Starcrossed

by Allie Therin

  “You used to like me too,” Arthur said dryly, tugging uselessly at the two men who held his cuffed arms. “How has that worked out for me lately?”

  Gwen knelt in front of him. “I still like you,” she said sincerely. “But I can’t trust you to do what needs to be done.”

  She reached out toward Rory and grabbed the pomander’s chain where it hung from his suspender.

  “Gwen,” Rory said, his voice fraught with fear.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “I’m sealing it up.”

  She tugged and it came loose. She straightened, careful not to touch the ball at the end of the chain as she crossed to Hyde’s unmoving body. “Now this is unusual,” she said curiously, as she reached into the pocket of Hyde’s coat and withdrew a small black box. “Hyde is trapped.”

  “Trapped in what?” said Arthur.

  She closed the pomander into the lead box with a snap. The smell vanished an instant later, the last traces carried off by the wind. “Psychometry.”

  Arthur shot a glance at Rory, whose jaw was set. “I told him he should’ve left Ace alone.”

  “So you sent him to the past? Bound him with history like a boa constrictor?” She raised an eyebrow. “How far back is Hyde?”

  “The Inquisition,” Rory said tightly. “And he’s not coming back.”

  Christ. Arthur had never been so aware of being surrounded by paranormals with no magic of his own.

  Both of Gwen’s eyebrows were up. “How did you pull that off?”

  “You’re the one with witch-sight, can’t you tell?” said Rory.

  “I can’t tell anything about you right now. Your magic is an absolute mess. I see psychometry, wind, that vile pomander, something else I can’t even place.” She came toward them, kneeling again on the deck. “You’ve got a lot more magic than the last time I saw you, but you’ll need three days of sleep before you’ll be much of a threat. You’ve got nothing left.”

  “You try to touch Ace, I’ll find something left,” Rory promised darkly.

  “Good,” Gwen said, unafraid. “Because I need you to do something about that pomander.”

  Rory sucked in a breath.

  Arthur glanced between them. “What does the pomander relic do?”

  Rory looked at him with a pained expression. “It enslaves non-magic minds,” he whispered, and Arthur thought he might vomit again. Rory glared weakly but defiantly at Gwen. “And I’ll die before I tell anyone how to unlock it.”

  She frowned. She looked back down at the box. If the lead stung her hand, and it must have, she didn’t show it. Arthur could see the other emotions warring on her face: disgust and fear, calculation, consideration.

  His stomach lurched. “Gwen,” he whispered. “I know you want revenge on Baron Zeppler, and you deserve it. But please: if you have ever loved someone without magic, destroy that relic.”

  Gwen’s gaze went to Arthur. “And just how will we do that?” she said, softly and tightly. “These relics have lasted more than four hundred years. Do you believe it’s a coincidence no one has managed to destroy one yet?”

  Arthur hesitated. “Everything burns in a hot enough fire,” he said, but it wasn’t as convincing as he’d hoped.

  Gwen was shaking her head. “Can you burn radio waves, Arthur? Magic is not a simple thing. And magic like this will never burn.” She nodded at Rory. “Ask your young fellow right there. He’s seen its history. Has he ever seen a way to destroy a relic?”

  Rory’s look of despair was answer enough.

  “If we can’t destroy it,” she said, “we have to neutralize it. We have to find someone trustworthy to bind it to.” She looked at Rory. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me how to unlock it.”

  But Rory shook his head. “No.”

  “I made you talk once.” She pointed at Arthur. “And your Achilles’ heel is right here.”

  Rory went very pale, but he didn’t flinch. “Not this time.” His voice was a whisper. “This time, there’s nothing that can make me talk.” He looked at Arthur like his heart was breaking. “I’m sorry, Ace.”

  Before Arthur could tell Rory it was okay, that he was proud of him, Gwen said, “Very well, then.” She leaned close to Arthur. “Give Jade my best.”

  “What” was all Arthur managed to say, because Gwen reached out a hand into the air above Arthur’s heart—

  And Arthur’s world went dark.

