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“Of course I remember,” Sebastian said. “You said it was hosted by Lord Thornton. I told you that I knew his maid, the one who was murdered in Kensington in September. So sad; Olive was so sweet, and Lord Thornton is apparently an asshole.”

“He is,” Wesley agreed quickly. “You wouldn’t like to meet him.”

“I may have to,” Sebastian said. “Jade and the others were right, I need to go to your society events, yes? Or, well. Don Sebastian needs to,” he added wryly. “What day did you say that ball was going to be? Are we going to be able to make it now?”

Wesley seemed to be looking very intently at the skyline.

“Well—boats, you know. At the mercy of the currents and the wind. Hard to say exactly when we’ll arrive and if we’ll make it in time, isn’t it?

Look, there’s the Woolworth Building. And at least thirty squawking gulls feasting on fuck knows what down in the river. Best we don’t ask, I’m sure.”

Sebastian smiled, watching the seagulls. “I like the sounds they make. They’re so cute.”

“If you like feathered sea-rats—” Wesley sighed. “Which, of course, you do.”

The boat continued its stately glide out of the Hudson River and into the bay.

The daylight was waning with early evening, and the city lights were coming on, making the skyline glow against the silvery rainclouds.

Finally, when the city and the gulls had been left behind, they returned down to their rooms.

Sebastian’s stateroom was a mirrored version of Wesley’s, several doors down the hall but on the same side. He found their deck’s gentlemen’s lavatory, where he shaved and took the time to style the sea-blown waves of his hair before heading back to his cabin to dress for dinner.

He pulled on the tuxedo he’d bought for the Halloween masquerade with a pair of generic cufflinks he’d bought in Paris.

Some of the guests would be in tailcoats, true, and judge him for his modern tastes.

He’d simply have to ignore it. When they’d needed to face the Earl of Blanshard, Wesley had entered Sebastian’s world of magic as bravely as a soldier marching onto a battlefield.

Now they were infiltrating Wesley’s circles to find the source of Langford and Alasdair’s plot to destroy magic.

Sebastian didn’t have magic anymore, but he couldn’t let that stop him; he needed to square his shoulders and match Wesley’s courage.

His gaze fell on the bed. Not big enough for two men, especially one as tall and accustomed to space as Wesley.

They’d already stepped into Wesley’s world with this ship, and they’d be onboard with the same guests, in the same spaces, for nearly a week.

People might want to know how Wesley had become acquainted with a Spanish count’s son, and they would need to be careful to avoid rumors.

Would need to stick to their own rooms at night.

Sebastian straightened up. And that would be fine.

He couldn’t have blood terrors if he didn’t have magic.

The lingering nerves in his stomach at the thought of sleeping alone were a bright neon sign that he hadn’t fully accepted that his magic was gone.

He needed to move on to his new, magic-less life, and he would start tonight.

Wesley was the one to knock on his door a few minutes later, and then they descended the grand stairs with the other guests for dinner, joining the sea of men in black suits and women in vibrant dresses. They crossed the lobby, passing under the arched entrance and into the full dining saloon.

“I do realize masquerading as a count’s son is not your first choice,” Wesley said, after they’d been seated at a table. “But you completely look the part. I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow. “What work?”

“Not snapping at every well-bred lady sneaking glances in your direction,” Wesley said ruefully. “And I assure you, all of them are looking.”

Sebastian opened his mouth.

“If you say a single word about protecting my reputation, I’m going to make you pay for it,” Wesley said first. “You’re so handsome in that tuxedo that it’s making me more intriguing and desirable by proxy.

You already know I’m known as an intolerable arsehole; your presence literally improves my reputation. ”

Sebastian felt his shoulders lower an inch and the corner of his lips turned up. “Tell me, Lord Fine.” He leaned in. “If I still care about your reputation, how would you make me pay?”

He got to see Wesley’s gaze heat, but then the waiter was at their table with the night’s menu.

* * *

They had just finished dinner when Sebastian saw Wesley stiffen, an uncharacteristic expression of surprise on his face. “What is it?”

