“I’m thinking I’m going to find out.” Arthur brought the ring over to Jade as she rose to her feet. “Mrs. Brodigan still has debts from her husband’s illness. I set her with a test last night and a nice financial incentive to take it. If she fails, we’re back to square one.” He held out the box, small and unassuming in his palm. “But if she passes, maybe she can make something of this.”
Jade furrowed her brow. “I don’t like you handling it. You haven’t got a speck of magic—”
“Which is exactly why I do it and not you.” He offered her an honest smile. “But I am happy you’re back from Canada.” It had been too quiet the last few weeks. Then again, Arthur had gone from a big family into college into the army. Now he had an apartment all to himself, and despite the city’s constant commotion, the empty flat was always too quiet.
“You could meet someone—”
“Not in America,” he said immediately. “If I’m caught with a man abroad, at least I can lie about my name. With my luck, any handsome stranger I meet here will turn out to be a reporter or a blackmailer or an undercover bull, and then I will have single-handedly ruined John’s and my father’s political futures.”
“They won their last elections—”
“They’re not immune to scandal—”
“But you’ve a right to be happy too,” she said.
“I’m fine,” Arthur lied. “I have a radio and a phonograph and—” the air was split by a shrill ring in the parlor “—and aprivate telephone,” he finished pointedly. “So as you can see, I’ve plenty to keep me company while I’m stuck back on this side of the Atlantic.” The phone rang again. “Besides, what’s your rush for me to pair up again?” he called after her, as she went through the open pocket doors and into the adjoining parlor to answer the phone. “You didn’t even like Lord Fine.”
“Youdidn’t even like Lord Fine.”
Arthur made a face, but she wasn’t wrong. He locked the ring box into his briefcase and set about closing up the safe and rehanging the painting. He caught only snatches of Jade’s one-sided conversation on the telephone,yes, of courseandperhaps a cafeandI’d be happy to relay that message.
A moment later, she returned to the sitting room, a sly grin on her face. “Mrs. Brodigan doesn’t want you in her shop this morning.”
“That’s odd.” Arthur straightened the painting, all evidence of the safe hidden. “Did she say why?”
“Only that it was occupied. She’s willing to meet you at a restaurant on 49th.”
“A public place?” He frowned. “I can’t take a relic around innocent people—”
“That’s the soldier in you talking,” Jade said gently. “The ring doesn’t work. It’s an unloaded pistol, only dangerous to a subordinate paranormal—like Mrs. Brodigan may be, which is why we need her, and which is why you’re going to meet with her, whenever or wherever she chooses.”
Arthur huffed, but again, she wasn’t wrong. “I suppose you have a point,” he said grudgingly. “As you usually do. If she changed the plan, why are you smiling?”
“Because she’s very cross with you.” Jade had a sparkle of hope in her eyes. “Almost as if she doesn’t appreciate a night spent taking a test.”
Arthur broke into a matching grin as answering hope coursed through him. “Fingers crossed.”
The cafe turned out to be an Irish place, a rebranded Hell’s Kitchen pub that Arthur suspected had served a decent beer five years ago. It was about half-full that morning, patrons nursing weak coffees and gigantic plates of eggs and sausages, tomatoes, and baked beans. Tempting, but no amount of nostalgia for the other side of the Atlantic would ever make Arthur willing to call beansbreakfast.
He’d arrived early for the appointment and sat at an uncovered wood table alone, the ring secure in its box in the briefcase at his feet. He’d only seen it twice himself. Once in Spain, when they’d found it and Jade’s telekinesis hadn’t worked. And once six months ago, high in the Adirondacks and miles from the nearest town, where their new friend Zhang had confirmed the ring was a relic.
An actual relic—and Arthur had brought it to a Hell’s Kitchen restaurant of innocent people. A ring that had fed for centuries on its own magic chains until whatever mysterious power it held grew to a titan, a smoking volcano—
No. Adormantvolcano. Zhang had been clear that the relic was unbound. Its creator was long dead and its magic was sealed. Manhattan was safe because the ring didn’t work and Arthur was determined to keep it that way, which was why he needed Leena Brodigan’s magic.
A waitress walking past shot him an interested smile. He gave her one of his own, like he wasn’t hiding any kind of volcano in a sodding briefcase.
If Mrs. Brodigan was truly psychometric, if she was able to scry objects’ histories—scry thering’shistory—
He forced the hope down to a simmer. It was more likely she was just an appraiser who was good at her job. At any rate, he was about to find out, because she’d just walked in. She was wearing the same brown winter coat she’d worn the day before, with large pockets and fake fur on the collar and cuffs. A small brown felt hat was perched on top of her neat gray bun. But gone this morning was the smile she’d had for him yesterday, replaced by a flat mouth and suspicious eyes.
Arthur’s pulse sped up. He got to his feet as the waiter led her to his table. “My dear Mrs. Brodigan—”
“Good morning, Mr. Kenzie.”
Interrupting the customer—oh, she was cross with him indeed. This was very promising. He stood for the waiter to seat her before retaking his own chair.
The waiter pulled out a yellow pad from his apron. “Coffee? Breakfast?”
