“Sshhhhh, don’t even say that name here. You trying to get me killed?” Joe scolded, a panicked gust ruffling Felipe’s paper. Steadying his powers, he dropped his voice. “I worked there in the eighties, but I got in a fight with my boss and told myself I’d never go back.” He let out a bitter laugh. “But it can’t be worse than here, right?”
“Your old boss is probably gone by now, if that’s any consolation.”
Stamping out his cigarette and sending a whirlwind over his clothes and face, Joe pushed away from the wall. “Well, Phil, it has been nice talking with you, but I should get back before I’m missed. I, uh, make some extra cash working at the Green Daisy. I’ll be there tomorrow night if you want to continue our chat. Maybe you can help me finance my escape,” he said with a wink.
Watching Joe’s retreating back as he propelled himself up to the fire escape and silently climbed back to the third floor, Felipe bit back a laugh. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Oliver’s face when he told him where they had to go.
***
THE ELEVATOR OPERATORtook them past the remaining floors containing an overflow ward and the communal halls where the workers slept to the uppermost floor without stopping. This high up and far away from Felipe, the tether pulled in Oliver’s breast. Running it between his fingers, he let it thin just a little, just enough to release the pressure. When the doors finally opened, Oliver blinked at the contrast between the austere hospital wards below and the opulence of the doctor’s floor. The male secretary at the desk directly in front of them looked up for a brief moment only to return to his work upon spotting Mrs. Draper. She prattled on about Beaux Arts architecture and the man who had been commissioned to design the building as she let them into Dr. Yates’s office, but Oliver could barely listen.
If the anteroom was richly appointed with lustrous dark wood running from nearly floor to ceiling and the expensive rug beneath the secretary’s desk, Dr. Yates’s office was fit for a king. An overly tall marble fireplace took up one wall while the rest were covered in glass-fronted bookshelves stuffed to the brim. Busts of Hippocrates, Herophilus, and Vesalius stared down from the tops of the shelves. There were couches near the door framed by a tapestry depicting Adam and Eve after their fall, but Oliver’s eye immediately fell to the massive desk that commanded the room. It could have been the office of a robber baron instead of a wealthy doctor, but Oliver thought he understood the intent of having such an office in a place where he dealt with the rich and poor alike. The former would feel at home in the space while the latter would feel put in their place. He hated it.
Ansley certainly seemed at home as he smiled at Mrs. Draper and answered her assurances that they were happy to wait for the doctor to finish his work. Oliver could picture him flopping across one of the leather couches or sipping brandy near the fireplace while Oliver squirmed because he would always feel out of place in a room like this. The moment the door closed, Ansley’s gaze sharpened.
“When he comes in, let me do most of the talking,” Ansley whispered only loud enough for him to hear. “Feel free to sit there looking put-out and ask a few medical questions if necessary. That’s all. You’ve done well so far, but you aren’t a good liar.”
Before Oliver could respond, Ansley darted away. He wanted to be annoyed, but he wasn’t wrong. Ansley did a quick circuit around the room, eyeing it from floor to ceiling as if trying to memorize its details or spot something out of place. He had seen Felipe do the same thing at crime scenes, so he stayed out of his way and kept his eyes on the shelves of books as Ansley studied the frames on Yates’s desk. The first few shelves appeared to be the usual encyclopedias, atlases, classical works, a few moral tales meant for children, but Oliver’s breath caught when he reached the medical texts. There were so many. Books on the human body spanning centuries and continents sat side by side on the shelf. Through the locked glass, Oliver marveled at the age of some of them. Most weren’t modern reprints or reproductions; they were nearly as old as their creators who had long turned to dust. Some were so rare even the Paranormal Society’s library didn’t have an original copy. Others in the case were more philosophical or alchemical in nature. Albertus Magnus, Francis Bacon, and John Dee sat proudly together in matching modern, gilded leather bindings, and below them were the same books in their original bindings and vellum.
Oliver was about to drift over to the diplomas and awards behind the desk when he heard a man’s voice on the other side of the door. With a hissed whisper, Oliver nodded toward the chairs in front of the desk. Ansley glanced up from where he had been probing the walls for hidden compartments and sat stiffly beside Oliver, looking as if he would rather be with anyone else. When the door opened with barely a click, Ansley and Oliver rose to their feet. Dr. Yates looked how Oliver expected him, albeit slightly younger. He was no more than a decade or so older than Oliver with an angular face and hair that had once been blonde but had started to go white instead of grey. His clothes were fine but subdued enough for a professional man. Every piece of him looked perfectly in place and perfectly at home in this office.
