He said it with no hesitation, his eyes and smile warm enough to melt even Wesley’s cold heart. “You’re so proud of yourself for finally knowing how old I am,” Wesley said, to cover his moment of fluster.
“What if we pretend I always knew?” Sebastian said hopefully.
Wesley’s lips quirked. “You mean you don’t want to tell the others you’ve been helping yourself to my body for weeks without bothering to ask me the most basic of questions about myself?”
Sebastian winced.
“I mean, really,” Wesley said, picking up his empty glass. “A man could almost get the impression you only want him for hislectures.”
“They’re such good lectures,” Sebastian mumbled, which put a bigger smile on Wesley’s face.
“Speaking of the others,” Wesley said, as he waved the glass pointedly at a passing waiter. “It’s nearly midnight now. Let’s hope they show soon.”
Chapter Sixteen
By one a.m., Wesley and Sebastian were still in their booth, Wesley on his third gin, Sebastian’s tonic water half drunk. The band was on break, and the club patrons had grown louder and rowdier.
And the others had not arrived.
“Where the hell are they?” said Wesley. “Miss Robbins says to meet her here, and she doesn’t show?”
Sebastian didn’t like anything about this. “This doesn’t feel right at all, Wesley. I wish I could see Zhang.”
“Well, I don’t see Mr. Zhang, but look who’s behind the bar.”
Sebastian glanced over. Alasdair Findlay was behind the counter, chatting with the bartender. “The major said Alasdair sent you that letter.”
Wesley pursed his lips. “I still find it odd that he sent me a letter when he’s so clearly interested inyou.”
“Is he?” Sebastian said in surprise. Wesley leveled a flat stare at him until Sebastian squirmed. “I mean. If you say so. You’re probably right, you always are.”
“Thank you,” Wesley said pointedly. “As I was saying, it’s odd.”
Sebastian chewed on his lip. “I think we should talk to him. He might be able to tell us more about Sir Ellery, and he’s a bootlegger, so maybe he’s met Jade.”
Wesley considered Alasdair for a moment, then sat back in the booth with a huff. “You should probably talk to him alone,” he said grudgingly. “I think he’s more likely to talk to you and we need some fucking answers.”
Sebastian frowned but got to his feet. He wove around tables until he’d reached the bar. Every stool was full, but he found a tiny space where he could squeeze in and lean on the counter. “Alasdair,” he called.
But Alasdair was already heading his way. “Mr. de Leon!” he said brightly. “Or Sebastian, wasn’t it? I can call you that, can’t I?”
“Of course,” Sebastian said. Alasdair was partially shadowed in the dimly lit speakeasy, making it hard to see his face, but his friendly greeting seemed genuine enough.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Alasdair leaned on the bar across from him, in a mirror of Sebastian’s pose. “This is one of my haunts, you know. I keep these shelves full. What are you drinking tonight? Let me get you another.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Just the sodas for me.”
“Oh really.” Alasdair raised an eyebrow. “Not many people come to a speakeasynotto drink.”
“I don’t handle a drink well,” Sebastian admitted, becausealcohol makes me lose control of my magic and I’ll send this whole place crashing to the floorwas a bit more explanation than Alasdair needed.
“Is that right?” Alasdair smiled. “Me either,” he said, as if confessing a secret.
“But you’re a bootlegger?” Sebastian said in surprise.
“I don’t sample my wares.” Alasdair’s tone was still friendly, almost teasing as he said, “But why did you come to my speakeasy not to drink?”
Why did you send Wesley a letter?Sebastian wanted to ask.What do you know about what’s going on?