Wesley cleared his throat. “Your three o’clock. By the column.”

Sebastian’s gaze followed his direction. Past two rows of tables full of other passengers, and standing alone by a column, was a stately woman, probably around Sebastian’s age and nearly his height. She wore an elegant gold sheath dress and matching headpiece over her thick, chestnut-brown bob.

“That’s Nora Fairfield,” Wesley said under his breath. “One of the Duke of Valemount’s nieces.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows went up.

The woman didn’t seem to have noticed Wesley, or if she had, she wasn’t looking in his direction. Her gaze was in the opposite direction, watching other tables as if waiting for someone.

“At the Magnolia, I told you the Valemount title went to a brother because the previous duke had five daughters,” Wesley said, just as quietly. “Lady Nora is one of them.”

Sebastian carefully stole another subtle glance at Lady Nora. She was still waiting, her large blue eyes and reserved expression giving away none of her feelings. “This seems like a big coincidence, doesn’t it?”

“It damn well fucking does,” said Wesley.

“She’s also a direct descendant of the fifteenth-century Duke of Valemount.

Perhaps she’s here to spy on behalf of her uncle.

Or perhaps we’ve had the wrong Valemount all this time, because it might interest you that Lady Nora has a well-known penchant for traveling.

After she lost her father, she’s been almost exclusively abroad. Mesopotamia. Egypt. Morocco. ”

Sebastian’s eyebrows went up. “Gwen and Ellis think Hyde’s disappearance might lead to Tangier.”

Wesley spread his hands. “Maybe it’s just another coincidence,” he said dryly.

Sebastian frowned, watching Lady Nora out of the corner of his eye. “You know a lot about her.”

“ Know is too strong a word, but we’ve met. My third cousin Lady Tabitha tried to match us once, right after the war,” Wesley said wryly. “I think Lady Nora was even less interested in me than I was in her.” He cleared his throat again. “And look.”

A tall man with a walking stick was joining Lady Nora. He seemed older than her, perhaps, although he had a full beard and thick glasses like Rory’s that made his age hard to place. He was sedately dressed in unremarkable black tie and wore a bowler hat, even indoors.

Lady Nora seemed to know the man well, conversing with him quietly as they began to walk through the corridor between tables to the arched entrance to the saloon. Sebastian kept his gaze forward as they approached in his peripheral vision, two rows of tables over. “You don’t know her companion?”

“I do not,” Wesley said. “There is, perhaps, something familiar about him, so I suppose it’s possible we’ve attended the same event at some point or another. But I don’t know who he is, and I’m now wondering quite fervently if either he or Lady Nora could be a paranormal.”

If Sebastian had had his magic, he could have reached out with it right then. He would know instantly whether they had auras, which would weaken under his magic and send them tumbling to the ground—or if they had magic, which would be neutralized under his enervation.

Before he’d realized he was going to do it, Sebastian was reaching for his magic, anticipating the rush that had been with him for almost twenty years, the stampede of wild horses charging through him.

But there was nothing.

The stable was empty; his magic was gone.

Sebastian’s shoulders dropped. It hurt more this time, like reaching for a lover and finding an empty bed because they’d left you in your sleep.

He reached for his water with an unsteady hand, trying to keep the loss off his face as Lady Nora and her companion continued past their table without pause.

Wesley’s gaze was on Lady Nora and the man.

“He’s got a pipe pouch in his jacket pocket; you can see the outline.

” He touched his own jacket, right over his heart, rubbing his hand across his chest distractedly.

“The first-class smoking room is on A-deck. A man with a pipe might reasonably be found in there after dinner.”

Sebastian nodded.

This was also a British ship, not an American one, which meant the smoking room would have drinks.

Sebastian wasn’t a paranormal anymore—there was nothing stopping him from matching Wesley’s whiskeys, if he wanted.

It was time to stop believing there could still be a chance of his magic activating. Time to stop lying to himself.

“Guess that’s where we should go next,” Sebastian said, and tried to pretend his heart didn’t hurt.