  * * *

  Rory nearly screamed as Arthur crumpled to the deck. He lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the mobster’s death grip on his arm. “No—”

  “He’s not dead,” Gwen said impatiently. She looked over at Ellis. “Can we get him in a lifeboat?”

  “If we hurry.” Ellis was already moving to Arthur’s unconscious body, pointing the two henchmen toward the railing and one of the lifeboats. “Ship’s awake now. We won’t be able to keep security off the deck forever.”

  “Life...boat...?” Rory said weakly, as Ellis lifted the bigger Arthur over his shoulders with a loud grunt.

  “He’ll only be out for a few minutes,” Gwen called to the henchman. “Rory’s magic is too strong in his aura, I can’t buy you more than that. Check Hyde for the handcuff keys and get those off before we put his lifeboat into the river.”

  Rory blinked, sagging exhaustedly against the painful grip of the mobster’s fingers in his bicep. “What are you doing to Ace?”

  Gwen’s gaze was on Ellis and the two henchmen as they put Arthur’s limp body into the lifeboat. “I believe you,” she said, still watching the others, “when you say that you will never, ever talk.”

  Rory swallowed, his gaze darting between her and Arthur as the henchmen began to work the ropes, the lifeboat that now held Arthur disappearing over the edge of the steamship.

  “I believe that you’ll die first; I even believe you’ll let Arthur die instead of tell me what I want to know. I told you once that Arthur had been a good friend and I didn’t want to kill him. I meant that.”

  Arthur’s handcuffs now dangled, unlocked, from Ellis’s hand as he looked down the side of the ocean liner. “Ace’s boat is in the river,” he called back to Gwen.

  “We’ll take Sebastian and Hyde to London with us.” Gwen touched her amulet and closed her eyes. “But the tide will take Arthur safely back to the pier.”

  Rory stared. “You’re letting him go?”

  “Yes. But not you, I’m afraid.”

  Rory went cold. “But if you know I won’t talk—”

  “There are other ways to get information out of someone’s thoughts or memories,” she said patiently. “Telepathy, certainly; if Baron Zeppler ever meets you he will pick the secrets from your mind like apples in an orchard. But perhaps with the right potion, or artifact, I can discover what I want to know as well.”

  She opened her eyes. “And you get to come see London.” She gestured at him. “The sea air will do you good. Your magic is still a fright, you know, arcing all over you like wild lightning.”

  “No.” Rory shook his head wildly. He pulled against the man who had him. “You can’t bind the pomander to someone else. You can’t unlock that relic ever.”

  She held out the box in front of her. “I agree that this is the vilest magic. But if I don’t bind it to someone, it could yet wind up in the hands of the baron. And I assure you, Rory, no one on earth wants that to happen.”

  “Let us try,” Rory said desperately.

  She paused, tilting her head. “The pomander, unbound, and you, with the secret to unlocking its power. You want me to let you both loose in a world where a telepath like Zeppler exists?”

  “I want you to give us a chance,” he begged, leaning as far in as the mobster holding his arm would let him. “Jade, Zhang, me, Ace—we can find a way to destroy it.”

  She met his eyes. “Convince
me,” she said softly, leaning closer as well, the pomander relic in its lead box still in her hand—

  Then her eyes suddenly dropped to Rory’s neck, still encircled by Shelley’s choker. “Hang on,” she said, her eyes widened. “I couldn’t see it before, in the tangle of your magic, but this—”

  And somewhere in his exhaustion, his magic found a spark. It burst from him before his brain had fully formed the thought, sending the henchman staggering backward, and freeing Rory enough for him to snatch the box out of Gwen’s hand and shove past her for the closest railing.

  “Rory, no!”

  Rory ignored her shout. He had only the vaguest idea of what the ship he was on was like, and the distant notion that maybe if he jumped down to the next deck he could find the security Ellis had mentioned. He grabbed the railing before anyone could stop him and, with the last of his strength, launched himself over it.

  It was a terrible mistake.

  There was no lower deck. Instead, Rory went tumbling over the side of the ship, toward the black river churning with white waves in the wake.

