“You’re very sweet, to try and let me off the hook.” He sighed. “Zhang says there’s more magic on its way to New York.”
Sasha sucked in a breath, her gaze going past Arthur to Pavel.
“I can help,” he hastened to say, before she could worry. The Taussigs’ generosity kept the Ivanovs off the streets and he wasn’t sure they had anywhere else to go. “I’m trying to make arrangements for other work for the two of you. Upstate, away from the magic, if you’re willing to go.”
Her eyes darted up to him. “You would do that, for us?”
He smiled. “You haven’t heard what the work would be yet. I hope you like children.Lotsof children.”
She broke into one of her rare smiles. “Yes, yes.” She clasped her hands. “Sometimes children make Pavel talk.”
That put a lump in Arthur’s throat. “I’ll be in touch,” he promised.
As he left through the pharmacy, he paused at the counter. “Is that coffee still on offer?” he said to Levi.
Levi grabbed a paper cup with a grin. “You want ice cream in it?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but then, Levi’s willingness to experiment was the reason Taussig’s had the best ice cream sodas Arthur had ever had. Some things were good about being back in New York. The food. The culture.
Rory, in the soft dark of the bedroom, curls loose around his face and covers up to his chin, sleeping peacefully after the drink and the magic had finally left his blood.
Maybe Rory liked ice cream sodas too.
Arthur shook his head, annoyed at himself. Yes, there were countless hidden treasures in his city he might like to share with a spitfire paranormal with heart-stopping eyes. And yes, once Rory was out of danger, it was impossible not to notice how good he looked in Arthur’s bed.
But nothing could happen, not in New York, not anywhere. Rory would likely despise Arthur when he woke, and rightly so. Meanwhile, Arthur’s father and his brother John had won their elections, but the public was fickle, and neither of them needed to be ruined by the scandal of the youngest Kenzie’s predilection for men becoming public knowledge.
And even in a different world, one where Rory had meant every word of his flirty, drunken nonsense and Arthur didn’t have his family’s political reputations to protect, he was not going to pursue an inexperienced twenty-year-old hiding secrets—and who might be hiding a need for help.
“I’ll stick to milk,” he said, and pushed the maudlin thoughts away. He had enough to dwell on already with an unknown, unbound relic on its way to Manhattan. New York could be in a lot of trouble. Pavel could be in a lot of trouble. And there was another subordinate paranormal out there, Arthur now knew, who was nothing but trouble in a cap and specs.
It was time to do some digging on Rory Brodigan.
Chapter Nine
When Rory trudged back into the antiques shop, he found Mrs. Brodigan with a customer, a young Italian woman and her toddler. The boy had a head of black curls and was bundled in so many layers of coats that his little arms stuck out to the side like penguin wings. Rory hesitated, but the mother’s English was fluent, Mrs. Brodigan’s wave cheerful and not needy, so he left them to it and disappeared into the office. He hung his coat over the back of his armchair before curling up in a ball on the cushy seat.
He felt—good. And it made him suspicious. He never felt good. He generally felt about as stable as a kite, ready for the big gust of wind that took him into the past and left him there. He’d thought that ring might have been it, but now, as he sat in his familiar chair in the familiar shop, he bizarrely felt more grounded than he had for years.
He closed his eyes and reached for the blurry memories of the night before. Kenzie, in the cab to Harlem, handsome face illuminated by streetlights. Kenzie, sipping whiskey across the cramped table, putting up with Rory’s attitude. Kenzie, moving like lightning, catching Rory before he hit the ground.
Rory flushed. Nothing like finding out you can’t hold your liquor because you fell into another man’s arms. There were fellas who might’ve knocked him on his ass just for that, never mind his big mouth. But he didn’t remember Kenzie being angry, and Kenzie hadn’t left him and his drunken flirting to the mercy of strangers. He thought he could almost still feel Kenzie towering over him, strong as a bear, manhandling him into a car, clutching his hand tight.
Then you hold on to me, because I won’t let go.
Rory abruptly opened his eyes. Why would Kenzie have said something like that? What did it mean? He rubbed his fingertips together, like he could still feel the rare sensation of warm skin against his own. What else had happened last night?
A small head suddenly poked around the door frame, black curls tumbling into curious black eyes. Rory had to smile. “Buongiorno, passerotto.”
The toddler broke into an impish grin of tiny teeth and took the greeting as invitation to waddle into the office—
“Benito!” The little boy was promptly scooped up into the air. “Vieni qui,” he heard the mother say, as she whisked the child back into the shop. Rory caught the gist of her rapid-fire Italian: the light of her eyes had given her another gray hair, apparently. Rory’s smile turned wistful.
He was no closer to decoding what had happened with Kenzie when the bell jangled behind the departing mother and son and Mrs. Brodigan looked into the office. “You’re in sooner than I expected.”
Resigned, he put aside the mystery of the previous night. “I didn’t mean to be late in the first place.”
But she waved it off. “Mr. Kenzie explained everything.”
