A Case of Possession (A Charm of Magpies, #2)

“Well, yes. I already know what your cock thinks. I’d like to hear from your head as well. Or your heart.”


Stephen kept walking, head down, hands in pockets. Crane could feel his tension, pacing by his side. “Oh God,” he said at last. “I’m pathetic. You know perfectly well that I’m all yours, Lucien, or you should. I’ve got your tattoo, for heaven’s sake. I’m marked for life. And I’m scared by that, I’m terrified. I have no idea why you think I’m brave, I’m an abject coward. I’m too frightened to believe this, you and I, can last because if it doesn’t, I don’t think I can bear it, so it would be easier not to start, but it’s too late now.” He swallowed. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you. I just…struggle to believe that someone like you could really want someone like me. No, it’s my turn, let me finish. You’re an extremely attractive and eligible man, and I’m not. And I seem to do nothing but take from you—”

“No, I can’t let that pass, that is objectively horseshit. For heaven’s sake, man, I can barely give you the time of day without a fight. Merrick says you’re held together by spit and pride.”

“Thank him for me.” Stephen pushed a hand through his hair. “In any case, that’s not the point. I’m not sure what the point was. Oh, hellfire. I love you, Lucien. It wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking if I didn’t.”

Crane took two more paces, feeling the illuminating joy spread through him, and had to control his voice as he observed, “No, you’re right, it was a terrible idea to do this in public. I don’t suppose you could make us invisible?”

“You must be joking,” Stephen said. “Look up.”

Crane looked and groaned aloud as he registered the magpies. They were clustered on gas lamps and roof edges and railings, circling in the skies looking for roosts, a few of them landing in front of him on the pavement, staring with bright, beady eyes. “Oh for— Can’t you make them go away?”

“Don’t blame me, I didn’t call them.” Stephen was grinning up at him with that familiar snag-toothed tweak in his top lip, and a light in his golden eyes that made Crane’s heart lurch. “And I suspect that anything I attempt to do will light up the street like a bonfire and summon practitioners from miles around. I’m feeling somewhat explosive right now.”

“You and me both. I would very much like to get my hands on you.”

“I want to get my mouth on you,” said Stephen, astonishingly forward considering they weren’t in bed, and now it wasn’t only Crane’s heart that was thumping. “When this is over, could we go away? Your shooting place again?”

“As soon as you like. How long can you take?”

“How long do you want?”

“The rest of your life.” Crane watched Stephen’s eyes widen. “For now, how about a fortnight?”

“Done,” Stephen said. “And…done.”

“God, sweet boy. I love you. I think I need to say that quite a lot.”

“Any time.” Stephen’s voice was a little shaky, his eyes bright.

There was a flurry of wings as a group of magpies caught up with them, five landing in a row on the railings, four right in front of them on the pavement. Crane counted automatically and couldn’t help grinning. “Look at that. Do the damned things know the rhymes?”

“I hope not. It’s nine for a funeral, isn’t it?”

Crane let the back of his hand brush Stephen’s arm. “Try, ‘Nine for a lover as true as can be’.”

“Oh. I like your version better.” Stephen bumped gently back against him, a little touch, nothing to which an observer could object. “Here’s the Traders.”

Crane slowed his pace as they approached the square brick building. “I want this business over. I think I could feel sorry for Peyton, you know, and that’s not something I’d often say.”

“So could I. But I bet Mr. Trotter couldn’t. Lucien, I want you to come to Hammersmith with me. You don’t have to talk to Peyton, or even witness the conversation, since I doubt it’ll be pretty, but I want you to stay close. And you can wipe that smirk off. I meant, in case of rats.”

“Rats? Me?”

Stephen shrugged. “You were Hart’s friend. I don’t know how far this will go. Humour me.”

Crane lifted an acknowledging hand. “If you insist on me not dying horribly, I suppose I’ll have to indulge you.” He led the way into the relative cool of the entrance hall and nodded to the porter. “Hello, Arthurs. Can you whistle up Mr. Peyton’s direction for me?”

“Certainly, my lord, but do you want to speak to him? He’s lunching upstairs.”

Crane glanced at Stephen. “Really? That’s a stroke of luck. Yes, we’ll go up, never mind the direction.”

“What would you like to do now?” Stephen asked quietly. “Stay down here if it’s too close to home.”

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