“A room, if you please,” Wesley said, holding Sebastian upright. God, he was alarmingly hot, even through clothes. “My friend here could use a quick kip.”
Above their heads, the room over the lobby must have had at least five occupants throwing a bash of their own, judging by the stomping of feet mixed with bawdy laughter and catcalls. The woman behind the counter didn’t seem to even notice the noise as she sized them up, the way Sebastian’s head was resting against Wesley’s chest, the tightness of Wesley’s arm around his waist.
“Friend, huh,” she said, her tone as unbothered as her expression. “Isn’t he pretty. For a friend.”
Wesley narrowed his eyes. “How would you prefer I describe him? May I please have a bed for the man I sexually service on a regular basis?”
She actually cracked a smile. “Nowthatwill get you a room here,” she said, pulling out a set of keys. She pointed to the stairs in the corner. “Second floor, third door on the left.”
Wesley accepted the keys. “Have you got any first aid supplies? Water and extra blankets?”
“For your pretty friend? Why not.” She bent down, rummaging behind the counter and gathering things.
A first aid kit was probably close to useless, as Wesley was fairly certain tonics and powders were going to do fuck all against magic. But there was still blood on Sebastian’s face, and they might need the bandages.
The woman straightened back up. “There’s a bathroom on the floor; you can fill the canteen in the sink.” She handed the canteen over along with a large tin and two stacked blankets. “What did he drink, anyway? Tell me it wasn’t the gin at the Haberdashers; ain’t no one oughta be drinking that swill. They make that in an old factory. Still got pieces of hats in the tubs.”
Ugh.
It took some wrangling, especially since they had to maneuver around a pair of tipsy women giggling at the top of the stairs and a couple sharing cigarettes in the hall, but Wesley finally got Sebastian up the stairs and into the room. The carpet was every bit as filthy as Wesley had expected, and the room held only a bed and a nightstand. But the sheets were clean and the radiator seemed to be somewhat working, taking the worst of the chill off the night air.
Wesley sat Sebastian down on the edge of the mattress. There was a small lamp on the nightstand, and when he pulled the chain, it lit the room enough to see Sebastian’s flushed skin, how his hair was damp with sweat despite his shivering. The blood on his temple was clearer now, and Wesley quickly wiped it away with his sleeve so he could see the cut below. Small mercies here, at least; just a shallow scrape at the hairline, maybe from hitting the pavement.
Sebastian’s eyes were closed again and he was probably not going to be able to sit upright for more than another minute or two. Wesley reached for Sebastian’s hands, to check for scrapes where he hit the pavement, and his heart stopped.
The lion was gone.
Wesley scanned the tattoo frantically, seeing only swirls of colors on Sebastian’s skin, even the scars now lost to the blend of abstract, vivid hues. Wesley took a breath, and this might be it, the moment when his panic would refuse to be contained—
The lion appeared within the colors.
But before Wesley could feel relief, it faded again, like it was slipping underwater beneath the colors of the tattoo.
He wrapped his hand around Sebastian’s wrist. “We need you to stay,” he whispered urgently, brushing his thumb over the ink that hid the lion. “We need you to hide us from the man who did this to Sebastian.”
The lion did appear to Wesley’s eyes then, as if it had bobbed to the surface—but only to fade away again, lost within the ink. Coming and going in stuttering pulses like the uneven waves of Sebastian’s magic that had rolled over Wesley as they filled the alley.
Wesley took a breath through his nose. Panicking would not help Sebastian; he needed to keep his head.
There was muted laughter, maybe the pair of women from the stairs, passing by the outside of their door as Wesley ran through the night’s events in his mind, detached and observant. In the alley, he’d felt Sebastian’s familiar magic start to weaken his knees, but then it was gone and Sebastian was down on the stones of the alley. Sebastian had fallenbeforethe shot that killed Sir Ellery—before the brooch had been stolen.
Was it more than just losing the brooch that was making his magic unsteady?
Wesley clenched his jaw. He knew nothing right now, had no idea what he was dealing with. But he would focus on what he could do: bandage cuts, make sure Sebastian was warm. Keep his eyes on the lion.
And most of all, he could stay, in case Sebastian fell asleep, to keep blood terrors away and make sure his blood damn well remembered he was free now.
In the hall, there were new voices, a man bragging, a woman flirting; the couple who had been sharing cigarettes, perhaps. A moment later, the door to the room next door slammed shut.
Sebastian’s eyelashes fluttered again. “Wes?”
Wesley let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’m here. Do you know what happened to you?”
“Poison.”
“Poison?”
“For paranormals.” Sebastian’s eyes were hazy, his face very flushed. “Alasdair.”
