Rory’s eyebrows went up. “An astral walker like Zhang?”
Arthur shook his head. “Ellis could turn himself invisible. And after leaving his brother-in-arms at the mercy of five large and angry Germans, I suppose he thought he owed me an explanation.” He forced a smile. “Invisibilitydoeswork like astral walking, in that paranormals can still see an invisible man but the mundane like me can’t. That turned out to be very useful against a cadre of mundane German officers when Ellis and a French soldier, Philippe, came to my rescue. Between Ellis’s invisibility and Philippe’s ability to control fire, the magic cat was well out of the magic bag.”
“I miss them both, Ellis and Philippe,” Jade said wistfully. “Like an American and French pea in the same pod. They barely spoke each other’s languages, but they looked and fought like brothers.”
Rory was chewing on his lip, his gaze across the crowded anteroom, to a pedestal displaying a small and unremarkable sculpture of a young girl holding flowers. “This Philippe fella still in Paris?”
“No.” Another story Arthur didn’t want to burden Rory with. “No, he and Ellis both—passed away—a few years back. Why?”
“’Cause Gwen’s sculpture’s got a burn mark.”
“Burnmark?” Arthur said, as the three of them crowded around the small sculpture. “Did you see a fire in its past?”
“I didn’t see jack,” said Rory, “’cause it’s made of lead.” He pointed to the girl’s dress, where a portion within the sculpted fabric folds had been melted away. His finger stopped an inch short of actually making contact with the lead. “But I’ve seen some fire damage in Brodigan’s,and it’s not usually this neat. This looks like someone held a candle or a soldering iron to it.” He looked up. “But if you lost your friend, then it’s just a coincidence.”
“Right,” Arthur said slowly, and exchanged a look with Jade. With their luck, it was never a coincidence.
As Arthur and Jade hovered over the lead statue, Rory snuck out from the curtain. He’d told Arthur about his vision of the relic and he’d covered up knowing Gwen, and if Rory was going to stay mad he had to leave before he went all soft thinking about him fighting the war.
There were two bright paintings prominently displayed at front of the shop, riots of color and motion. They were flanked by a plaque:Italian Futurism.
Rory hesitated. Ritzy gallery like this, they were probably genuine.
He moved closer and glanced at the desk. The art gallery proprietor was deep in conversation on the phone, paying him no attention. His gaze went back to the paintings and lingered on the plaque.
He shouldn’t do it. A week ago, he wouldn’t have dared to even think it. But Jade and Zhang used their magic without constant fear and Arthur was only a few feet away, and before Rory could think about why that made him brave he closed his eyes and ran a finger over one of the frames.
Cars honking, people rushing. A man’s got his art for sale along the sidewalk, panhandling to the passersby as a woman calls out, “Taxi!” A nearby newsie shouts his headlines to the street, all in English—
“May I help you?”
Rory yanked his hand away from the painting to find the proprietor coming his way, heels clicking on the hardwoods.
Her lipsticked mouth was pinched in a thin line. “You shouldn’t touch anything in here without asking.”
Rory narrowed his eyes, the disappointment in his chest raw as a skinned knee. “Not even the fakes?” he said, extra sharp.
“Fakes?” she scoffed. “That is a genuine Boccioni. It’s been authenticated.”
“By who, the traveling circus?”
Her expression chilled. Her gaze swept over him, lingering on his patched hat and coat. “I’m sorry, what establishment did you say you’re with?”
“We got a shop in Hell’s Kitchen.” Rory folded his arms. “Where we don’t sell counterfeits. You’re either conning your customers or you got fleeced yourself.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Outrageous,” she said scornfully. “I’m hardly going to listen toyou.”
Rory opened his mouth, but a deep voice beat him to it. “Then you’ve made two regretful business decisions,” Arthur said, his expression as chilly as the proprietor’s. Behind him, Jade looked equally unimpressed.
“Mr. Kenzie,” the proprietor sputtered, instantly straightening. “I was just—”
“We were just leaving.” Arthur opened the front door and held it. He didn’t look happy.
Rory hunched and went through the doorway after Jade. Yesterday the winter sun had lit snow-covered Central Park in bright whites, blues, and yellows. Today the world was gray, the sky overcast and the wind cold enough to sting his face.
As soon as the door shut behind Arthur, he was turning on Rory. “Were you intent on broadcasting your talents to all of Chelsea?”
“I just wanted a look at the painting!” Rory gritted his teeth. “I know it was stupid, all right? You can lay off.”
