“But it looks good! And you already washed all the pomade out.” Plucking the bag from the tabletop and levitating it behind her back, Gwen swerved it out of his reach. “What is it you always tell me? Take long, slow breaths. You’re overthinking this.”
“Of course, I am!”
“Breathe,DoctorBarlow.”
At her stern tone, Oliver frowned and drew in a tight breath. After a handful more, the knot in his chest loosened and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. He was overthinking this. He was asking Felipe Galvan to have dinner with him, not to marry him. Oliver wasn’t even entirely sure that Galvan liked him in the same way, even if Gwen was. If they could never be more than friends who occasionally had dinner and talked, he would take it. It was just hard. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he grimaced. Everything about this was hard.
“Why are you so worried?”
“Because I’m not good at this like you are. And Galvan is so damn charming. I’m sure he has lots of friends he’d rather eat dinner with than me. I don’t even know what to say or talk about. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly have a lively social life. I talk to the dead more than the living.”
Gwen shrugged and gave him her cheekiest smile. “But you have me, and I’m quite the discerning character.”
“And for that, I am eternally grateful, but we both know that once you decided we would be friends, you wouldn’t let my limited social prowess stop you. Not everyone is willing to do that, Gwen. Look what happened last time with Christopher Ansley.”
“Ansley was an asshole. He doesn’t count.”
That look between affection and sadness reappeared as she motioned for him to come closer. Oliver drifted over, his hesitant footsteps loud in the empty laboratory. She slowly reached for his hands, and when he didn’t pull away, she held them and gave them a soothing squeeze.
“Don’t talk badly about yourself, especially before doing something big like this. We all have our things, Ol. I know you have a hard time making friends, which is why I tried so hard to be your friend when I knew you wanted to be my friend, too. And I stick around because you’re a nice person, not because I have to. Because I know you care about me even if you don’t want to go out or don’t always know what to say.”
“I don’t sound like a lot of fun.”
“Depends on your type of fun. Personally, I like someone who listens, and I know you listen. You don’t know what it’s like growing up with five sisters. No one listens to you, everyone’s talking over each other. But you remember everything, like when you brought me those pink cakes from the bakery on Sixth for my birthday. I mentioned one time months earlier how amazing they were, but you remembered.”
“Everybody does that.”
Catching his gaze, she held it as she did his hands. “No, they don’t. Trust me, they don’t. The way I see it, you just have to find more people who are willing to take the time to get to know you. I think Felipe Galvan might be one of those people.”
She gave his hands a final squeeze and let go, so she could dramatically fan herself. “Plus, he ishandsome. If you were going to pick someone in the society, Galvan is a solid choice. Not my taste, but have you seen his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves?”
Oliver swallowed hard. He had, and they occasionally popped up in his dreams.
“But you, my restrained friend, are also a catch.”
Herding him toward the mirror, Gwen stood proudly beside him. Instead of staring at his reflection, he watched hers. She looked wonderful, as always. Her sepia brown skin looked even warmer against the bright pops of carmine and yellow in her gown. Her tightly braided hair almost mimicked the pattern. Somehow, she always managed to find clothes that felt like her while he chafed in a skin that rarely felt like it fit. Next to him, she looked even more alive, a painting beside a statue. When he started to slump, she jabbed his back with her finger, and he straightened with a yelp.
“No defeat-slumping. Look at yourself. Tell yourself you look nice. See what Galvan sees when he looks at you.”
Meeting his own gaze in the mirror, the smoky grey of his eyes looked like storm clouds rather than ashes, and while his skin remained deathly pale, Gwen’s banter had given his cheeks some color. And he liked his hair loose and wavy, he conceded. He wouldn’t wear it to the laboratory like this as it would flop over his eyes while he worked, and there would be a good chance he would wipe something foul into it trying to sweep it off his brow. But it was attractive and made him look more like the person he pictured in his mind. While he wasn’t exceptionally tall, he liked his square shoulders and how he had gained some muscle over the years from hauling bodies and coffins. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.
“I’ll concede I’m passably pleasant to look at, though standing next to you in the mirror is a good way to feel inferior,” he said with a small smile.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Oliver Barlow. You are handsome, despite what you may think. A little color in your clothes might do you good, but I wouldn’t worry about Galvan. He already brought you gifts. You got this.”
“I got this,” he echoed softly. “Are you coming with me?”
“Not this time. You don’t need me to make things awkward, but I’ll walk you up. I need to stop by the archives, anyway.”
With a comforting squeeze, Gwen took his arm and marched him toward the door.
***
Felipe entered theParanormal Society from the side door and took the twisting servants’ stairs two at a time. He was in no mood to deal with anyone he might run into in the main rooms. This late on a Saturday evening, the other agents would probably be further into their cups than he could stand. He didn’t want anyone to ask him what was wrong or try to make him feel better. He wanted to stew in his anger. Maybe that was the catalyst he needed to finally break through the Sister Mary Agnes case. He had spent his morning digging through books in the library for anything on strangulation via magic, and all he had to show for it was a sixteenth century cardinal with a choking fetish. He somehow doubted that was what happened in this case, but he had no other ideas for where to look. Throwing open his apartment door, Felipe made a beeline for the decanter of sherry.
He sloshed some into a glass and collapsed into the armchair. Pausing with the glass to his lips, he edged his hand toward his pocket. The key was still there instead of in the bowl by the door where he always tossed it when he came in. The door had been unlocked. Felipe froze inside but pretended to drink as he listened. The flat was silent apart from his breath. The parlor looked untouched, but he could see where the dust on the corner cabinet had been disturbed and the few books he had on the shelf were in a different order. Someone had gone through his things. From the corner of his eye, he noted the door to his bedroom was closed when he always left it open when he was alone. His heart pounded in his ears as he slowly stood to avoid the squeak of the chair’s springs. Putting the glass on the windowsill, Felipe inched toward the fireplace and silently cursed himself for not keeping his revolver on him.
The moment his hand closed around the fireplace poker, the bedroom door slammed open and something closed around his throat. Jerking back with a stifled gag, Felipe scrambled to remove whatever had caught him to find nothing but skin. Pain reverberated through his neck and skull as the invisible noose tightened. Staggering to his knees, Felipe groped for the fallen poker and swung. It hit nothing but air. He swung again as spots dotted his vision and the world seemed to pitch on its side. This time it made contact. Forcing himself to his feet, Felipe turned and lunged. Mid-strike, his body collided with an invisible wall, and he fell back, bouncing off the armchair. The pressure on his neck grew unbearable. His body was fighting him, fighting the intruder, fighting the magic to breathe again. On all fours, he craned his neck to suck in what little air he could, but the wheeze was cut off.
