“But it’s not?” When Joe shook his head and took a long drag, Felipe added, “Whatdidthey expect of you?”
“To be part of the program. I met one of Yates’s people when I was staying at the YMCA, and he said I could get a decent job and better accommodations if I worked for them. I should have been more suspicious, but I was sick of being there. He tried to suss out who had magic, but plenty of placeswantpeople like us. I didn’t realize what I was signing up for.” Joe ground his jaw, keeping his eyes locked on the window. “I was lucky. The night before they interviewed me, the club I was at got raided. I spent the night leaping out of windows and keeping myself from falling off rooftops, so I was exhausted.
“The doctors wanted to see my powers on full display. They even tried to use one of their machines to push my powers, but it didn’t work because I was totally spent. They were satisfied with my meager magic and didn’t make me go through any of the anti-magic treatments, though they made me sit through lectures on sodomy and even gave me a few jolts until they were satisfied I was properly chastened. As you can see, it didn’t work, but if you watch the people whowantto change, you figure out the right things to say and how to say them, real quick. They still make me sit through lectures from time to time and interrogate me to make sure I haven’t strayed.”
Anger gnawed in Felipe’s gut. “But you’ve managed to escape?”
“They’ve gotten complacent with me. I’m good at keeping my head down and blending in. And I’ve been careful when I return and in what condition.”
“Can you tell us about Dr. Thorn?” Ansley asked.
Joe tapped his cigarette against a chipped saucer on the nightstand. “That one was a sadist. He did most of the ‘aversion’ treatments. He enjoyed humiliating people. If you confessed that you had an impure thought or that you used your magic by accident, he would announce it to everyone and make an example of you. He did it to one of my friends. I doubt he was truly my friend, but he was as close as it got in there. He wasn’t the same after. Thorn made Yates give him the stronger treatment, which had him throwing up for a week. I begged him to stop telling them things, but he wanted to be good. He wanted to ‘get better.’ Little good it did him.”
Smoke obscured Joe’s face, but Felipe thought he caught a hint of regret or sorrow in the man’s eyes. “Could Dr. Thorn have killed a patient?”
“Hell, I think he would have enjoyed it. He talked about how out West he got in a fight and killed a man. He told everyone that would listen how he still had a bullet imbedded in his ribs for his trouble and that if he could get through that pain, they could handle a little electricity. At least that bastard is gone now. You understand why I’m trying to make enough to get the hell out of there before they find someone new and equally horrible to take his place.”
“Do you know why Dr. Thorn left?” Ansley asked with narrowed eyes.
“I assumed he and Yates had a fight. That happened sometimes. There had been talk that Thorn was using his powers when he thought no one was looking, and Yates took issue with that. And no, I don’t know what it was; I never caught him doing it. The institute doesn’t have spirit bells or anything, so anyone can use their powers at any time and no one would be the wiser if they were careful about it.”
Felipe frowned. He thought for sure they would have had the place strung with them. Spirit bells were heavily out of fashion and mostly used for hauntings, but they reacted to magic the way Franklin Bells did to lightning. He would have thought a place that loathed magic would have wanted to stop it the moment it started.
Turning to Oliver, Felipe asked, “Would spirit bells be tripped by those machines you saw?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard of any studies done on the effects of electricity or static on spirit bells, though the investigators who deal with hauntings might have a better idea. That could be why they’re not used as much now that electricity is becoming more common.” Oliver’s brows furrowed as he stared down at his notes and flipped back to the previous page. Biting his lip, he looked at the other men but didn’t say anything. At Felipe’s nod, Oliver swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Joe, you mentioned before that you tried to keep your head down and do your job. What changed to make you want to leave so badly, especially since they haven’t noticed you rebelling yet?”
The muscles of Joe’s throat worked as he stared at Oliver as if trying to get a better read on him. “There wasn’t anything. I’m just tired of working there.”
The man said he had seen things, and while it could have been the torturous treatments, Felipe doubted that was it. “What about your friend? Are you going to leave him behind when you take off?”
“He’s gone. I don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Joe said, keeping his voice flat even as the fingers holding his cigarette shook.
Felipe could feel Ansley’s sharp gaze boring into the side of his face. He was supposed to let him lead, but this was his case too. Herman Judd was dead, and something far worse was going on at the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul than questionable donors.
“Was your friend’s name Herman Judd?”
Joe’s eyes widened, and his head snapped up with a suck of breath. A hiss of air whipped across Felipe’s cheek an instant before Joe leapt toward the open window. Felipe dove, and they collided in a tangle of limbs. The air rushed out of him as his back hit the rickety pane. One arm scrabbled for purchase against the peeling plaster as he tried to shove Joe back. Cool night air blew up his jacket, sending a wave of panic through his chest that echoed Oliver’s on the other end of the tether. This many stories up, he might survive the fall, but he didn’t want to take that chance. Oliver’s hands clamped onto him and hauled him inside as Ansley wrenched the smaller man’s arm back with a cry. Jerking Joe away from the window, Ansley grunted with effort as he struggled and panted in his grip.
“Would you prefer jail to the institute? Because that’s where you’re going for assaulting an investigator,” Ansley hissed into Joe’s ear as he bucked against him, “and for murder.”
“Let him go,” Felipe ordered, still bent over to catch his breath.
Wind whipped dangerously through the room, knocking the ashtray from the bedside table and a painting off the wall. If Joe knew any of the tricks Newman did, Felipe didn’t want Oliver or Ansley to find out. Smoke trailed from the rug where the forgotten cigarette smoldered, but Felipe ground it out with his heel and pushed the window nearly shut.
“But he—”
“He isn’t Herman Judd’s killer.”
“Then, why is he so desperate to get away?” Ansley asked, eliciting a yelp from the other man as he gripped him tighter.
“Because he knows who is. Now, let him go.”
Wrenching his arm from Ansley’s grip, Joe elbowed him hard enough to make him bite back a curse. Ansley’s lips twisted and his fists clenched, but Felipe stepped between them as Joe retreated to the bed. Imperiously holding Ansley’s gaze, Felipe waited until the blonde man rolled his eyes and stalked back to his seat. They would have a talk about this later, among other things. Joe’s chest heaved as he readjusted his rumpled robe and rubbed his sore shoulder.
Warily meeting Felipe’s gaze, Joe whispered, “I swear I didn’t kill Herman.”
“We know you didn’t,” Oliver said calmly. “Do you know who did or what happened to him?”
