Rory gestured at Sebastian’s wrist, where the ink of his tattoo poked out from beneath his sleeve. “But telepathy doesn’t work on you, does it? Because that tattoo your cousin inked on you traps it in a whirlpool, same as her paintings do. I couldn’t see you in history and neither could Zhang from the astral plane. So if telepathy doesn’t work, whatdoes? What’s Zeppler got on you?”
Arthur thought he could guess. “Blood magic.”
Sebastian’s tiny wince was confirmation enough.
Rory’s eyebrows went up. “Why? ’Cause it’s violation magic?”
“Remember what Zhang told us in New York?” Arthur said. “Blood magic isn’t in a mundane person’s aura or a paranormal’s magic. It’s directly in the veins. I assume it’s stronger than everything except the relics themselves.”
Sebastian looked down at his drink. “Zeppler doesn’t work alone,” he finally said. “He has a devoted second in command. In English, they call him the Puppeteer.”
“Oh, marvelous, that’s not terrifying at all,” Arthur muttered.
Sebastian turned his tonic water, tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of the clear glass. “Zeppler takes the blood of everyone bound to his service to secure our cooperation. With a drop of your blood, the Puppeteer can make anyone, paranormal or not, do anything he wants.”
Rory and Arthur exchanged a glance. “Mind control?” asked Rory.
“Body control.” Sebastian was still staring at his glass. “Your mind becomes a helpless prisoner while your body, and your magic, is no longer yours to control.”
The way he said it—Arthur could hear the scars in his voice. Discomfort curled in his gut. He liked to think he was a hard man to scare, but the very idea of what Sebastian was hinting at made Arthur ill. “Christ,” he muttered. “Do you know if he has Gwen’s blood?”
Sebastian shook his head. “The Puppeteer was on a side mission when Zeppler went to Paris with the Venom Dagger relic. Zeppler was too eager to try to unlock the dagger to save Gwen’s blood, or Ellis’s, for the Puppeteer. If the baron has one weakness, it’s avarice.”
Arthur tilted his head. “How are you free now?”
“I’m not,” Sebastian said, low and tense. “Gwen can’t see my magic, but she saw Hyde’s, and she saw the blood magic on him, same as what’s in my veins. Make no mistake; I’m not free.”
“The gallery of your cousin’s paintings,” Rory said, in realization. “Gwen and Ellis are hiding from the baron, but they’re trying to hideyoufrom the Puppeteer, because if he finds you again, he’ll be in control of you. He could make you hurt everyone around you.” He swallowed. “He could make you kill someone.”
Arthur felt a twist of something like sympathy in his chest. To be under the constant fear that you might wake up someone else’s weapon was a terrible thought, and Sebastian was still living that experience.
“And now you understand why I stayed with the baron, why I followed orders, and why I can’t go get my own siphon in Paris,” Sebastian said testily. “And I hope you understand why I don’t talk about it. Soacqua in bocca, yes?” he added pointedly.
Rory stilled.
Arthur glanced between them. “What did he say?”
“It meanskeep it to yourself, more or less.” Rory still looked confused. “You speak Italian?”
Sebastian shook his head. “Just a few phrases where the words sound similar to Spanish,” he said modestly. “I was stationed in Italy for a few months during the war.Bel paese, bella lingua, bella gente.” He added, to Arthur, “Beautiful country, beautiful language, beautiful people.”
“Oh.” Arthur glanced from Sebastian to Rory, whose jealousy and anger were gone, expression turned soft and curious. “Is that what you said.”
Arthur picked up his whiskey.
Smooth bastard.
They checked in on Jade and Zhang, but they wanted to stay and keep reading. Jade was sitting on the chaise with Gwen. Rory couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were talking quietly, a little less tense than earlier.
Jade had told Rory they’d been good friends. Rory wasn’t sure what exactly they were now.
“We have several books in Italian,” Sebastian said to Rory. “I’m doing my best, but I’m sure you’d do better.”
“I’m sure,” Arthur repeated, sounding broodier than usual.
“I’ll take a look,” Rory promised, then turned to Arthur. “We should probably check on Lord Fine,” he said quietly. “Because the more I learn about Baron Zeppler, the less I want anyone without magic near any of this.”
A flash of hurt crossed Arthur’s face. “I don’t have magic.”
