Wesley blinked. Then he jumped to his feet and stumbled down the alley. “Sebastian.” He fell to his knees at Sebastian’s side. “Sebastian, are you all right?”
No response.
Panic climbed up Wesley’s throat. He shoved it down, compartmentalized it for later. Some bits of the war he would never lose, and his brain remembered how to instantly calm itself; no feelings, just cold, rational observations and action.
He did a rapid assessment of the scene. Sebastian was alive. Unconscious, yes, but his chest was rising and falling. There was blood on his face but not much, and no strange smells. His face was pinched, however, and faint sounds of pain occasionally escaped him.
Wesley felt for the pulse in Sebastian’s neck and found it, more sluggish than it should have been but steady, at least. Sebastian’s skin, though—burning up, far hotter than he should have been. Fever, then. A high one.
Wesley scanned his body, gaze zeroing in on the waistcoat pocket. A cut chain dangled out of it, and there was no longer a bulge for the brooch. He touched the pocket to confirm his growing suspicion, but he was right. The brooch was gone.
Wesley sat back on his heels.
Someone had murdered Sir Ellery and stolen the brooch—the two-part key to transferring its magic to a new paranormal. It seemed highly unlikely the two events occurring together could be an accident.
He closed his eyes, and called up the events of the past few minutes, starting with Sir Ellery emerging at the alley’s mouth.
“Hello again, Fine,” Sir Ellery had said.
Wesley had answered. “What the hell are you doing here, Ellery?”
Then Sebastian, whose eyes hadn’t been on Sir Ellery. “What do you want, Alasdair?”
Wesley’s eyes opened. “Like Mr. Zhang,” he said under his breath.
Alasdair was likely a paranormal. Whether it was his innate magic, like Mr. Zhang’s astral walking, or some other magic, Sebastian would have been able to see him, but Alasdair had been hidden from Wesley.
Maybe the car Wesley had heard had been Alasdair fleeing. Or he could still be around, watching them, armed with the gun that had shot Sir Ellery and now with the magic of Sebastian’s brooch relic.
There would be no way for Wesley to know.
Wesley tensed, a sickening shiver going through him.
But then his eyes fell on Sebastian’s wrist, where the top of the lion tattoo was visible.
Sebastian’s magic had reared up when Wesley had gotten close to the guardian magic at Mr. Zhang’s restaurant in Chinatown. And Wesley realized that he now believed, with bone-deep certainty, that if Alasdair was still around—if there was a threat to Wesley—Sebastian’s magic would still be filling the alley.
Wesley shoved the thought into the compartment with his panic. He might have feelings about that later; he couldn’t afford them now.
Wesley got his feet under him and got behind Sebastian, levering him up into a sitting position with his arms wrapped around his chest. “How many times are you going to make me carry your unconscious body out of an alley?” Wesley said with a grunt, resolutely pretending Sebastian could hear him. “I know I teased you about not filling out my clothes, but you’re not exactlysmall.”
Sebastian’s eyelashes fluttered. “Wes,” he said, thick and quiet.
The sound was like music to Wesley. “I’m here, of course I’m here,” he said into Sebastian’s ear. “Can you walk at all? It will be easier to explain this as too much drink.”
Sebastian gave something that resembled a nod, his eyes barely open. Wesley would take it. He got Sebastian to his feet, then wrapped his arm tightly around his waist.
“Lead,” Sebastian slurred.
“What?”
“Lead. Somewhere.”
Wesley did not have time to worry aboutlead. Sebastian needed a bed. Shelter and safety to recover. Medicine for the fever. Wesley needed somewhere close to go, and only one place was coming to mind—a place he could bring a supposedly drunk friend and it was unlikely anyone would alert the police.
Wesley grimaced. “Apparently we’re going to the inn of ill repute after all.”
He got Sebastian over to the next block and into the Tomcat Lodge’s lobby—a generous term for the filthy room with an ancient settee and a wooden counter. The woman behind the counter gave them a bored look, like two men staggering in, one nearly unconscious and the other sweating and swearing, was the least interesting thing that had happened to her night so far.
