“Barlow, what the devil are you doing here? You weren’t the one hiding in my room, were you?” When Oliver shook his head numbly, Galvan threw open the bedroom door and stalked inside. Going to the door to the hall, he reached for the knob but stopped to scratch at the dried blood on his chin. “Did you see anyone leave? That bastard must have knocked me out.”
Oliver’s eyes burned. He had to stop this, now. He couldn’t let this get out of hand. He couldn’t be like—
A heavy hand landed on Oliver’s shoulder, making him jump. Felipe Galvan squatted down before him and took in his face with soft eyes. As Oliver stared in disbelief, the whites of Galvan’s eyes went from pink to yellow and continued toward white in the span of seconds.
“Barlow, are you all right? You look like you’re in shock. Here, have some sherry. It’ll help your nerves.”
Without thinking, Oliver took the glass of liquor and downed it in one burning gulp.
“It must have been quite shocking to find me like that, but I’m glad you did.” A nervous laugh escaped Galvan’s lips as he paced from the window to the corner cabinet where he started picking through his books. “Whoever attacked me, attacked Sister Mary Agnes. That bastard tried to strangle me, but they picked the wrong investigator. We must be getting close, Barlow. Otherwise, why else would they go after me? There must be some obvious clue that we’re missing. What I can’t figure out is how they got into the Paranormal Society. Do you know specifically what sort of spirits or outsiders can get past the wards?”
Oliver blinked, his hands shaking around the sherry glass. “I don’t know.”
“No matter. We can ask Turpin or your friend, Miss Jones. They would know.” Thunking the books onto the shelf, Galvan opened his writing desk. “Whoever it was, they made a mistake. They killed Sister Mary Agnes, but they couldn’t kill me.”
“But they did,” Oliver said, barely more than a whisper from the floor.
“Obviously not, I’m fine.”
***
Felipe stopped diggingthrough his papers at Barlow’s silence. Adrenaline hummed through Felipe’s body, urging him to move, but the sight of Oliver Barlow staring up at him with pleading, red-rimmed eyes sent a chill through him. While he hadn’t spent a lot of one-on-one time with the medical examiner, for the decade they had worked at the Paranormal Society together, Barlow always looked collected and untouchable. He had heard him banter and bicker with Gwen Jones, but this was a far different kind of vulnerability. Barlow looked as if he had spent his evening crying. Putting the papers down, Felipe returned to Barlow’s side on the rug.
“Look, it’s all right. I’m fine. See? Lungs healed, throat healed, breathing is nearly normal,” he said, drawing in a deep breath that sent a flare of pain and pressure in his chest. The last one might have been a stretch. “I’m a healer. I can take a beating.”
Shaking his head, Barlow opened his mouth but covered it with tented hands. He rocked twice before catching himself. “You don’t understand. When I came in, you were dead.”
“I just looked dead. That happens sometimes.”
“No. Please listen to what I’m saying.”
The steely edge in Oliver Barlow’s voice, despite the quaver, sent Felipe’s heart racing.
“I know dead people. I work with them all the time. When I came in, you were dead. I tried to bring you back.” Tears rose in his grey eyes. “Felipe, I am so sorry. I tried so hard to bring you back the proper way.”
“What do you mean ‘the proper way’? I’m alive. Come on, let’s get you up. You’re in shock.”
When Felipe reached for his arm, Oliver yanked it back. “I’m not in shock. I’m a necromancer!”
The word hung in the air as the two men held each other’s gazes. Barlow’s lip trembled at the dawning realization written all over Felipe’s face. He wasn’t joking.
“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I don’t know what happened.” Oliver raked his fingers so hard through his hair that Felipe winced. “I came in. I tried chest compressions and blowing air into your lungs. None of it worked. I checked. Your heart wasn’t beating, and you weren’t breathing. I don’t know how long I did it, but long enough for my arms to feel like jelly. I stopped and started to breakdown. Then, suddenly, you were coming around, and I felt the tether in me.”
“The tether?”
Barlow’s hand trailed to his chest as he broke into ragged, panicked breaths. Each word came in spurts as he tried to speak around the panic, “It’s how I bring the dead back. They borrow some of my energy. It links us. I can feel it. It’s a pressure in my chest, like a string tugging my heart.”
Cold sweat broke across Felipe’s back at the thickness in his chest. He had assumed it was from a rib that was still healing or blood in his chest that hadn’t cleared. But there it was, lodged under his sternum as if an invisible hand kept his heart beating. He couldn’t be dead. It didn’t make any sense.
Swallowing hard, he turned away from Barlow to stare out the window into the dark. In the glass, he caught his reflection staring back at him, sallow and wide-eyed. Blood covered his face from chin to nose and clotted in his hair and on his shirt. On the rug was a matching stain that wasn’t as big as it should have been if he had been lying there since dusk. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, and with each breath, his chest ached and burned. It had lessened since he woke up, but it wasn’t like it usually was. He should have been fully healed by now.
Pouring himself a glass of sherry, he threw it back and poured another. The connection between them fluttered. When Felipe turned around, he found Barlow watching him with a pained expression. He was going to end it. He could see by the fear in his eyes he was going to pull the plug and that would be it. He had to think of something, keep him talking.
“What do you usually do when you necromance?” Felipe asked as casually as he could muster.
Barlow flinched at the last word but said, “I ask people how they died or what they remember. Then, I let them go.”
“So that’s how you knew about the tigers! You woke him up and asked him.”
