Wesley and Sebastian exchanged a glance. “Do you know where he’s gone?” Sebastian asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” the doorman said.
“Well, what about another man?” Wesley asked. “Curly blond hair, short and scruffy, wears specs?”
“Oh, Mr. Kenzie’s nephew? No, he hasn’t been around for a while either.”
Nephew. Wesley’s eyebrow went up.
With no Arthur to visit, they crossed back across the street to Central Park. Hardly pastoral when Fifth Avenue was within shouting distance, but Sebastian wanted to see the squirrels and Wesley could accept it was practical to take a shortcut to the Plaza through the park. They picked up one of the paths that wound through the trees. In the twilight, the autumn colors were soft, the city noises more muffled by the chirping of the birds and the fallen leaves crunching underfoot than Wesley had expected. He grudgingly amended his opinion of the park totolerable.
“I didn’t know Rory was Arthur’s nephew,” Sebastian said, as they passed an unnecessarily picturesque arched stone bridge curving over a little lake.
Wesley shuddered. “Christ, obviously he’s not. It must be their cover story.”
“Oh, good,” Sebastian said. “I thought maybe I was missing something.”
“I assure you, none of us would have missedthat.”
“But why would they need a cover story?”
Wesley side-eyed him. “You thoughtweneeded a cover story. Why not them?”
“They have less to hide, yes?”
“Well,no,” Wesley said, nonplussed. “Half of Arthur’s family are in politics. He can’t exactly parade his surly urchin around the city; it would raise questions.”
“Oh,” Sebastian said. “Arthur’s family care about money, then? That is a shame.”
It was more likely thefucking other menbit that was the problem, but perhaps the class difference was part of it. Wesley pursed his lips. “So Miss Robbins wasn’t home, Mr. Zhang hasn’t been around the Dragon House, and now Arthur isn’t home and Brodigan hasn’t been by either.” He huffed. “Did they want to see us or not?”
“I’ve been thinking about Jade’s cable,” Sebastian said, his gaze darting to a cardinal in a tree. “What she might have meant bythe clock needs a curse to tick.”
“That she’s a rabbit in a waistcoat running late to an appointment, leading me into a particularly twisted version of your Wonderland?” Wesley said wryly.
That drew a quiet half-laugh from Sebastian. “Not exactly. Curses are rare, yes? But...”
“But what?”
“But Teo and I both carry a blood curse.”
“Your blood. Iscursed.” Wesley came to a stop, and Sebastian mirrored him. “And you’ve never mentioned thiswhy?”
“Because it just determined our magic—it doesn’t do anything else,” Sebastian said. “And it’s from the de Leon who was a witch-hunter during the Spanish Inquisition; it’s not like I want to brag about him. He cursed his own blood; that’s why all his descendants have magic that works on other magic.”
“Admittedly he makes even the worst Lord Fine seem like a lovely, reasonable ancestor,” Wesley said. “Then you havefourkinds of magic? The brooch, the tattoo, your enervation magic and a blood curse?”
Sebastian made a face. “It sounds like a lot when you say it like that.”
“Christ,” Wesley muttered. “So you think Miss Robbins’s cable might refer to your blood? That this siphon clock needs not just paranormal blood, butcursedparanormal blood to work?”
“The pomander is evil magic,” Sebastian said quietly. “Maybe it takes evil magic to destroy it.”
“Stop it; you know you’re forbidden to speak that way about my lion,” Wesley said. “I don’t care if your magic was the result of a blood curse; it’s saved my life more than once. It isn’t evil.”
That put a small smile on Sebastian’s face.
“Also,” Wesley said, “not to reduce life to moral absolutes better suited for the preachiest of fables, but isn’t evil generally vanquished by good?”
