Spellbound Page 14

  Arthur shook off his shock and scrambled across the unfinished floor to Rory’s lift. “What on earth are you doing up here?” he said, as he stretched out his hands.

  Rory took them with trembling limbs, palms sweating and his grip tight enough to hurt. “Looking for you.” He swallowed hard. “This is really high.”

  Arthur bit back his questions and lectures and helped him from the lift to the sturdy steel decking welded over the bracing. He tugged Rory down to sit with their backs against a wide beam, Rory close and safely on the inside, away from the edge.

  “Why were you looking for me?” I’m not cuddling him, I’m offering support. Rory will pull away any moment, when he’s ready.

  Except Rory had tucked himself tightly to Arthur’s side and didn’t seem to be going anywhere. “So I knew you weren’t at your pad—”

  “How did you know something like that?”

  “I dunno,” Rory said, with a careless shrug, and before Arthur could interrogate that useless statement further he went on. “So I called the Magnolia and Jade wasn’t there, but Benson gave me another number, which turned out to be Zhang’s tea house, and Jade said she thought you were at this construction site and Zhang said he could check with his fancy astral tricks. I asked and Jade knew your favorite deli, so I caught the train while Zhang found your cab then met me at the deli to tell me where you were, and that construction fella let me in the lift when I told him why I came down. And then I came up, because you’re screwier than me, Ace, and that’s saying something.”

  Arthur tried to parse through all that in his head. “But why?” he finally said. “Are you all right? What’s wrong, what do you need?”

  “Nah, I don’t need anything.” Rory dug in his messenger bag, then held up a thermos. “I made coffee. And I got you pastrami on rye. Jade said it’s your favorite.”

  Arthur blinked hard. “I’m sorry, I can’t possibly be following,” he said sincerely. “Because it sounds like you enlisted the aid of half of New York and traipsed all the way to the Financial District to bring lunch.”

  Rory pushed a paper-wrapped sandwich into Arthur’s hands. “Yup.”

  His fingers tightened around the sandwich, just shy of crushing it. “But why?”

  “I was hungry. And I thought you might be hungry too. Mrs. B. didn’t mind.” Rory shrank into himself. “Am I outta line? I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, I don’t know all the rules of your world—”

  “No!” Arthur blurted. “No, you did all that, you braved the sky, all for lunch, it’s so—” romantic “—thoughtful.” He swallowed. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

  “Their loss.” Rory pulled out a second sandwich and peeked out past Arthur, beyond the skyscraper’s edge and the dizzying drop to the ground. “It’s nuts up here. But geez, that’s some view, isn’t it?”

  Arthur glanced down at Rory as he settled himself right back into the space along Arthur’s side. “I like it better now.”

  * * *

  The sky was cloudless and blue, the sun warm on Arthur’s face and neck with the skyscraper’s beam to block the wind. Rory had gotten a corned beef sandwich for himself and they’d split both, sharing the same thermos of coffee.

  Rory was getting braver, peeking over Arthur at the view more often. “We can see the ocean!”

  Arthur had to smile. “Looks different from up here, doesn’t it?”

  “I dunno,” Rory said. “I never seen it from the ground either.”

  That couldn’t be right. “Manhattan is an island. A nickel will get you to Coney Island.”

  “Maybe, but we don’t got a beach in Hell’s Kitchen and that’s where I always stay.”

  Arthur’s heart clenched. “You left it today.”

  “Because of you. I’m doing lots of new things because of you.” He was almost smiling. “I barely recognize myself.”

  Arthur had to smile too. “Like, who are you and what have you done with Rory?”

  He’d been teasing, but Rory’s expression sobered. “More like, who are you and what have you done with Teddy?”

  Arthur winced. “I didn’t—”

  But Rory bumped his shoulder with his own. “I know you didn’t. It’s just been a long time since anyone but Mrs. B. knew my real name.”

  Rory had taken off the newsboy cap at some point. As he leaned over Arthur’s lap to better admire the view, the sun highlighted his profile, the tawny olive skin, the curl to his hair, the beautiful brown eyes. Christ, no wonder Arthur was pining.

