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Wesley entered the asylum’s lobby, Arthur behind him. It was a small, somewhat cramped space, with several empty chairs lining the walls and a large carpet on the floor. A clerk was sitting at a desk at the far end, and seeing them, he straightened up in confusion. “Gentlemen, may I help you?”

“I should bloody hope so,” Wesley said curtly. “Do you think I put my life on the line for crown and country just to see the very traitors who endangered us all now receive better care than my former soldiers?”

“Sir?” the clerk said helplessly. He looked young, probably Brodigan’s age, too young to have gone to war himself.

Wesley placed a hand on the man’s desk. “I’ve been informed that a doctor at this very hospital provided the most advanced of treatments to a notorious defector to Germany. Care to explain yourself?”

“Defector?” The poor clerk looked completely lost. “I don’t know anything about that. We’re an asylum, sir, some of our patients might believe they did such a thing—”

Arthur leaned in. “My viscount friend here was a decorated captain on the front,” he said, as if imparting a secret to the young man. “And I’m afraid he’s quite upset at learning a man who switched sides during the war is now receiving care from your doctors.”

“Viscount?” The man’s gaze was darting between Arthur and Wesley. “Um. Perhaps you need my supervisor?”

“Perhaps we need records ,” Wesley said testily. “Pull them at once.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said meekly.

Arthur gave the man the details about Hyde and his doctor, and then the young man disappeared through a doorway. Arthur let out a long breath. “I hope Rory’s holding up all right,” he murmured.

“Brodigan is really quite formidable, you do know that?” Wesley said. “Sharp enough to think to check the medical journals for mentions of Hyde and he controls the sodding wind to boot.”

“I know, I just worry,” Arthur said. “Rory has had such bad experiences with asylums. I can tell he’s on edge here and strong emotions don’t always play well with magic.”

There was a moment of silence, then Arthur and Wesley looked at each other.

“He did leave his ring in the car,” Arthur said. “Didn’t he?”

* * *

Sebastian and Rory made their way together along the side of the asylum. Ivy grew up the stone walls, and while it was likely very pretty in summer, in December it looked brittle as dead grass, only the empty stems.

“How big an object can you scry, Rory?” Sebastian asked, eyes peeled for nurses or security guards.

Not that there was anyone to see; it was cold and still lightly raining, and no one else was out on the grounds.

It rankled at Sebastian. Surely Hyde hadn’t been transferred from the secure facility up north to this one?

Rory pointed just past one of the garden benches next to the frozen pond, to a nymph carved from white stone. “I can try scrying that statue. Maybe Hyde’s doctor walked in the garden with his patients. But…”

“But what?”

Rory was reaching into his pocket. “I’ll get better results if I take the ring out of its lead box.”

His shoulders were still tense, his expression tight and unhappy.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “And you’re, um—feeling up to having the power of the wind right now?

” he said, as nicely as he could. When he’d been bound to the brooch relic, it had been extra difficult to keep control of his magic when his emotions were high.

“I’m gonna be up to it,” Rory said firmly. “We gotta know what happened.”

He slid the bright gold ring relic onto his finger. The brown ivy stalks rustled ever so slightly in the breeze.

Sebastian bit his lip. Surely Rory knew what he was doing. It would be fine.

* * *

The clerk wasn’t gone long before he returned to the lobby, a file in hand. Arthur and Wesley crossed back to the desk. “Now, I’m not supposed to share patient records,” the clerk said, “but it would seem this man is no longer a patient here.”

Well, shit. “No longer a patient here?” Arthur said, as Wesley stuck out his hand pointedly for the file. “So he was here? When did he leave?”

“Couple weeks ago.” The clerk passed Wesley the file. “He was checked out by a relative.”

“Relative?” Wesley repeated.

There was a sudden rumble overhead, a deep sound one felt in one’s chest.

Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Was that—thunder?” The clerk frowned. “Well, that’s something you don’t hear very often around here, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me.” Arthur had gone a shade paler and was hastily backing up. “I think I need a moment of fresh air. A bit of a breeze, if you will.”

He all but ran out the door, just as there was another clap of thunder, louder than before. It was accompanied by a clatter in the hall beyond the lobby, where a series of shouts went up. “One moment,” the clerk said, turning and hurrying out into the hall.

Not likely. Wesley tucked the file into his coat and darted out the door after Arthur. As he opened the door, yet another rumble of thunder shook the grounds.

“Now, Brodigan? Really? ” Wesley muttered, as he hurried to the car. Just as he reached the driver’s door, the heavens opened up and the light drops of rain became sheets of water.

Wesley jumped into the car, getting behind the wheel just as the others came running up in a cluster, all of them already drenched. Rory looked particularly guilty, Arthur pressed tight to his side.

“Fleeing an asylum with three soggy Americans in tow—what has my life become?” Wesley set the folder on the seat, leaned out the side of the Bentley and raised his voice. “All of you, get in the car before the staff come out.”

No one argued, and moments later they were back out on the country road. “Did you at least learn anything before your pet wind blew in a thunderstorm and soaked the place?” Wesley said, watching for potholes as rain pelted the Bentley’s cloth roof.

“Yeah.” Rory sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “Hyde was at that hospital. I saw him in a wheelchair, by the statue in the garden.”

Seeing the man who had tortured Arthur, even through scrying, might have been the trigger for Rory’s loss of control. Wesley probably ought to give him a shred of grace. “Could you tell if your magical binding on him is holding?” he asked, trying to find a less judgmental tone.

“I think so,” Rory said. “He didn’t react to anything, not even when the nurse came up and said his relative was here. Whoever came for Hyde wasn’t in the garden, though; the nurse wheeled him away.”

Sebastian was paging through Hyde’s file. “Says in here he was checked out by a relative to convalesce with family. Doesn’t give the relative’s name or an address.”

“Who the hell could make off with a hospital patient and not even give a name?” Arthur said.

“A duke,” Rory suggested darkly. “Rich assholes can do whatever they want. No offense, Fine.”

“It’d be quite hypocritical to take offense when the staff just acquiesced to my demand for records I shouldn’t have.

” Wesley made a left turn to the road Sebastian had driven down.

“Lord Valemount quite possibly could claim whatever he liked and then demand anonymity in the records for protection.”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. “We’re going to that ball tonight. Valemount will be there; we’ll see what we can learn.”

“But if Rory’s magic is holding, then we know Hyde does, in fact, have three types of magic,” Arthur said. “Is that what whoever’s behind this wants from him?”

“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Wesley said grimly, and drove on.