Arthur scoffed but smiled. “Cute.”
Rory glanced up at him. He was back in his own coat this morning but with no cap, and his sleep-tangled curls were loose and almost in his eyes. “Who’s being cute?”
Are you ever not, Arthur was tempted to say, except Rory did look serious. “It’s not like you’d actually use magic on someone because of me.”
Rory looked away. “I don’t know what I’d do to someone who put you in danger,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think it’d be nice.”
Arthur glanced down to Rory’s left hand, where they’d covered the ring with Arthur’s gloves. A ring that started tempests. A ring Rory still couldn’t remove.Have you ever—seen something you can’t explain?Mansfield’s lawyer, Edgar Barnes, had asked him.Or—someone?
Arthur had seen quite a lot of inexplicable somethings and someones, thank you, and he very much wanted to be back in Manhattan, where he could be certain Mansfield’s estate hadn’t given Edgar Barnes any funny ideas about the paranormals in Arthur’s life. But Rory was still limping. “Are you okay to travel today?”
“It’s just a sprain,” Rory said, like the idea of taking it easy with an injury was ridiculous. “It’ll be fine. Mrs. B and I need to get back and get the shop open, and you’ve got to talk with your brother. Your other brother.Oneof your other brothers.”
Arthur quirked a smile that faded almost instantly at the memory of the strain on John’s face, at John’s strange question.
Do you still dream of the war?
“Did Harry say we’re taking a boat back to his place?” Rory said, before Arthur could ruminate further.
“To the marina up the road. I’m sure his car is waiting there.” At that, Rory seemed to shrink into his coat, and Arthur frowned. “Have you ever been on a boat before?”
Rory shook his head. “My mom took one to get here. Said it took two weeks and she threw up the whole time.”
Arthur’s chest twisted with sympathy. “The Atlantic crossing isn’t easy.” He thought about it every time he made the trip, how people took ill even in the luxury of first class, and the far worse conditions suffered by so many others. “But the river’s barely half a mile wide at this point; you’re unlikely to have time to get seasick.”
Rory was still unusually stiff as Arthur helped him onto the small pier, the wood planks echoing under his boots as they walked over the water to where Harry was waiting on the dock. Harry also owned a yacht but Arthur loved this sleeker runabout, which had a powerful outboard motor and varnished golden wood with trim as red as his Cadillac.
The runabout had two rows of leather seats, like a car. Jones, the older Black man who managed the marina, was already in the boat, standing in the front behind the steering wheel and adjusting the gages.
Harry gestured to the back seat. “After you,” he said to Rory, still looking a little less friendly than normal.
Rory hunched his shoulders but didn’t say anything. As he started to climb into the boat, it rocked beneath him, and Rory promptly went green. Arthur couldn’t help himself; he offered his arm and Rory clamped onto it with both hands.
“First time on a boat,” Arthur said quickly to Harry. “And he has a sprained ankle.”
Harry glanced at where Rory was still clinging tourniquet-tight to Arthur’s arm. His expression softened slightly. “Just...get him on the boat,” he said with a sigh.
Arthur stayed on the dock while Rory held on to his arm. Once Rory was settled in the back seat, he let go and immediately grabbed for the side of the boat. Arthur wished he could hold his hand across the river. Instead, he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We’ll be across in no time,” he promised.
Rory swallowed. He glanced at Harry, then back at Arthur. “I, um, I can’t swim.”
Arthur’s heart clenched. Mindful of their audience, he said, “I can.”
Rory’s shoulder relaxed, just a fraction.
“And we can give the boy a life jacket,” Harry said dryly, and pointed to where Jones was already opening a small compartment under a seat. “Jones does know what he’s doing.”
“Thanks, Mr. Kenzie,” Rory said, sincere and heartfelt, not a trace of his usual grouchiness. He was too pale, his gloved hands still attached in a death grip to the side of the boat. “I’m real sorry about all this.”
It was the rare shy side of Rory that turned Arthur to putty, and it looked like even Harry wasn’t completely immune. “Yes, well,” Harry said gruffly. “Next time, stay off the ice, all right?”
As Jones reached over to the back seat and helped Rory put on a life jacket over his layers, Harry stepped a little closer to Arthur. His gaze was still on Rory. “Victoria will be glad he’s safe. She was terribly upset last night. Apparently she likes him.” He furrowed his brow. “I didn’t think she liked anyone.”
“There’s more to Rory than he lets people assume,” Arthur said.
“I suppose.” Harry was quiet for a moment, then said suddenly, “He stuck up for you.”
“Beg your pardon?”
