Arthur should have been able to relax and enjoy a comfortable, expert shave from a barber who obviously knew his way around a blade. Except Rory’s magic wasn’t getting the message to calm down at all. If anything, it was more agitated than ever, making Arthur feel like he was being shaved in a cloud of static electricity.

But then, that magic was literally knitting his life force together.

Could that be why he was feeling it now? Was his aura disintegrating further and Rory’s magic scrambling to patch it? Was that how this worked?

There was a sudden prick, just beneath his jaw, and a surprised hiss escaped Arthur.

“Sorry,” said the barber. “You twitched.”

Had he? Arthur frowned, but the barber was toweling him off, dabbing at the nick with a damp towel, and the pain was already gone.

Arthur’s chair was rightened a second later, and there he was in the mirror. He turned his face from side to side to see his perfectly shaved jaw, no blood in sight.

He looked past his own reflection to the space behind him, but the barber had vanished.

A different man was stepping up to Arthur’s chair. “La coupe de cheveux?” he asked, holding up scissors.

Arthur’s gaze went back to himself, in the mirror. The sizzle of Rory’s magic was fading; in another moment it would be gone. Arthur felt normal, he looked normal.

The man in the mirror didn’t look like a man whose aura was shredding.

With another quiet sigh, he sat back in the chair for his haircut.

Rory glanced around the cabaret’s dark lobby, with its black-painted walls and purple furniture and oversize posters of performers, including one of Stella in a sequined gown. He smiled faintly; he still couldn’t believe she’d sung “Happy Birthday” for him. “Bet she filled every seat in this joint too,” he said to Jade, as he stuck a finger in his shirt collar and tugged it away from his skin.

“She did,” Jade said, with a big sister’s pride. “And Benson used to help Carmen run this place. His wife Anita loved it here too; they may find their way here again.” She eyed Rory with a knowing smile. “Not a fan of the ruffles?”

Rory found a grudging smile back for her. She looked like she belonged on a poster too, in a form-fitting man’s tuxedo with long tails, with one of Carmen’s tiny top hats on top of her bob. Zhang, the only one dressed in his usual clothes, was sitting on the stool next to her, and seemed to be having trouble looking anywhere else.

“Collar’s too tight,” said Rory.