“I found it stuck in a piece of bone in the back of the incinerator. I don’t think we’re going to need that sketch of Dr. Thorn after all,” Felipe said, pulling an envelope from his bag.
“I thought it was just Herman, but it’s not, is it?”
Sealing the bullet in the envelope, Felipe shook his head. “No, there’s quite a bit of bone in there. Can you hold the lantern close? I want to take a photograph of the inside, but I don’t want to risk using the flash pan inside the incinerator.”
Joe nodded, taking the remaining lamp while Felipe retrieved the Kodak and climbed back inside. Between him, the refuse, the lantern, and the camera, it was crowded, but Felipe got the shots he needed. Passing the camera to Joe, Felipe scooped a handful of bone fragments into a larger envelope in case they disappeared between when they left and when the Paranormal Society moved in to investigate further. Felipe took a photograph of the boiler room as well as one of the bruises on Joe’s wrists from the restraints they had used on him. As Felipe secured the camera and evidence in his bag, he watched Joe from the corner of his eye. More than anything, he hoped the Paranormal Society could give him a new life. If Joe wanted to take his money and live a quiet life somewhere once the dust settled, Felipe wouldn’t blame him, but he had gifts and talents that could take him far in the society, not only as an investigator either.
“What are you going to do once you’re out of here?” Felipe asked, beating the ash from his trousers and shirt.
“Haven’t thought that far. I haven’t even taken a look at the envelope you gave me. I still wouldn’t put it past the blonde to stiff me.”
“Me neither, but I double checked, and everything you asked for is there.” Checking his pocket watch, Felipe confirmed they had five minutes until they had to get out. He had hoped Oliver and Ansley would come down early. It wasn’t optimal, but he would go up and fetch them if he had to. “You might be stuck at the society for a while, but you’ll be able to start over once the case is wrapped up. Oliver and I would be happy to help you figure out what you want to do... if you want the help, that is.”
“You mean at the society?” he asked dubiously.
“If that’s what you want. We aren’t like the institute. No one will force you to stay if you don’t want to,” Felipe replied, throwing his waistcoat and jacket over his sooty shirt.
“I’ll think about it. Right now, all I want to do is sleep for a week straight and eat food that tastes like something.”
Felipe smiled as he shouldered his bag. He opened his mouth to reply when the oppressive silence was shattered by a crash followed by a jolt of heart-squeezing panic through the tether. By the time the alarms started blaring, Felipe was already running with Joe at his heels.
***
OLIVER STARED AT THEjumble of words, symbols, and lines, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. A sea of names had been written across the wall in different colors, surrounded by tiny notations Oliver could scarcely read. Unlatching the other panel, he swung it open to reveal that the trail of names continued to the other side and across both paper-covered doors. Oliver’s stomach roiled at the twelve foot expanse of people and connections. Why was it hidden? Holding the lantern close to the lefthand door, Oliver quickly found people he recognized from the society: Head Inspector Williams, John Marsh, Peter Newman with an X through his name and a notation of his death, along with people who must have been their siblings or cousins and their children. Dr. Yates had known about the Paranormal Society’s members enough to eliminate them when they infiltrated his other clinics. Was this how?
Oliver searched for his name, then Gwen’s or Felipe’s, but they weren’t there. On the other door’s panel, he foundJoe Schmitt (alias)written in the same purple as Peter Newman. Both men were airmancers. Dr. Yates was charting affinities and powers, but to what end? In the center on the wall were names Oliver recognized from the papers. They were old money or tycoons, people who had climbed the social ladder through lumber or luck, but he had never seen or heard of them at the Paranormal Society. He never would have known they had magic, except for the color of their names. Drawing closer, Oliver tried to puzzle out the minute notions. There was no key; its creator had no need for one, but there was one symbol clear enough to decipher. Crescent moons and empty circles dotted the center panel while the Paranormal Society’s side was rife with half or full moons. He found Herman Judd’s crossed out name, and beside it was a half-moon.
Oliver shook his head. There were so many crossed out names on the institute’s panel. This was wrong. This was invasive and wrong. Asking people about their powers at the society was considered invasive, and asking about the magnitude of their powers was obscene. The capillaries of magic that flowed through New York had been laid bare for all to see, but no one should have this information. No one should need it. Oliver resisted the urge to rip the paper down or throw the ink pot on the desk at the wall. The Paranormal Society couldn’t stop many things, but they could stop this, whatever the aim may be. Turning on the lights, Oliver grabbed the camera and took photograph after photograph of the distorted family tree. The colors wouldn’t show on the film and some of it would surely be illegible, but even if Dr. Yates destroyed it tomorrow, the camera would bear witness to what he had created.
He needed to show Ansley. Someone else had to see it. In the records room, he found Ansley surrounded by stacks of papers and old ledgers. He had two open at his feet and was cross-referencing a handwritten list. The other man didn’t raise his head as Oliver stood in the doorway, cradling the camera.
“Ansley.”
“I’m busy, Oliver. How much time do we have left before I incur your lover’s wrath?”
Releasing a shaky breath, Oliver pulled out his watch. “A little over five minutes, but Ansley, I need you to see something. It’s important.”
When the man finally looked up, he blenched. “Jesus, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s worse.”
Hauling himself up with a roll of his eyes, Ansley put the stack of files on top of the already open filing cabinet and followed Oliver across the anteroom. As they entered Yates’s office, Oliver’s stomach plummeted anew. Oliver turned away to stuff the camera back into his bag as Ansley inspected the jumble of names. He couldn’t look at it. There were too many ways this information could be misused.
“What is this?”
“A genealogy or a family tree of magical people. I think the colors indicate affinities, the moons might be magnitude, but I don’t know what the rest means.”
“My brother’s name is on here. Is he looking for potential customers?”
“I don’t know, but he shouldn’t have it. No one should have this information. If someone like Comstock gets their hands on it, there could be another witch hunt. People could lose their jobs or their lives, Ansley.”
“Oliver, you’re being dramatic. There’s no way that would—”
“Says you! You have nothing—”
Oliver’s words were drowned out by a groaning bang and the crunch of metal hitting the floor. Oliver and Ansley locked eyes; a pregnant silence filling the space a moment before voices rose from the floor below them. Oliver’s heart thundered in his ears as he shoved Ansley out Yates’s door.
“We need to go,” Oliver cried in a hoarse whisper.
