Starcrossed

by Allie Therin

  Arthur was quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” he finally said, with real gratitude in his voice under the mask manners gone. “I was expecting a call from an Irishman.”

  Arthur had made the statement a question, no doubt wondering why Rory hadn’t used his alias. But he hadn’t chosen Rory, or Brodigan, for himself, and it’d been so hard to give up his Italian name in the first place.

  Rory lowered his voice to a whisper. “Because I can with you. And I—”

  And I miss speaking Italian. I miss my mom’s name. I miss her. I wish she could’ve met you.

  He cleared his throat. “And I’ll see you soon, bello.”

  * * *

  Arthur set the phone back in the cradle, some of his tension gone. He hadn’t thought he had many firsts left with men, but this was new, having a man willing to phone up City Hall just to tell him not to worry and call him handsome.

  Arthur emerged from John’s corner office and found his brother in the reception area by the staff offices. John was speaking with a white woman, somewhere in her thirties, with a blond bob, red lips and a wide-collared blouse that displayed the choker around her neck. There was something about her that made Arthur feel like he’d seen her before.

  John looked desperate for an out, so Arthur raised his voice. “Pardon the interruption, I’m Arthur Kenzie.” He held out a hand to the woman. “Or did you already know that? I feel as if we’ve met.”

  “I doubt it,” John broke in, as the woman smiled a strange, almost dreamy smile and let Arthur take her hand. “This is Miss Shelley, from the Ladies’ Society for the Promotion of Boardwalk Welfare.” He was barely hiding his irritation. “She’s come for her daily update on Coney Island, and I was just explaining that we’re unfortunately closed for the night.”

  “I’m afraid I was too busy to come earlier.” Shelley had a hint of the Midwest in her accent, from Chicago perhaps. “Ladies’ business, you know.”

  Ladies’ business. Arthur had known that to be shorthand for anything from tea and biscuits to telekinetic sabotage. Jade sometimes got up to both at the same time.

  He released her hand, his eye drawn once again to her neck. “That’s a lovely choker.” It was her only piece of jewelry, a black velvet ribbon circling her neck with a small black stone that sat in the hollow of her throat.

  She touched the stone. “Thank you. It’s a recent acquisition.”

  It shouldn’t have been particularly interesting. The stone wasn’t polished to a shine like jet, but a duller black that was closer to gray and had only a slight metallic luster. And yet, it was still compelling—

  The phone rang, drawing Arthur out of his musing as the receptionist picked it up.

  “Your telephone rings a great deal, Alderman Kenzie,” Shelley said to John.

  “Almost as if everyone wants to chat about Coney Island at all hours of the day,” John said, with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Arthur pushed down his guilt. The cleanup was work for the city and he was sorry for that, but the wreckage at Coney Island would have been far more devastating if Rory hadn’t called a tempest to keep the tidal wave at bay.

  “But even your brother is getting calls.” Shelley looked at Arthur with her vacant eyes. “Did I hear the receptionist say a Mr. Giovacchini was on the line for you?”

  Arthur’s hackles rose. She still felt familiar in a bad way, like he’d seen her somewhere he didn’t want to be. Political event, maybe. “Why?”

  “Just curious that you associate with that sort,” she said, which put Arthur’s hackles up for an entirely different reason.

  “Arthur is acquainted with everyone,” John thankfully cut in. “We’ve nothing new to share about Coney Island except for some fresh reports of scavengers. Ella can get you the file in the morning if you’d like. Come on, Arthur.”

  Arthur followed John into the hall, their shoes echoing on the marble as they made their way back to the rotunda. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow,” Arthur said, as they walked.

  “You’re busy tomorrow.” When Arthur furrowed his brow, John said, “You have to meet the ship.”

  “What ship?”

  “The ship from London.”

  “Why am I meeting a ship from London?”

  “To pick up Lord Fine.”

  Lord Fine.

  Arthur’s world momentarily shrank to those two words and he came to an abrupt halt by a column beneath the rotunda’s soaring dome. “Come again?”

