“Mr. Hughes said there should be a photograph in here,” he said as he shuffled the papers into a sloppy pile and handed them to Gwen. At the very bottom of the box was a framed diploma for Stephen Jarngren from the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy and a daguerreotype of Oliver’s parents on their wedding day. A soft rush of breath escaped Oliver’s lips as he held the photograph between them, so Felipe could see it better. Joanna looked nearly the same as she had in the picture Oliver had shown him back home, but Stephen was a surprise. After seeing Oliver’s cousins, he hadn’t expected to find so many echoes of Oliver’s features in Stephen Jarngren. They shared the same nose and the same hairline. Though Stephen’s hair looked lighter, their hairstyles were nearly identical, but it was their sturdy, strong-shouldered build that made Stephen look like a shadow of his son if Felipe let his eyes fuzz.
As Felipe passed the photograph to Gwen, he realized he didn’t have a photograph of Oliver, and he suddenly wished he had one of him and Oliver together to set on the mantle or their bedside table. Evidence of a life together could always be used against them, but hewantedto leave evidence behind. One day they would be gone, and that photograph of them would be all that remained of their life together. Maybe in the future, the right people would stumble across it, and they would see the rings on their fingers or the tilt of their bodies andknow. They would know they were more than roommates or friends. They would know they had lived their lives together and how much they meant to each other. If—whenthey got back to the society, Felipe would bring up the idea to Oliver.
Clearing the thickness in his throat, Felipe watched Oliver and Gwen pick through the papers and sort them into levitating piles. There were newspaper clippings, notes scrawled on old mail or delivery receipts, lists of things Stephen had to order or orders he had to fill, and shorthand recipes of what Felipe assumed were medications. On the other end of the tether, Oliver was rapidly slipping into the deep concentration he had during an autopsy. He had to tell him now.
“While you two were gone, Lucien stopped by.” At the gravity in his voice, Oliver looked up at him with wide eyes. “It sounds like Will has been compromised. There’s a good chance Daphne Stills knows who you are or that you have the ring.”
“Are you sure?”
Felipe nodded and repeated everything Lucien had said to him. As he spoke, Oliver’s expression went from concerned to furious.
“We need to do something. We can’t leave him with these people.”
“I know, but I don’t think we should be staging a rescue mission right now. They’ll know we took him, and there’s nowhere to run.” Felipe sighed and ran a tired hand over his jaw. “As much as I hate to say it, I think our best bet would be to figure out how we can break the Lady’s hold on the town or change the covenant without Will’s help first.”
Oliver deflated and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. The sooner we figure things out and get the road into town open, the better. Should I get our notes?”
“You might want to see this first,” Gwen said as she levitated a ratty envelope in front of them.
Compared to the other notes hanging in the air around Gwen, the handwriting on this one had gone thin and slightly scratchy. Almost the entire surface of the envelope had been written over, but most of it had been crossed out. As Felipe’s eyes grew accustomed to Stephen’s handwriting, he realized what he was looking at. They were notes about how to change the covenant with the Lady. Thirty-seven years ago, Stephen Jarngren had been going through the same process. When he wrote it, Stephen had a pregnant wife, a child on the way, and a clock ticking down to the end of his life. If anyone had thought through and exhausted all the possibilities, it was him.
“This should be very helpful. Before we look at that, let’s start by writing down everything we know about the Lady and the Dysterwood,” Felipe replied, flipping to a clean page in his notepad. “Once we figure out the rules, the pieces in play, and the pitfalls everything will become clearer. Hopefully, your father has some usefulinsights as well.”
“There is one more thing,” Oliver said slowly as tension crept across the tether. “We need to figure this out by Sunday.”
Felipe’s throat tightened at Oliver’s bleak expression. “You’re serious?”
“If we don’t make it out of the Dysterwood, someone will need to go back to the Paranormal Society to tell them what happened. The barge coming in on Monday morning might be their only chance to leave if the Dysterwood keeps advancing. We can’t assume there will be a way out next week.” Turning to Gwen, Oliver swallowed hard. “It has to be you, Gwen. I don’t want you to stay behind, but you’re the only one I trust to get help if things go wrong.”
