Starcrossed

by Allie Therin

  Arthur’s lips twitched. “You just need more practice.”

  “But no one oughta practice with magic that affects someone else’s mind.” Rory passed the lodestone to Arthur. “I would know.”

  “I suppose you would.” Arthur slipped the lodestone into his pocket. “The Zhangs will likely be willing to take the pomander until a way to destroy it is found. I assume their new security will be the stuff of legends.” He tapped the roof of the car. “Go on, get in. You look dead on your feet. Let’s find a hotel.”

  Ten minutes later, they passed Philly’s city hall and the giant train station, then parked across the street from a four-story redbrick building with a subway entrance in front and a bright electric sign jutting out sideways that read HOTEL.

  Arthur put the car in park but then hesitated. “Is this all right?” When Rory side-eyed him, he added, “I’ll take you to the Ritz or the Bellevue, if that’s what you would prefer. They might ask questions, but their rooms have private bathrooms.”

  “You’re the one with standards,” said Rory. “What do you want?”

  “I’ll go where you like,” Arthur said quietly. “I don’t care about luxuries. I just want to be with you.”

  Rory glanced back out the window. “I’d rather have no questions,” he admitted.

  “Done.” Arthur got out of the car. “Be right back.”

  Rory got out a lot more slowly, aching down to his bones. There were other signs at the street level, a hat shop and a pharmacy with its light still on promising SODA-CANDY-DRUGS. His stomach rumbled, and he carefully shut the door of the smashed Cadillac, wishing he had a nickel in his pocket.

  Then Arthur was suddenly back, bending so his mouth was close to Rory’s ear. “Room 212,” he murmured, discreetly pressing a key into Rory’s hand. “I’ll be up a few minutes after you.”

  Rory curled his fingers around the key. “I’ll leave it unlocked.”

  Their hotel room on the second floor was a little bigger than Rory’s boardinghouse room, much cleaner and with nicer furniture. The bed was narrow but he was planning to sleep on top of Arthur, so that was gonna work out fine.

  The floor was all men, with a shared bathroom at the end of the hall that held stacks of white towels, a white claw-foot tub, and even a brass needle shower with an adjustable temperature. The hotel was quiet, the night gone enough that Rory was alone in the bathroom. He lingered under the spray longer than he’d planned, until the pins and needles in his frozen toes eased into warmth. It’d be too easy to get addicted to the luxury of hot water on his skin.

  His clothes were already soaked, and dirty from the port waters. He rinsed them best he could and took them back to the room to spread on the radiator. Hopefully they’d be dry in the morning.

  He’d just finished arranging his clothes on half the radiator when the door cracked open, and Arthur came in with his arms full. “Do you like ham?” he asked, shutting the door with his foot before setting his pile on the bed. “And chocolate? And I wasn’t sure your size. Oh, and Jade left a message with my concierge. She and Zhang made a full recovery.”

  “Oh good.” Rory blinked. “Did you say you found clothes? And food—” He was heading for the pile when Arthur suddenly bent and kissed him.

  “You wear a towel distractingly well,” he murmured. “Be back before you can blink.” And he disappeared back out the door, leaving Rory leaning after him.

  The pile of food turned out to be Peanut Chews and chocolate creams, soft pretzels, and sandwiches with ham, salami, and cheese on fluffy submarine-shaped rolls. Rory ate an entire sandwich in a minute flat as he examined the clothes. Hotel uniforms: white shirts, plain ties, black vests, and pants. Nicer than anything he owned but not anything Arthur’d normally wear.

  But as he moved the stacked clothes from the bed to the dresser, he found a brown leather hatbox at the bottom, embossed with a logo that he’d seen on some of Arthur’s clothes. He touched it curiously with one finger.

  The door opened again and Arthur came in, also in nothing but a towel cinched tight around his waist. He was shaking his head as he shut and locked the door behind him. “If I never wear another wet, ruined tuxedo it will be too soon—oh. You found it.”

  Wow. That was a lot of bare skin and muscles, water droplets still beading on Arthur’s chest and shoulders. Rory took a step toward Arthur, but Arthur was sitting on the bed, gaze on the hatbox.

