Chapter Eight
Invitations
Felipe parked the steameron a side street near the back of the building where he had an unobstructed view of the service entrance, but the people within the institute couldn’t immediately see him. As he and Oliver were getting dressed, he had told him to give the tether two tugs when they were ready to be picked up and three tugs if they were in distress. So far, the tether had been quiet, apart from the occasional muted pang of concern. Leaning against the side of the steamer, Felipe kept his cap low on his forehead as he read the paper, or pretended to. If the institute had ex-society members or they took it upon themselves to keep tabs on the investigators, he would be one of the most recognizable. Through the pin holes in his newspaper, Felipe had watched a few delivery drivers and workers come and go out the back door, but there had been nothing out of the ordinary. No dead bodies or suspiciously large deliveries, though he doubted they would drag them out during the day.
He was about to go sit inside the cab when a man in a dusty blue uniform pushed open a window on the third floor. Looking above and below him, he gingerly climbed onto the fire escape and wedged something beneath the window to keep it from fully closing. Felipe watched him silently climb down, nimble as a cat as he avoided the windows with practiced care. Right before he reached the final ladder that would drop down with a clatter, the man blew a lock of brown hair out of his face, took a deep breath, and leaped. Felipe tried not to stare as the man slowed half a second before hitting the ground and landed without a sound.No magic at the institute, my ass, Felipe thought. The man was either telekinetic or an airmancer, and a decent one at that. The man glanced back to make sure no one had seen him before walking toward the street where Felipe stood with purposeful strides.
The moment the man came around the corner out of sight, his shoulders dropped, and he leaned against the wall across from Felipe with a full body sigh. Up close, the brown-haired man was white, probably in his mid-thirties, a few inches taller than Felipe, with a build that spoke of labor while still retaining a limber grace. Through the holes in his paper, Felipe could see the other man watching him. As he pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and stuck one between his lips, his light brown gaze lingered on Felipe’s shiny boots and trailed up his legs appreciatively before coming to rest on his thighs. He let out a small, pointed cough, and when Felipe looked around the newspaper, the man held out the pack for him.
“Thanks, but my boss doesn’t like the smell. Docks my pay if I stink up the cab,” Felipe said with an apologetic shake of his head.
“Rich sods are the worst, aren’t they?” Striking a match against the bricks and taking a long drag, he eyed Felipe as much as he did the steamer. “How is it being a chauffeur?”
“Not bad if you don’t mind being at the rich sods’ beck and call and waiting.”
“I can deal with that. I like driving.”
“If you know anything about steamer maintenance, they’re more likely to snap you up. Thinking of changing jobs?”
The man let out a half-coughed laugh. “God, yes. I hate this place. They keep us all on a tight leash, treat us like we’re the patients. No smoking, no drinking, no fraternizing, no talking after lights off, no leaving after hours even if we aren’t on duty.”
“It doesn’t sound that bad.”
“Free room and board sounds great until that’s all you have. It doesn’t make it easy to look for another job if you’re basically a prisoner, but I think that’s what they want. You become dependent upon them, so you can’t leave even if you want to. And if you get fired, you have nothing.” The man’s hand trembled as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. Puffing out an ashy breath, he rested his head against the wall. “I’ve been sneaking out to make some money on the side, but if they catch me, I won’t have to worry about another job. You think I’m being dramatic, but you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen.”
Felipe folded the paper and set it aside. “Like what?”
“I—” The man’s features tightened as his eyes slipped out of focus. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s not worth it, not now. If anyone finds out I’m even talking to you, I’ll be in trouble.”
“I’m pretty sure I started it by asking you for directions and about a job.”
A dimple appeared on his cheek to match the one on his chin. “I’m Joe, by the way.”
“Phil,” Felipe replied, shaking the man’s hand.
His gaze narrowed on Felipe, and for a moment, he feared he had made a mistake picking a name so close to his own. Leaning back against the wall with his leg up and the cigarette dangling between his fingers, Joe watched him through hooded lids as they stood in companionable silence. The air around Joe rippled, sending the tobacco’s grey haze far above them before it dissipated in the breeze.
Felipe raised a brow. “Air?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Healing, not that I get much use of it driving.”
Joe nodded thoughtfully and let out a zigzagged stream of air. Glancing from the window Joe had shimmied out of to the stress lines deepening at the corners of his eyes, Felipe debated if he should say anything. If they were just two men with magic talking, it would be an innocuous suggestion, but if Joe knew what Oliver and Ansley were up to... While Felipe would bet Joe didn’t trust his employers enough to go running to tell them what he said, he didn’t want to scare him off either, especially if he might be their only link on the inside.
“Have you ever thought of going to the Paranor—”
