Arthur’s mouth thinned. “He can’t get past the Zhangs’ defenses in New York, so he sent someone after you in Boston.” He glanced at Rory, whose eyes were still fixed on the road. “Are we being followed? They can’t catch up on foot or horseback and the police aren’t going to be driving that Model T again any time soon. I doubt anyone will find us in a cab.”

“The suit is a paranormal.”

Arthur groaned. “Of course he is.” He took another sharp turn past a row of multistory redbrick homes with big bay windows, and then three more quick turns after that, weaving through streets as fast as he dared. “How did he set a trap? The telegram was fake?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rory make a quick nod. “Mrs. B’s original wedding was announced in the paper. If someone knew about the shop, they coulda figured I would come if they sent a fake telegram. Which means I missed Mrs. B’s real wedding.” He sounded angrier about that than he did about nearly being kidnapped by one of Zeppler’s henchmen, and Rory, angry in a suit, was more attractive than Arthur probably should find him.

“How do you know he’s a paranormal?”

“It was pretty obvious when he lit himself on fire.”

Arthur’s fingers went painfully tight on the steering wheel. “Fire? Did he have a French accent?” It couldn’t possibly be—

“No, English. But he mentioned your French friend, the one Zeppler made Ellis kill. Philippe.”

Arthur took a breath. “The buyer of the Philadelphia warehouse had Philippe’s last name.”

Rory’s head snapped toward him. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Oops. Arthur stumbled to explain. “I—well—it’s a common enough name—and you were getting ready for Mrs. Brodigan’s wedding—”

Rory groaned, deep and loud and so frustrated it made Arthur wince. “Jesus Christ, Ace.”

Oh boy. The Lord’s name in English, that couldn’t be good. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want to worry you too soon?” he said weakly.

“I was pretty damn worried when a man on fire showed up to haul me off to Zeppler!”

Arthur winced again. “That’s fair, yes.”

“You gotta tell me stuff!” Rory snapped. “Because when you don’t, we get things like—this,” he said, gesturing wildly, presumably at everything, so that the ring on his finger caught the light.

“You’re, um...” Oh, Arthur should probably keep his mouth shut, but here he went. “...you’ve got the wind fully under control, yes?”

It didn’t matter that Arthur’s eyes were on the road—he could feel the filthy look Rory had just directed his way.

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur, “it’s just that we’re still in the middle of Boston—”

“I’m not gonna flatten the city!”