Sebastian opened his mouth to suggest opium—
“Lie to my face again and I will kill a fox, just for you.”
Sebastian snapped his mouth shut to glower instead.
“I was on fire. And then I wasn’t—” Lord Fine pointed at him “—and that was your doing. You will not lie there and pretend you’re harmless. I want to know how I was nearly immolated near Fenchurch Station and I expect an answernow.”
It was an impressive command, said in the rigid and forceful tone of a man accustomed to instant obedience. Lord Fine was standing ramrod straight, still holding his revolver, and his glare dared Sebastian to cross him.
And then, from somewhere down below, came a yip.
“Oh!” Sebastian tried to sit up, only to jerk against his handcuffs and flop back to the bed. “You have a dog!”
“I most certainly do not,” Lord Fine snapped.
“Then your neighbor has one?” Charming, enthusiastic little yips could still be heard. “She sounds cute. What’s her name?”
“My neighbor?”
“The doggie.”
“Thedoggie.” Lord Fine’s lips had gone very thin. “Powderpuff.”
“Oh, that is very cute, yes? I bet she is a sweet companion for someone—”
“Enough.”Lord Fine whirled away from the bed. He began pacing the floor, gun still in his hand. “What the devil is going on?” he said, as if to himself. “There was fire; he stopped it. He’s in handcuffs, I have a gun, yet he cares only for the dog. Is he a fae? It would explain why he’s not afraid, and preternaturally handsome.”
Sebastian nearly choked.
“But I’ve caught him, so shouldn’t I get a wish?” Lord Fine went on. “Or must I offer breakfast? Isn’t there some myth about fairies eating human food and then they’re your captive, or is it the other way around? Christ, I hate fairy tales.”
Sebastian would very much have liked some breakfast, or at least some water, but what he said was, “I wouldn’t take you captive.”
Lord Fine gestured at the handcuffs with the gun. “Can’t say I return the sentiment,” he said dryly. “Mr. de Leon—”
“You can call me Sebastian,” he interrupted. “I’m handcuffed to your bed.”
“Believe me, I amwellaware of you in my bed right now,” Lord Fine said, extra testy as he put a knee on the edge of the mattress. “Sebastian.”
His name rolled off Lord Fine’s tongue not with a perfect Spanish accent but not completely Anglicized either, as if Lord Fine couldn’t quite get there but had given his best effort to pronounce it correctly. His clothes were tailored for a close fit, trousers tight to his hips, and with no jacket it was easy to see how his shirt and vest molded to broad shoulders and a flat abdomen. The bandages were clear on his forearms, but his movements were controlled, and there was no fear on his face.
“I was caged in a circle of fire. I was set aflame by a man who didn’t touch me. And Mercier used the wordparanormal, the same word you used to describe Rory Brodigan in New York,” said Lord Fine. “So I don’t believe you’re a bootlegger, Sebastian, because Mercier also used the wordmagic.”
The word hung between them for a moment.
Sebastian glanced up, meeting his eyes. “Surely you don’t believe in magic, Lord Fine?”
They stared at each other for a long moment, the only sound the distant, happy yips of the little dog, Powderpuff.
“You’re not going to talk?” Lord Fine finally said, harsh and biting.
Sebastian blew out a breath. “You are too nice to get mixed up in my world,” he said softly. “You have been right about me all along. I am a villain, a rogue, a—what is the word—a scoundrel. I am a dangerous man with a bad past and you an innocent.”
He tried a pleading tone, anything to convince Lord Fine to turn away from this. “Show me the door,” he said, “and forget what you saw. Forget you ever met me. It is how you will stay safe.”
Lord Fine stood several moments more, the hand not holding the gun clenched in a fist.
Then he said, “Very well. We’ll do this the hard way.”
