“And then Rory’s magic woke right up when your aura was exposed to four-hundred-year-old violation magic,” Jade added. “I’m glad for that.”

“Me too,” Arthur said softly. The prickles of Rory’s magic were starting to fade, like a storm rolling on into the distance, and Arthur felt a fresh pang of loss. Don’t go yet, he thought, with a desperate edge, like it could hear him. He ran his hands over his arms again, willing the magic to stay sparking in his veins. I’m not ready to lose you, don’t go.

Zhang let his head fall back against the railing. “So what now?”

“We go back to New York as planned.”

Arthur turned in surprise, but Zhang was already nodding at Jade’s words.

“We need to do further research,” Jade continued. “We need to plan. We can do both of those things in New York.” She gave Arthur a small smile. “And we can celebrate Rory’s twenty-first birthday while we’re at it.”

Thank you, Arthur mouthed at her, as he felt Rory’s magic settle.

He missed the prickles, but as the rock behind him seemed less cold, all of a sudden, he realized he was far warmer than he should have been in the cold tunnel with his face and coat soaked with waterfall spray.

And that was Rory’s magic, reminding him it was still around. Because maybe Rory couldn’t send telegrams or postcards, but he never left Arthur alone.

Chapter Four

They closed the antiques store for good on the morning of Rory’s birthday. He and Mrs. Brodigan—soon to be Mrs. McIntyre, with Mr. McIntyre’s daughter planning the wedding in Boston—stood together on the sidewalk, watching as the movers carried the last of the empty shelves out.

“I hate goodbyes,” Mrs. Brodigan mumbled, dabbing at her eyes. “Even to a place.”

Rory just nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He was already dressed in his waiter’s uniform, secondhand black trousers and vest, with dress shoes a size too big. The bow tie was in his pocket, his buttoned-up coat hiding the uniform so Mrs. Brodigan wouldn’t know he’d bought new clothes with money he didn’t have. The last thing he wanted to tell her was that he hadn’t gone to his friends for a job like he’d promised; he’d found a new gig at a restaurant instead, and it was awful, long hours with a sharp boss and no breaks.

Exhaustion had settled in like a permanent companion as he worked ’round the clock between his new job at the restaurant and getting the antiques shop ready to close. They’d given Mrs. Brodigan’s desk and Rory’s armchair to the Meyerses upstairs and the cash register to the Taussigs as a spare. Everything else had been sold or given to charity.