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Sebastian led Arthur and Rory past the guest house on its hill and through the gardens, keeping behind the tallest rows of hedges. They’d just come to the garden’s edge in a thick copse of trees when Rory went very still.

“I can feel it,” he whispered.

Arthur touched his arm in concern. “Feel what?”

Rory shivered and rubbed at the arm without Arthur’s hand, like he’d caught a sudden chill. “Magic.”

Arthur looked questioningly at Sebastian, who shook his head. He couldn’t feel a thing. “Where is it coming from?” Sebastian asked Rory.

Rory gestured in front of them. Sebastian could just make out the rounded top of the mausoleum in the distance and the crumbling stone walls of the chapel ruins. “Something up there.”

“Could it be the source of whatever is blocking your psychometry?” Arthur said.

“Don’t know,” Rory said honestly. “This feels like—like when you walk up to the Dragon House, and it’s got all that guardian magic in place that makes your skin buzz.” He shook his head. “I don’t think my psychometry is gonna work on these grounds. I don’t even know if I can call in the wind here.”

“But the Valemount line is descended from two paranormals,” Sebastian said. “Why do we keep running into blocks against magic?”

“Well, you do have an ancestor from that same line that hunted magic for the Spanish Inquisition,” Arthur pointed out. “At any rate, if there’s a new grave, we’ll still be able to see it with our eyes. I say we—”

In the distance, there was an unmistakable howl.

Rory swore. “That’s the hunt back, isn’t it?”

“You two have to go now,” Sebastian said. “Go back to your inn. Wesley and I will find a way to come back out here and search, then we’ll call you.”

Arthur and Rory exchanged some kind of look that seemed to hold a lot of meaning, although what they were communicating to each other, Sebastian had no idea.

But then Arthur said, “Then you meet up with Wesley. And the two of you stick together, all right?”

Sebastian nodded, and then Arthur and Rory were disappearing ahead, into the trees.

Sebastian took a breath and stepped out, ready to pretend he’d been strolling the gardens.

* * *

As soon as they were through the front doors of Valemount Hall, Wesley cleared his throat. “You’ll excuse me while I find something not covered in mud, yes?”

“What’s that?” Valemount made a distracted motion with his hand. His gaze was on his gun, where it was holstered on his hip. “Of course, of course.”

“Don’t tell me you’re injured from a little spill,” Sir Reginald said dryly.

“Not at all.” A slight lie, as Wesley had certainly scraped and bruised a few limbs on his fall. But he was alive, which very clearly hadn’t been someone’s intent.

He strode up the stairs, but had only just stepped into his own room when there was a knock on the door. He muttered a curse. “Whoever you are, I don’t want visitors—”

But he opened the door to reveal Sebastian, his lip caught between his teeth, his warm brown eyes big and worried. “Wes,” he said. “They said you fell—are you okay?”

The contrast between the others’ mocking and Sebastian’s genuine concern was so obvious that Wesley was once again struck by how much his life had changed since meeting Sebastian. Someone gave a damn about his well-being.

Wesley shook the emotions away. He grabbed Sebastian by the wrist and pulled him inside, before anyone overheard them.

“You’re covered in mud,” Sebastian said, as Wesley shut the door behind them and locked it for good measure.

“That tends to be what happens when one tumbles down a wet moor hill,” Wesley said.

“So you tripped?” Sebastian asked.

Wesley hesitated. But no, he knew what he’d felt on the moor. There was no question. Sebastian might not want to hear it, but Wesley was going to be honest. “Your magic knocked me down.”

“My magic?” Sebastian blinked. “Pero mira, Wes—”

“No, do not pero mira me,” Wesley said, holding up a finger.

“I know your magic. I know the feel of it in my aura and my limbs, know your magic’s touch the way I know the touch of your hands.

I would recognize your lips in the dark and I am telling you, Sebastian, it was your magic I felt on the moor.

” He leaned forward. “And I suspect it saved my life.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened.

“Someone took a shot in my direction,” Wesley said. “Your magic sent me to the ground just in time and the bullet hit the tree where I’d been standing.”

“Wait.” Sebastian stepped forward, hands catching Wesley’s upper arms. “Someone shot at you?”

“Yes, and if I had any doubts about what I’d felt, that would clear them right up,” Wesley said. “Your magic feels like you, it comes from you, and it has always saved me when I needed it.”

“But who shot at you ?” Sebastian said.

“I don’t know,” Wesley said. “I have suspicions, of course, but when you get right down to it, it could have been any of the men. We were all carrying firearms. And there was no one with me to rule out, because I had taken another path to—ah.” He hastily cut himself off. “Because I had taken another path.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrow. “What were you about to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing .”

“It was,” Wesley insisted. “Nothing important.”

“It has to be important.” Sebastian was moving closer. “Because you’re blushing .”

“Um.”

Sebastian was close enough Wesley could have pulled him into his arms. “Why were you alone on a different path?”

“Um.” Wesley wet his lips. “I just. Checking. Something.”

“Checking what?”

“A, um. A trail. A thing. A thing on the trail.”

“Something on the trail?” Sebastian pursed his lips. “But what about the dogs? And the others? I thought all of you were following a fox.”

“Right. Yes, well, that is typically how a fox hunt would go.” Wesley wet his lips again. “It’s possible that I might, perhaps, have engaged in just the smallest touch of sabotage.”

“Sabotage?” Sebastian was somehow even closer, looking up into Wesley’s eyes. “Wes. Are you trying to say that you sabotaged…the fox hunt?”

Christ, Wesley could feel his cheeks growing hotter; this was completely unacceptable.