The papers hovering around Gwen wavered as she held Oliver’s gaze. Even if Felipe couldn’t feel her emotions like he did Oliver’s, he could see the hesitance and fear writ large across her features. With a tight nod, Gwen looked away and cleared her throat.
“It won’t come to that. I won’t let it. Before either of you sets foot in the Dysterwood, we are going over every inch of this plan for holes, and we’re making at least four contingency plans just in case. Then, and only then will I stay behind.”
“That’s fair,” Oliver replied with a ghost of a smile.
“All right, we have approximately thirty-six hours to get this plan in shape. Oliver, get your notes. Felipe, get a pot of tea or coffee going. I’m going to grab more paper. We will reconvene in the dining room in five minutes!”
With a clap, she and Oliver took off up the stairs. Releasing a tired sigh, Felipe turned to the envelope hovering beside him. He traced Stephen’s logic and dead ends with his eyes until he reached a line that had been crossed out, circled, and crossed out again.Can you kill a god?Felipe hoped they wouldn’t have to find out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Lamb to Slaughter
Sitting in the front of Señor Quintero’s mule cart as it rumbled toward the Galvan compound, Felipe listened to the one working bell toll in the old mission, but that was wrong. By the sky, it was too early to mark the Angelus. Then, why— As the cart swayed, the burlap sack at his feet bumped against his leg. Felipe resisted the urge to rub his aching head. The demon’s bloodied horns were inside the sack. He had been clutching them when Señor Quintero found him hiding in his stable. He knew he had ripped them from the demon’s corpse, the only proof it ever existed. He knew he had carried them all the way to the stable, but he didn’t remember how he got there or why he went to the Quinteros. Felipe shut his eyes and tried to think. The last thing he remembered was darkness, the campfire, the demon’s rotten breath on his neck, Alfonso watching him, watching him— His ribs burned. He didn’t remember crossing the scrublands to reach Louisa’s house. He didn’t remember how he killed the demon. He didn’t remember how the blood and holes got in his clothes, and every time he tried to graspthe memory, it slipped further out of reach.
“Felipe,” Señor Quintero said softly as he slowed the mule. Felipe didn’t dare look at Louisa’s father. He couldn’t bear to see the pitying, concerned look in the other man’s eyes again. “Son, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”
Felipe blinked at him uncomprehendingly, feeling as if his body was sliding away from him and he was watching Señor Quintero talk to a stranger with his face. Why wouldn’t he go home? He had killed the demon and completed his first mission. They would throw him a party, and he would be seen as one of the men now. His tongue sat mute in his mouth. He should want that.
“Louisa would like it if you stayed.Iwould like it if you stayed,” Señor Quintero added, his voice even gentler than before. Felipe didn’t know that was even possible. “You could stay in the guest room or in the bunkhouse with the workers, whichever you prefer. You’re a smart boy. There are plenty of things you could do. I would happily teach you how to run the ranch. I need someone I can pass my knowledge onto, and you know Charles isn’t suited to it.”
Felipe shook his head. Louisa already ran the ranch when her father was sick. They didn’t need him. No one needed him. As the cart bounced off a rut in the road, pain rocketed through Felipe’s body as if he were being ripped in two. A cry caught between his lips and his hand flew to his stomach and chest, but there was nothing there but holes in the linen and dried blood. Forcing the pain down, it settled into a wave of numbness that drowned out everything else. Felipe drew in a tight breath. There were no wounds. It was all in his head.
At the edge of the trees where the person manning the gate couldn’t see, Louisa’s father slowed the cart to a stop. Felipe’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as he stared up at the stuccoed walls of the compound. He wasn’t supposed to get help on his first mission. He should have walked back. He and Alfonso were supposed to— Felipe flinched as Señor Quintero laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“Felipe, please look at me.”
Swallowing against the knot in his throat, Felipe raised his gaze toSeñor Quintero’s face. Louisa’s father was dark eyed with skin the color of willow bark, like her, and his rounded features always made him look kind. Felipe’s mother said he had eyes made for smiling, but he wasn’t smiling now.
