Rory’s expression crumpled with betrayal. “I’m not achild.”
“I know, I just—”
“I don’t need you to hide things—”
“Except you’re shit at accepting the things youdoneed—” Arthur regretted the words as soon as he said them. Rory stood, fists clenched, but Arthur held up his hands and spoke first. “I didn’t mean that.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d just shattered Rory’s trust and stomped on his feelings. The least he could do was be honest. “You’re right, I’m being monstrously overprotective. I’m afraid it’s a bad habit of mine. If it makes you feel better, Jade is a telekinetic ex-spy who can kill a man with her mind, and sometimes I can’t sleep because I’m afraid she’s lost control and accidentally stabbed herself.”
“He calls,” said Jade.
“I do,” Arthur admitted.
“Hmph.” Rory folded his arms. “So you think all paranormals are useless?”
Jade cleared her throat. “He calls Benson and Stella too.”
“You three run an illegal speakeasy in a prejudiced country!” said Arthur. “There’s a lot to worry about.”
Rory huffed. “You always been a bossy dick?”
“Yes.” Arthur looked up at the ceiling. “But the war made it worse.”
Rory went quiet.
“What Ace is trying to say,” Jade said gently, patting Arthur’s arm as she addressed Rory, “is he doesn’t think you’re a child or useless. If you want to be part of this, you can.” She shrugged delicately. “Or if you want to tell us to screw off, you can do that too.”
Rory snorted. There was a wariness about him still, but at least the hurt expression had eased. “The two paintings are the real McCoy,” he said, apparently choosing not to storm away, at least for the moment. “Painter’s in Paris, a fella about Ace’s age. He sent them to a gallery in London where your lady friend bought them.”
“But only two paintings have turned up,” Jade said. “Gwen brought three with her from London.”
Rory side-eyed Arthur. “This is the part where you tell me who Gwen is.”
He did owe Rory that. “A subordinate paranormal who sees auras—and magic. She can see exactly what your paranormal powers are and can cause agony with nothing more than her bare hands.” He jerked his head at Jade. “Then again, this one doesn’t even need hands. I have no idea why I keep meeting dangerous women.”
“Flatterer,” Jade said dryly.
“Was she your Sheba?”
Arthur nearly choked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Justasking.” Rory sounded defensive. “I never heard about anything but romance in Paris.”
“Gwen was in love with a different friend of ours,” Jade cut in, blessedly coming to Arthur’s rescue. “There were several paranormals who found each other in Paris after the war, and Ace was our friend because he’s braver than you’d ever guess from a man in a gorgeous bespoke suit.”
Rory’s gaze darted over Arthur then, from his homburg hat down his three-piece navy suit to his two-toned oxfords, eyes returning to linger on his shoulders and chest. Arthur had been less blatantly eyed up by men sharing his bed. He added a tally to the column forRory likes men, he just doesn’t like you.
“Was Paris where you learned about magic?” asked Rory.
“No.” Arthur was not making Rory hear those details, not now, not ever. He quickly reached for a new topic. “Did you scry the sculpture already too?”
But Rory looked away, the hurt on his face again. “Fine, don’t tell me your stories. Why should you? Not like you pieced most of my life together already and threw it in my face.”
Damnation.“I had a mate in my platoon,” Arthur said reluctantly. “We were in enemy territory and he got himself caught in a—fight.”
“Like a bar fight?” Rory asked.
Not at all.“Something like that.” Arthur could feel Jade’s eyes on him, but he wasn’t elaborating. Maybe he was sheltering Rory from the truth again, but he hadn’t gone to war to share the horrors with innocents and Rory had enough nightmares. “Anyway, as I charged in to help, he vanished before my eyes.”
