“Ellis can turn invisible, but paranormals can still see him,” Rory said slowly. “You’re talking about the opposite, someone that can be seen with eyes but not our magic?”
Jade opened her mouth, then closed it.
“What is it?” Zhang asked.
“I’m not sure I remember it well,” Jade began, “but Gwen mentioned something once, after she was free of Baron Zeppler. No, not something—someone. It was ages ago, but—she mentioned someone to Arthur. Someone she described as a maelstrom, whose magic confused even Gwen’s magic.”
“What do you mean, confused her magic?” said Rory. “Like that potion Pavel made, the one Ellis threw on you and Zhang at Coney Island that made your magic disappear?”
“Not quite. That’s an unpleasant but less dangerous power.” Jade gestured at a large cabinet with no doors. “You remember the painting in Luther Mansfield’s library, the one guarding the safe that trapped you in its whirling dancers? It’s possible for magic to be not suppressed, but confounded or mislead.”
“It’s a type of guardian magic,” said Zhang. “Like our tapestry on the door.” He frowned. “But I’ve never heard of that power in an actual paranormal. I’ve only heard of paranormals who can create magic traps, like the painting.”
Jade bit her lip. “It was something Gwen mentioned to Arthur. He might remember more.”
Zhang sighed. “I don’t suppose you could pump enough magic in Ace that he could see me on the plane?”
Rory touched his heart, where his link to Arthur still felt fainter than usual, and remembered the flutter of Arthur’s pulse when he wouldn’t wake. Guardian magic was one type of magic, butviolation magicwas another. Arthur said he’d invited Rory’s magic in, but had he ever really had a choice?
“I don’t think I should put more magic in Arthur even if I could,” he said uncertainly. “So you gotta call him like the rest of us.”
Gallingly, it had in fact taken Arthur more than an hour to clean up to the wedding standards for a senator-hopeful’s brother. By the time he’d showered, dressed, and stopped by the barber for a shave and trim, he was running irritatingly late. He drove himself to Fifth Avenue and 33rd and had his car valeted.
The Waldorf-Astoria’s Gentlemen’s Café had been reserved for the men’s morning meal, an ornate space with detailed carvings in the columns and ceiling, dark paneling and murals on the walls, and staghorn chandeliers. The numerous small tables had been set, a fire was flickering in the giant fireplace, and the entire room smelled strongly of smoke and men’s cologne. Arthur stood for a moment in the doorway, letting the rumble of voices wash over him as he scanned the crowd of men in suits and hats as bespoke as his own, but Wesley was nowhere to be seen.
John was at his side almost as soon as he walked in. “Where have you been?” he hissed, yanking Arthur over to the wall. “The police were here.”
Arthur hid his wince and feigned ignorance. “The police?”
“There’s been adouble murder. As if Luther Mansfield getting his throat slit in his own home wasn’t enough. Now his lawyer was found dead, and that’s half of Fifth Avenue without their legal counsel. They won’t release the cause of death yet, not even to the aldermen.”
Probably because they didn’t know how to explain the cause. Arthur cleared his throat. “And the other victim?”
“A staff member of the lord you’re escorting, part of the English party. A detective took Lord Fine aside and they haven’t returned.”
A horrible thought occurred to Arthur. “They’re not actually considering him for the murders—”
“Lord Fine refused to give his whereabouts last night,” John said testily. “But I hardly think the police are going to charge a titled Englishman unless he actually signed the murders with his name, and perhaps not even then.” He rubbed his face. “Christ, what a disaster. The governor has put a half-day hold on all departing ships as they search for the murderer.”
Arthur’s panic eased a touch. If no ships were departing New York City, that at least gave them a little more time to look for the relic. “I’m going to find Lord Fine.” He touched his brother on the shoulder. “John, I know you’ve been working closely on Coney Island with Miss Shelley—”
“Who? Oh, right, right, the girl you met in my office.” John snorted. “There’s an unreliable twit for you. She stood us up yesterday. Demanded another meeting then didn’t bother to attend.”
Arthur let out a tiny breath. “Best to avoid her kind.”
“Quite right. If she and her ladies are so concerned with the restoration, they can damn well show up for their meetings.” John hesitated. In a near-whisper, he added, “I didn’t have the dream last night.”
Coincidence, that John was spared his nightmare plague the night Shelley and Hyde were busy with a relic theft and a murder spree? Arthur very much doubted it. “You just needed to get it off your chest. Clear the mind.”
John looked interested. “Is that how you chase away your war dreams?”
Arthur’s war dreams had turned out to be more terrifying than he’d even realized, and his nightmare could, in fact, still be walking the streets of New York mere hours after he’d murdered Wesley’s valet.
“Sometimes,” Arthur said, forcing a smile for John. “I should find Lord Fine.”
At the end of the hall was a small smoking room, and as Arthur walked in, his gaze was drawn to the glass doors on the far side, leading to a small terrace decorated with potted greenery. The February day was bitterly cold and the terrace was nearly empty, save for the tall, broad-shouldered body leaning against the carved stone rail. Beyond the balcony’s edge, the sound of cars on Fifth Avenue drifted up. In one of Wesley’s hands on the rail, the end of a cigarette glowed red against the gray day.
When Arthur quietly opened the door, Wesley glanced over his shoulder. They’d both chosen morning suits of pinstriped dark gray, paired with light blue ties and fedoras. They were practically twins, although Wesley’s gray-blue eyes were shot through with red, from shock or a night of drinking, Arthur wasn’t sure.
