Rory went cold. “But if you know I won’t talk—”
“There are other ways to get information out of someone’s thoughts or memories,” she said patiently. “Telepathy, certainly; if Baron Zeppler ever meets you he will pick the secrets from your mind like apples in an orchard. But perhaps with the right potion, or artifact, I can discover what I want to know as well.”
She opened her eyes. “And you get to come see London.” She gestured at him. “The sea air will do you good. Your magic is still a fright, you know, arcing all over you like wild lightning.”
“No.” Rory shook his head wildly. He pulled against the man who had him. “You can’t bind the pomander to someone else. You can’t unlock that relic ever.”
She held out the box in front of her. “I agree that this is the vilest magic. But if I don’t bind it to someone, it could yet wind up in the hands of the baron. And I assure you, Rory, no one on earth wants that to happen.”
“Let us try,” Rory said desperately.
She paused, tilting her head. “The pomander, unbound, and you, with the secret to unlocking its power. You want me to let you both loose in a world where a telepath like Zeppler exists?”
“I want you to give us a chance,” he begged, leaning as far in as the mobster holding his arm would let him. “Jade, Zhang, me, Ace—we can find a way to destroy it.”
She met his eyes. “Convince me,” she said softly, leaning closer as well, the pomander relic in its lead box still in her hand—
Then her eyes suddenly dropped to Rory’s neck, still encircled by Shelley’s choker. “Hang on,” she said, her eyes widened. “I couldn’t see it before, in the tangle of your magic, butthis—”
And somewhere in his exhaustion, his magic found a spark. It burst from him before his brain had fully formed the thought, sending the henchman staggering backward, and freeing Rory enough for him to snatch the box out of Gwen’s hand and shove past her for the closest railing.
“Rory, no!”
Rory ignored her shout. He had only the vaguest idea of what the ship he was on was like, and the distant notion that maybe if he jumped down to the next deck he could find the security Ellis had mentioned. He grabbed the railing before anyone could stop him and, with the last of his strength, launched himself over it.
It was a terrible mistake.
There was no lower deck. Instead, Rory went tumbling over the side of the ship, toward the black river churning with white waves in the wake.
He had one terrified thought—I can’t swim—and then realized he might hit the water so hard that it wouldn’t matter—
The Delaware rose up to meet him.
He hit the water a second later, far sooner and softer than he should have, plummeting beneath the surface into the shocking cold. But just as the dark surrounded him and panic gripped him, he was pushed back up by an invisible force.
Up and up he was pushed, until his head broke above the surface. He gasped for air, desperately clutching the relic, thrashing around but somehow not sinking.
Faintly, over the roar of water in his ears and the engines of the ship, he heard a shout that sounded like his name.
Moments later, something round and white was being shoved into Rory’s chest. “Hold on!”
Rory scrambled to grab the life preserver, clutching it painfully hard with his free hand, holding the stinging lead box to his chest with the other as strong arms wrapped around him from behind.
“I’ve got you,” Arthur said into to his ear. “I’ve got you.”
Rory went limp. Arthur’s arms were tight around him, his legs treading water as he pulled Rory backward, along the life preserver’s rope while Rory sucked in lungfuls of wonderful air. When they bumped up along the side of the lifeboat, Arthur reached up and grabbed the edge to pull down the side of the boat. With a huge grunt of effort, he shoved Rory into it. Rory flopped onto his back on the bottom of the boat, heart pounding, chest heaving.
A moment later, Arthur tumbled into the boat next to him with no grace, his bulk rocking the boat but thankfully not tipping it.
They lay panting together, side by side on the uncomfortable boat floor, under the black sky with its fuzzy white specks.
“Well, shit,” Rory muttered. “I lost my glasses.”
“I’ll buy you twenty,” said Arthur. “I’m so damn grateful you’re alive.”
Rory dropped the relic box somewhere in the boat and fumbled for Arthur’s hand. It was as cold as his own, but Arthur clutched his back just as tightly. “You too. You woke up?”
“In the lifeboat. I don’t think I was out for more than a few minutes. I saw you fall from the deck and—” Arthur’s voice caught and he squeezed Rory’s hand. “I didn’t know if I was going to make it to you in time,” he said quietly. “I thought you couldn’t swim.”
