“Ha ha,” he said flatly. “Go on. I got the shop.”
She left a few minutes later, leaving Rory alone in the quiet shop. He stood behind the cash register and drummed his fingers on the counter. Maybe they could get a phonograph. Maybe that pretty singer from the club had a record Rory could play. She was Jade’s sister—Jade would know.
He shook his head irritably. He needed to forget all about Jade, because he had to forget about Arthur Kenzie—
The shop bell jingled as the door swung open, revealing a surly man in a courier’s uniform, face bright red from the cold. “You Brodigan?” The courier held out a thick envelope. “You got a delivery.”
Weird. Mrs. Brodigan hadn’t told Rory to expect anything. Then again, maybe it had just slipped her mind. With a shrug, Rory signed the courier’s record and then took the envelope. As the courier walked out the shop door, Rory turned the envelope over in his hands. No clue to its contents, no return address—but it was sealed with red wax, imprinted with the letterKand a bear on its hind legs. He only knew one person fancy enough for a seal like that. Lips pressed together, he broke the wax.
The envelope was jammed full of cash.
His eyes widened. That was more rubes than he’d ever seen at once before. Enough to buy spare glasses. Maybe even enough to find a new room in a boarding house with fewer roaches. What in the hell—
His eyes caught a white business card tucked in with the cash and he snatched it up. Arthur’s name, his phone number, and two words inked in flawless penmanship on the back:
Call anytime.
Rory’s eyes narrowed.
Oh, he’d be calling all right.
Arthur sat in the club chair in his sitting room, the phone receiver held half-heartedly to his ear.
“—and Zhang will be at the Magnoliatonight,in person,” Jade was saying through the line, bright as sunshine. “I mean, he comes by sometimes on the astral plane, but then he can only talk to me, and Zhang said Stella doesn’t sound right through the plane—”
Stella’s beautiful voice was, in fact, drifting out of Arthur’s phonograph, her soulful version of “I’m Nobody’s Baby”because Arthur apparently was a masochist. “How nice.”
“—and Mack promised to do us up something virgin but special tonight,” Jade went on. “He’s doing mint juleps for the rest of you lawbreakers. Zhang found us some amazing fresh mint—”
Arthur glanced into his own glass of scotch on the rocks, gone warm and watery. “Sounds lovely.”
“—and the new bassist is a treat. You should come.”
Or Arthur could stay home, because if he was going to end up drinking alone, he could do it without watching the rest of the world pair off. “I’m afraid I’m booked tonight. Harry’s got a thing.”
“I thought Harry was in Hyde Park.”
“John, then. Or maybe it was Alice—you know I have too many siblings to keep track.”
“I know that’s your favorite excuse.” Jade sighed. “You’re feeling particularly protective about this one.”
It wasn’t a question, and Arthur had drunk enough of the scotch not to bother with denial. “He was drunk and lost to magic in my arms, Jade. It’s a bit difficult to detach after that.”
“You don’t have to detach, but you should stop self-flagellating. Rory will come around.”
“Rory shouldn’t have to. He never should have met me.”
“If he hadn’t met you, he’d have no idea what a relic was or that another one was coming to New York. He’ll at least be better prepared, thanks to you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe, thanks to me, he’ll lock himself in his roach-infested prison when he might have been willing to shelter in Hyde Park with the Ivanovs if I’d just handled everything better from the start—if I hadn’t manipulated a twenty-year-old subordinate paranormal into drinking with me—”
“You overprotective beast. Twenty is a man, not a child, you had no idea he was psychometric, and drinks with you isn’t punishment, it’s half of Manhattan’s idea of a brag-worthy score.” She sounded both exasperated and fond. “Rory will come around,” she said again. “He’s scared right now but he’s braver than he thinks. Stop fretting, Ace. You haven’t lost him. He’ll come back to you, I promise.”
Arthur stayed in the chair for some minutes after they hung up, undrunk scotch dangling from his hand, staring into space without really seeing anything. Stella’s song ended, the record scratching and then spinning softly in the otherwise silent flat.
He eyed the bottle of scotch.Drinking illegally and alone in a pity party for one. This is becoming a habit.
He set down the scotch and made to stand, and then the phone rang. He furrowed his brow and picked it up. “This is Ace.”
