“So keep your damn box shut—”
“Iwillkeep the ring shut in its box,” Arthur said tightly, “but you just heard that another relic is on its way to Manhattan. And until I can find it and lock it up, you’re at the mercy of your own powers.” He folded his arms. “While I’m hunting that relic, I’m making plans to send Pavel and his sister upstate. My brother has an estate in Hyde Park that always needs extra hands and he’s willing to give work to friends of mine. The countryside is lovely in winter, it’s far from the city and the magic, and there’s plenty of room for you too.”
Rory’s chest clenched with want. Arthur was worse than a siren, tempting him with all the things he couldn’t have. “Yeah, room to chain me in a basement and make me scry things all day.”
“My family doesn’t even know magic exists. But you would be busy. Harry has five rambunctious children who demand endless hide-and-seek in the mansion and armies of snowmen built on the lawns. The nannies could use your help.”
Aw geez. Rory loved kids. He could barely imagine that kind of heaven.
“What’s your game?” he demanded. “What’s it matter to you if me and the alchemist lose our heads?”
“Why do I need a reason to be a decent human being?” Arthur said heatedly. “If I can protect you two from the relics, I will. You don’t have to face this alone.”
Rory’s throat was thick. “And who asked you to care?” he said hoarsely, blinking rapidly against his hot eyes. “You got no right to stick your nose in my business.” He jabbed Arthur in the chest again. “Your ring controls the wind.”
Arthur stared. “You saw—”
“I saw its past when that thing sucked me into a vision forhours,” Rory snapped. “It controls the wind and now you know and you don’t need me anymore. And I sure as hell don’t need you.”
This time, when Rory stormed away, Arthur didn’t follow.
Chapter Twelve
Well, that couldn’t have gone worse if I’d tried.
Arthur sighed heavily as he shut the front door of his flat. Jade was deep in conversation with Zhang in the study, from the one side Arthur could hear. He left them to it, ducking into his bedroom for his illegal liquor stash, because if he had to face how badly he’d bollocksed up his attempt to talk to Rory, he was going to face it with Irish whiskey in his coffee.
He brought the whole flask into the study, dropping heavily onto the settee. He eyed Jade as he unscrewed the cap and poured a splash into his coffee.
“—you’re certain?” Jade was sitting at the table now, staring intently at an empty chair. “Because that would be terrible news.”
Oh. Lovely. Arthur tipped another inch of whiskey into the coffee.
Jade said her goodbyes to Zhang a moment later. Arthur gave a wave in the general direction of the table, too morose to even stand as Zhang presumably left the astral plane and returned to his body. “Dare I ask what the terrible news is?” Arthur said, as Jade got to her feet.
“Our Ellis Island watch list got a hit.” She bit her lip. “Gwen.”
Arthur’s heart leapt. “Gwen? She’s here, in New York—wait.” He sat back on the settee. “She hasn’t been in touch and you don’t look happy. Is she not here to see us?”
“I don’t think so,” Jade said sadly. “Luther Mansfield’s the one who bought her passage from England.”
“Mansfield?” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “The same Mansfield who lambasts my father in theNew York Timesfor being soft on immigration? The hypocrite who publicly claims immigrants will ruin this nation as he privately bleeds them dry in his textile factories?” He huffed. “I’d assume more hypocrisy, making an exception for the white people of England—”
“But Gwen’s father was Black and he doesn’t like us either,” Jade finished. “It’s got to be about money.” She sighed. “Gwen was never someone who could be bought, and I’d have thought she’d have nothing to do with a man as xenophobic as Mansfield. I haven’t a clue what their alliance could mean.”
Neither did Arthur. “When’s she arriving?”
“Any day now.”
“A paranormal with witch-sight and an unknown relic, both coming to the Port of New York.” Arthur tossed back the rest of his coffee. “There’s no chance that’s a coincidence.”
“None,” Jade said grimly. “Dare I ask what happened to Rory?”
Arthur stared into his cup. “He despises me. I can hardly blame him.”
“Does he hate you?” Jade took the seat next to Arthur. “Or did he storm off in a temper because he’s afraid?”
Arthur could picture Rory’s too-shiny eyes, his clenched fists, his tight jaw. “He’s terrified. But I make itworse.” That was bitter as three-day-old coffee. Arthur wanted to make an innocent like Rory feel safe, not scared.
