Oliver knocked and called out as he opened the door in hopes that Felipe wouldn’t assume him to be an intruder and attack, but he found the parlor empty. Leaving his plate on the sideboard, Oliver slowly pushed open the bedroom door. Felipe remained where he had left him on the side of the bed, though his note had been moved. Stubble covered his chin and cheeks, and the bruised circles under his eyes had returned.
Oliver pasted on his most affable smile and called out, “Good morning. I thought you might want some breakfast. Not necessarily in bed, as it looks a little greasy, but I figured we could eat together in the parlor before work.”
“I’m not working today. If anyone asks, I’m sick,” Felipe half murmured into the mattress.
“Can healers get sick?”
“Surprisingly, yes. It just doesn’t last long. Besides, me being sick will be good cover for you-know-what.”
Releasing a tense breath, Oliver bit his lip. His first instinct was to push. To insist Felipe get out of bed, put on some clothes, and join the world because once he gained some momentum, he would feel better. That was what he did to himself when he was feeling low, but this was different. Felipe wouldn’t be able to see his daughter, and while Oliver no longer had anyone important like that, he assumed it would be like if he hadn’t gotten to spend time with his nana before she died. Felipe was deeply sad. Throwing him out of bed wouldn’t fix that. Still, a part of his brain cried,He only has four days left! He shouldn’t squander it, but it was Felipe’s life and he could do what he pleased with it.
“Will you at least eat something? I don’t want you feeling ill again.”
Felipe closed his eyes, pulling the pillow lower over his head. “Eat without me, Oliver. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I want to be alone right now.”
“All right. I’ll put the lid back on your food and leave it right here on the dresser. If nothing else, please eat. I’ll be in the library and then the lab, today, but if I don’t see you by noon, I’m coming back to check on you.”
Oliver thought he heard a grunt of acknowledgement before he pulled the bedroom door half shut. Sitting in the armchair with the plate balanced on his knees, Oliver ate in silence with the weight of Felipe’s unseen presence at his back. One way or another, he would get into the special collections and find out how to save him.
***
Mustering the fortitudeto open the bronze library doors, Oliver checked to make sure no one was coming down the hall as he shook out his hands. He had to do this. He had spent thirty-six years scared of his powers, scared to be seen as someone foul or untrustworthy, but he had to know what was possible. If wanting to keep Felipe alive made him evil, so be it.
“Morning, Ol.” Jumping at the suddenness of her voice, Oliver turned to see Gwen coming toward him. The smile fell from her face as she caught the last frenetic shake of his hands. “Oh, boy. What’s wrong?”
“Felipe’s got the morbs about dying, Inspector Newman might be involved with the case in the worst way, and I need to speak to Mr. Turpin. It’s the last one I’m dreading most.”
“So you’re finally talking to him about your powers? I told him you might come by soon, and he didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seemed relieved.”
Drawing in a long, slow breath, Oliver shook his head. “What if he tells me I’m going to be kicked out of the society for what I’ve done?”
“I think he would have come to you if he was going to do that. Come on, let’s get it over with. We can figure the rest out later.”
Oliver and Gwen’s footfalls rang loudly in the empty library but not as loud as the rush of blood in Oliver’s ears. At their approach, Turpin raised his head from his book, a thin smile playing on his lips.
“Dr. Barlow, what can I help you with today?”
The saliva dried in Oliver’s mouth as his mind hurtled through everything he needed and wanted to know. “I would like to ask that question now. I need to know more about my powers.”
“Let’s discuss this somewhere more private. Miss Jones, please man the reference desk while we’re gone.”
Rising from his stool, Turpin motioned for Oliver to follow him through a plain door he hadn’t noticed and down the steps into the recesses of the library. The moment the door shut behind them, silence fell like a curtain, blocking out anything but their footfalls on the stone and Oliver’s anxious breath. He could easily retreat up to the reference desk, but he felt trapped and the only way to go was down. Following Turpin’s bald pate, Oliver trailed his hand across the cavern wall. Both the steps and walls of the tunnel appeared to have been carved from one massive block of striated grey stone, as if the foundation of the library had been chiseled from the bedrock of Manhattan. He had seen stone like it jutting through the earth in Central Park. How deep did the library go?
Every few feet a bulbous lamp hung from the wall, illuminating their way with an unnatural, heatless yellow glow. More magic but not fire, Oliver confirmed. At the bottom of the long staircase, Turpin stopped on what looked like a wide, stone balcony, though Oliver couldn’t see what lay beyond the rail. It could have been a small drop or the abyss, but in the distance, he could make out gauzy halos of yellow light high above and below them. When he glanced back at the stairs, they were shrouded in darkness. Panic rose in Oliver’s breast at the sight of the stone altar in the center of the balcony, but he tamped it down for fear of worrying Felipe on the other end. Turpin must have seen the panic written across his features because he ushered him away from the edge, closer to the lantern light.
“Don’t be afraid, my boy. This is just the entrance to the special collections.”
This certainly wasn’t the room Oliver had glimpsed during those first years at the society.
“Now, ask me your question, and I will see if I can answer it or find someone else who can.”
Oliver clung to the sensation of the tether wedged beneath his heart to steady himself. No matter what Turpin thought of him after, he had to ask. “Can Felipe Galvan live again?”
“You will have to be more specific, I’m afraid.” Mr. Turpin gave him a sympathetic frown. “If you mean, can he live as he did before by undoing his death? No, he cannot.”
Heat burned behind Oliver’s eyes.Felipe would die.He couldn’t save him. Catching his blurring gaze, the older man gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.
“People have been trying to thwart death since humans realized the end was truly the end. That isn’t to say Inspector Galvan can’t live on the way he is now,” Mr. Turpin said with uncharacteristic softness.
