He’d move on. In a minute.
Arthur stopped in the coatroom just long enough to grab his warmest outerwear, a raccoon coat that nearly reached his ankles, which he occasionally wore to football games. He switched his brogue wingtips for boots and swiped a fur hunting cap, wool scarf, and thick gloves from Harry’s stash.
The groundskeeper had a flashlight collection, and now the beam of the handheld cylinder cut through the skeletal trees like a headlight on a country highway as Arthur navigated the woods down the snow-covered hill. He followed the compass west and slightly south, but as the night stayed too quiet, fear began to prick at Arthur’s skin.
The compass was leading him to the river.
The flashlight beam illuminated the white spots of the light snowfall as he swept it from side to side. Step after step and still no Rory, just the wind in his ears and the snow beneath his feet and the Hudson River, growing louder with every step. And when Arthur burst out from the trees onto the empty riverbank, his heart plummeted.
The ice had broken today.
He shined his flashlight on the compass, but there was no question that it was pointing directly at the river. But Rory couldn’t have—why the blazes would he ever have gone out onto the ice?—and if he’d been on it, when it broke—
He took a measured breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “If he’d fallen through the ice, the current would have carried him downstream.” Arthur said it out loud, into the night, his voice steady and sure. He had to believe. He would make himself believe. “The compass would have taken me south. And he’s not lying at the bottom of the river, because I would know. I don’t care if I’m mundane as a rock: if Rory’s magic was gone from my aura, I wouldknow.”
As if in response, the compass needle twitched.
A spark leapt through Arthur. Of course. The compass was tracking Rory—because Rory wasaliveto track. And if he wasn’tinthe river, then—
“Christ,” Arthur whispered. “Is he on the other side?”
The closest bridge a car could cross was forty miles south. Harry’s boats were at the marina for winter and none of the charter boats would be running, not with the ice freshly shattered, not this time of night. He could attempt the half-mile swim through ice water at night, or run north and hope to find a crossing point where the ice was still intact, but both were a gamble, and Rory might not have that time.
But he did have a Hail Mary.
Snow dotted his coat as he pulled the vial out of his pocket and out of its handkerchief. It glowed brilliantly orange under the flashlight, the exact same shade as the potion that had teleported Gwen and Ellis away from Coney Island.
It was almost certainly that potion.
Probably that potion, at least.
Arthur tightened his jaw. He agreed with Sasha; it wouldn’t hurt him or Pavel wouldn’t have given it to him, of that much he was certain. But if it was a teleportation potion, could it get him to the opposite bank? Or what if it took him much farther, like Manhattan? Or Jersey, or Christ, Pennsylvania? Pavel wouldn’t have given it to him if it was going to send him to Pennsylvania, would he?
Pavel had tapped his own temple when he’d given the potion to Arthur, like he’d been telling Arthur to concentrate. Pocketing the compass in the giant coat, Arthur tucked the flashlight under his armpit. His hand found the cork stoppering the vial. With the Hudson River on his right, he squeezed his eyes shut, and, holding the image of the opposite bank in his mind as steady as he could, he yanked the stopper out.
A bright scent hit his nose, fresh citrus, and then the ground beneath his feet fell away like an elevator that had dropped. He was weightless, spinning like a barrel roll with a flyboy—
Then the ground rematerialized so abruptly he stumbled. He barely caught his feet beneath him before he fell, opening his eyes to find himself on solid ground, the Hudson River lapping at the bank on his left.
“Ugh.”He bent at the waist, breathing icy air through his nose as an unnatural nausea rolled through him. “I don’t need to do that again.”
When the urge to vomit finally eased, he straightened and held up the compass beneath the flashlight’s beam.
It was still pointing west—which was now away from the Hudson.
He’s not in the river.Arthur sent up a deep shout of thanks to the universe as giddy relief swept him.Wherever the blazes he’s gotten to, he’s not in the river.
Not that it meant Rory was safe. He could be injured, attacked by a wild animal, or worse. But at least they were on the same side of the Hudson.
He followed the compass point up the hill into the dark, thick trees, mind scrambling to remember what was across from Harry’s mansion besides woods. The hamlet of West Park? The occasional estate? The main road was Route 10 now and came quite close to the river in places, close enough you could see the Hudson from the car. If Rory had made his way to the road, would he know where he was? Would he know to follow it, to hope for a passing car or a home with a phone—
“Arthur...”
The voice was distant but unmistakable. “Teddy!” Arthur scrambled forward, snapping branches in his path. “Teddy, where are you?”
“Over here—Ace—”
Arthur shoved through a grouping of trees, flashlight beam swiping back and forth—