  “That’s for you.” The awkwardness in Arthur’s voice had Rory stopping. “I already had it in my car, from New York.”

  Rory furrowed his brow. “Is this—a present?” he said uncertainly. “But you already got me the caffettiera.”

  “Yes, but giving you the means to make coffee benefits me greatly.”

  “But that’s good,” said Rory. “Then I’m not mooching off you—”

  “You’re never mooching—”

  “You can’t expect other people to give you things, Ace, you gotta work for them—”

  “No, darling,” Arthur said softly, and Rory stilled. “You don’t have to earn things from me.”

  Rory’s protest stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard. “This is from the place that makes your clothes, right?” When Arthur nodded, Rory bit his lip. “It’d take me ten years to make enough to give you a present like this back.”

  “Have I made you think that’s what I want from you?” Arthur said uncertainly. “Because I don’t care about that. I hope by now you know I don’t.”

  “But I met your ex. He could probably buy the moon for you and have change left over.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You know, for all your supposed jealousy, you probably saved Wesley’s life today,” he said, making Rory squirm. “There are things that matter so much more than money. I would not think highly of anyone who judged the value of someone’s affections by the price tag they can afford for a gift.”

  Rory chewed on his lip.

  “I don’t want the life I would have with Wesley,” Arthur said, quiet and sincere. “I am happier here, in this tiny room, with you being a stubborn contrarian, than I was at the wedding of the year. Maybe we move in different worlds, but I feel most like me when I’m with you.” He hesitated. “Does that sound mad?”

  Rory’s heart had started pounding. “Nah, tesoro,” he said, lips forming the childhood language he’d missed so much, a part of him he’d lost until some Upper West Side high hat gave him a reason to find it again. “I get it.”

  “Good.” Arthur cleared his throat. “And really, Theodore, you sank your magic back into my aura again not an hour ago. Why can’t it be my turn to put something on you?”

  Rory huffed, almost a laugh, warmth flooding through him. “All right already,” he said gruffly, like his heart wasn’t light as air. He opened the fine leather hatbox to find a newsboy cap in a beautiful brown houndstooth wool with a silk lining that wouldn’t itch. Casual enough to go with his clothes but by far the nicest thing he’d ever owned. “Aw, Ace, it’s perfect.”

  “It is?”

  “I love it. I love—this,” he said quickly, biting off the other word he’d almost said. “This cap,” he said instead, because he did love the hat. He took the step toward the bed, fitting himself between Arthur’s knees.

  Arthur’s lips quirked up, in that shy smile he only ever had around Rory. “We will not fit on this bed,” he said seriously, “and I could not care less. Come here.”

  Rory carefully set the cap and the borrowed glasses onto the nightstand, and a moment later his hands were on Arthur’s face and his lips on Arthur’s. Arthur let himself be toppled down onto his back, let Rory pin him down between his body and the mattress.

  Arthur’s skin was still damp, hotter than usual from the shower, and he smelled like the cheap hotel soap, not his usual cologne. The blanket under them was rough, nothing like Arthur’s soft duvet. But his lips met Ro
ry’s as enthusiastically as they had on the velvet settee in his flat, and his arms came around Rory as eagerly as they did on the silky sheets of Arthur’s bed.

  Arthur didn’t roll them over, his lips soft under Rory’s, like he was enjoying letting himself be kissed how Rory wanted. Rory broke away to press a kiss to Arthur’s chest, over his heart and the scars there, and Arthur made a needy sound in the back of his throat. But he said, “We don’t have to do anything but sleep. You must be exhausted.”

  Rory was. But his body was also buzzing faintly, like he’d drunk too much coffee, like he could almost feel the tiny lightning bolts Gwen had described. It mixed with his desire, and the craving for Arthur, a deep need to reassure himself that he’d gotten Arthur away from Hyde.

  “I don’t think I can’t sleep yet,” he admitted. “Think I need you too much.”

  He stretched up to Arthur’s lips again, but then Arthur whispered, “I missed your magic when it was gone,” more raw and vulnerable than Rory had thought he could sound.

