This time, it didn’t fade right away. Arthur gritted his teeth as pain and magic fought in his chest. As Rory’s magic grew stronger, Arthur’s skin broke out in goose bumps, and a moment later the magic had driven out the pain like a rainstorm quenching a fire’s embers.

Arthur shook himself, still feeling the echoes against his skin. For all Jade’s teasing about his tendency to forget what a powerful paranormal Rory actually was, every now and then, he had absolutely no trouble remembering.

“We good?” he muttered out loud, like Rory could hear him.

Arthur rubbed at his chest again. Rory’s magic hadn’t caused that pain, he’d swear to that. It had felt like Rory’s magic had come barreling as a response.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just magic being unpredictable and inscrutable.

But what if Rory...wasn’t good?

Arthur promptly took the first right, onto a residential street that was blessedly far emptier, and began to head back toward the church.

Rory stared at the man behind his pew—dark brown hair, pale skin, not much taller than Rory himself. “How do you know that name?” Rory said hoarsely.

“I know all of your friends as well.” The man had an English accent just like Arthur’s ex, Lord Fine. “The others, I read in letters years ago. As for you.” The man’s lip curled in a dark smile. “The baron told me, of course.”

Rory’s heart leapt to his throat. The man in front of him knew Baron Zeppler. “How did you find me?” he said, his brain managing to put one of his questions into words.

The man rolled his eyes. “You found me. You came to the wedding I arranged for you.”

Rory had barely a moment to curse his own gullibility when the man darted forward, to the back of the pew.

Rory scrambled to his feet. All the previously praying heads were raised, and Rory and the man were getting side-eyes and dirty looks. “This is a church,” he hissed, backing up down the length of the pew.

“The church is your issue?” The man held out one hand. In the center of his palm, a flame burst into life like the votive candles, then radiated out until his entire hand was engulfed in an aura of fire. “You need to sort out your priorities.”

Rory lunged away, to the side, scrambling out from the pew and for the door, thinking of nothing but getting the man out of the church full of innocents.

He burst outside into the cool April morning, scrambling down across the sidewalk—just as a car pulled up in the middle of the street.

Rory stumbled in shock and fell, crashing to the curb.