Spellbound Read online

  “But Gwen’s father was Black and he doesn’t like us either,” Jade finished. “It’s got to be about money.” She sighed. “Gwen was never someone who could be bought, and I’d have thought she’d have nothing to do with a man as xenophobic as Mansfield. I haven’t a clue what their alliance could mean.”

  Neither did Arthur. “When’s she arriving?”

  “Any day now.”

  “A paranormal with witch-sight and an unknown relic, both coming to the Port of New York.” Arthur tossed back the rest of his coffee. “There’s no chance that’s a coincidence.”

  “None,” Jade said grimly. “Dare I ask what happened to Rory?”

  Arthur stared into his cup. “He despises me. I can hardly blame him.”

  “Does he hate you?” Jade took the seat next to Arthur. “Or did he storm off in a temper because he’s afraid?”

  Arthur could picture Rory’s too-shiny eyes, his clenched fists, his tight jaw. “He’s terrified. But I make it worse.” That was bitter as three-day-old coffee. Arthur wanted to make an innocent like Rory feel safe, not scared.

  “Maybe he’ll come around.”

  Arthur wasn’t going to count on that. “The ring controls the wind.”

  Jade’s eyes widened.

  “Rory saw it when the ring sent his mind to the past against his will.” Arthur tilted his head back until it rested on the wall. “And I’m the one who left the ring with him, so of course he hates me.” He stared at the ceiling. “The sodding wind, Jade. And what happens when Rory realizes a relic’s past might hold the secret to binding it to a new paranormal?”

  “But could he really scry a relic?” She slowly shook her head. “It was one thing when we thought we had Mrs. Brodigan, who’d conquered her power for decades, who’d know her own limits. Rory’s barely come into his magic. He saw the ring’s power when he accidentally got caught, but to scry it on purpose, to search for something in its past—it’d be sifting through quicksand. He might find what he wants but then never escape.”

  Arthur blew out a breath. “I don’t know if he could scry it. But I know someone who’d make him try.”

  Jade bit her thumb. “Mansfield.”

  “We found Rory.” He swallowed, tasting whiskey gone sour on his tongue. “What if we’re not the only ones looking?”

  * * *

  Rory pushed his pace to a near run all the way to Hell’s Kitchen, until his heart was pounding and he was sweating despite the cold. But no matter how fast he went, he swore he could still feel Arthur behind him.

  What gave him the right to offer Rory his help? On what planet did he think Rory’d take it? Rory would handle himself, by himself. He didn’t need to see that stupidly handsome face again.

  He didn’t.

  Outside the door to Brodigan’s, he ran a hand over his face and tried to regulate his breath. As much as he wanted to keep running until he got to Grand Central, or maybe the Port of New York, put a hundred miles or an ocean between him and Arthur, he wouldn’t leave Mrs. Brodigan.

  There were no customers in the shop and he could hear Mrs. Brodigan in the back, humming “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral,” gentle and fresh. He stuck his head into the office, where she was sitting and doing inventory at the desk.

  “I like that song.”

  She smiled broadly. “I’d hope so. You’ve had an Irish name for four years now.”

  The lines around her eyes were much softer than usual and her shoulders were easy and loose. “Why’re you so happy?” he said suspiciously.

  “Not all of us shop at Scowls and Brooding, dear.”

  He rolled his eyes. “So Kenzie might pay on your bank note today.” Otherwise known as your debt to mobsters you never told me about. “I mean, I don’t know that it’ll be today,” Rory hastily added. “He said he would, but—”

  “The medical loan? That was paid yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” No, the deal was that Arthur would pay after Rory upheld his end and showed up this morning. “You’re sure?”

  “I wouldn’t be mistaken about this,” Mrs. Brodigan said firmly, and Rory supposed she really wouldn’t. “Mr. Kenzie handled it. He was awfully sketchy on why, exactly, he was paying off the debt, but he made it sound like he owed it to me. I might have argued, but frankly, if there are going to be money questions, I’d rather deal with Mr. Kenzie than that particular bank.”

  “Right, that makes sense.”

