“How did you know who I was?” he said, rubbing his headache as he squinted up at the doorman.
“Mr. Kenzie has a lot of eccentric guests.”
Eccentric. Mrs. Brodigan liked that word too because it was a nice way to sayweird. Rory slouched into his old coat. He really didn’t want to take anything more from Kenzie, but that was weighed against his desire to be a safe distance away as fast as possible. Self-preservation was winning, so he let the doorman wave at the traffic for a cab.
But as the taxi pulled up to the curb, Rory’s gaze stole across Central Park West to the park beyond. The bright sun made the morning brilliant after yesterday’s storm, Central Park’s lawn a blanket of fresh powder under a cloudless blue sky. The trees’ barren branches were softened by snow, rising above kids throwing snowballs and couples holding hands as they strolled.
“Wait,” he said without thinking. “Wait, I—”
The doorman paused, holding open the back door of the taxi. “Sir?”
Rory bit his lip, eyes on the park. Then he sighed. He needed to go; he couldn’t be here when Kenzie got back and he had no business wasting time in the park anyway. “Thanks,” he muttered, and climbed in the cab.
“Hell’s Kitchen,” he said as he pressed a hand to the glass, and he watched out the window until the park was out of his reach.
Arthur stepped out of his cab on Hester Street on the Lower East Side. The ground-floor shops in the endless red brick buildings were just opening for business, people calling to each other as they peeled back curtains and pushed wares onto the streets despite the winter chill. Curious eyes followed Arthur as he dodged the piles of dirty snow lining the sidewalk on his way to a blue-and-white striped awning in the middle of the block, sandwiched between a tailor and a lawyer.
Taussig’s Chemistsread the letters on the window.Pharmacy, Prescriptions, Powders.
Was Rory awake yet? Arthur hadn’t wanted to leave him, especially considering it was his own fault Rory had gotten in the mess he had. But Mrs. Taussig had called and said Sasha was frantic over Pavel, and that was Arthur’s fault too. He never should have let the ring out of his sight, and now he’d done half of New York’s paranormals wrong. But Jade had promised to look after Rory, and Jade’s hands were the most capable Arthur knew, so he’d come to check on the Ivanovs in person.
Mr. Taussig was both a pharmacist and a doctor and generally out on house calls during the day, leaving Mrs. Taussig and their two teenagers to run the shop. Dinah and Levi were setting up the soda fountain as Arthur stepped through the shop’s door.
“Mr. Ace!” Dinah broke into a grin. “Mum said you were coming.”
“It’s the least I can do.” Arthur gestured at the door at the back of the shop. “Are they upstairs?”
Levi nodded and pointed at the pot behind his counter. “I’m brewing the coffee. You want a cup?”
Did he? Arthur had slept maybe three hours in the chair in his room, watching over Rory, one ear constantly cocked for any suspicious babbling. Was it karma’s payback for making Rory spend a night in a chair scrying letters?
Arthur sighed and shook his head no. “Coffee is for men, not scoundrels.”
He slipped through the back door and into a claustrophobic hall that smelled like stale cigarettes. The hall led to the brownstone’s central stairs, and he followed them up to another hall, this one lined with doors. He knocked on Apartment 2B and Mrs. Taussig opened the door. She had the same pale skin and hazel eyes as her kids, although her dark curls were shot through with gray.
“Arthur.” She smiled in relief and held the door open, and he stepped into the cramped, over-heated space. “They’re in their room.”
But the bedroom door was already opening, revealing Aleksandra Ivanova—Sasha, she preferred—a lovely woman Arthur’s age with serious brown eyes and honey-brown hair held back by a blue-patterned kerchief. “Is it Ace?”
“Is your brother awake?” Arthur asked, shedding his coat as he approached.
Sasha nodded. “But Pavel had visions last night,” she said, her thick Russian accent melodic as ever. “A boy with broken glasses. A ring.”
Well, there went any doubts that Rory had opened up the briefcase or that Arthur had made a mess of everything.
Pavel was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had golden-brown hair like his sister, but his brown eyes were closed and his olive skin overly flushed. He held an unpeeled orange in his hands, his fingers moving over it deliberately.
Arthur crouched in front of him and very carefully put his hand over Pavel’s on the orange. The young man stilled. “Pavel,” Arthur said gently. “I’m so sorry about last night. Are you all right?”
Pavel opened his eyes. He blinked at Arthur for a moment, then smiled softly. He patted Arthur’s hand then closed his eyes again and went back to tracing the orange. Arthur glanced at Sasha. To his relief, the worry lines around her eyes had eased.
“He recognizes you.” She leaned on the wall. “That is good. The alchemy did not trap him. He is here.”
Arthur’s hand tightened on Pavel’s for an instant, then he let go with an ache in his chest. He’d never pressed Sasha for details on their escape from the Russian Civil War; had refused to ask a refugee to relive whatever horrors they’d fled. But whatever had happened before they made it to America, Pavel had yet to speak in his presence.
Arthur straightened and motioned to Sasha, who followed him into the hall. “The magic that hit Pavel last night is my fault,” he said, without preamble, “and I apologize.”
Sasha shook her head. “You take too much blame on yourself, always.”