  John stopped too. “Wesley Collins, the Viscount Fine,” he said, with a touch of impatience. “The ex-military British peer you’re escorting to Walter’s wedding on Saturday. We just talked about this in the club—you haven’t already forgotten, have you?”

  “You didn’t say his name before.”

  “I’m sure I did.”

  “You didn’t,” Arthur said, through gritted teeth, “because I assure you, I would have remembered.”

  “Oh.” John shrugged. “Well, now you have the man’s name. He’s rather a big score for Walter to have at his wedding, so get Fine yourself and be excruciatingly polite. You’re taking him to his lodgings at the Waldorf and anywhere else he wants to go.” He paused, then tapped his own face. “Your eye is twitching, you know. Just here.”

  Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, like it could stem the tide of emotions rising in the back of his throat. “We’ll talk soon,” he promised, already grabbing for the keys in his pocket.

  He needed Jade. Because he’d faced down enemy troops and even torturers, but this was Wesley.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Arthur drove straight to the Magnolia, parking his Cadillac in an alley two blocks down before heading toward the green-awninged deli. The abandoned tobacco shop was silent from the street, thanks to whatever sound barrier Jade’s brother Benson had engineered, but a police car was parked on the sidewalk a few storefronts up.

  Arthur narrowed his eyes and walked up the block to the Packard. The officer in the passenger seat leaned out as he approached. “You lost?” he said, with genuine concern, eying Arthur from his hat to his shoes.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, I’ve been looking for the police,” Arthur said. “I saw a very shifty-looking fellow on Madison Avenue.”

  “What, close to here?”

  “Oh no, nowhere near Harlem,” Arthur said breezily. “Much farther down.”

  The officers exchanged looks.

  “You’re going to investigate, of course?” Arthur said. “He gave my mother quite the shock. She’d be ever so upset to hear the police couldn’t be bothered to see that she’s safe.”

  The officer in the driver’s seat made a sour face but straightened up. “Aye, we’ll take a look.”

  Arthur gave them Mansfield’s old address and a story about a white man with a goatee raiding trash cans, then watched with impatience until they’d driven away before heading back down to the tobacco shop.

  The bouncer took him through the abandoned shop and into the Magnolia, where three-quarters of the tables were already full. At the bar was Jade, dressed in a drapey blouse and high-waisted, wide-legged trousers. She was speaking with Mack the bartender, but as soon as she saw him, she was coming his way.

  “Are you all right?” She took his hands, tilting her head back, her soft brown eyes searching his face. “You really think John—”

  “I’m certain of it,” Arthur said tightly, stomach churning with anger. Magic. On his brother.

  Jade looked very troubled. She stretched up on her heels, and Arthur bent at the waist so she could whisper in his ear. “Jianwei’s on the plane, following Mansfield’s lawyer, Edgar Barnes. Let’s you and me go somewhere more private.” She pointed at the bar. “Drink?”

  Arthur nodded fervently and followed her to the bar top.

  “Can you do him up a sidecar?” she said to M
ack. “With the brandy from Ottawa?”

  The bartender nodded and pulled a silver cocktail shaker from under the bar, disappearing to the other side of the bar and leaving them to be their own island in the club. “You’re stunning as always,” Arthur said, a topic that they could actually discuss at a crowded bar. “What does Zhang think of the trousers? Not to imply that I think you should dress for him, mind. I’m just curious how parochial his views.”

  “He thinks they’re foxy.” She sounded like she still couldn’t quite believe it. “A surprising number of men in America do, even Rory.”

  “Oh?” Arthur’s expression stayed perfectly still. “And how do you know that Rory likes women in trousers?”

  “He’s not exactly subtle.” She side-eyed him, looking like she was biting back a smile. “Nor are you, apparently. Since when are your eyes green?”

  Arthur scoffed, with what was possibly overcompensation. “You know I’ve never bothered with jealousy. But I am happy to hear that Zhang’s an improvement over that Parisian who wanted you in skirts.”