  No it doesn’t. Nothing about Arthur Kenzie makes sense.

  Rory leaned against the frame of the open pocket door. “Kenzie knows. The visions, your sister, my real name.”

  Her eyes widened and she began to stand. “If he threatened you—”

  “Nah.” Rory said it immediately, without thought. “He’s not gonna turn me in.”

  “There are worse things he can do to you than alert the authorities.”

  “I know.” Rory hadn’t forgotten Lorna’s warnings. “And I don’t trust him or like him or anything stupid like that, but...” He trailed off, then shrugged irritably. “He didn’t make threats. I don’t think he hurts people.”

  Her eyebrow went up as she sat back down. “Coming from you, that’s practically a love sonnet.”

  Rory stiffened. “Men don’t write each other poetry, Mrs. B.”

  “They most certainly do,” she said. “Just not where the police can see.”

  Did they really? Rory bit his lip. It didn’t matter; he’d never get to write poetry to a man like Arthur anyway. “It’s not a sonnet,” he said. “I told Kenzie to leave me the hell alone.”

  She tilted her head. “And is that what you really want from him?”

  I want him to walk through those doors, tell me I don’t have to face this alone, tell me I can hold on to him ’cause he won’t let go.

  Rory scowled. “’Course it’s what I want,” he said, even though his stomach was twisted with nerves and confusion.

  She smiled, just a little too shrewd. “If you say so, dear.”

  * * *

  The Dragon House was crowded at lunch, every table full beneath the glossy black beams of the ceiling, Arthur hunched against a swath of red silk hung on one wall as he waited, conscious of every inch of his six-foot-three frame and trying to keep his big feet out of the staff’s way. Judging by the irritated Chinese he kept hearing, he wasn’t succeeding.

  Next to him, Jade was openly eying the closest waitress, who was pushing a dim sum cart piled high with bamboo steamer baskets. “Do you think Ling would notice if a shrimp dumpling floated my way?”

  Arthur glanced down at her. “When did you meet the waitress?”

  “Several weeks ago, at least,” Jade said distractedly. “Focus on the food, Ace.”

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “The whole tea house would notice a dumpling floating this way. Now a pork bun, on the other hand—”

  She gave a soft huff. “I don’t think we’re going to get lunch with my magic.”

  “I’ll try, then.” He cleared his throat. When Ling looked his way, he gave her his best smile as Jade waved. Ling ducked her head, biting her lip against her own smile, and turned the dim sum cart in their direction.

  “Is he flirting with my cousin?”

  “Zhang!” Arthur straightened and bumped a beam with his hat. He tried to find a smile that wasn’t at all guilty. “Good to see you,” he said to the handsome man in the bowler hat and three-piece suit. “Actually see you, this time.”

  Zhang raised his eyebrow. “He was flirting with my cousin,” he said to Jade.

  Jade batted her eyelashes in a way Arthur knew had once convinced a German officer to unlock her handcuffs. “Is there something wrong with men and women flirting?”

  “Ah.” Zhang floundered. He looked a little dazed. “Not a thing.”

  Jade smiled, genuine and bright. Arthur glanced betwe
en them suspiciously. They’d known Zhang about six months now, and he’d chalked up Jade’s extra warmth to her natural affinity with people. But Arthur hadn’t seen the two of them at the same time for a few weeks, hadn’t seen the way they stared at each other and ignored the rest of the room. Ignored Arthur.

  Interesting.

  “We were hungry,” said Jade. “And we have news.”

  “Did you hear the part about us being hungry?” said Arthur.

  A short moment later, Jade and Arthur were behind the curtains of the tea house’s private room, sharing an oversized table with a lazy Susan turntable in the middle. Zhang followed them in, balancing a stack of steamer baskets and metal pots. He set the food on the table and took the seat on Jade’s other side.

  “You both know this Gwendoline Taylor?” he said, as he opened the closest basket and began using chopsticks to load Jade’s plate with golden dumplings.

  “Subordinate paranormal,” said Arthur. “London born and raised, moved to Paris after she lost her parents to the war.”

