“Ahurricane—” But Wesley caught sight of one of the guests. “Arthur, your brother!”
John was still in the ballroom. A cabinet bigger than a man had toppled onto the grand piano, trapping frightened people in the corner, and John was frantically trying to get to them.
“John,” Arthur said, voice strangled. “Emma.”
“Help him.” Wesley was already turning. “I’m going to find Rory and Sebastian.”
He didn’t wait for Arthur to respond, instead sprinting back into the foyer. The ring had flown off Arthur’s hand and up into the sky; wherever Rory was being held, there was a chance it was up, and the only place that could be was the upper floors of the house.
He could only hope Sebastian was with him, and that he’d make it on time.
The attic window and part of the roof were torn straight off, spiraling out into the sky and disappearing. Rory held Sebastian down on the ground as Alasdair and Langford smashed into one of the attic walls. The pomander went careening into the corner closest to them, spinning like the world’s most repulsive top.
“Rory? Sebastian?” Zhang’s astral projection had just materialized in the middle of the attic. Relief poured through Sebastian.
“Zhang.” Rory rolled off Sebastian onto his back. “Damn it, he can’t see us with your tattoo, can he?”
Zhang was facing in the opposite direction. “I think you have to be here,” he said, “because I can’t see anyone and that has to be Sebastian’s fault. I’m using magic so my body is sick as hell again, but the others are looking for you.”
The others. Sebastian’s heart leapt to his throat. “Not Wesley,” he said, even though it was useless and Zhang couldn’t hear him. “Don’t let Wesley near the pomander—”
But there were footfalls, feet running up the stairs to the attic, and the next moment came Wesley’s voice. “Sebastian! Where are you?”
“Wesley!” Jesus, his voice was useless, Wesley would never hear him. Rain poured in through the window and missing roof, soaking him as he began to crawl toward the door, closer to Alasdair and Langford. “Wesley,no—”
Someone shouldered open the attic door with force. “Sebastian—”
His name became a choked off retch as Wesley stumbled forward, a revolver falling from his hand and skittering away on the floor.
Against the wall, Alasdair began to laugh. It shook his shoulders, the light catching the brooch pinned just within his jacket. “Too late, Sebastian,” he said, as Wesley hit the attic floor on hands and knees. “The pomander has been free, growing stronger, saturating the air with its magic. Fine’s aura will never make it—”
Sebastian was already moving. With the bouncer’s corpse just feet away, Sebastian staggered onto hands and knees, swiped the brooch off Alasdair’s jacket, and fell on top of the pomander just as the brooch’s magic rushed him.
He could feel the pomander, its magic slick and oily like the Puppeteer’s magic had been. As the brooch’s magic charged painfully through him, like it was drawing from his bones, Sebastian reached for every bit of magic he had, let the brooch’s magic strip the curse in his veins, and let it go.
Beneath him, the pomander burst open, dust and bits of flowers spilling out.
“Rory,” he tried to say.
But a zephyr was already swirling around him, sweeping the pomander’s ancient remains into the tiniest of tornados, which lifted up into the sky and disappeared.
Sebastian flopped over onto his back. Everything hurt, his chest, his heart, his lungs. He looked at the brooch in his hand, feeling the pain all the way down to his veins.
“Goodness, that was deafening,” Alasdair said, drawing Sebastian’s attention. Blood was still trickling from his ears. “Very selfless. Suicidal, in fact. You drew too deep: you destroyed a relic, but your magic is gone.”
Sebastian took a heaving breath, Alasdair’s words ringing true. He felt like scorched earth, like he’d been stripped of color and left a husk of gray.
“And without magic the brooch will pull on your life force instead,” Alasdair said. “You saved Lord Fine just to die in his place.”
Sebastian’s eyes met Wesley’s, who was also breathing too hard, his expression unreadable.
There were shouts in the hall, echoing footsteps on the stairs, but Sebastian’s eyes went to Langford. He had scrambled up onto his feet, ripping off the gas mask. “You’ve ruined it all,” he snarled at Alasdair, as his hair and clothes flapped in the wet wind. “You murdered Sir Ellery for nothing.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” said Alasdair. “What a shame Sebastian destroyed that pomander.”
Langford’s nostrils flared. He swooped down onto the floor, snatching up his gun.
“Langford!” Wesley’s shout came as if from a distance, because Sebastian was now staring right into the barrel of Langford’s revolver.
