If there was one thing Oliver trusted, it was himself and his observations. People lied. The dead lied. But his senses, his observations, they could be riddles, but they didn’t lie. Right now, he could see Felipe was upset. The priest’s hold over them had disconcerted him, but Oliver didn’t know how to make him feel better.
Rubbing Felipe’s shoulder, the other man slowly relaxed a fraction and let his head drop back against the steamer window. Outside a cold drizzle pattered against the roof and windshield. The windows steamed from their breath until Oliver could scarcely see the church or even the iron fence surrounding the graveyard. Sliding his hand up from Felipe’s shoulder to his neck and up to his cheek, Oliver gently drew him closer. Felipe gazed up at him, his brown eyes wide, but his surprise melted into something warmer as Oliver’s lips brushed his. He kissed him slowly, his fingers brushing Felipe’s loose curls. As Felipe leaned into him, Oliver could feel him shaking. Pulling back, Oliver wrapped his arms around him tightly and held him close. For a long moment, they sat in the rain’s steady tattoo in silence.
“I think having a headache from the breakdown this morning actually helped,” Oliver said, still holding Felipe. “The headache worsened every time he used his power because of the smell, and the pain—and sneezing—broke his hold.”
“What smell?”
“You didn’t smell it? His magic smelled like incense, more specifically frankincense. It hung over the church, but the rectory stunk of it. When he tried to manipulate us into believing his story, the smell got stronger. That’s how I realized what the smell actually was. If the concentration is any indication, I think he’s using compulsion on his parishioners, too.”
Felipe pulled away with a nervous laugh and took to wiping the windows and windshield with his handkerchief. “So he could be blackmailing the whole lot of them in the confessional or getting them to dump their wallets into the collection plate for all we know.”
“Or worse. He could convince them to jump off bridges or burn down the Paranormal Society if he chose. Or make them think others are possessed, as we saw. He obviously doesn’t have the ability to suffocate someone, but I think we can safely say Father Gareth was somehow involved in Sister Mary Agnes’s death, right?”
“Yeah, I’d say that’s a safe conclusion.” Felipe tossed Oliver the rag to wipe down his side of the steamer before pulling away from the curb at a less than safe speed. “I know it’s a little early, but let’s go find something to eat. I’d like something stronger to drink, but tea or coffee will do.”
***
Felipe had never beenso relieved to be back in the city. He knew he was driving like the hounds of hell were chasing him. He could tell from the nervous, furtive glances Oliver threw his way every time he rounded a corner, but he couldn’t help it if he was a little punchy. Within twenty-four hours, he had been murdered, reanimated, and then compulsed. After all that, he had every right to put as much distance between himself and the priest as quickly as he could.
Driving past the turn they should have taken for the Paranormal Society, Felipe headed toward the Lower East Side. Years ago after one of her shows, Ruth Dressler, one of the society’s more bohemian members, had taken him, Louisa, and Agatha down to where the Jewish merchants and food vendors gathered. Felipe had gone back regularly when he returned to the city, especially on Sundays when other shops were closed. If this was his last week alive, he was getting a fucking bagel and lox.
“You like fish, right?” Felipe asked.
“Generally speaking, yes. Why?”
“I want to pick us up something to eat, but I didn’t think you would want to sit in a crowded hotel dining room for lunch.”
Oliver’s eyes grew wide as they drove past a market humming with people and carts. “That doesn’t look quiet.”
Pulling down the next side street to park, Felipe replied, “It isn’t, but I will get the food and come back, so we can eat it in the car. I figured that might be better for you. Plus, then we can talk freely.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to eat in the society’s steamers.”
“You already drank coffee in it and sloshed a little on the seat, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
A small smile played on Oliver’s lips. “Fine. Thank you, Felipe. Here, I’ll pay this time.”
That smile would be the death of him, Felipe thought as he walked back toward the market with Oliver’s money in his pocket. Fear washed over him anew knowing how close he had come to striking Oliver. The priest had slipped into his brain quiet as fog and turned him against him. The priest hadn’t known it, but he could have ended both their lives if Felipe had pulled his gun or his knife. It wasn’t until he stood ready to destroy the eldritch creature inside him that he saw Oliver’s black brows furrow in confusion when he looked at Felipe. Grey eyes soft as the sea at dawn, lips parted as he leaned toward Felipe and mouthed his name. The notebook in his hand had tipped forward.Keep your wits.If he hadn’t followed his arm’s momentum to grab Oliver and haul him out, what would he have done?
Entering the market, Felipe snapped back to reality. All around him people called out in Yiddish, German, Russian, and English. He couldn’t understand most of it, but he understood the hustle of city life. A man selling mushrooms on a string pushed past him as he dodged a bolt of fabric slung over a woman’s shoulder. Children chased through the crowd while a young couple walked arm-in-arm toward a man selling furniture, but what Felipe was looking for was the line of carts clustered together by the produce and meat stalls. The knot in Felipe’s chest loosened at seeing David Weiss’s bagel cart. Beside him was Yonah’s appetizing cart while further down was a delicatessen cart beside a woman selling tea and coffee. Perfect.
After fifteen minutes standing on line and two anxiety tugs on the tether from Oliver, Felipe returned to the steamer with two bagels with lox and cream cheese wrapped in paper and two tin cups of tea he would have to return. Before he could reach the steamer, the door swung open from the inside and Oliver clambered out to take the drinks from his hands.
“If I had known you were getting so much, I would have come with you,” Oliver said as he stuck his cup between his knees to hand the other back to Felipe.
“Then, that would have defeated the purpose, wouldn’t it? Here, I got us bagels and lox.” At Oliver’s slightly confused expression, he added, “It’s salmon.”
“Oh, I like salmon.”
Slowly unwrapping his own sandwich, he watched Oliver try his. He ripped a tiny piece of bagel off, and after tasting it, he took a real bite. Felipe smiled at the beatific expression on Oliver’s face as the salty fish mixed with the sweet cream cheese and the slight tang of the bagel’s crust. Reeling in a stray piece of fish, Oliver’s tongue flicked out but left a little smear of cream cheese behind. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline clouding his judgment, but Felipe wanted nothing more than to invite Oliver back to his room. He swallowed hard and focused on his own food, even though the healing gnaw hadn’t started yet. How could anyone think Oliver Barlow frigid or emotionless when he made faces like that?
“This is really good,” Oliver murmured with a mouthful. Taking a cautious sip of tea, he pulled the cup back, looked at the color, and took a deeper sip.
“A finger of cream and one sugar, right?”
Oliver paused. His eyes met Felipe’s with enough gravity to see through him. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did. But I must admit that I have an ulterior motive in plying you with good food. I need a favor.” This was not going to go well. Felipe knew if Oliver said this to him, he would react poorly. What he needed was to tread carefully and catch Oliver before he wound himself up. “Now, when I ask the favor, I want you to give me time to explain before you get upset.”