  Rory swallowed back the swell of emotion, and he slid his hand into Arthur’s wet hair. “It missed you too,” he whispered back, and kissed him again, deep enough to push Arthur farther up the bed, into the pillows.

  As they kissed, Rory’s legs slipped between Arthur’s, and they both stilled. They stayed together like that for a quiet moment, then Rory whispered, “You ever let a fella...”

  He trailed off, and the words hung between them.

  Arthur looked away. “Why wouldn’t I have?”

  Rory shrugged. “You’re so...you know.”

  “Manly?” Arthur said dryly, as if he’d heard it before and would’ve been fine never hearing it again.

  Rory huffed a soft laugh. “Nah, bello,” he said, running his finger over Arthur’s lips. “I was gonna say bossy.”

  “Oh.” Arthur’s expression brightened even as he rolled his eyes. “I suppose that’s fair, though they don’t actually have to have anything to do with each other.” He cleared his throat. “And it’s been known to happen. On occasion. With the right fella.”

  Rory’s lips quirked up at his attempt at mimicry. “And do you like it?” When Arthur blinked, he added, earnestly, “I only ever wanna do things that you like.”

  Arthur broke into his shy smile. “You’re sweet,” he said softly, “and I do. I’ve just never asked because I wasn’t certain you wanted all of your firsts with me.”

  “You’re the only one I want—” Rory flinched and cut himself off as Arthur caught his breath. “Sorry,” he said, biting his lip. “I know we never said what this is, and maybe it’s just casual for you, but—”

  “It hasn’t been casual for me since you told me to fuck off over the telephone.” When Rory raised his eyebrows, Arthur shrugged sheepishly. “I told you there’s nothing usual about you. I wasn’t just talking about your magic.”

  Rory grinned. Tomorrow they’d find their way back to New York, and they’d have to deal with the relic and decide what to do next.

  But for the next few hours, at least, Arthur was his.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  They ate together the next morning, at a hole-in-the-wall two blocks away with a sign outside advertising a fifty-cent breakfast special. They wore the matching hotel staff uniforms, Rory as cute as Arthur knew he’d be in his new cap, Arthur hatless with thick shadow on his jaw, and no one gave them a second look as they squeezed onto rickety, too-small-for-Arthur chairs at a tiny table by the big window, watching Philadelphia wake up as they drank from mugs of terrible coffee.

  Rory was relaxed, even chatty as he ate fried scrapple and dipped toast in egg yolks. He may not have known much about football, but it turned out he had plenty to say about the coming baseball season and the Yankees, Robins, and the Lincolns, Royals, and New York Giants. Arthur ate his pork roll sandwich, watching his animated gestures with a soft smile and contentment warming his chest, marveling at how comfortable he felt in Rory’s company, like finally shedding a stiff overcoat to walk in the sun on the first day of spring.

  They drove the dented Cadillac back to Manhattan, stopping in Chinatown long enough to check on Jade and Zhang and tell them the whole story, and give the pomander to Mrs. Wang.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rory said to Jade, for the thousandth time, but she just took both his hands in hers.

  “You were trying your best,” she told him. “You’ll learn to control the ring. We’ll help you,” she promised, leaving Rory a stammering, grateful mess.

  Sasha and Pavel were at the Dragon House as well. Pavel was sitting at one of the tables, helping Ling fold napkins for the lunch crowd, while Sasha stood by the phonograph, staring rather intently at Stella’s pretty face on the record’s cover. Rory went to Sasha alone, pulling her over to the wall and pressing the lodestone into her hands.

  Arthur couldn’t hear their whispered words, but there was no mistaking the shocked joy on her face or the way she hugged Rory so tight she was in danger of breaking his ribs—not a figure of speech when it came to superstrength.

  Rory eventually came back to Arthur’s side as she went to her brother and tugged gently on his arm, pulling Pavel up to his feet and out of the dining room toward the back hall. “Hope it works for them,” Rory muttered, discreetly wiping at the sheen to his eyes.

  Arthur squeezed his shoulder. “Me too.” He checked his watch. “I’m afraid I do have one other obligation today.” He glanced at Rory. “Care to come uptown with me for a pickup and drop-off?”

