An Unnatural Vice (Sins of the Cities, #2)

by K.J. Charles

Lazarus had wanted to find Nathaniel’s weakness, the hole in his soul, and he’d seized on Tony to do it, and Nathaniel thought he could weep from gratitude at that. Just to be seen, even in such a way, even by such a man, because the recognition was so much better than invisibility.

He wanted Lazarus, and—the true danger here—he wanted to believe Lazarus was worth wanting.

And may I say,” Lazarus concluded icily, “that putting a bag over my head and expecting it to confuse me is a fucking insult.”

“Looking on the bright side, I don’t suppose any murderer is going to find us here. I am expecting to walk in on an old lady wandering around in her wedding dress from forty years ago, but that’s a small price to pay.”

Give me your hand.” Nathaniel raised a brow. Justin raised both of his. “This is a demonstration. Don’t flatter yourself.” “Ask nicely.” “Go fuck yourself. Do me the favour of extending your palm.”

“I’m a journalist, damn it. I like answers.” “I’m a medium. I don’t give them.”

I have frequently observed that a good way to find out what a man fears in himself is to see what he attacks in others.”

“I have stood on Blackfriars Bridge and looked down into the Thames,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve been walking through fog for five endless freezing years and it has finally, finally cleared because of a damned cheating brilliant fraud with the most astonishing eyes, and you’re telling me I don’t need anything?

“You are a defiant, stubborn, obstreperous, unstoppable, enraging bloody nuisance, and I see you, Justin Lazarus. I know who you are. I’ve seen you at your worst and at your weakest, and all I can think is that your best will be something to behold. I’d rather you didn’t deprive me of that.”

“Secondly, I’m not about to starve. I’ve got the best part of five hundred quid in the bank.” “…What?” “I’d have said, if you’d given me a chance. You really thought I’d keep my money under a mattress?” “Well, your familiars obviously did.” “That’s because they’re idiots.

“Do I have to be polite to Mr. Roy now?” “Impeccably,” Justin said. “Starting with proper etiquette. Which means, no more swearing.” “Fuck off, ratface.” Justin pulled her tight. “Sod you, too.”

‘One candle can light a room, or burn down a city.’ ” He pulled away enough to look into Nathaniel’s face. “Well, you light things up. It’s been so bloody dark and you kept lighting candles until I couldn’t blow the damn things out any more, and you keep doing it and you won’t stop, and…” He swallowed; forced the words out. “Please don’t burn me down.”

“I’m not a good man, Nathaniel. I’m not Tony.” “Not even close. You couldn’t replace him.” His hands tightened on Justin’s. “Any more than he could replace you. Justin, I love you. For yourself as you are; for who you once were and who you could be; and because you have much the effect on me of about three stiff drinks, all the time.” Nathaniel’s hands engulfed Justin’s, holding them together. “And I’d count it a privilege to accompany you along the path you’ve chosen to walk. To light your way, if you want to call it that, until you realise you’re perfectly able to do that yourself. You took me out of the fog, after all.”

He’d always wanted to stand alone; he’d always thought of reliance on others as a house of cards, a fragile structure that could be pushed over at any time. And that was true: people betrayed, and left, and died. He hadn’t been wrong. Only, he hadn’t considered that a card on its own couldn’t stand at all.