“Look, I know that you think the stupid little pests are cute and charming and you hate the whole idea of fox hunts, and you were so sad about the whole thing and obviously I won’t stand for anything making you sad—”

“You sabotaged the fox hunt.” Sebastian was breaking into a smile, his eyes bright, his expression wondrous. “For me?”

“Well, I didn’t do it for Geoffrey.” Ugh, how did people bear their face feeling this hot?

“Yes, I snuck out this morning and set false trails for the dogs on the moor, and yes, of course it was for you, and if you haven’t figured out by now that I’d do bloody anything in the world to make you happy then—”

Sebastian’s lips landed on his, his arms going around Wesley’s neck to pull him in and Wesley was suddenly being kissed within an inch of his life. “Wesley,” Sebastian said again, “I love you so much—”

“You what ,” Wesley said helplessly, but Sebastian toppled him down to the bed and his words were lost to the kiss that hadn’t stopped.

This was not some incomprehensible half-asleep words muttered into a pillow. This was crisp and clear and unmistakable.

Sebastian loved him.

Sebastian loved him.

Wesley’s mind simply couldn’t process the onslaught of thoughts and feelings that threatened to swamp him. Love was a fiction that was always going to be out of Wesley’s reach—

I love you so much.

Wesley’s body abruptly took over, because maybe his mind couldn’t comprehend the words but every muscle and inch of his skin knew how it felt about being loved.

And all at once Wesley didn’t care that he was covered in mud, or that he was getting the bed and Sebastian covered in the same mud, or that there might still be danger or that they had an entire mystery on their hands.

He was kissing Sebastian in return, rolling him over onto his back and pressing him down into the mattress.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said against his mouth. “Wes, I can’t believe—wait, wait wait wait, someone shot at you .” He pulled his lips away. “Someone tried to kill you?”

“Possibly,” Wesley said impatiently. “But we can talk about that later—”

“No we can’t.” Sebastian was squirming out from under him and sitting up. “Tell me everything that happened.”

Wesley sighed but relayed the events of the hunt.

Sebastian’s eyes had gone wide again. “And you really think it was my magic that knocked you over?”

“I know it was,” Wesley said, getting to his feet.

“But Wes, I don’t have any magic anymore. I couldn’t feel anything now, with Rory and Arthur.”

Wesley paced as he listened to Sebastian describe Rory’s inability to scry the glove, Arthur’s suggestion that Hyde could be dead, and the sensation of magic as they’d gotten closer to the graveyard. When he’d finished, Wesley frowned. “Where are Arthur and Brodigan now?”

“I told them to go back to their inn,” Sebastian said.

“Oh, is that what they said they were going to do?” Wesley steepled his fingers.

“Tell me: do you actually believe Arthur listened and acted in self-preservation, like a sensible man?” He gestured to the room’s large window, which overlooked the gardens.

“Or do you think it more likely he and Brodigan are still lurking out there somewhere on this estate, prepared to do something brave but completely foolhardy? Which one sounds like the Arthur you’ve met—”

There was a polite knock on the door. “Lord Fine? Don Sebastian?”

Wesley and Sebastian exchanged a look. “Lady Nora,” Sebastian said.

Wesley pursed his lips but went to the door. He opened it to reveal Nora, standing alone and wringing her hands. “My apologies,” she said. “But I was hoping to have a quick word with Don Sebastian. I’ll give him right back,” she said to Wesley.

She certainly didn’t look ill. “Of course,” Wesley said, even if his jaw was slightly clenched. He didn’t exactly want to let Sebastian out of his sight.

“Thank you,” Nora said graciously, stepping back from the door to wait.

“Pero mira, Wes,” Sebastian said pointedly, under his breath, “perhaps you should not be alone after someone tried to shoot you—”

“What kind of fool do you take me for?” Wesley said, just as quietly. “She asked for you, not us, and she might not be willing to talk if I’m there. Ask her what she knows about Dr. Wright.”

“But—”

“No one could fire a gun in the middle of the upstairs hall without alerting half the manor,” Wesley said. “Go on. I’ll stay in here with my bloody door locked until you return.”

Sebastian frowned, but finally went out the door, his frown changing into one of his unfairly charming smiles as he offered Lady Nora his arm.

As they disappeared down the hall, Wesley firmly shut the door. This was fine; everything was fine. Nora wasn’t going to proposition Sebastian, or even if she was, it didn’t matter, because Sebastian loved him .

Christ. Sebastian loved him—

There was another knock on Wesley’s door, much louder and more demanding than Nora’s had been.

“Lord Fine? It’s Dr. Wright. Lord Valemount has asked me to come see to you after your fall.”

Wesley scoffed out loud. Oh please. How gullible did Valemount think he was? “Thank you, Dr. Wright,” Wesley said, with a hint of mockery, “but your services are not required at this time.”

Then Lord Valemount’s voice came from behind the door. “Dammit, man, don’t be a stubborn fool. I can’t have my guests breaking limbs and whatnot. Open the damn door.”

Was Valemount actually standing at Wesley’s door, doing two different voices? That truly was beyond the pale and Wesley was going to catch him in the act.

Wesley turned around and cracked open the door.

He paused.

There were unmistakably two men standing there: Lord Valemount, and Dr. Wright, from the ship.

Wesley’s gaze darted from Valemount, to Dr. Wright, and then back to Valemount. “Oh,” he finally said.

Dr. Wright gave him a very tight smile. “Now we get to see how you like someone barging in.”

“What?” Wesley said inelegantly.

But Dr. Wright had already shoved his way in, with more strength than Wesley had expected. A moment later, an uncapped bottle was right under Wesley’s nose, a pungent ether-like odor in his nostrils.

“What the hell—” he started to say.

But his vision was going black around the edges.

And then the world was dark.