  “Brodigan must have been a change from Giovacchini.”

  “Giving up my mom’s name was hard,” Rory admitted. “So was believing the crazy scheme would work. But you knew you could trust Miss Lorna.”

  “You said Mrs. Brodigan’s sister really could see the future?” He made it a question, hoping Rory would keep talking.

  “Not so clear cut.” Rory took a sip of coffee, then passed the thermos back to Arthur. “Miss Lorna could see an object’s possible futures, all on top of each other. She said it was like a deck of tarot cards. She could shuffle through the possibilities in her mind and see how to make a future come about.” He bit his lip. “Or how to stop it.”

  A sense of foreboding crept up Arthur’s spine. “Why do I think she saw something bad coming for you?”

  Rory’s jaw tightened. “Because she saw the asylum was going to have me lobotomized.”

  “What?” Arthur hadn’t uncovered that when he’d done his digging on Rory. “But surely your father—”

  “It was his idea.” Rory kept his gaze very carefully on the distant ocean. “You had it when you guessed the powers started when I lived at his church. He had an antique brass snuffer on the church altar. I picked it up to clean it, same as always, and got stuck in a vision.”

  “Your father found you in the vision?”

  “I couldn’t exactly hide it—I was stuck in there for three weeks.”

  Three weeks?

  Rory sighed and settled back against the beam, still touching Arthur’s side. “My dad thought I was mad at best, possessed at worst. And when beating me didn’t bring me back, he had me locked in the asylum with explicit instructions on how to fix me.”

  His own father. “How did you get out of the past?”

  “Miss Lorna.” Rory’s face softened, turning wistful. “She knew what was really wrong and found a way to reach me. She taught me everything she could about controlling my magic. But she was sick. She only made it a couple more months.”

  Another puzzle piece slotted into place. “Rory Brodigan was her idea?”

  Rory nodded. “The hospital had sent for a special doctor, all the way from Europe. She saw the doctor was going to take me away, and she saw that her sister was going to be penniless and alone, and she saw that we could change each other’s futures instead.” Wonder of wonders, there was a small smile on Rory’s lips. “But I doubt even Miss Lorna could’ve seen you coming.”

  Arthur huffed, smiling despite himself. “Did she say anything else?”

  “Not to trust the stock market.” At Arthur’s furrowed brow, Rory shrugged. “I dunno. You asked.”

  “Well then.” Arthur made a mental note to meet with his family’s financial advisers. “Good to know.”

  Rory sighed. “She was the only one like me I ever met, until Jade and Zhang.”

  “You can meet the Ivanovs any time you like,” Arthur said casually. “Of course, you’d have to visit my brother Harry’s estate in Hyde Park.”

  Rory didn’t retort right away. Instead, he fiddled with a hole in the knee of his trousers. “Would your brother even buy a story that I’m there to help the nannies? If he’s that gullible, I oughta be selling him a bridge.”

  Arthur straightened. That wasn’t an outright go to hell. “Harry’s the softest of all of us. He gives work to a
s many as he can, especially in winter. And if you want an actual job, he’s also got plenty of antiques in his estate. You know, in case Mrs. Brodigan fancied a business trip to the countryside with you.”

  Rory groaned. “That’s so unfair—”

  “I will try any trick in the book to get you out of town,” Arthur said. “Luther Mansfield is throwing a gala for the mayor’s inauguration tomorrow night and I’m on the guest list. But I don’t know how I’m going to steal the deadly magical relic threatening Manhattan straight from under his nose when I’m so worried about what might happen to you.”

  Rory bit his lip. “You shouldn’t bother worrying ’bout me—”

  “Too late,” said Arthur. “You could be on a train leaving Grand Central in the morning. Let me send you and Mrs. Brodigan somewhere safe while I steal the relic, please. Per favore, Teddy.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Then Rory took a breath. “I’ll think about it.”

  Arthur’s heart leapt. “You will?”

