“Rory!”
But even as Arthur’s heart split, Jade flung out both her hands. The cane ripped itself out of the fop’s hands like a bullet, hooked itself in the strap of Rory’s messenger bag as it flew past, and toppled him safely onto the sidewalk just as the car sped by.
Arthur looked at Jade in shock. “What did I say before?” she said, breathing like she’d sprinted a mile up a mountain. “He’s small enough to move if I can find the right thing?”
Beyond words, he kissed her on the cheek and then sprinted for the stairs.
By the time Arthur got out onto Central Park West, there was a crowd around Rory, including a policeman who was ominously reaching for his handcuffs. Arthur cut past a pair of astonished young ladies to kneel at Rory’s side.
Behind the glasses that had somehow survived, Rory’s eyes were closed and he was worryingly still. Was he still trapped in a vision? Was he with the relic?
Arthur took his hand, trying for all the world to look like he was just checking Rory’s pulse, not clutching it tightly.Solve one of Rory’s problems at a time.If they stick him in the tank, he could be stuck in a vision and surrounded by strangers until you post bail. “I’ve got him, officer, you needn’t worry.”
“That boy’s fried like an egg,” said the officer. “He’s coming downtown with me.”
“He’s not drunk, he’s just lost. He was trying to find my home.” With his free hand, Arthur pointed at his building.
He watched the officer look at Arthur’s very nice building, and then at his very nice suit and his very nice watch. “Hmmm.” The policeman pursed his thin lips. “And who’re you?”
“Arthur Kenzie.” Arthur tried to ignore the crowd’s sudden chattering. “You may have heard of my father, John Kenzie? Of course, that’s also my eldest brother’s name—he’s in politics too—or you might know my mother, Anna. She’s on several of Manhattan’s charity boards and helps host the Policeman’s Ball every year—”
“You’re a Kenzie.” The officer’s eyes widened. “Then who’s this kid?”
“He’s my—nephew.”Hell, it works for Mrs. Brodigan and I’ve got five times the siblings.“Visiting the city from one of our estates. Country boy, used to cows, not cars. You know how it is.”
The policeman furrowed his brow, looking uncertain. As if on cue, Rory’s long eyelashes fluttered. “Ace?”
Oh, thank Christ.“That’s Uncle Arthur to you, young man,” Arthur said sternly, like he wasn’t weak with relief to find Rory in the present. “Now tell the nice policeman you’re not illegally ossified.”
Rory’s gaze flicked past Arthur to the expectant officer with handcuffs still in hand. He swallowed. “No, sir,” he said meekly.
The policeman pursed his lips again as Arthur pulled Rory up to his feet. Rory took a moment to steady, but when Arthur let him go, he stood firm and his brown eyes were clear. He didn’t look drunk—or lost in a vision, thankfully.
“See?” Arthur took Rory’s messenger bag from him, slinging it over his own shoulder. “Just needed to get his bearings. His town has too many sheep, too few Tin Lizzies.”
“Seems like it.” The policeman appeared willing to buy that excuse, at least for a Kenzie relation. He pointed at Rory. “I nearly mistook you for a rummy, son. You watch the traffic, you hear? And mind your uncle.”
“Yes, mind your uncle.” Arthur ignored Rory’s dirty look as he picked up the cane from the sidewalk. Gold-and-ivory-topped with an ornate carving, a perfect match for the flashy white suit worn by the young man coming Arthur’s way. Arthur hefted the cane—made from solid mahogany, he’d bet. Certainly heavy enough to leave a painful bruise, especially wielded like a cattle prod on a vulnerable psychometric stuck in a vision.
“Excuse me, Mr. Kenzie, was it?” the young man said. “But that’s my walking stick.”
“Is it now?” Arthur’s gaze went to the policeman’s retreating back, then out into the park and the high branches of a tree about thirty yards away. “It looks frightfully expensive.”
“It is,” the young man said eagerly, “that’s African ivory from a—”
Arthur lobbed the stick like a javelin, nailing the upper branches like an open wide receiver and lodging the stick firmly within the tree at least twenty feet off the ground.
Rory’s jaw dropped. The overdressed man screeched. “You’ll pay for that—”
“Certainly.” The prick had three inches on Rory, but Arthur had another three inches on him. “Shall we settle this in the boxing ring? Or an empty alley, tonight, after dark?” He leaned close. “Or do you only hit the helpless?”
The man went silent, mouth working uselessly.
“That’s what I thought.” Arthur turned his back. “Let’s go, nephew,” he said, and tugged Rory into a walk.
Chapter Twenty-One
As soon as they were through the door into the ritzy lobby of Arthur’s building, Arthur took Rory by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” he said, in an urgent whisper. “Were you in a vision with the relic again?”
