“Maybe he’ll come around.”
Arthur wasn’t going to count on that. “The ring controls the wind.”
Jade’s eyes widened.
“Rory saw it when the ring sent his mind to the past against his will.” Arthur tilted his head back until it rested on the wall. “And I’m the one who left the ring with him, so of course he hates me.” He stared at the ceiling. “The soddingwind, Jade. And what happens when Rory realizes a relic’s past might hold the secret to binding it to a new paranormal?”
“But could he really scry a relic?” She slowly shook her head. “It was one thing when we thought we had Mrs. Brodigan, who’d conquered her power for decades, who’d know her own limits. Rory’s barely come into his magic. He saw the ring’s power when he accidentally got caught, but to scry it on purpose, to search for something in its past—it’d be sifting through quicksand. He might find what he wants but then never escape.”
Arthur blew out a breath. “I don’t know if he could scry it. But I know someone who’d make him try.”
Jade bit her thumb. “Mansfield.”
“We found Rory.” He swallowed, tasting whiskey gone sour on his tongue. “What if we’re not the only ones looking?”
Rory pushed his pace to a near run all the way to Hell’s Kitchen, until his heart was pounding and he was sweating despite the cold. But no matter how fast he went, he swore he could still feel Arthur behind him.
What gave him the right to offer Rory his help? On what planet did he think Rory’d take it? Rory would handle himself, by himself. He didn’t need to see that stupidly handsome face again.
He didn’t.
Outside the door to Brodigan’s, he ran a hand over his face and tried to regulate his breath. As much as he wanted to keep running until he got to Grand Central, or maybe the Port of New York, put a hundred miles or an ocean between him and Arthur, he wouldn’t leave Mrs. Brodigan.
There were no customers in the shop and he could hear Mrs. Brodigan in the back, humming “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral,” gentle and fresh. He stuck his head into the office, where she was sitting and doing inventory at the desk.
“I like that song.”
She smiled broadly. “I’d hope so. You’ve had an Irish name for four years now.”
The lines around her eyes were much softer than usual and her shoulders were easy and loose. “Why’re you so happy?” he said suspiciously.
“Not all of us shop at Scowls and Brooding, dear.”
He rolled his eyes. “So Kenzie might pay on your bank note today.”Otherwise known as your debt to mobsters you never told me about. “I mean, I don’t know that it’ll be today,” Rory hastily added. “He said he would, but—”
“The medical loan? That was paid yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” No, the deal was that Arthur would pay after Rory upheld his end and showed upthis morning. “You’re sure?”
“I wouldn’t be mistaken about this,” Mrs. Brodigan said firmly, and Rory supposed she really wouldn’t. “Mr. Kenzie handled it. He was awfully sketchy on why, exactly, he was paying off the debt, but he made it sound like he owed it to me. I might have argued, but frankly, if there are going to be money questions, I’d rather deal with Mr. Kenzie than that particular bank.”
“Right, that makes sense.”
No it doesn’t. Nothing about Arthur Kenzie makes sense.
Rory leaned against the frame of the open pocket door. “Kenzie knows. The visions, your sister, my real name.”
Her eyes widened and she began to stand. “If he threatened you—”
“Nah.” Rory said it immediately, without thought. “He’s not gonna turn me in.”
“There are worse things he can do to you than alert the authorities.”
“I know.” Rory hadn’t forgotten Lorna’s warnings. “And I don’t trust him or like him or anything stupid like that, but…” He trailed off, then shrugged irritably. “He didn’t make threats. I don’t think he hurts people.”
Her eyebrow went up as she sat back down. “Coming from you, that’s practically a love sonnet.”
Rory stiffened. “Men don’t write each other poetry, Mrs. B.”
