When Arthur got back to the art gallery, he found Zhang out on patrol on both foot and the astral plane, apparently, and Jade, Ellis and Gwen in one corner of the back room, deep in a discussion of magical theory that he didn’t understand in the slightest. Sebastian and Rory were sitting together on a couch, buried in a stack of Spanish and Italian books.
“Sebastian,” Arthur said sharply, and they both looked up. “A word.” Rory and Sebastian exchanged a glance and they both started to stand. Arthur held up a hand. “I just want to ask Sebastian a question.”
Rory furrowed his brow but then shrugged guilelessly. “All right.”
Sebastian followed Arthur into the back room, expression wary. Arthur pulled the pocket door shut and turned around to stare down Sebastian. “What are your intentions toward Rory?”
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Am I that obvious?”
Oh, marvelous. “Yes, you are,” Arthur said sharply. “And if you think I’m—”
“He reminds me of Mateo.”
“—just going to roll over and—” Arthur blinked. “Who?”
“My brother.” Sebastian ran a hand through brown waves, moving toward the window. “Given our history, your caution is understandable, but I have no ill intentions toward Rory. I haven’t seen Mateo since I was ordered to work for Zeppler. He’s about Rory’s age and also a subordinate paranormal.”
“Your brother.” Arthur’s world suddenly made sense. “You’re nice to Rory because he reminds you of yourbrother.”
Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “That is what you were asking, yes?”
“Ofcourseit was.” Arthur smiled winningly. “Good thing we got that straightened out.”
Sebastian’s brow was still furrowed, but Arthur was spared any awkward questions as the pocket door opened and Gwen stuck her head in. Her gaze darted over Arthur, pupils overly dilated, her expression troubled. “Arthur? May I have a word?”
“I have an errand anyway,” Sebastian said. “I’ll grab Ellis.” He slipped out the door into the alley, gracefully giving them privacy.
Gwen’s gaze darted over Arthur again, and yes, there it was, the distress he’d seen the day before. She noticed him watching her, and quickly turned to slide the pocket door closed, cutting off the sound of the others in the middle room.
“Sebastian’s popped off to find the cart selling meat for the cats, or because Molly at the pub gives him scraps for the dogs,” she said, too lightly. “I don’t know why he thinks he’s subtle; there are twenty strays who haunt our alley.”
“While I appreciate the attempt at innocuous conversation, I think we can agree to skip it, yes?” Arthur folded his arms. “You keep looking at me like something’s terribly wrong. And you didn’t look at me like that back in January, despite the fact that something was, actually, demonstrably wrong because I was chained to the Wonder Wheel and tortured for information on Rory. What’s going on, Gwen?”
To her credit, she didn’t try to deny it. Instead, she leaned against the wall, her gaze darting over him again, lingering not on his face but over his heart. “Have you been around the pomander relic again?”
Arthur’s stomach twisted. He kept his emotions carefully off his face. “Why would you ask that?”
“I’ve seen a lot of magic.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I’ve seen Baron Zeppler’s magic. I’ve seen the magic in the amulet and the ring relics. But the pomander is different. Its magic is some of the strongest—and vilest—I’ve ever seen. No one should ever have created a relic with violation magic.”
She glanced at the closed pocket door. “When we were on the ship, in Philadelphia, Rory’s magic was everywhere, dancing like a lightning storm. It had just rewoven itself into your aura and you were lit up like Piccadilly.”
Her eyes came back to him. “But now, looking at you in this room, I can see it plain as day: the pomander’s magic has torn your aura.”
Arthur stared.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still quiet. “But I thought you would want to know.”
Torn his aura—no, that wasn’t possible. “But that can’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong with me, I feel fine—”
He cut himself off, putting his hand to his chest.
Didhe feel fine? Or had the pain at Niagara Falls, in Boston, been something far worse than he’d imagined?
“You’re not fine,” she said softly. “You’re very, very far from fine.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Arthur, fingers clenching against his chest. “How could I be walking around with a torn aura—”
Except he knew the answer, didn’t he?
