Chapter One
October 1925
New York
Handsome men were a fucking menace.
Wesley stood under a tall arch, one of the many set into the row of passenger terminals and warehouses that separated the ocean liners at the Hudson’s edge from the towers of Manhattan beyond. The October sky was a cloudless blue over the north river piers, the air crisp and tinged with salt and diesel. The cries of gulls mixed with the crowd’s chattering as passengers disembarked down tall ramps.
By rights Wesley ought to be on his way to the hotel, not standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the pier with the other first-class passengers he’d had more than enough of. But the day before their ship had departed, he and Sebastian had received a cable from Jade Robbins.
MAY WE SEE YOU IN NEW YORK STOP CLOCK NEEDS CURSE TO TICK CAN’T SAY MORE HERE STOP
If anyone else had sent Wesley such an obfuscated message, he would have had his footman toss it in the fire. But it stood to reason that a telekinetic, bootlegging ex-spy might be speaking in code for a reason.
I think Jade could be referencing the siphon clock, Sebastian had said, when he’d read the telegram, referring to the astrological clock that had been used to create seven stupidly powerful magical relics during the Spanish Inquisition.
You never mentioned it requiring a curse to work,Wesley had said.I didn’t even realize you lot had curses—what are you, mummies?
Curses are rare,Sebastian had admitted.But the clock worked without a curse before and I don’t see why it would need one now.They were supposed to use it to destroy the pomander relic; I hope they haven’t run into any problems.
Ah yes, just the pesky little pomander relic, the bit of fifteenth-century magic that couldenslave non-magic minds. One would fucking hope that Jade and the others hadn’t run into anyproblems.
That had been in Paris, more than a week ago. Today, they’d docked in Manhattan, and the moment Sebastian’s foot had hit the pier, he’d said,we should call Jade.And asWesley had opened his mouth to sayyes, we’ll call her from the hotel like civilized men, Sebastian had looked up with his big brown doe eyes and Wesley’s traitorous mouth had instead saidof course, whatever you like, and now Wesley was stuck waiting with the tourists while Sebastian was inside the passenger terminal, making his call.
With an irritable huff, Wesley pulled his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
On his right, Sebastian’s younger brother, Mateo de Leon, was leaning against the wall in the sun, reading a book in German—something about bees, perhaps. “Don’t you keep saying you’re going to quit?” he asked, without looking up.
“I am,” Wesley said unapologetically. “What a shame I don’t have a fortune-teller to see my future and tell me if I ever actually succeed,” which made Mateo crack a smile.
A few weeks ago, Wesley had fallen down a metaphorical rabbit hole into Wonderland, discovering magic existed along with paranormals like Sebastian, who had enervation magic, or Mateo, who could see the future of magic—well,hadbeen able to, at least, and it had nearly killed him. Then Sebastian got himself a different relic, a fifteenth-century Spanish brooch, which bolstered his enervation magic enough that he’d managed to bind Mateo’s magic. Now Mateo was almost as mundane as Wesley, and he seemed dead chuffed about it.
Mateo put out an expectant hand, gaze still glued to the book. Wesley held out the pack, and he helped himself. He was exactly the sort of social smoker Wesley envied, who seemed to be able to take them or leave them and didn’t need to keep them on hand. Meanwhile Wesley fought all day long to keep his own addiction at bay, and still couldn’t stop himself reaching for cigarettes anytime he got antsy.
He retrieved his matchbook from his pocket. “We could be in the club at the hotel right now.”
“That would be nicer,” Mateo agreed. “You could have bought me a Cuban cigar instead of the cheapest British smokes on the boat.”
Wesley lit his own cigarette and breathed in vile, low-grade tobacco as he passed the matches to Mateo. Those few weeks ago, before he knew about magic, he had also been fully expecting to live the rest of his life alone, his own brother and parents years dead, he himself useless for anything except refusing invitations and growing ever more bitter. But then Sebastian had come into his life, and he’d come with magical quests and a family, including a refreshingly cynical younger brother, and now Wesley was still a cantankerous beast but he had purpose and acceptable company.
Eventually they’d all tire of Wesley, of course. But while it lasted, it was—not unwelcome. “I’ll buy you a crate of Cuban cigars if you’ll make your brother hurry up.”
“Don’t you have your own mail to read?”
“I read it,” said Wesley, “and immediately realized my unforgivable error in telling my footman where I was going but not instructing him to withhold said information from society. I didn’t cross the Atlantic for cards and parties; I have more pressing matters—or Iwould, if Sebastian would finish and we could crack on.”
Mateo gestured inside the terminal with the cigarette. “He’s off the phone, but a doll got him.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Wesley looked through the window. A pretty flapper had joined Sebastian at the counter with the phone, pointedly displaying her cigarette in a long holder. “Ugh, he’s like a polite lamb who naïvely believes the wolf actually forgot her own matches.”
Mateo snorted and stuck his own cigarette between his teeth so he could turn a page. “You know Sebi doesn’t flirt on purpose?”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“Not everyone does. A lot of people get mad at him, or think he’s about to steal their girls. Or their boys, or their viscounts, apparently.”
“You’re a loyal brother, but you don’t have to come to his defense with me. What kind of jealous fool do you take me for?”