  Rory furrowed his brows. “Who are we—oh!” He brightened. “You bet I want to watch the competition sail away across the sea.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Arthur nudged him, adding quietly, for Rory’s ears alone, “He’s no competition for you.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, they rolled up in front of the Waldorf-Astoria in the smashed Cadillac. Wesley was standing in front of the hotel. His eyes narrowed as Arthur pulled to the curb.

  The valets exchanged looks and then kept their distance. Wesley awkwardly bent to lean in the passenger window after Rory rolled it down.

  “You’re late,” Wesley snapped at Arthur, across Rory. “My luggage was already taken to the ship and my entire party had to go on without me. I’m going to miss my boarding call.”

  “They got three classes to board still after yours,” Rory said without sympathy. “You got plenty of time. If you were so worried you could’ve taken a dimbox, but you wanted another shot at Ace.”

  Wesley’s expression soured further. “Was it necessary to bring him?” he said to Arthur.

  “You’re the one who stormed his antiques shop, put him in danger, and tried to pay him off to leave me,” Arthur said unapologetically. “I want him here. If you don’t like it, I’m happy to call you another car.”

  “Hmph.” Wesley wrinkled his nose as he eyed Rory. “So do I call you Brodigan or Giovacchini?”

  “I don’t know, do I call you asshole or arsehole?” Rory said, matching both Wesley’s snide tone and his English accent, and Arthur had to bite back a smile.

  Wesley gave Arthur a deeply unimpressed look, then gestured expectantly at Rory in the front. “Well, felicitations that you’re not pushing up the daises. Are you ever going to move and let me in the car?”

  Arthur put a hand on Rory’s leg to still him. He smiled winningly at Wesley. “Back seat’s free.”

  Wesley huffed and got in.

  The prickly ride to the pier was mercifully short. Arthur parked across from the ship and got out of the car as Rory and Wesley both did the same. Wesley’s towering ocean liner was at the dock, her decks already full of people waving down at the crowd on the pier. The air smelled of diesel, the sound of gulls mixing with cars honking and New Yorkers shouting, but the sky over the Hudson River was blue, and while it could still snow tomorrow, today there was a hint of the winter’s e
nd in the warmer air.

  Wesley glanced down at Rory, who was studying him suspiciously from under the brim of the new newsboy cap. “Take care of Arthur,” he said grudgingly.

  Rory blinked.

  “I’m not stupid,” Wesley said. “You let yourself get kidnapped to protect me, Ace says you’re the prize and runs after you, the two of you return looking ragged but fused at the hip. There’s clearly more to your story than you’ve told me and you’re obviously a more powerful and complicated man than you let everyone assume. So. Take care of Ace.”

  Rory folded his arms. “’Course I will,” he said gruffly, still looking like Wesley’s insight had sent him into a tailspin.

  Wesley took two steps toward Arthur and then hesitated.

  Rory rolled his eyes. “Walk him to the ship,” he said to Arthur. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Oh, and now he has to be gracious and act the bigger man,” Wesley said irritably, as he and Arthur fell into step together, walking toward the ship. “I want to dislike him intensely.”

  “What, you don’t?” Arthur said curiously.

  Wesley didn’t answer, instead coming to a stop on the edge of the pier. There was nothing mirrorlike about their appearances right now, Wesley in his perfect three-piece suit and hat, Arthur in the ill-fitting hotel clothes with a shadowed jaw and uncombed hair messy from bed. If anyone asked, he’d lie through his teeth about his name right now, but in the bustle of the boarding ship, no one was paying them any attention.

  “I talked to the governor at the wedding,” Wesley said. “He was very apologetic about my valet’s death and my questioning by the police. Gave me a chance for some glowing endorsement of your brother John for his handling of my situation. All true praise, even. And the governor was glad to hear it. Confided that he hopes your brother takes the Senate seat.”

  Arthur broke into a smile. “Thanks, Wes.”

  Wesley waved it off. “I did owe you for—well, whatever happened to you both last night. I mean, Christ, are you actually wearing a bellhop uniform without the jacket? It’s not even close to your size.”