Chapter Twenty
Rory’s heartbeat was too fast, his hand sweaty where he clutched the phone’s candlestick stand. Gwen saw magic, and she’d come to the antiques shop looking for the paranormal. Looking forRory.
But instead, she’d found Mrs. Brodigan, and now Mrs. Brodigan could be in danger and it was all his fault.
He curled his fingers impossibly tighter around the phone, like he could somehow reach for Arthur on the other end. “You meant your fancy promises, right? About Hyde Park, about getting us out?”
He’d given Mrs. Brodigan the line about a rush job for Arthur’s brother. He didn’t want to tell her the truth about the relics when he’d already gotten her more involved in this mess than he ever should’ve.
“Of course I meant the invitation to Hyde Park,” Arthur said, and Rory grasped for the reassurance in that deep voice. “You two can be on the first train out of Grand Central tomorrow morning—”
“How ’bout tonight?”
There was a pause. “You could take the evening train. I’d frankly like nothing better,” Arthur said, more slowly. “But any particular reason for such a sudden change of heart?”
Rory screwed his eyes shut. If he’d just kept his temper in that Chelsea art gallery, if he hadn’t run his big mouth—
“Rory?” Arthur’s voice had gone a little softer with concern. “Is everything all right?”
He had no right to beg Arthur to bail him out, to ask his big brother to take them in tonight.
But Gwen had come afterMrs. B.
Rory bit his lip. “Ace—”
“Are you ready, dear?”
Rory whirled around, nearly ripping the phone out of the wall as he turned toward Mrs. Brodigan. She was already in her hat and coat, her purse on her shoulder and her keys in hand.
“Was there anything else you needed from the shop before we lock up?” she asked. “I’ve got to stop at church before any trains are caught.”
“What?” Rory said, too sharp. “Why?”
“I promised Eileen I’d be at the widows’ group tonight. I’m terribly sorry to say we have someone new joining us.” She tilted her head. “I know you said we needed to rush, but surely Mr. Kenzie’s brother can wait for that?”
“What did Mrs. Brodigan just say about Harry?” Arthur said into Rory’s ear over the phone.
Rory winced. “Ace, I gotta go.”
“Wait—”
He hung up, cursing under his breath. “I’m gonna come with you,” he said to Mrs. Brodigan.
Her eyebrows flew up. “To church?”
“My mom raised me Catholic too,” he said defensively.
Her eyebrows stayed up. “You haven’t set foot in any church in all the time I’ve known you. I was under the impression religion was—” she hesitated “—complicated, for you.”
That was one word for it. There were other words people called a kid whose dad wouldn’t marry his mom, but Mrs. Brodigan was too nice for those, and way too nice to bring up a pastor who had thrown his son out of a church and into an asylum.
“Yeah, well,” Rory said gruffly, “I can still walk you there. It’s getting dark early and Hell’s Kitchen ain’t the safest place.”
She broke into a smile. “Well, I can’t say I don’t appreciate you being brave enough to get out more. I like you with Mr. Kenzie in your life.”
Rory wished he had Arthur there right about now.
It was a twenty-minute walk to Mrs. Brodigan’s church. Rory stayed tense, fingers too tight on the strap of his messenger bag, eyes peeled for any sign of Gwen or the mobsters from the dock in his vision. But there was nothing to see but the usual riff-raff loitering on boarding house steps, reeking of bathtub gin and cheap tobacco.
