“Rory!” Arthur scrambled to his feet. The receding wave splashed over his dress shoes as he sprinted to the unmoving figure on the beach.
He dropped to his knees in the sand. Rory’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Arthur ran his hands over him frantically, finding clothes soaked through and his skin ice-cold to the touch.
“Open your eyes.” Arthur grabbed his shoulders. “Come on, Teddy.”
Rory didn’t respond.
Arthur put his fingers to Rory’s neck, felt the weak pulse. He pushed down his surge of panic and bent over Rory’s unmoving body.
“You’re in my bloody aura, Theodore,” he said, his whisper choked. “So you can damn well find your way home.”
And as he’d done in Mansfield’s mansion, he pressed his lips tightly to Rory’s.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then Rory gasped. “Arthur.” His eyes were too wide, his breaths too fast as he clawed at Arthur’s shoulders and clutched at him like a drowning man with a life preserver. “Ace. Arthur. I thought I was lost. Don’t let me go.”
“Never,” Arthur promised, and held Rory as tight as he could as the waves rolled harmlessly over them.
Chapter Thirty-Three
They were a bedraggled group as they made their way through the wind-wrecked amusement park to Arthur’s Cadillac: Mrs. Brodigan’s and Jade’s hats long lost to the wind; Arthur’s tuxedo ruined by sand and sea; Rory soaked to the bone and stumbling as Arthur supported him around the waist. But the relief was heady, their smiles shared, even when Arthur’s poor car turned out to be missing its canvas roof.
Mrs. Brodigan withdrew Arthur’s keys from her pocket and held them out. “Here you are, dear.”
“You drive,” Arthur said. “I’ll be in the back seat, making sure Rory stays in 1925 all the way to a doctor.”
Rory stiffened. “Nah, Ace, I can’t see a doc.”
“You must, you’re freezing—”
“You were chained up and you don’t even got a coat—”
“Iwasn’t half-drowned by the ice-cold ocean. You savedBrooklyn.The least we can do is keep you out of shock.”
“What if I fall back in a vision?” Huge brown eyes beseeched Arthur in the glow of the streetlamps. “What if the docs want to lock me up again?”
“Over my dead body,” Arthur started.
“Don’t say that!” Rory burst out, sharp and angry. “Just—don’t say that.” He swallowed hard. “Dry clothes are enough.”
Of course dry clothes weren’t enough. Arthur would have argued, but Rory’s fist was clenched where it held Arthur’s shirt and he was shaking, maybe not just from the cold.
“Fine,” Arthur said, crumpling like the SundayTimes. “But dry clothes at my place, without argument.” He gave in to the urge to pull Rory’s shivering body closer. “If you could drive us to my home?” he said to Mrs. Brodigan, over Rory’s head. “I’ll pay for everyone’s cabs from there. Except Zhang; I assume he’s around here somewhere and doesn’t need a ride.”
Jade tilted her head at the empty air. “He says he’ll get himself home.” She grinned. “Or at least to Harlem.”
Rory furrowed his brow. “Harlem’s not on the way to Chinatown.”
“Youaretired. In you get.” Arthur scooted in behind Rory in the back seat, and caught a glimpse of gold on his finger.
“So the relic’s bound to you now,” he said quietly, as Jade climbed into the passenger seat and Mrs. Brodigan got behind the wheel.
Rory took a sharp breath. “Didn’t think of that.” He held out his hand. His left hand, where the ring glinted on his fourth finger. “It oughta go right back in its box. No one should be walking ’round King of the Wind.”
King of the Wind.A twenty-year-old asylum escapee. Only slightly terrifying and, strangely enough, not entirely unattractive. Arthur pushed the thought away and pulled out the lead-lined ring box as Rory took the ring off.
Arthur tucked it away in his pocket as Mrs. Brodigan fired up the engine, his gaze lingering on Rory. Gwen had called Rory’s link in his auramagic chains in Arthur’s heart. But chains were cold, and despite his wet clothes and the icy wind, Arthur’s bones were warm, like he’d been soaking up the sun on a Mediterranean beach.