  “We met her at the cabaret where my sister, Stella, sang,” said Jade. “Gwen did all sorts of work there, but for us she’d read the moods of the crowds, help Stella’s shows go smoothly. She was a treasure. A friend.” A second pair of chopsticks floated up into the air and lifted a rice noodle roll onto Zhang’s plate. Zhang glanced up at Jade in surprise and what looked like delight, and Jade grinned.

  Christ, they were flirting. Arthur averted his gaze and grabbed a different steamer basket. By all means, make endless puppy eyes at each other. Don’t mind the third person at the table, I’ll be just fine with my own plus one, Mr. Barbecue Pork Bun.

  “Why do you have a friend on a watch list?” said Zhang.

  “Was a friend, past tense,” said Jade.

  “Last time we saw her, she was powerful and unpredictable.” Arthur grimaced. “And wanted nothing to do with us.” That wound was still raw. If only they could have found something, anything, to help.

  Jade picked up the chopsticks, by hand this time. “We went to Ellis Island this morning. Gwen arrived last night, her immigration papers arranged and paid for by Luther Mansfield. He’d even sent a car for her and her baggage.”

  Jade dipped a dumpling into soy sauce, wielding the chopsticks with a new ease that spoke to just how often she’d been eating Chinese. “The paperwork names Gwen as an art dealer but as far as I know, she’s never bought or sold art. She declared three paintings and a sculpture, claiming she has to be in America to conduct the transactions.”

  Jade shook her head. “The timing can’t be a coincidence. Mansfield has been trading in magical artifacts for money without a care for where the deadly magic ends up. And now he’s likely tangled up in whatever relic is on board that Swedish ship.”

  Zhang pursed his lips. “What’s Gwen’s magic?”

  Arthur bit into another fresh bun. “Witch-sight.”

  “Aura-sight. Stop calling it that—we’re not witches,” said Jade, elbowing him. “She sees auras in the mundane and magic in paranormals.”

  Zhang raised an eyebrow. “Like the inquisitor from the story of the relics,” he said. “So if she saw a relic out of its lead prison, she’d see what kind of magic is locked inside. Useful, sure, but I still don’t see why you’re watching for her.”

  Arthur and Jade exchanged a look. “She was changed by a relic,” Jade started. “Her magic. Her morals. She can do more than see auras now, and the things she can do to an aura put even the Inquisition’s interrogation techniques to shame.”

  “My advice is to stay on her good side,” Arthur said. “Barring that, don’t get close enough for her to touch.”

  Zhang furrowed his brow. “You said you were friends?”

  “It was the three of us in Paris,” said Arthur. “Along with two other paranormals, Ellis and Philippe, another American and a Frenchman, soldiers who fought with me.”

  “We called Philippe le pyromane,” Jade said, in a flawless French that Arthur had never got the hang of, despite his time in Paris. “The pyromaniac, a firestarter.”

  “Ellis was a mate from my platoon who could turn himself invisible,” said Arthur. “We were all friends, Ellis and Gwen were madly in love, and Paris was wonderful, until—” His throat tightened. “Until Baron Zeppler found us.”

  Zhang muttered what sounded like a curse in Chinese, then said, in passable German, “Der Zauberer.”

  The Magician. “You’ve heard of him,” said Arthur.

  “More than heard.” Zhang sat back in his chair with a huff. “He stole from us.”

  Arthur let out a low whistle. If someone had stolen from the Zhangs, he was putting his money on magic. “Tell me it wasn’t a relic.”

  “Of course it was,” said Zhang. “A brooch we found in Puerto Rico. I had taken it to Paris to show my father’s colleague.” He ran a hand over his face. “The night I gave Hoca Mustafa the brooch, it was stolen, and he was murdered in his rooms. Zeppler didn’t even bother to cover it up.”

  Jade made a noise of deep sympathy. “Baron Zeppler is a telepath,” she said. “His spies are every unknowing mind in Europe. You couldn’t have been prepared.”

  He gave her a pained smile. “I went after the baron,” he admitted. “But the war broke out, and I couldn’t get into Germany, and it seemed like the world’s more immediate need was finding wounded on the battlefield.”

