Arthur raised an eyebrow. “She spared his life?”
Zhang shrugged helplessly. “Looks that way,” he said, exchanging another glance with Jade.
Rory opened his mouth, but the boat rocked again, and he closed it before he thought about puking.
Gwen lifted her chin, serene as a princess, her moment of vulnerability gone—or buried where the rest of them couldn’t see it. “Sorry about that,” she said composedly. The amulet relic hung around her neck, the jewel glowing bright. “Chance shouldn’t be able to teleport onto our skiff at this speed. Smooth sailing from here on out, I promise.”
Eventually, they’d reached the end of the river and headed into the Channel. The waters at night were a deep, beautiful black, and the sky stretching out above was black too, the stars points of white, the lights along the coast dimming as they got farther from shore. It was cold out on the water, and Rory huddled close to Arthur, who was unusually silent, his cheek against the top of Rory’s head, his arm around Rory almost painfully tight.
“We left all our stuff at Lord Fine’s place,” Rory muttered. “You don’t think those paranormals will find him, do you?”
“I’m hoping Sebastian finds him first and there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say,” Arthur said, against his hair. “I’ll send Wes a telegram from Paris, tell him the bootleggers are back or something, and to get out of town. He’s smarter than his mouth sometimes makes him seem; he’ll listen.”
They made it to the French coast in the middle of the night, and Zhang found them a deserted beach to come ashore. It was a short walk to a small seaside village, where a car was parked along the side of the road. Ellis got behind the wheel with Gwen and Jade up front, Rory in the middle between Arthur and Zhang in the back.
Arthur leaned forward. “Should we ask them if they arranged for this car?” he whispered to Jade. “We’re not stealing this, are we?”
“Of course not.” Jade paused. “You know, I said that with a certainty I’m not entirely sure the situation deserves.”
“Hey, Jade,” said Ellis, “start this baby up, would you?”
Jade gave Arthur an apologetic look.
“Don’t be like that,” said Ellis. “We’reborrowingit. We’ll leave it somewhere it can be recovered.”
Arthur rubbed his temples as Jade sighed and moved her fingers. The car’s engine roared to life a moment later.
The French country roads seemed mostly empty. The wind through the car’s windows was warmer than it had been in London, the whistling layered over the rumbling motor and murmured voices of the others. Arthur’s body was radiating heat next to him, and the rush of action had left Rory worn in its wake. He couldn’t resist resting his head on Arthur’s arm, dozing lightly, distantly aware of the tires on the pavement and Arthur’s small adjustments to let Rory sleep on him.
He woke fully to a city at night, glowing street lamps lining the blocks and none of Manhattan’s new skyscrapers dwarfing the shorter four-and five-story buildings. Cafes dotted the ground floors of the buildings, some of them still open, their bright yellow lights spilling onto the sidewalks and the knots of people tucked intimately around small tables.
Ellis pulled the car to the curb in front of an awning where muffled, lively jazz drifted out. Jade and Gwen went inside while Zhang’s astral projection followed. Ellis drummed his fingers on the wheel.
“Stella used to headline here,” Arthur said quietly, to Rory. “If it’s still the same proprietor—”
“It’s still Carmen, and she’s expecting us.” Ellis glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe it’s different when your daddy’s a congressman, but most of us can’t show up to Paris during the world’s fair and get rooms without notice. Give us some credit. We didn’t come here without a plan.”
“I mostly certainly do assume you have a plan and I just don’t know it,” Arthur said dryly. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Gwen and Jade returned a couple minutes later with a woman of about forty with a curly bob and russet-brown skin, dressed in flowing trousers and a drapey blouse with a giant bow. She wore a top hat and had a long cigarette holder in one hand, and she was smiling at the other two like a fond aunt.
The other three men instantly climbed out of the car to their feet and Rory scrambled to match their manners.
The nightclub’s music was louder on the sidewalk as Arthur extended his hand to Carmen. “Hola, señora,” he said, with a genuine smile. “I wasn’t sure if you were still here or if you’d returned to Havana.”
“Arthur.” She let him take her hand, still looking fond. “How wonderful to see you again.”
Carmen’s accent was similar to Sebastian’s but more pronounced, the way Rory’s mom’s had been. She shook Ellis’s hand, Zhang’s hand, and then turned to Rory. “Benvenuto, signore,” she said.
He bit his lip, a small, surprised smile forming that she’d welcome him in Italian. “Hey,” he said, waving awkwardly.
“You must all be tired.” She clapped her hands. “Come in, come upstairs.”
The three floors above the cabaret had been converted to rentable space at least a century earlier. Arthur hadn’t lived here himself; during his time in Paris, he’d leased a small flat in the sixteenth arrondissement, courtesy of his family’s connections. But he’d come here to visit Jade and hear Stella sing, and the nostalgia hit hard as he climbed the stairs with their same worn carpet, especially as Gwen and Ellis’s lovestruck murmurs came from just in front of him.
Those were some of his most treasured memories. And of course, two years ago, his aura had also been whole, not torn and disintegrating, only bandaged by Rory’s magic—
Arthur shook his head, like he could banish the thought.
