Sebastian winced. “Well—”
“Did you call her other good friend, Rory Brodigan, who might know where she is? No, don’t bother to answer that, I’m certain you didn’t call either of them.”
“Neither of them should have to hear from me if there are others I can call,” Sebastian protested. “I kidnapped Rory last winter. I held Arthur at gunpoint—”
“While you were underblood magic,” said Wesley. “Do you really get to tell anyone not to be so hard on themselves?”
Sebastian folded his arms. “I get to tellyou.”
“Oh you do, do you?” Wesley said. “I was a captain; you were a corporal. I’m a viscount; you’re basically the fae. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Yes I do, because you’re also my—because we’re—well.” Sebastian stuck his hands in his pockets. “You know.”
A faint flush was blooming on his olive skin. And no wonder, because they’d yet to put a word to their relationship. A nice man would take pity on Sebastian and let it slide.
“Hmmm, no, I don’t think I do,” Wesley said, because he was a bastard and Sebastian’s squirming was delicious. “I’m your what? Spell it out for me.”
That earned him an even dirtier look. “My favorite person,” Sebastian said, pointedly holding up his wrist again. “So I get to tell you not to be so hard on yourself.”
Oh, that had to be cheating, didn’t it? Because Wesley’s eyes had, of course, gone to the partially visible tattoo under the coat sleeve, a tattoo that looked like swirls of colors to everyone else but let only Wesley see the lion hiding within. His ice-cold heart didn’t know what to do with this damned tropical sunbeam, this kind-hearted darling who saw the world through the figurative rose-colored glasses, ignoring the ugliness of reality and choosing instead to see only beauty in mangy strays and beastly viscounts.
Wesley admired him for it, especially considering Sebastian’s traumatic past under blood magic. But he wasn’t deluded enough to think what Sebastian saw was real.
Or gullible enough to believe Sebastian would see him that way forever. Hope and faith were for the naïve; they led nowhere but disappointment. Wesley would enjoy Sebastian’s warmth while it lasted, and not be foolish enough to trust that life would let him keep it.
Wesley’s throat was a bit tight now, probably from the smoke. “We should carry on,” he said, purposefully changing the subject.
Sebastian held out a hand with a soft, questioning look. Not forcefully taking the cigarette, not shaming Wesley for the weakness of lighting it up in the first place. Just a quiet offer of help from someone who understood that Wesley’s addiction sometimes rode him too hard to fight it off alone.
Wesley appreciated the support more than he knew how to put into words. He nodded once. “You owe me something else to put in my mouth now,” he said, as he let Sebastian gently extract the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers and drop it to the pier.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” he said hopefully.
“Yes,” said Wesley. “Dinner. I’m famished, let’s go.”
Chapter Two
From the pier, Sebastian found himself squashed into the middle of the back of the taxicab between Mateo, who was the same above-average height he was, and Wesley, who was three or four inches taller with long limbs and no practice sharing. The cab driver was ignoring them, shouting at pedestrians as the taxi crawled east and inward toward Manhattan’s center.
“Are we sure it wouldn’t have been faster to walk?” Wesley pointed out the window. “It wasn’t a jest; that gentleman strolling on the sidewalk is covering more ground than we are.”
Sebastian glanced out the window. A man with a long beard, holding the hand of a little girl of maybe three, was strolling past a storefront with a blue-and-white striped awning, the letters on the glass window spelling outAbrams Deli.
Sebastian had been in that deli, the last time he’d been in New York. On that trip he’d been with Shelley, a dream-reading paranormal, and Hyde, a paranormal with a monstrous second form. All of them had been on edge, the blood magic in their veins still following the most recent orders from the paranormal who controlled their bodies, the Puppeteer. They’d questioned the owner, and when that had been fruitless, an angry Hyde had followed some hapless customer outside and into an alley. Then Sebastian had seen the flash of teeth, and had barely gotten between them in time—
He swallowed and looked away, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t February. Shelley was dead, and Hyde was locked away with his mind trapped in another century. And Sebastian was here, with Wesley warm against his side and Mateo’s elbow digging into his ribs every time he turned a page in his book. He wasn’t under blood magic anymore. He was free now.
Sebastian felt the tug on his blood from the brooch, then, as if to remind himfreedomwas relative.
Did you call Rory Brodigan?Wesley had asked.
If only he could have. Was it normal for a relic to feel like lead chains, to pull on your blood like the moon on the tide? Rory had a ring relic that controlled the wind, but he’d always seemed fiery and bright, not exhausted by it. Sebastian’s friend Gwen, who saw magic, had never complained about her relic that controlled the tide. Maybe it was their subordinate magic, so much more powerful than Sebastian’s enervation, that made it easier for them to deal with having so much more magic flowing through them.
But then Ellis, with insubordinate invisibility, had never seemed bothered by his dagger relic either. More likely it was just something Sebastian had to get over.
Wesley turned his attention away from the street. “Maybe we’ll have another message from Miss Robbins at the hotel.”
“I hope so,” Sebastian said. They were staying only one night before taking Mateo to Oberlin in Ohio. If they couldn’t reach Jade tonight, it would have to wait for their return.
