“Yes.” Oliver tucked the catalogue into his back pocket and shook out his hands in time with his breath. “There’s another thing. Do you remember the name of the estate you visited when you brought back the specimens?”
“That was months ago, Oliver. Lynchcroft or Lincroft? Why?”
“Because I found the catalogue in Yates’s desk drawer. What if he showed it to Father Gareth, and that’s how he knew about the heart?”
Oliver ignored Felipe’s gaze boring into him as he paced between the shelves and shook out his hands. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I know whose heart it was, and you might not like it.”
“Just tell me.”
“It belonged to Salvio Galvan, supposedly.”
Felipe’s features tightened, and a wave of revulsion rolled across the tether. Closing his eyes, Felipe gripped the nearest shelf for support as he doubled over with a hand over his mouth. Oliver feared Felipe might vomit, but after a moment, he drew in a long, slow breath and straightened.
“I’m sorry, Felipe. Who was he?”
“A legend in the family. He died in battle over a century ago. I don’t remember the particulars, except that his body was never found. I guess we now know why.” Felipe rubbed his brow. “How did that estate get it?”
“I don’t know, but knowing the heart came from your family, the priest could safely surmise it would work as a relic. Are you going to tell your relatives?”
“Absolutely not. They would—” Opening his mouth to speak, Felipe froze, his eyes suddenly distant. “What if Dr. Yates and Father Gareth had the same aim in mind?”
“What do you mean?”
“Imposing their will onto others through their powers. I know we don’t know what the doctor’s power is, but he must have something to know so much about the society and that magic runs in families. Then, there’s that chart. Why would he need that? There must be a reason he would need to hide it in his office and reference it.”
“The whole thing is annotated with symbols and colors, but the only one I could begin to decipher is the waxing and waning moons relating to perceived power strength, but I don’t know if I’m right.”
“Suppose you are; what does it tell us?”
Oliver thought for a second, but it felt almost too obvious. “That the Paranormal Society members and some of the people coming to the institute to be rid of their powers are stronger than the aristocracy.”
“What if he’s trying to funnel power to the elites? He can do that by eliminating those who are stronger through treatments, vice laws, vocal public disapproval, or convincing them not to marry other magical people until there’s none left. He and Father Gareth know there is a certain type of person who is more likely to have magic, and if they can force enough of them into the shadows, they will disappear.”
Oliver’s throat tightened as the image of Herman Judd’s hollow ribcage flashed through his mind. He froze mid-stride. His heart beat loudly in his ears as Felipe stepped closer. The missing rectangle of skin on his back, the letter from Dr. Hough, theClausum Librum.
“No, it’s the other way around or both. He’s trying to use alchemy to create pseudo-relics or something akin to them. I thought it was strange that Dr. Yates had those magical books in his office, but they’re part of his research. Magnus and Bacon were scientists as much as they were alchemists. He’s using corpse medicine. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner, but that’s it.”
“What do you mean corpse medicine? Like the heart?” Felipe whispered, giving Oliver’s arm a firm squeeze to ground him.
“Sort of. As little as a hundred years ago, people still believed the blood of an executed man could cure epilepsy. It didn’t. When we talked about it in medical school, it sounded absurd, but maybe, occasionally, it did work, if it came from a person with magic or healing powers, and that’s how the legend was born. Mellified body parts, saints’ skulls, the blood of the murdered, it would all be consumed as a curative. It would explain why Herman Judd was found without blood or organs and why Yates has that machine in the morgue. Anyone who dies in his care gets turned into a potential relic or curative.”
Felipe’s eyes widened in silent horror as he released Oliver’s arm and stepped back. “Then, that means the entire institute was built to harvest magic from the poor. Why else would Yates have passages leading directly from the treatment rooms to the basement unless he planned to kill people from the beginning? Every single one was a murder.”
“Oh my god. We have to tell the head inspector,” Oliver replied, his head spinning. The case worsened by the minute. “We’ll need evidence to get an arrest warrant. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Go find Ansley and tell him what we’ve discovered. I’ll deal with Head Inspector Williams, but I need to speak to Teresa first. Meet me by the head inspector’s office.”
***
OLIVER KNOCKED ON ANSLEY’Sdoor, his frustration growing with every second Ansley ignored him. He had checked the archives, the billiards room, and the dining room before coming to his apartment, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
“Stop pouting and open the door, Ansley. This is important,” he called, trying the knob, but it was locked from the inside this time. “Please, let me in.”
A zip of static jolted through Oliver’s hand as the lock released, and he stumbled inside. Oliver was about to scold Ansley for doing that, but the parlor was silent as a tomb. A glass with a mouthful of liquor had been left on the table beside the files Ansley had taken from the institute’s records room. Poking his head into the bedroom, Oliver found it empty too, but when he turned, he noticed Ansley’s mackintosh was gone from the coatrack. Oliver deflated. Of course, Ansley left for the bar or club or someone’s bedroom when they needed him.
Oliver crossed the parlor to leave when something crunched beneath his foot. He was about to drop the paper onto the coffee table without a second glance when he spotted a familiar name. The paper contained a list of, what Oliver assumed were, properties Dr. Yates owned. Most were his satellite clinics with names similar to the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul, one was obviously his house on Fifth Avenue, another was an apartment labeled, “mistress?”, but the last was circled.Bellamy Manor.