  Now she did smile. “Jianwei is certainly the highlight of America.”

  A couple of minutes later, drinks in hand—or at least, drink in Arthur’s hand—they wove their way through the tables and to the back. Behind the stage was a hallway that took them to Benson’s office, a small interior room next to Stella’s dressing room. There was a desk pushed up against the wall covered with neat stacks of receipts, and it smelled of cigars and paper. For the moment, it was even a comfortable volume, the crowd in the club muted to a distant murmur underscored by a casual walking bass line from the band. Arthur highly doubted it would stay quiet once Stella was on the stage, but for now the office was cozy and private.

  There was only one chair, over by the desk. Arthur left it for Jade as he carried his drink over to the wall and leaned against it. She took the seat, kicking off her heels and pulling her feet under her. “What’s made you think John is a victim of magic?”

  Arthur blew out a breath. “Because he’s dreaming of me in the war.”

  She furrowed her eyebrows. “Could it not just be a coincidence, a flight of fancy?”

  “It’s not.” Arthur took a drink, tasting sour lemon and fiery brandy through the fine sugar on the rim. “He’s seeing me as a prisoner at the German camp, down to the black eye and the English book they gave me.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I’ve never told anyone about the book, not even you. How on earth could he possibly be seeing it in his dreams?” He took another, bigger sip, wanting the burn. “The cell isn’t even what I dream of myself. The guards gave me drugs, and the things I thought I saw—if I had known magic existed, I would have thought—well.” He repressed a shudder. “Point is, being in the cell was not the worst part and it’s not the part I dream of. How is he seeing it?”

  Jade frowned. “I’m not familiar with any kind of magic like this. I only know of the dream-readers.”

  “And that’s subordinate magic,” said Arthur. “Yes, they can see the dreams of those who have no magic, but those paranormals can only receive. They can’t make someone else have a dream any more than Rory can make someone else see the past.” He blew out a breath. “And why target an alderman?”

  “Did you get a chance to search John’s office? In a world where Pavel can make the potions he does, we can’t rule out a spell bag or cursed object.”

  “I looked best I could. I was only alone those moments on the phone. But the dodgiest thing I found was the stack of his children’s drawings that he secretly keeps in his bottom drawer. Who knew he was sentimental?”

  Jade coughed. “Must run in the family.”

  Arthur gave her a dirty look. “I know you don’t mean me.”

  “You bought an imported caffettiera so you could learn to make Rory’s Italian coffee for him.”

  “Which I will drink too. An act of complete selfishness.”

  “Complete.” Jade’s teasing gaze softened. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Arthur stared into his sidecar and nodded. “There is one other complication.” He cleared his throat. “John’s got a chance to do a favor for the governor’s son.”

  “Which will get John deeper in the governor’s good books, right before he gears up to start his new campaign. Ah, politics,” Jade said dryly. “What’s the favor?”

  “The governor’s son is getting middle-aisled on Saturday and has a last-second guest who needs an escort. British peer, former military. My mother’s already pledged my attendance and John’s asked me to take the guest. I could say no, but...”

  “...but it will help your brother and he’s probably cursed, and none of us would ask you to abandon him,” Jade finished. “We understand, Ace. We’ll work around it.”

  “Except for one inconvenient detail.” Arthur took a drink, too big, the liquor searing his throat. “Titled British ex-military. Ring any bells?”

  “I can only think of—no.” Her eyes widened. “Lord Fine? In the colonies?”

  “As my date, for all intents and purposes.” Arthur set his half-empty drink on Benson’s desk. “I’d rather take Gwen.”

  Jade let out a soft whistle. “Rory’s going to cast a kitten.”

  Arthur paused, fingers still on the glass’s stem. He hadn’t considered how Rory might take it. “Rory and I aren’t—well, I mean, we are, but we’ve never said we’re—I don’t know what exactly we are.”