  He had one terrified thought—I can’t swim—and then realized he might hit the water so hard that it wouldn’t matter—

  The Delaware rose up to meet him.

  He hit the water a second later, far sooner and softer than he should have, plummeting beneath the surface into the shocking cold. But just as the dark surrounded him and panic gripped him, he was pushed back up by an invisible force.

  Up and up he was pushed, until his head broke above the surface. He gasped for air, desperately clutching the relic, thrashing around but somehow not sinking.

  Faintly, over the roar of water in his ears and the engines of the ship, he heard a shout that sounded like his name.

  Moments later, something round and white was being shoved into Rory’s chest. “Hold on!”

  Rory scrambled to grab the life preserver, clutching it painfully hard with his free hand, holding the stinging lead box to his chest with the other as strong arms wrapped around him from behind.

  “I’ve got you,” Arthur said into to his ear. “I’ve got you.”

  Rory went limp. Arthur’s arms were tight around him, his legs treading water as he pulled Rory backward, along the life preserver’s rope while Rory sucked in lungfuls of wonderful air. When they bumped up along the side of the lifeboat, Arthur reached up and grabbed the edge to pull down the side of the boat. With a huge grunt of effort, he shoved Rory into it. Rory flopped onto his back on the bottom of the boat, heart pounding, chest heaving.

  A moment later, Arthur tumbled into the boat next to him with no grace, his bulk rocking the boat but thankfully not tipping it.

  They lay panting together, side by side on the uncomfortable boat floor, under the black sky with its fuzzy white specks.

  “Well, shit,” Rory muttered. “I lost my glasses.”

  “I’ll buy you twenty,” said Arthur. “I’m so damn grateful you’re alive.”

  Rory dropped the relic box somewhere in the boat and fumbled for Arthur’s hand. It was as cold as his own, but Arthur clutched his back just as tightly. “You too. You woke up?”

  “In the lifeboat. I don’t think I was out for more than a few minutes. I saw you fall from the deck and—” Arthur’s voice caught and he squeezed Rory’s hand. “I didn’t know if I was going to make it to you in time,” he said quietly. “I thought you couldn’t swim.”

  “I can’t.” Rory closed his eyes, remembering the water rising to catch him, the feeling of the current bearing him up to the surface. “I think Gwen saved my life.”

  Arthur groaned. “Of course she did.”

  Rory tried to sit up enough to see over the edge of the boat, remembered he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and gave up. “Is she coming back after us?”

  Arthur struggled up to his elbows, chin raised as he squinted into the dark. “No,” he finally said. “Their ship is far down the Delaware, almost lost around the bend.”

  Rory blew out a big breath. “And where are we?”

  Arthur craned his head to look over his shoulder. “The current has brought us almost back to the pier, safe and sound. There’s a crowd waiting for us. God, I hope someone has a towel.”

  Rory snorted. He stared up at the blurry sky, soaked and freezing but alive. “They’re letting us go.”

  Arthur sighed. “I really wish she and Ellis would do us the courtesy of deciding whether they’re baddies now or not.”

  Rory couldn’t help it; he laughed. He rolled onto his side, Arthur close enough he could see him even without glasses. “If we didn’t have an audience, I’d kiss you right now.”

  Arthur smiled as the crowd grew loud. “Hold that thought for me,” he said, just as their boat came into range of the pier.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The crowd on the dock was a mix of angry passengers demanding new tickets, angry dockworkers who didn’t understand how the ship had sailed away on its own, and two frustrated police officers trying to keep the peace and solve the mystery of the disappearing ocean liner and the two men washed back up in a lifeboat.

  Rory knew Arthur wasn’t quick to throw his name around. But he’d had taken one look at Rory shivering and mentioned, “my father, Congressman Kenzie,” and the next moment, the police had backed off their questions and someone had tracked down a pair of glasses that were close to Rory’s prescription. Sort of close. Close enough to get him back to New York, at least, and then he’d save up for a new pair. A new cap was just gonna have to wait even longer.