  “It was,” Arthur said, with feeling.

  “Zeppler had another relic,” said Jade. “A blade colloquially known as the Venom Dagger. He was desperate to unlock its powers and believed the secret lay in paranormal blood. None of us even knew relics existed until he brought his to Paris.”

  “Gwen,” Zhang said, in understanding.

  “Yes.” Jade’s expression was sober. “Her subordinate magic drew her right to the relic. Right to the baron.”

  “I was in America, at my sister Alice’s wedding. Jade was in the South of France with Stella. But Ellis and Philippe went after Gwen.” Arthur swallowed hard. “By the time Jade and I caught up, Baron Zeppler had destroyed them.”

  “The relic had corrupted their magic.” Jade bit her lip. “Ellis was dead at Philippe’s hand, incinerated by wild magic, nothing left but soldier’s tags in the ash. Philippe died the same day, in a stolen boat that caught fire and sank in the Port of Le Havre. And Gwen’s powers had consumed her. She couldn’t see our faces anymore; only Ace’s aura, only my magic.”

  Zhang’s eyes widened. “How did she survive?” he said, with feeling. “I’ll stay on the astral plane for a day, but I damn sure don’t want to live there.”

  Jade had tried to explain magic to Arthur like electricity: a brief touch prickled; an unending current was intolerable. “She barely spared a thought for her own pain,” Arthur said. “She was furious over Philippe’s death, inconsolable over the loss of Ellis, and dead set on revenge against the baron. She wanted to charge straight back into Germany but we convinced her to come with us to Switzerland instead, to chase a rumor about relics, to let us search for a way to restore her magic’s balance.”

  “But the rumor was a false hope,” said Jade. “And one night in Geneva, Gwen just—disappeared. We woke to find her room empty and her things gone, no trail to follow. I don’t know if her magic ever recovered. And I don’t know why she’s come to New York or if she would listen to us now.”

  Arthur had never stopped regretting how they’d failed Gwen. Now another relic was on its way and Gwen had returned, with Pavel’s and Rory’s subordinate magic in the mix—

  “If Gwen is with Mansfield,” said Zhang, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts, “I could investigate—”

  “No.” Jade and Arthur said it as one.

  “But—”

  “If Gwen sees you or your astral projection,” Arthur said, “she’ll not only recognize you as paranormal, she�
�ll see all the magic you’re capable of.”

  “And if she tells Mansfield,” said Jade, “he’ll have you arrested faster than even Ace can hire a lawyer to save you.”

  Zhang pursed his lips but raised his chin. “It’s a relic, we have to find it—”

  “Mansfield is a toad. Runs in my father’s circles, keeps powerful men tied to his pockets,” said Arthur. “He’ll try to exploit the Exclusion Act and every other deplorable prejudiced law on our books.”

  “He has no limits.” Jade put her hand on Zhang’s. “You’re a paranormal American, a hard target. He doesn’t like fair fights, so he’ll sic his dogs on the most vulnerable members of your family instead.” Her gaze went to the curtains of the private room where, beyond, in the tea house, Zhang’s cousin Ling was serving another table.

  Zhang closed his eyes, shoulders tense. “I have to do something.”

  “We will,” promised Arthur. “The three of us will find another way.” He and Jade exchanged a look. “Somehow.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zhang walked Arthur and Jade outside the tea shop after dim sum. “I don’t suppose you know a good place to buy mint?” Jade said to Zhang, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

  “A market, just a few blocks.” He hesitated, then said, “I could go with you?”

  “Oh!” Jade straightened. “But you must have work—”

  “I have things I need to pick up too,” Zhang said, and Arthur was pretty sure he’d just told a bald-faced lie.

  But Jade was smiling again, and the two of them were gazing into each other’s eyes like they had at the table. “That would be wonderful, then.”

  Arthur’s chest clenched. Whatever damned travesties of laws America passed to keep everyone separate, it couldn’t stop humans from falling in love.

  Except, of course, that no one ever fell in love with Arthur.

  He viciously shoved the self-pity away. Jade was his best friend. He was happy for her.