“Yes, we are,” Sebastian said. “Rory, you can call in an actual tornado if there’s trouble. We will be—what is that word you say?—copacetic.”
“Thank you, Seb,” Rory said, looking a lot less disgruntled. “Bootleggers still aren’t here, then?”
“No.” Wesley pursed his lips. “But then, I don’t supposed criminals put much stake in punctuality.”
“Depends on the criminal,” Sebastian said, and it wasn’t light but it also wasn’t as heavy as it could have been.WasSebastian finally getting to a point where he wasn’t blaming himself constantly for everything he’d done under blood magic? Wesley was, frankly, going to be damn proud of him.
“I can wait as long as the bulls don’t show.” Rory blew into his hands to warm them. “Did Jade say what kind of hooch we’re grabbing?”
He had one ring on his right hand, around his fourth finger. Not the so-called Tempest Ring, the fifteenth-century relic which let Rory control the wind, but a plain gold band, like a wedding ring. Wesley hadn’t commented on it, but he could guess who’d put it there and what it meant. And obviously it didn’t do anything as ridiculous aswarm his heartto see evidence that sometimes, against all odds, good people did find each other and the love they deserved. No, Wesley was just happy that Arthur and Rory were occupied with each other and out of his hair.
“We’re picking up rum,” Wesley said. “It’s Latin night at the Magnolia.”
“It is?” Sebastian perked up. “How did you already know that?”
“Miss Robbins mentioned it yesterday, when I picked up the record for your brother.” Wesley added, for Rory, “Mateo’s last letter mentioned they’ve already had snow at Oberlin.” He gestured at Sebastian. “I already know how this Caribbean boy feels about cold weather; oneassumes the other Caribbean boy will also appreciate listening to a tango to warm an Ohio winter.”
Sebastian brushed his fingers against Wesley’s, like he sometimes did when he thought Wesley was being sweet. An absurd thought, of course; Wesley appreciated corresponding with Sebastian’s younger brother because Mateo was a man of exceptional intellect and refreshing cynicism. It had nothing to do with Wesley missing his own brother, who’d been lost in the war.
“Is Mateo’s magic still controlled?” Rory asked. “After—Well. The masquerade and everything.”
Rory would understand, and empathize deeply, with Sebastian’s brother, who was telegnostic and had been overwhelmed by his own ability to see the future of magic. Orhadbeen overwhelmed, before Sebastian had bound his magic. Credit to Rory now, for trying to be sensitive, and not bluntly askingdid the binding on Mateo’s magic survive when you lost your magic the night of the masquerade?
“Seems to be,” Wesley answered. “He mentioned he has the occasional odd dream, but he spent more of his letter grouching that he wasn’t in Havana with Miss de Leon and Miss Finnegan.”
“We could also have some of Stella’s records shipped to Spain, for when Isabel and Molly come home,” Sebastian said. “And what about to England?”
“Already sent,” Wesley said. “Ostensibly for myself, but I’m fairly certain my footman and my cook’s daughter will wear them out before I make it back.”
That made Sebastian smile. “What about your family?”
“Well,” Wesley said, “the cable from Lady Tabitha three days ago informed me she’d once again met theperfect potential Viscountess Fine, while yesterday’s cable from Geoffrey was checking whether I was returning to England for the Christmas social season or if I was dead and the title was his now. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I prefer to correspond with your family.”
Rory glanced unsubtly at Sebastian. “Viscountess Fine, huh.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “I think I see them,” he said, pointing to the Hudson River.
A boat was coming downriver from the north, turning in and making its way toward the dock.
“Here we go,” Rory muttered, as the three of them stepped back out into the rain.
Wesley led the way across a paved lot, in the shadow of the run-down building with its boarded windows rising up on their left. At the edge of the lot, they stepped through mud and onto the long dock extending into the wide Hudson River. The wind was colder and stronger on the dock, enough to make the waves choppy, and the river was a dark slate gray, the shallows at the shoreline quickly giving way to deep waters that could accommodate industrial shipping.
The wood was rickety and hollow-sounding under Wesley’s feet as they moved farther out into the river, to where the boat was puttering closer. It was more of a skiff, really, not even big enough to have a proper deck, but the front of the boat was enclosed by some cheap wood and tarp. Nothing was visible to the naked eye, but there would have been room for a stash hidden from sight.
Two men in dark overcoats and fedoras stood in the body of the boat. One of them was moving around, pulling up the rope into his hands as the boat approachedthe pier. Wesley caught the outline of a gun through the overcoat.
“They’re armed,” he said under his breath, for Sebastian’s and Rory’s ears alone.
“Good to know,” Rory muttered, his hand stealing into his pocket.
Sebastian’s face had shuttered, impossible to read. He stepped forward, as if to go ahead of Wesley and Rory.
Wesley’s hand darted out and snagged his coat sleeve. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, under his breath, pulling Sebastian back toward his side.
“I’m talking to them,” Sebastian said back, shooting Wesley a frown. “What areyoudoing?”
“Stopping you from taking on two armed men when you don’t have a weapon yourself,” Wesley snapped, and then bit his tongue so hard he almost broke skin.
