Wesley stared in surprise. “Where is this? A fairy-tale place, some sort of tropical Avalon for paranormals?”
“I haven’t actually seen the painting, you understand,” Jade said, sounding amused. “But Sebastian said it’s San Juan.”
Puerto Rico. Wesley stared for a longer moment. It felt oddly intimate, as when he’d seen the glimpses of Sebastian’s skin, a peek into a man who still felt like a mystery. “He’s from this island?”
“I don’t think he’s been back for a long time,” Jade said quietly. “But it was where he spent his childhood. And I believe he’s very fond of that painting, so if you could, perhaps—”
“I’m not going to destroy his precious painting of his childhood home.” Wesley tugged the cover over the painting and abruptly turned back to Jade. “Pardon my language, Miss Robbins, but what the devil is the story behind Sebastian de Leon? He calls himself a villain, a scoundrel, says I need to forget him so that I can stay safe. I’d say that’s a load of rot and I’ve never met a softer touch, but I heard him kidnap a man and he doesn’t deny it—in fact, he tells me I’mtoo niceto getmixed up in his world.Toonice.Me! Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”
Jade made a soft noise that seemed part laugh and part grudging sympathy. “Did Sebastian give you any actual details about his past?”
“Of course not, only that he’s terribly dangerous,” Wesley said testily. “I imagine the young lads and ladies fond of the old yellowback novels and penny dreadfuls find him unbearably sexy.” He, of course, was a grown man, not a youth sneaking pulp magazines, and was clearly above that sort of rubbish.
Clearly.
The teacup lifted itself, and Jade plucked it out of the air with a careless sort of ease that came from habit, like she served herself tea telekinetically every day. “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes. Sebastian is, in fact, a very dangerous man with a past that few can stomach.”
“I may not have magic, but you’d be surprised what I can stomach.” Some of Wesley’s own past was decidedly not for the faint of heart. “Please, go on.”
She leaned forward. “Not all magic is good.”
“What does that mean?” Wesley said, matching her more serious tone.
“Sebastian’s family has guarded a set of dangerous enchanted items since the Spanish Inquisition, to keep the nonmagical safe. But the Earl of Blanshard stole the lock to these relics from the de Leons.”
“A thief and a murderer, apparently,” said Wesley.
Jade nodded grimly. “A telepath offered a chance at finding the magical lock again, but in return Sebastian was enslaved by blood magic for nearly three years.”
Blood magic.Just the phrase sent an unpleasant shudder down Wesley’s spine.
“Sebastian’s mind remained his own,” Jade went on quietly, “but his body and magic were under the control of a paranormal known as the Puppeteer, forced into service for the telepath.”
As it had been the night before, the words were so far out of reality that Wesley’s brain simply refused to process them.
“He was a prisoner of war?” he finally said, trying to understand.
“That’s an apt analogy,” she agreed.
“And is Sebastian free now?”
Jade nodded once. “The Puppeteer was killed in May. Sebastian doesn’t talk about any of it.”
Wesley distantly realized he had clenched his fists. He forced them to relax, sitting on the edge of the settee next to the painting. “I realize I’ve known about this magic business for only hours, but surely that’s not something any person, even a paranormal, simply shrugs off?”
Jade’s eyebrows went up. “That’s sympathetic of you.”
God, everyone was always so unflatteringly surprised that he was capable of sympathy. He’d be insulted, if he wasn’t, well, himself. “Shell shock is real,” Wesley said stiffly. “I had soldiers who were captured and kept prisoner behind enemy lines. Suffering like that leaves many kinds of scars.” He shook his head. “He should be convalescing in the countryside. Breathing fresh air, riding horses, that sort of thing.”
“I agree.” Jade looked as ill at ease as Wesley felt. “But does he strike you as a man who will take time for himself while a paranormal murderer is loose in London?”
Considering that Sebastian had saved Wesley’s life despite Wesley nearly snapping his arm the day before? Probably not.
His gaze darted, unbidden, to the now-empty wall where Sebastian had stood. A paranormal prisoner of war. If someone had just fucking said that’s what he was—
Jade did try to tell you. Maybe next time you ought to listen to the telekinetic, bootlegging ex-spy.
Wesley rubbed his face.
