“That’s called detective work, Inspector Galvan.”
Turning to Oliver with wide eyes and a clenched jaw, Felipe motioned toward Mr. Turpin with his head.You try. He likes you better anyway, he mouthed as he pushed past Oliver to lean against the nearest stack. Oliver bit his lip and stepped up to the counter. The cool expression Turpin had with Felipe turned to something more akin to sympathy muddled with thinly veiled curiosity until he spotted Felipe over his shoulder.
“Do not lean against the shelves unless you want to pick up and repair four hundred books.” When Felipe retreated with a huff, Mr. Turpin turned back to Oliver. “And how may I help you, Dr. Barlow? Please tell me you aren’t going to ask me for a list of other’s abilities, too.”
“No. I—”Need to know about necromancy. It sounded so easy. Even if Mr. Turpin knew he was a necromancer from his entrance interview, Oliver couldn’t bring himself to admit he knew nothing about his own gift beyond what he had accidentally sussed out on his own. “Can anyone with abilities walk into the Paranormal Society or do they have to be a member? It’s been a long time, and I don’t remember.”
Mr. Turpin looked caught off guard but nodded thoughtfully. “That is a good question. The building has a mind of its own, so it doesn’t have hard rules, per se. What I have noted is unless you have magical abilities or need an inspector, you cannot see it or enter it without someone with you who does. If you are a member, as in, you have spoken to me and the head inspector and are brought into the fold, so to speak, and given a role, then you can access the entire building. If you are not ‘initiated,’ you cannot get past the ground floor uninvited. I have never experienced it myself, but a young man once told me that the door to the staircases vanished, and when he wandered away from his guide, the doors spat him back into the foyer.”
“So unless you’re a member, there’s little chance of making it past the first floor.”
“Precisely. Does this have to do with a case you’re working on?”
“Yes.”
“Is this something I should be concerned about?”
Oliver glanced toward Felipe, but he was facing away from him. Dropping his voice, he replied, “Someone at the society may have perpetrated violence against another. It was targeted, but if you could warn the librarians and archivists to be vigilant, I would appreciate it. I warned Gwen already.”
“Does the head inspector know about this?”
“Not yet.”
“Perhaps he should, though I will leave that to you. Is there anything else you would like to ask me, Dr. Barlow?” Turpin asked expectantly with a raised brow.
A dozen things sprung to mind, but Oliver could feel Felipe behind him waiting. “Yes, but not at this moment.”
Taking off his spectacles to clean them, Turpin sighed. “Knowing will not change what has transpired. It will only make you more prepared for the decisions you will make in the future. Yours is a gift as well, Dr. Barlow, and a precious one at that. Don’t let fear rob you of the knowledge you deserve.”
“Thank you, Mr. Turpin. And I will ask. But not yet.”
With a wave of the hand, Oliver was dismissed. Wandering back to Felipe in the stacks, Oliver’s gaze traveled back to Mr. Turpin as he returned to his work. Even after years of spending his free time with Gwen in the library, Oliver had never worked out what power Turpin possessed. As soon as he thought he got a handle on its shape, new evidence presented itself. Mind reading? Energy reading? The ability to sense and undo magic? It all felt like he was skimming the surface of something far stranger.
Oliver bit back a comment about wrecking book spines as Felipe leaned against a shelf built into the wall with his eyes closed. “What did Turpin say? I somehow doubt he gave you the run around as you’re one of his favored few. I don’t know why he always gives me such a hard time.”
Heat flared in Oliver’s cheeks. Once and always the teacher’s pet. “It might be because he knows you’re acting nice to get information out of him. He’s probably nice to me because I’m friends with Gwen. But he did confirm that no one could have gotten to your apartment without being led by a member of the Paranormal Society or being a member themselves. Did you pass anyone when you came upstairs that night?”
“No, but I went up the back stairs, not the front. If there was a lookout, I might not have seen them. So let’s assume that it is a member of the society—”
At the sound of Mr. Turpin loudly clearing his throat, Felipe rolled his eyes with a huff. And that was why Turpin wasn’t fond of him.
“Come on, I know where we can talk more freely,” Oliver said softly, motioning for Felipe to follow him deeper into the labyrinth.
Despite knowing Felipe probably didn’t care much for the library and had seen so many more exciting places, Oliver longed to show him his favorite carrel on the first floor that was so neatly tucked behind a shelf that others rarely used it even though it had plenty of natural light. As he led Felipe up the winding iron stairs to the second floor, Oliver ran his fingers over the spine of the anatomy book he loved the most and whose pages he could practically read with his eyes closed. In the past when he had shown others the things he cared about like that, he was met with “So?” or “Why are you showing me this?” and he couldn’t bear the thought of Felipe doing the same. But there was one thing in the library that Oliver thought Felipe would like.
He led him to the farthest corner of the library where a taller, narrower set of polished wooden stairs rose from the third floor and disappeared into a hatch painted to match the ceiling. The spiral staircase coiled so tightly that they had to duck as they walked, but when they reached the very top and he threw open the door, the tension in Oliver’s chest loosened at the sight of the familiar, well-loved armchairs and the three narrow windows that overlooked the street below. A refuge from rules and expectations and people in the middle of one of his favorite places. Turning to Felipe, Oliver watched his face as he emerged from the hatch and his gaze swept over the private, makeshift parlor.
***
Dumbfounded wasn’tan adequate word for what Felipe felt staring at the cozy room at the top of the staircase. Felipe had worked at the Paranormal Society for nearly two decades, yet he had never even noticed the tight spiral stairs. If he had seen it, he must have assumed it to be roof-access and nothing more, yet Oliver, a man who had never managed to have Chinese food or a bagel while living in Manhattan for years, had discovered a nook Felipe had never noticed. Oliver bit his lip and watched Felipe as he clambered inside and shut the hatch behind him. It was a far cry from the hard wooden chairs and utilitarian desks below. While the round room was tight with both of them and the furniture, it was well appointed with a Persian rug, an end table, and two sconces flanking a pair of armchairs that were plush enough that Felipe wasn’t certain how they managed to get them up the steps or through the hatch.
“Did the building make this for you?” Felipe asked as he drifted to the windows. They were barely larger than arrow slits in a castle, but the light drifting in warmed the room.
A small smile played on Oliver’s lips. “I’m not sure. One day, Gwen and I were talking. I... I was overwhelmed, and when we turned the corner, there it was. I don’t remember if it was the first time Isawit or if it had never been there before. Sometimes, Gwen and I use it to sneak food or chat while she’s working, but mostly, I go here when I want to do research and not be disturbed. What do you think of it?”
There was a tentativeness to the way Oliver spoke that gave Felipe pause. When he turned back to him, he found Oliver fidgeting with a slim tome laying across the arm of the chair, his eyes on the floor. Felipe had noticed him pause several times on their way to the turret room but hadn’t thought anything of it. He couldn’t imagine why Oliver would care about his opinion, but he couldn’t take the edge of worry in his gaze.
“I think it’s wonderful, Oliver. I’m curious as to what other secrets you have uncovered.”
