Rory sighed. He looked around the room again, gaze lingering on the carved posters of the bed. “Why would he put up with you chewing him out and me in his swanky guest room when he could have foisted us on a hotel?”
Arthur shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid I’m still terribly American when it comes to understanding the aristocracy. Perhaps his manners can’t tolerate the thought.”
As he walked out of the still-open door, he found Wesley standing impatiently on the landing. “Well, you dote on him, don’t you?”
Arthur huffed. “Why were you watching us?”
“I wasn’t watching you, I waswaitingfor you,” Wesley snapped, which was a fair point.
Arthur folded his arms. “I don’t actually know where my basement room is. Are you showing me or do we need to exchange several rounds of insults first?”
“Who’s insulting you?” Wesley said testily. “I’ve never seen you happier.” He turned before Arthur could say anything else. “This way.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rory knew a lot less about aristocracy than Arthur, but he could guess you probably weren’t supposed to show up to dinner in the same clothes you’d just worn to sail across the Atlantic, and went to clean up. Lord Fine turned out to have a shower even nicer than Arthur’s. Rory meant to just rinse off but instead lingered under the spray, getting his thoughts in order.
We’re here to find Gwen and Ellis.We’re here because Baron Zeppler knows I’m alive, because he sent a paranormal after me, because maybe nowhere’s safe anymore so we might as well go looking in London—
He quickly pushed the thought away.Focus on something else. On the pomander. We’ve still gotta find a way to destroy it.
Memories of the pomander’s past teased at his mind.
The man walks through the castle, delicately avoiding the blood where it’s pooled bright red against the white marble floor. Behind him, the chants of his devoted non-magic followers grow louder. From somewhere deeper in the castle, someone screams. The man smiles—
Rory abruptly turned off the shower with a quick twist. Maybe they could convince Lord Asshole to go back to the Lake District, because the farther he was from all of this magic, the safer he’d probably be.
Back in the guest room, Rory put on his suit, because maybe he couldn’t stand Lord Fine but he was probably supposed to wear a suit for dinner in an aristocrat’s house, wasn’t he?
He’d just finished dressing when Zhang’s astral projection flickered into view.
“Got a minute?” Zhang asked, and yeah, okay, maybe Arthur did have a point about Rory needing the privacy the most, unless he wanted Lord Fine’s whole house to think he was screwy and talking to himself all the time.
Zhang gave him a quick rundown: he and Jade had gotten to the empty warehouse, and now they were canvassing, looking for Gwen and Ellis.
“I can come out tonight,” Rory said quietly. “They got a subway thing over here too, right? Maybe I get in the station, see if I can find something to scry and get its history.”
“Unless Sebastian de Leon is with them, of course,” Zhang pointed out. “I’m pretty sure he and his tattoo are the reason I still haven’t found them.”
Rory frowned.
“Give Jade time,” said Zhang. “She’s familiar with London, and she and Gwen were very close. She has some ideas on where to look. We’ll meet up with you and Arthur in the morning.”
Rory made it down to dinner only a couple minutes late, finding Arthur and Lord Fine already in the dining room, standing by the windows that overlooked a private garden that was several shades of pretty green.
“—but I really am busy, I’m not making that up just to get out of commitments I didn’t even know about—” Arthur was saying.
“What commitment?” Rory asked.
They turned in his direction, and if either of them was surprised he’d cleaned up, they were too cultured to comment. “Since Arthur has decreed that I’m to use my best manners with you, I’ll ask your permission,” Lord Fine said smoothly. “May I borrow Arthur on Friday, please?”
Rory blinked. “We just got here. What for?”
“A veterans’ event at the British Museum,” said Lord Fine. “I don’t have a plus one and they would be delighted if I brought along an American lieutenant.” He glanced at Arthur. “Are you going to congratulate me for being extremely polite and not mentioning that I can’t invite your fellow because he was in nappies while we were at war?”
“Oy,” Rory said testily. “I wasn’t a baby—”
“England went to war when I was twenty-one.” Lord Fine stooped down so he was eye level with Rory and added, saccharine-sweet, “How old were you in 1914, duck? Twelve? Thirteen?”