  “I said I would, didn’t I?” Rory said gruffly. “Geez, you’re impossible, mixing pretty words and the old language with a view like this. How’d you even learn to say please in Italian anyway?” He leaned over Arthur’s legs again, farther this time.

  The relief, coupled with the extra closeness, made Arthur dizzier than the view. “You’re getting brave about the height,” he said easily, like it was no big deal, like he had adorable paranormals in his lap all the time.

  “Nah, still don’t like it.” Rory turned his face up to Arthur, soft skin close, dark eyes bright behind the glasses. “But I know I’m safe, ’cause you got me.”

  Arthur’s heart was still stuttering from the unexpected faith when Rory’s gaze fell to his mouth. “I got you too, Ace. If you want me.”

  Arthur was three hundred feet above civilization with Rory’s lips only inches away. He was bending his head before he could stop himself—

  The shrill ring of a warning bell split the air. They sprang apart like guilty teenagers, Rory scooting at least three feet over. There was a loud screech as the cables on the other side of the building shifted to bring up the third lift and construction workers. Lunch was over.

  Arthur ground his teeth. Rory was very carefully not looking at him. “You’ve got me too?” he said pointedly. Rory had tilted his head, had been reaching for the kiss too, Arthur wasn’t imagining this, he wasn’t the only one feeling it, he wasn’t—

  Rory squirmed, still not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Well, yeah, I mean, obviously I’ll bring you sandwiches.”

  “Sandwiches.” Arthur folded his arms. “Sure,” he said lightly, narrowed eyes locked on Rory. “I hear the Italians make some good ones. I might have to get me one of those.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sandwiches?

  In his armchair at the shop, Rory pulled his cap down to his nose and his knees up to his chest, curling in a ball to steep in his humiliation.

  Had he really tried to pretend his shameless come-on was about sandwiches?

  There was no way to get around it: at the top of Manhattan, he’d almost kissed Arthur.

  He’d almost kissed Arthur.

  He let his head fall back against the chair. Arthur’s lips had been barely breathing room from his own and he could’ve sworn Arthur’d been moving closer too. But he couldn’t’ve been, could he? Even if he’d neck with a man, a fella like that wouldn’t want Rory, a lump of coal to Arthur’s Hope Diamond.

  Rory sighed, shoulders drooping. What did he know about kissing anyway? He shouldn’t be getting ideas. Arthur had offered to send both Rory and Mrs. Brodigan to a safe country paradise—why couldn’t Rory just be grateful for that?

  Mrs. Brodigan poked her head into the office. “You seem particularly broody this afternoon. Something on your mind, lovey?”

  I went up to the clouds where I almost kissed Ace and then tried to save face with a sandwich. Rory coughed. “I don’t understand Arthur Kenzie.”

  “Ah.” She came into the small room and took her seat at her desk. “Well, I daresay he’s a complicated man, but you’re a smart lad. What’s got you puzzled?”

  “I don’t know what he wants from me.”

  “Well, let’s see,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s paid you for your work and sent you home in cabs with food. Far as I can tell, he wants you to be safe and whole.”

  “But why?” said Rory. “Why would someone like Ace care what happens to someone like me?”

  “Why do firefighters care about people trapped in burning buildings? Or nurses for patients, foster parents for orphans—or soldiers, for the freedom and safety of the innocent?” Mrs. Brodigan tilted her head. “Some people see suffering that isn’t their own and still try to help, for no other reason than it’s the right thing to do.”

  Rory furrowed his brow. “You think that’s all it is?”

  “I think you’re looking very hard for some hidden bad intentions,” she said. “But if you ask me, all our handsome Mr. Kenzie is trying to hide is a big heart.”

  A heart big enough to care about even a scruffy bastard from Hell’s Kitchen who’d told him to screw off. Rory chewed on his lip. “What do you think of him?” He quickly tapped his chest and added dryly, “His insides. I already know what you think of his outsides.”

  She smiled. “I like him. Hard not to—Mr. Kenzie is a very charming young man.” Her smile faded. “And I think he’s lonely. He strikes me as a man who doesn’t thrive in solitude.”