  “Consider my statement given,” Arthur informed the officers, in a haughty tone entirely unlike himself. “It’s three sentences long: I went on a ship. I was hit on the head. I woke up in a lifeboat. I’m afraid I don’t know anything else.”

  One of the officers frowned and pointed at Rory. “And what about your little friend here?”

  Rory hunched his shoulders, but Arthur rolled his eyes imperiously. “My nephew, and the poor lad has dreadful luck every time he leaves the countryside. Now, are we free to leave? I’m afraid if you’re planning to arrest us, I’ll be calling my lawyer the first chance I get, and he’s also a Kenzie.”

  The police exchanged an irritated glance but didn’t press. The crowd started rabbling again, upset Arthur and Rory weren’t talking, but Arthur just snagged Rory by the arm. “Come on,” he muttered. “Before they decide they have probable cause or the reporters find us.”

  Rory was shivering hard by the time they made it down the waterfront street to the Cadillac, which still had one wheel up on the sidewalk. “Did you bust your car?” he said in surprise, squinting ahead.

  “It’ll get us to a hotel. I’ll call a garage in the morning. Let’s just be glad the police were too distracted to investigate.”

  “But how’d you hit that lamppost?”

  Arthur cleared his throat. “When the link broke.”

  Oh. Rory bit his lip as Arthur tugged at the passenger door and finally got it open with a grunt and a jerk. “I didn’t know you’d feel it.”

  Arthur paused, hand on the open car door. “Why did you break it?”

  His voice was neutral, but something in his face was more vulnerable than normal. Rory quickly shook his head. “It, um, it broke itself. Right before Hyde put that pomander on me.”

  Arthur glanced down at the lead-lined box in his hand, which still held the pomander relic.

  “That’s terrible magic,” Rory said. “And my magic wasn’t gonna let it touch you again.”

  Something softer flitted over Arthur’s face at that, then he frowned. “I know you wanted to give it to Pavel—”

  Rory shook his head rapidly. “I meant what I said to Gwen. We can’t unlock it, we have to destroy it.” He swallowed. “Pavel would never pay the price to unlock it anyway.”

  There was gratitude in Arthur’s eyes
, but also sadness as he said, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  The screams fill the mansion as the man strides toward the balcony. Rory quickly shoved the remnants of the vision away and shrugged.

  Arthur let it go, but then, Rory now knew just how awful the memories were in Arthur’s mental vault, and those weren’t other people’s history, that was his own. “How did you get away from the ship?”

  Rory touched his throat. The lodestone had survived the fall. He could feel its magic tugging at his own, pulling like a magnet. “One of Gwen and Ellis’s lackeys was holding me down. I sent his mind to the past.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened. “You—”

  “Not like with Hyde,” Rory said quickly. “To break free of the pomander, remake the link—that took a huge burst of magic, enough it sent a paranormal mind to the fifteenth century. The mobster was different; I sent him maybe an hour back in time and it’s probably already worn off.”

  Arthur’s gaze went to the lodestone. “Weaponized psychometry,” he said, too lightly. “Quite a powerful ability.”

  “Yeah.” Rory reached behind his neck, fingers finding the clasp. “And I don’t want it.”

  He pulled the choker off and the pull on his blood disappeared. He coiled it in his palm, gazing at the stone for a moment. “I don’t want it and I don’t need it, not when I got a relic already and not when I got you.” He curled his fist around the choker. “I’m giving it to Pavel.”

  Arthur broke into a smile with relief around the edges. “That’s noble of you.”

  “This was helping Shelley. Maybe it’ll help Pav too.” Rory gave Arthur a dry look. “And alchemy turned outward isn’t gonna hurt anyone like my magic does. So you can relax, soldier.”

  “What? No,” Arthur protested, too hard. “No, I trust you—”

  “You’re a little nervous at the thought of a fella running around King of the Past.” Arthur started stuttering over another denial, but Rory just shrugged. “S’all right. I’d be nervous too. I’m already King of the Wind and how’s that worked out so far?”