Beneath a well-groomed mustache, he gave Oliver and Ansley a half smile as he reached out to shake their hands. “Mr. Morgan, Dr. Owens. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”
“No more than a few moments. Mrs. Draper’s tour was quite extensive,” Ansley said as they sat down, and Dr. Yates took a seat behind the desk. “I’m very impressed by your facilities. If anyone can fix my Lucy, I think it’s you.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to wipe his hand on Ansley’s borrowed trousers. He felt the doctor’s gaze flicker over him, but his face gave nothing away.
“Tell me about your wife, Mr. Morgan, and leave out no details.”
“Lucy and I have been married for five years, and up until last year, things have been as they ought. She ran the household, took care of me and our eldest child, but things changed after she had the baby. It was like something snapped in her. See, I didn’t mind her using,” he dropped his voice, “magicin the house as long as it wasn’t around the children. It helped her get the chores done, so I didn’t complain, but within a month of having Ellie, she’s become a nightmare. Now, she cries all the time, rails against me, chases the servants out of the room, throws things with her hands and her mind. She says she hates me and the children. She threatens to harm herself.” Shaking his head, Ansley let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what to do anymore. This excess of passion is never ending, and nothing I do seems to help.”
The entire time Ansley spoke, the doctor had taken notes and nodded as he listened. “Has she actually harmed anyone yet or only made threats?”
“Only threats so far. As I said, she throws things, but she has never intentionally hit us. I’ve sent the children to live with my mother, and the servants avoid her. I try to spend time with her, but I don’t think she wants me there. She chases me out when she can no longer stand me.”
“Thankfully, things haven’t progressed beyond hope. If she was attacking people, then a stronger course of action might be in order, but if she is in the state you say she is, this is treatable. It will be a difficult road, but she can come back from this.”
Something akin to anger and panic welled in Oliver’s throat. He had nearly forgotten Lucy Morgan didn’t exist, but he was angry for the many Lucy Morgans he had seen as a doctor. The overworked women whose husbands treated them with contempt, who saw them as playthings or dependents instead of people with easily met needs if they bothered to lift a finger.
“And what treatment do you prescribe for such a common affliction after birth?” Oliver said as much to Ansley and Dr. Yates as the aether. “There are countless women who suffer anxiety and melancholy after birth, especially when their husbands are insufferable children who put all their burdens on her when she’s barely recovered from a traumatic ordeal.”
Ansley opened his mouth in shock, but Dr. Yates replied solemnly, “I would initially prescribe rest, lots of rest. Don’t look so upset, Mr. Morgan. Dr. Owens isn’t wrong. I think this is a temporary condition brought on by your wife’s last pregnancy. Women are frail creatures to begin with, and if they are inflicted with magic and rely on it, it only makes that frailty worse as they waste their vitality on parlor tricks. Your wife would benefit from time away from the burdens of wifely duties and motherhood until she can get her strength and sanity back.”
“That sounds reasonable. Would she be treated here or at the sanitorium in Long Island you mentioned in your letter?”
“But what about when she comes back home, and he’s just as useless and unsupportive as he was before she left? Won’t she end up right where she started, especially if she is with child again? It isn’t fair that you would send her away to avoid dealing with the repercussions of your actions while you continue your life uninterrupted.”
Oliver bit the inside of his cheek. He had said too much. He had gotten too heated over something that wasn’t even real, and Ansley was going to tell Head Inspector Williams how he made a mess of his investigation. While Ansley sat tight-lipped and wide-eyed, willing Oliver to shut up, Dr. Yates steepled his fingers and looked intently between them.
“Dr. Owens, your concerns are mine as well. Your sister cannot return to an environment that isn’t conducive to her recovery or our teachings. It will only confuse her. Do you have magic of your own, Mr. Morgan?”
“I only have a little ice magic. It’s nothing impressive, just enough to cool drinks or keep ice cream from melting on a hot day, and it’s thoroughly useless in the winter.”
The doctor gave him a hard look as if he didn’t quite believe him and adjusted a frame on his desk. “Well, while your wife is away, I would suggest that you take some of our courses. There is always room for self-improvement, and as a husband and father, you must lead by example. You’ve seen the problems this excess of magic and overreliance upon it has caused your wife. Do you want your daughters going through the same thing in the future? If not, you must break the cycle now. Stop using your magic, and let it be forgotten by the time your children are old enough to remember.”
“You have given me a lot to think about, Dr. Yates.”
“I don’t expect you to commit to anything today. You should go home and talk it over with your wife, assure her that this isn’t a punishment but an opportunity, and that you’re going to work on being a better husband to her as well.” Dr. Yates must have pressed a button on the underside of his desk for a faint buzz sounded on the other side of the wall. Seconds later, the secretary appeared at the door. “Jenkins, can you please give Mr. Morgan the information for our courses on marriage and overcoming magic as well as the subject of payment, should he decide to put his wife in our care and enroll himself in our four month course of classes.”
