve brought you nothing but danger,” he said, voice low with frustration. “You�
��re barely twenty; someone should be giving you a safer life—”
“Safe?” Rory took a step back. “Me? I’m gonna end up back in an asylum, stuck in someone else’s past, and that’s if my visions don’t make me walk straight off a cliff. My magic’s got me at its mercy, and a month ago I didn’t know if I’d make it to twenty-one.”
He reached up and took Arthur’s face in his hands. “But you.” He stared up into those wide blue eyes. “You make me think I got a chance. I don’t want safe, Ace, I want you.”
Arthur looked thunderstruck and vulnerable, like Rory had opened a lock he hadn’t known he was guarding. Then his lips were on Rory’s, his muscled body pressing him to the powder room door, and Rory was kissing back frantically and nothing mattered but Arthur—
“Ahem.”
Rory flailed against the door. “Zhang,” he hissed, pushing a confused Arthur away.
Arthur’s eyes widened and he uselessly tried to scramble away from Rory in the cramped space. “Zhang,” he sputtered, “it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Pretty sure it is,” Zhang said dryly to Rory. “You can both relax. I walk on the astral plane. I’ve seen everything.”
“You don’t care if we neck?” Rory blinked. “What about Ace standing in you, do you care about that?”
Arthur covered his face with his palm. “Is the library empty or not?”
“Go now,” said Zhang. “Time is running out.”
* * *
Rory hung back as Arthur eased open the third-floor library door, and Zhang waited in the hall to keep watch as they slipped inside. It was a beautiful room, with large windows and leather club chairs like Arthur’s study, tall shelves of books and art on every wall. Despite its spaciousness, Rory fidgeted, stomach roiling, feeling more caged than in the powder room knowing the relic was close.
Arthur quietly shut the door behind Rory. “Did you see the painting hiding the safe in either of your visions?” he said in a low voice as he shoved a chair under the door handle.