  There’s no one, Arthur had said. Apparently it’s endless bachelorhood for me.

  Rory frowned. “How can Ace be lonely? He’s kind, and he’s funny, and he says and does the nicest things—”

  “And now you know what you think of his insides,” she said mildly.

  Rory flopped back in his chair in despair. He was pretty sure Mrs. Brodigan had never cottoned on that he had eyes for men, but he’d never had to hide feelings this strong. “Someone ought to be making Ace happy.”

  She raised an eyebrow, so he quickly made himself add, “Some doll, I mean. A real smart one, who’s got money, who’d be good enough for him. Not that anybody is—” He flinched. “How’s business been today?” he said desperately.

  Mrs. Brodigan’s smile was back, but she didn’t comment on the subject change. “Slow,” she said. “Just one customer, a lovely English girl. But she didn’t buy anything, just said she heard about us from an art gallery in Chelsea. She barely gave me half a glance before she left.”

  English? Rory took a sharp breath.

  “Mrs. B.,” he said carefully, as his heart began to race. “You ever think about getting out of town—say, Hyde Park?”

  * * *

  Arthur’s gymnasium was a private affair near his home, and right now he was getting his money’s worth from the punching bag.

  Do the sodding math. Fists gloved, stripped to the waist, he let the punches fly until sweat beaded on his skin and bare back. Twenty years old. Cloistered in a church at thirteen, thrown into an asylum at sixteen, in hiding since his escape. Rory locks himself up and rarely leaves Hell’s Kitchen—how often do you think he’s let himself have another person? If you take him to bed, you might be his first man.

  Or simply his first—

  Arthur threw a punch too hard and pain shot up his arm in a shockwave. He cursed but stopped, panting and sweat-soaked.

  Up in the sky, Rory had almost kissed him back, and now every inch of Arthur wanted to go after him.

  And instead he was going to stay where he was and beat this poor punching bag until his body surrendered and his rational brain was in firm control.

  Because so what if Rory had almost kissed him? How many reminders did Arthur need that Rory was in a terribly vulnerable place? He was a twenty-year-old asylum escapee whose sanity was under siege from powerful magic. He might have b
een desperate for some kind of comfort. Or he might have had a passing fancy for a kiss at the top of a skyscraper—neither meant he’d still want Arthur on the ground. And Arthur was bigger, older, wealthier—what if Rory changed his mind but thought he couldn’t say no?

  And there’s the ice for your blood. Arthur wiped at his forehead with his arm, his fight finally gone. Rory needed people to trust; a friend, not a lover. So Arthur wasn’t going to chase, he was going to leave Rory alone. What Arthur himself wanted, well. That couldn’t matter.

  Arthur showered at the gym. The exercise endorphins had worn off by the time he arrived home, leaving his muscles pleasantly sore but his heart still heavy.

  He’d just poured himself bourbon from his illegal stash when the door opened and Jade’s heels clicked their way to his study. “Rory said he’d think about Hyde Park,” he said, without preamble, as he picked up his drink.

  “Ace, that’s wonderful!” She clasped her hands. “Is he here?”

  “Ah, no. In fact, I was thinking if he agrees to go, maybe it’d be best if you took him to Grand Central, he likes you—”

  “And I’m terribly fond of him too, but you’re the one who fancies him.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Ace, please. I’ve never seen you this smitten.” She took one of the club chairs and kicked off her heels, crossing her legs under her. “I know you must be careful, but Rory would never sell you or your family to the press or a rival politician. Why are you haunting your flat alone instead of with him?” She held up a hand. “And don’t deflect by pretending it’s because he likes women; you know very well there are people like Stella, who likes both and everyone else too.”

  “He’s twenty,” Arthur said, bringing the bourbon to his lips.

  “He is.” Jade made an exaggeratedly thoughtful face. “Remind me, how old were you when you dropped out of college to fight a war?”

  Arthur gave her a dirty look over the top of his drink. “That was different.”