“That’s the fellow, yes. Not to worry, though; he’s long gone.”
Arthur’s stomach plummeted. “Gone?”
“Yes, sir,” the doorman said proudly. “I don’t know why he thought we’d fall for a story like—oh.” The doorman had noticed Arthur’s narrowed eyes. He hesitated, and his satisfied expression wavered. “Was he actually an antiques dealer?”
“You didn’t believe him?” Arthur said flatly.
“Well—”
“And you didn’t even let him stay to wait?”
“I let him use the phone!” The doorman wrung his hands. “But he left on his own after that.”
Arthur blew out a breath. “With a welcome like that, who could blame him?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The doorman looked positively miserable. “Reporters and scam artists try all sorts of things to get in here. And he didn’t look like an antiques dealer.”
“Appearance isn’t everything,” Arthur said, trying to keep a hold on his temper, already frayed from an evening with Wesley. The doorman had only been trying to do his job, it was true, but he didn’t have to do it with bias. “That gentleman is, in fact, almost certainly the best antiques appraiser of this century.”
So Rory had been here and left. Of course he’d left; the doorman had been rude and Arthur was at the Waldorf Astoria with his ex-boyfriend; it didn’t take magic to know what that looked like.
And where was Rorynow? Had he gone back to the teahouse? His tenement? With malevolent magic somewhere in New York—
The valet had already left, driving Arthur’s car to the garage. Arthur hurried to the elevator and up to four.
“Of course I’m at the Dragon House, Ace,” Arthur muttered, as the elevator rose. “Where else would I be, Ace?”
He had to find Rory. He’d call Jade again, ask her if she could reach Zhang and check if Rory was at the Dragon House. And if he wasn’t, then Arthur could be in Hell’s Kitchen in minutes. He’d find Rory.
He strode down the hall and unlocked his door, prepared for the cold, dark silence he always came home to.
He pushed the door open and froze.
The lights were on, the flat was warm, and the foyer smelled good enough to eat the walls. Stella’s version of “It Had to Be You” came from within, and Arthur followed her voice into the saloon just as Rory’s head popped up over the back of the settee.
“Hey,bello.”
“You’re here,” Arthur said stupidly.
“Course I’m here. You didn’t think I was gonna leave you on your own tonight, did you?”
“But—”
“I scried all your doors and windows, the table, the foyer.” Rory looked frustrated. “No one’s been in here since we left for Hyde Park, not even your housekeeper. I don’t think anyone’s planted a spell bag to give you nightmares.”
Arthur blinked. “You know about my dream?”
“Jade wouldn’t give me the details, but I can guess you had a bad one, right after your brother, and you didn’t tell me,” Rory said testily, and held upThe Mark of Zorro. “So yeah, I came and scried, and you don’t get to be mad about it, and you don’t get to be mad that I borrowed your book. Or your couch.” He pointed at Arthur. “Or your kitchen.”
“I assure you, I am notangry.” Arthur came closer. “How—why—what smells so good?” he said, his brain picking what it apparently thought was the most important of his many questions. He smelled the air again, picking up fresh seafood and something spicy. “And is there any left?”
Rory’s expression softened. “Lots,” he admitted, with an embarrassed sort of shrug. “I kinda bought too much in Little Italy, but you got a refrigerator in your own pad and you should have food in it.”
He’d bought groceries for Arthur? Trekked them all the way here from Little Italy? Arthur felt warm all over, the relief of seeing Rory mixed with affection and gratitude. “But the doorman wouldn’t even let you wait. How did you get in?”
Rory picked something small off the side table and held it up.
Arthur stared. “Is that—?”
