Arthur gave him a grateful look that lasted until Zhang added slyly, “And Rory’s almost here. I’ll let you keep your own eyes on him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rory waited until the taxi had puttered out of sight before descending the stairs to the tobacco shop with the heavy curtains in the window and the hand-lettered out-of-business sign. He’d caught the cab straight from the antiques shop, and the messenger bag he’d taken to Hyde Park was still slung over his shoulder. He’d been walking okay, and was able to put a good amount of weight on his ankle as he stood and did the knock—two long, three short, two long—then wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the night’s icy cold. He was uncomfortably aware of his bare head and wild curls, and even more aware of his new jewelry. He rubbed the ring on his left forefinger, still stuck on, and sighed.
Someone pushed the curtains aside, eyed Rory, then closed the curtain. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a Black man with broad shoulders and a patient expression. “Go home.”
Rory scowled. “I’m here to see Jade.”
“Sure you are.” He leaned in. “Scram, all right? This is no place for a kid.”
“I’m not a—”
The door shut firmly in his face.
Rory swore and stomped back up the stairs. He went around the corner and into the alley, crunching through lingering spots of dirty snow until he reached the side door, which he began to bang on with his fist.
A moment later, the air around him flickered as Zhang’s astral projection appeared in the alley. “You planning to bring every cop in the city to Jade’s doorstep?”
“The bouncer streeted me before I ever got in the door.” Even on the astral projection, Rory saw Zhang’s expression twitch. “It’s not funny! Let me in already.”
Zhang disappeared. About two minutes later, the alley’s side door was opening, revealing Jade’s brother Benson. Through the open door, Stella’s heart-stopping vibrato drifted into the night. “Sorry about that,” said Benson, who looked just as amused as apologetic as he moved out of the way and let Rory into the thankfully warm space. “But Grover’s got a job to do and you are kind of a peanut.”
Rory was still scowling as he stepped out from the back hall and onto the main floor and went to look for Arthur.
* * *
Arthur made his way to a pair of free stools at the end of the bar, where he could just about see the Magnolia’s main entrance that connected it to the back of the abandoned tobacco shop. On stage, Stella had the crowd in her hand with her version of “Hard-Hearted Hannah,” the sequins of her gown and feathered headband glittering like diamonds in the spotlight. At the table in the front, someone in a tuxedo with close-cropped hair and lipstick raised their glass to Stella, who tossed them a wink.
Arthur took a seat, resting his elbow on the bar top as he swirled his still mostly full sidecar. So it’s casual for you? Jade had said. You wouldn’t mind Rory scarpering off with another man?
No, it wasn’t casual for him, and yes, he would very much mind, so the least he could do was be honest with Rory. But what exactly was the right way to tell your current lover that you’ve been roped into a date with a former lover?
There was movement to his left. Arthur glanced at the stool next to him, heart lifting—
But it wasn’t Rory; just a stranger, a white man about Arthur’s age with short brown hair under a fedora and a nice navy suit. Cute enough; not Rory-cute, but who was?
The bartender was at the other end of the bar, and the stranger didn’t motion to him. His eyes were on Arthur, paying attention to Arthur’s once-over, subtle as it had been. He leaned in close enough that his words would reach Arthur alone. “Saw you sitting over here by yourself.” His gaze traveled over Arthur, lingering on the cut of Arthur’s suit, the gold-and-pearl cuff links in his shirt, the new watch on his wrist. “Thought I’d come over and say hi.”
Reporter? Police? No, unlikely a police officer would have made it inside the speakeasy, not with Zhang watching out for Jade and the other Robbinses. The stranger’s blue eyes were watery, his pale skin flushed; what were the chances a reporter was already two drinks in? With Stella on stage, the Magnolia drew adorers across genders and had a reputation of safety, so perhaps the stranger’s interest was genuine and his tongue loose enough to say it.
Arthur gave him a polite but disinterested smile. “I’m afraid I thought you were someone else.”
“Get to know me, then.” The stranger’s gaze darted back to the cuff links, then he put an elbow on the bar and leaned close to Arthur. “Come on, daddy, buy me a drink—”
The edge of a breeze grazed Arthur’s skin as it rushed past, caught the stranger’s fedora, and sent it flying off into the crowded tables. The stranger grabbed his bare head with both hands, eyes wide.
Arthur blinked. “An indoor wind appears to have blown off your hat,” he said, as neutrally as he could, because if he thought any harder about what that meant he’d either burst from anxiety or laugh. “Perhaps you’d best go after it.”
The stranger scampered away. A moment later, a smaller body dropped into the vacated bar stool at Arthur’s left with a huff loud enough to hear over Stella. Arthur side-eyed Rory, who was red-faced, arms folded over his chest, and not meeting Arthur’s gaze.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Most people just say hello.”
“I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t trying to use magic against some innocent fella, no matter how much nerve he’s got.”
“Yes, the man flirting with me had some nerve,” Arthur said dryly. “Says the paranormal who thought he’d start a tempest in my best friend’s business.”
Rory winced. He held his hands out in front of him, the bejeweled gold ring incongruous against stubby nails and knuckles that were papery and split. “It’s like the ring picks up all my bad feelings and turns them into wind. I’ve been trying to get it off, I have, but it won’t budge.”
The joint on Rory’s ring finger was red and painfully swollen. Guilt twisted Arthur’s stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m not helping by getting on your case. You’re hardly the first man to feel jealousy, and most men don’t have a link like ours complicating things.”
“Nah, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rory said firmly. “You can flirt how you want. I don’t get to start windstorms over it.”
“You didn’t do it on purpose,” said Arthur. “And I wasn’t flirting with him—it was very much one-sided.”
“I heard.” Rory made a sour face. “Come on, daddy,” he repeated, with unhidden irritation.