Hyde’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s wrong with your magic?”
“The boy is more powerful than he expected.” Shelley clapped her hands. “Isn’t that a delightful surprise?”
Hyde’s expression became more calculating. “What kind of power—”
“Cuff him already, Hyde,” Shelley snapped. “Stop wasting everyone’s time. It’s not as if you’re smart enough to understand anyway.”
There was a flash of anger in Hyde’s eyes, something wild and animal. It was subdued almost instantly, but Rory could still see it, lurking like a hungry beast. “If you insist.”
With one gloved hand, Hyde pulled a set of handcuffs out of his coat pocket, duller than normal, like the lead ones Ellis had once put on Jade. He held them up at Rory. “One wrong twitch from you and I happily slaughter everyone you’ve ever cared about and a few strangers for kicks. Now move. We’re on a schedule.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wesley missed the entire wedding ceremony.
Arthur faked a smile as the happy couple came down the aisle, but under the smile he was tense enough to snap. He’d show his face at the reception for exactly ten minutes and then he’d be gone. How mad could John get if Arthur went looking for the English lord he was supposed to escort?
The wedding reception was happening at the Ritz-Carlton, five blocks south of the cathedral on Fifth Avenue. There was a line of cars to ferry guests, but Arthur tucked Rory’s hatbox once again under his arm and walked, the stiff formal oxfords obnoxiously slippery on the sidewalk.
“Zhang,” he said under his breath, without much hope. “If you’re around anywhere on the plane, call me when I get to the hotel, won’t you? I’m going mad.”
But as he climbed the steps up to the Ritz, a taxi screeched to a stop in the middle of the street. Arthur turned in surprise just as Wesley scrambled out of the cab, heading straight for Arthur.
Oh Christ. Well, at least the bastard wasn’t hurt, although he hadn’t yet put on his tuxedo and was likely to scandalize half the wedding.
“Wesley.” Arthur started down the stairs. “Where have you been?”
But Wesley didn’t break his stride going up the stairs, grabbing Arthur by the bicep, and yanking him toward the hotel doors. “Come on.”
Arthur dug in his heels. He was the stronger of the two of them and Wesley cursed as he was jerked to a stop. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”
Wesley yanked on his arm. “Because it’s about your precious antiques dealer.”
Arthur sucked in a breath. He snagged the closest bellhop. “Get my car, have it waiting,” he said, pushing his ignition key into the man’s hand, and then followed Wesley into the Ritz.
There was an empty dining room off a quiet hall on the second floor, small enough for private dinners. Arthur shut the door behind him and opened his mouth, but Wesley spoke first.
“What the hell is going on, Arthur?”
Arthur threw up his hands. “You tell me.”
“Why does an antiques dealer have enemies?” Arthur’s eyes widened, but Wesley kept talking. “Why is an Italian pretending to be Irish—if he even is an actual Italian—”
“Enough,” Arthur snapped, biting enough that even Wesley shut his mouth. “Did you actually track down my lover?”
“He was hardly difficult to find,” said Wesley. “There’s only one antiques shop in New York run by a Brodigan. The concierge found it straightaway in the phone book.”
“You had no right to look! You are so incredibly out of line—” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What did you do to him?”
“Ididn’t do anything—”
“Were you rude?”
“Hewas rude! Half my age and barely up to my chin with a mouth like a guttersnipe.” Wesley’s expression was sour. “He’s belligerent, ill-mattered, and gallingly, irritatingly adorable, Ace, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smack him or screw him.”
“You better not have done either!” Arthur stepped closer. “Did you lay a finger on him? So help me, Wes, if you hurt him—”
“That’s what I’ve come to tell you. I didn’t hurt him. But I don’t know about the others.”