  “He linked his magic to your aura, Ace,” Jade said dryly. “He might as well have tattooed you with his name.”

  Despite himself, Arthur smiled. “That would be a big tattoo. He’s got a lot of names.”

  She smiled too, then it faded. “I do wish we understood more about your link with him. He has so much magic now, far more than Zhang or me, more than anyone we know except maybe Gwen. The poor thing was a near-recluse for almost four years and this must all be very intense for him, new feelings and a new power to control the wind, all wrapped into a magic lifeline no one truly understands.”

  “I don’t think his magic would hurt me.” Arthur wasn’t sure why he felt so certain about that, except that he remembered the freezing night on Coney Island, when Rory had followed the link back to him. Maybe he couldn’t feel anything in his aura now, but he’d felt it then, the sensation of warmth all the way into his bones, and he still trusted Rory’s magic. “But this is exactly why I’m not making assumptions about his feelings. It’s all very new to him, and that doesn’t mean he’s serious.”

  “So it’s casual for you?” she said, one eyebrow up. “You wouldn’t mind Rory scarpering off with another man?”

  The unfamiliar jealousy flooded Arthur’s stomach again. A little humbling to realize this was all very new for him too. He was saved from having to examine his feelings more closely as the office door opened.

  “Oh look, it’s Zhang in the form I can see,” Arthur said, grateful for the distraction.

  But Zhang looked frustrated. “Edgar Barnes slipped my tail.”

  Arthur exchanged a look with Jade, who looked as surprised as he felt.

  “I followed him to Midtown, to Grand Central,” said Zhang. “He was sweaty and muttering, something about should’ve been enough, why wasn’t it enough as he went into the terminal. And then he went under the arches and—he was gone.”

  “How?” said Arthur.

  “I don’t know. The plane seemed to—distort, for a moment, and then it was fine but Barnes had vanished.”

  Zhang sat on the edge of the desk next to Jade. She patted his hand. “I’m sure it’s not your fault. It’s the subway. There could be all sorts of lead down there, in the paint, the tile, the pipes, who knows.”

  “I suppose.” Zhang didn’t look happy. “I couldn’t find him again. I’ll check his house later, see if he returns and what I can learn.”

  “Maybe
we can get Rory in there to scry.”

  “Ah.” Arthur twitched. “Rory doesn’t actually know about Edgar.”

  Zhang and Jade stared at him. “You didn’t tell him Luther Mansfield’s lawyer was asking questions that could be about magic?” said Zhang.

  “Or that one of Mansfield’s items is missing, and we only know it’s called a lodestone?” added Jade.

  “It’s not like we’ve had a great deal of time to chat between my demanding family and the ice rescues,” Arthur said defensively.

  “Mmm,” Jade said skeptically. “So it just slipped your mind because you were busy?”

  “Yes.” Arthur’s conscience needled him until he added, “And I didn’t see the point in worrying him until we came back.”

  Jade raised her eyebrow.

  “What?” said Arthur. “Oh, I suppose you think I’m being overprotective again?”

  Jade held up her hand, her thumb and index finger about an inch apart.

  Arthur rubbed his forehead, but Jade’s words had loosened something. “There was a woman in John’s office tonight, a Miss Shelley from some ladies’ society. She was taking John to task over the Coney Island cleanup.”

  “Some ladies’ society,” Jade repeated dryly. “I love when people assume a group of ladies would only do frivolous things so no one thinks too hard about it. Gwen and I talked about starting one once.”

  “There’s a bone-chilling thought,” Arthur muttered. “Miss Shelley was wearing a necklace with a stone. She seemed—familiar, somehow.”

  “You said John’s been having his nightmare for a few days,” Jade pointed out. “The same few days Mansfield’s mysterious lodestone has been missing and Miss Shelley has been visiting him. Could be a coincidence...”

  “But I know the miracles you’ve pulled off while men assumed you were nothing more than a pretty woman there by coincidence,” Zhang finished, looking rather smitten.