“I don’t know, but the last time someone stuck a letter in my paper, I was nearly immolated in an alley.”
“Don’t touch it.” Sebastian was out of the bed, sheet wrapped around him like a toga.
“Modesty?” said Wesley. “Now? You think I didn’t see every inch of you there is to see when my tongue was—”
“I don’t want to be naked if it’smagic,” Sebastian said, which all right, yes, that was fair. “You should sit.”
Which meant Sebastian was going to usehismagic. Which put the memory of the night before into Wesley’s mind, and he very quickly sat on his nearby trunk, because Christ, Wesley,not the time.
Sebastian knelt next to the envelope, his hand out. Wesley felt the now-familiar wave of enervation sweep the room, rolling over his aura like the tide. His limbs went weak, but as soon as he’d registered he was slumping, the magic was gone.
“No traces of magic.” Sebastian picked up the envelope. “But it has your name on it.”
He held it out to Wesley.
Wesley frowned but took it. It was a plain, cream-colored envelope with no stamp. The wordsThe Viscount Finehad been typed by a typewriter on the envelope’s front, with Wesley’s room number below, and it was gummed shut—no seal to give a clue. “Maybe we’re finally hearing from Miss Robbins.”
Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet still wrapped around his waist. “I don’t think so.”
Wesley glanced at Sebastian.
“Jade is very kind,” Sebastian said. “The last anonymous letter you got was not from a kind person, and she knows that. I do not think she would contact you the same way. She would not want to risk rekindling bad memories, no matter how small the chance.”
That logic rang true. Wesley tore it open at the flap and pulled out a folded letter.
Lord Fine:
You once traveled with a man named Benedict Chester as your valet. Mr. Chester was a notorious international thief and you are known in certain circles to be his last employer before death.
You are not safe in New York. Beware the company you keep.
It was typed on a typewriter, same as the envelope, and signed with a typed—a friend.
Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Well, I think we can safely say this is, indeed, not from Miss Robbins.”
He held it out to Sebastian, who took it. Sebastian’s eyes tracked over the letter, and then widened. He looked up.
“No,” Wesley said. “I can practically see the concern forming in that paranormal brain of yours, but we have discussed you not treating me like an infant. I will concede it’s an unusual letter but there is no need for those big shocked eyes. We are not going to make a fuss.”
“Yes, weare,” Sebastian said, “because someone is threatening my boyfriend.”
His boyfriend.
Sebastian didn’t seem to realize what he’d said, re-reading the letter with narrowed eyes. “Could this be from Major Langford or Sir Ellery?”
Wesley scoffed. “First of all, the letter styles itself as a warning, not a threat. And second, no. Langford is not a friend and Sir Ellery wouldn’t know magic from a Mauser.”
“Sir Ellery was on this same trip with you and your valet, Mr. Chester. He knew you employed him. How do you know they didn’t collude?”
“How would a baronet get mixed up with magic and relics?”
“You’re a viscount, and you’re here.”
Wesley opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I’m going to call Jade.” Sebastian was on his feet, the sheet trailing after him as he strode into the parlor with the letter. “And Zhang. And I’m going to call Arthur and Rory and somebody is going to answer their phone and we are going to figure out what’s going on.”
“I’m sure it’s—”
