“Insubordinates.” Shelley is shaking her head as she comes down the stairs toward the relic, Chester’s now blood-splattered box in her hand. She kneels down and picks the pomander up, setting it carefully back into the silk. “No appreciation for the possibility of an audience...”
Rory gasped, the image of Shelley closing the relic in its box banished like smoke in the wind by the world surrounding him: the soft bed and blankets, the subtle scents of clean sheets and cologne. Arthur’s world.
He lunged for the big body next to him, and wrapped his own shaking body around Arthur. “Ace, wake up,” he whispered into the dark, his terror mixing with trembling relief to find himself a universe away from waking alone on the icy floor of his boardinghouse. “We got a problem.”
Arthur didn’t move.
Rory furrowed his brow. Arthur should have alreadybeenawake; he slept light as a feather, stirring any time Rory did, and Rory’d probably been babbling nonsense the entire vision just inches from his ear. But now he was still as a rock.
Rory nudged Arthur’s torso, expecting a muscular arm to automatically wrap around him. “Ace?”
Nothing happened.
Unease began to thread its way through Rory. Arthur’s skin was clammy and too cool. Rory pushed harder and spoke at normal volume. “Bello, come on.” He tugged at Arthur’s arm. “Wake up.”
No response.
Rory fumbled for his glasses on Arthur’s nightstand, the metal slippery in his sweaty fingers. He shoved them on his face and pulled the chain on the light.
Arthur lay on his back, eyes closed. His bare chest rose and fell with slow breaths, but he was otherwise still as a corpse.
“Arthur!” Rory’s heart began to pound. He grabbed Arthur’s shoulders. “Wake up, c’mon, open your eyes—”
The glow of Zhang’s astral projection came to life on the other side of the room, cutting through Rory’s panic like a beacon. “What’s going on?”
“How did you—”
“Your ring in my shop. The brass sphere is bouncing and rattling in its trunk like a trapped bee. It woke Ling, who woke me.” There was alarm on Zhang’s face as he looked at Arthur’s unmoving body. “What happened to Ace?”
“I don’t know!” Rory’s chest was too tight, his breath too fast. “I saw a new relic. Some other paranormals. And—” His voice broke. He gritted his teeth and made himself speak steadily. “And a murder.”
Zhang’s expression turned horrified. “Are you all right—”
“I’m fine—or at least, I’mout. But Ace won’t wake up, I don’t understand—”
Zhang’s astral projection flickered. “Check his pulse.”
Rory pressed his hand to Arthur’s jugular, finding his heartbeat slow and steady beneath his fingers. “Is it magic?” he said desperately. “Is it—”
A hand suddenly wrapped around Rory’s wrist, just above where his fingers were still pressed to Arthur’s neck.
“Teddy?” Arthur’s blue eyes were open wide, clear and concerned, searching Rory’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Relief surged in Rory and he launched himself into Arthur’s chest.
Arthur’s arms came around him. “You’re shaking. What’s—”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” Rory said against Arthur’s skin. “I had a vision and I got out, but you wouldn’t wake—”
“Hey, I’m fine, it’s all right.” Arthur’s voice rumbled reassuringly under Rory’s ear. “Are you—”
“Forget about me.” Rory squeezed his stinging eyes shut and clung to Arthur. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered harshly. “Next time you’re gonna fucking wake up, all right?”
Arthur held him a little closer. “All right,” he said softly, because he was too kind to say something likebe reasonable, it’s out of my control.
Rory was grateful Arthur wasn’t trying to be reasonable, because nothing was reasonable about the still-racing speed of his heart or the tightness of his throat. “Good,” he managed to say. “Zhang’s here, by the way.”
Arthur made a strangled sound. “Please tell me the blankets are covering us.”
