As if in response, the compass needle twitched.
A spark leapt through Arthur. Of course. The compass was tracking Rory—because Rory was alive to track. And if he wasn’t in the river, then—
“Christ,” Arthur whispered. “Is he on the other side?”
The closest bridge a car could cross was forty miles south. Harry’s boats were at the marina for winter and none of the charter boats would be running, not with the ice freshly shattered, not this time of night. He could attempt the half-mile swim through ice water at night, or run north and hope to find a crossing point where the ice was still intact, but both were a gamble, and Rory might not have that time.
But he did have a Hail Mary.
Snow dotted his coat as he pulled the vial out of his pocket and out of its handkerchief. It glowed brilliantly orange under the flashlight, the exact same shade as the potion that had teleported Gwen and Ellis away from Coney Island.
It was almost certainly that potion.
Probably that potion, at least.
Arthur tightened his jaw. He agreed with Sasha; it wouldn’t hurt him or Pavel wouldn’t have given it to him, of that much he was certain. But if it was a teleportation potion, could it get him to the opposite bank? Or what if it took him much farther, like Manhattan? Or Jersey, or Christ, Pennsylvania? Pavel wouldn’t have given it to him if it was going to send him to Pennsylvania, would he?
Pavel had tapped his own temple when he’d given the potion to Arthur, like he’d been telling Arthur to concentrate. Pocketing the compass in the giant coat, Arthur tucked the flashlight under his armpit. His hand found the cork stoppering the vial. With the Hudson River on his right, he squeezed his eyes shut, and, holding the image of the opposite bank in his mind as steady as he could, he yanked the stopper out.
A bright scent hit his nose, fresh citrus, and then the ground beneath his feet fell away like an elevator that had dropped. He was weightless, spinning like a barrel roll with a flyboy—
Then the ground rematerialized so abruptly he stumbled. He barely caught his feet beneath him before he fell, opening his eyes to find himself on solid ground, the Hudson River lapping at the bank on his left.
“Ugh.” He bent at the waist, breathing icy air through his nose as an unnatural nausea rolled through him. “I don’t need to do that again.”
When the urge to vomit finally eased, he straightened and held up the compass beneath the flashlight’s beam.
It was still pointing west—which was now away from the Hudson.
He’s not in the river. Arthur sent up a deep shout of thanks to the universe as giddy relief swept him. Wherever the blazes he’s gotten to, he’s not in the river.
Not that it meant Rory was safe. He could be injured, attacked by a wild animal, or worse. But at least they were on the same side of the Hudson.
He followed the compass point up the hill into the dark, thick trees, mind scrambling to remember what was across from Harry’s mansion besides woods. The hamlet of West Park? The occasional estate? The main road was Route 10 now and came quite close to the river in places, close enough you could see the Hudson from the car. If Rory had made his way to the road, would he know where he was? Would he know to follow it, to hope for a passing car or a home with a phone—
“Arthur...”
The voice was distant but unmistakable. “Teddy!” Arthur scrambled forward, snapping branches in his path. “Teddy, where are you?”
“Over here—Ace—”
Arthur shoved through a grouping of trees, flashlight beam swiping back and forth—
And there was Rory, his right foot off the ground, holding himself heavily upright with his arms around a tree trunk. His face was lit with joy. “Arthur.”
Arthur grabbed for Rory, catching him just as Rory pushed off the tree and crashed into his chest. Arthur pulled him into his arms, the flashlight still clenched in his fist, its bright beam lighting a streak through the woods behind Rory’s back. “Thank heavens. How did you know to call for me?”
“Felt you getting closer through the link.” Rory’s words muffled against Arthur’s fur coat as he burrowed into his chest. “Best thing I ever felt.” He clung to Arthur tightly. “How’d you find me? How’d you get across the river? It was like a flutter in the link, then you were here.”
“An enchanted compass and an extra trick from our resident miracle-maker, Pavel. But a one-way trip, I’m afraid,” Arthur admitted. “We can’t get back that way.”
“And you came for me anyway?” It came out small, and Rory was shaking against him, from cold or emotion or both.
Arthur tightened his arms around him. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I didn’t think you’d notice in the first place,” Rory said guilelessly, and Arthur felt a pulse of guilt. “You got better things to do than wonder where I went—”
“I really don’t,” Arthur said, with feeling, pulling him even closer. “What the devil happened?”
“Came down wrong on my ankle when I hit the bank.”
“But how did you end up on the west side of the Hudson?”
Rory mumbled something into Arthur’s chest.
“I didn’t catch that.”
Still hiding his face against Arthur’s chest, Rory very slowly raised his left hand up, in front of Arthur’s eyes.
It took Arthur a moment to realize what the flash of gold was.
“You brought the ring?”
Rory winced.
“How?” Arthur demanded. “You said no one should be King of the Wind, you wanted it put away where you couldn’t use it so we locked that ring back into the safe and I changed the combina—oh, you didn’t.”
Rory glanced up, eyes big behind his glasses, lower lip caught in his teeth. “I’m not saying you don’t have a reason to kill me, but if you’re gonna do it, can I kiss you before I die?”
“You utter shit,” Arthur said, even as he pulled Rory up for a kiss.
It’d been too many days since they’d kissed. Rory’s lips were soft but ice cold, the hands grabbing for Arthur’s face as chilled as snow. “I’m so stupid, Ace,” he said, between breaths. “I’m so stupid, but you came for me anyway.”
Arthur would have kissed him forever, except Rory was still shivering in his arms. Arthur broke the kiss long enough to pull off Harry’s stolen hunting cap and tug it down over Rory’s curls. “You lost your cap,” he said, carefully arranging the fur-lined flaps over Rory’s ears.
“Somewhere on the river.” Rory’s eyelashes fluttered. “Least I kept my glasses—geez, that’s nice.”