“If you don’t believe me, ask Miss Jones, and she’ll tell you it isn’t as common as you think. Being the steward of a place as strange and wonderful as the Paranormal Society requires someone who wants to see others succeed and is willing to dothings differently in order to help them reach their potential. You know what it’s like to be unseen and afraid of your own powers with no one to turn to for help. I doubt you would want anyone else to feel that way.” When Oliver still looked unsure, Turpin sighed and sank further back in his chair. “Mrs. Van Husen and I were picked because we were knowledgeable about magic. We were the valedictorians, so to speak, in Jacob’s eyes, and in a country that was still a grand experiment, the society needed that. My hope is that I have passed that knowledge on to the best of my ability and fostered as many scholars as I could, but the society will need something else going into the future.”
The air thickened as Mr. Turpin’s pale eyes went distant, and for an instant, Oliver thought he felt that well of magic just behind them. When he blinked, it was gone, but the head librarian looked so much wearier as he regarded Oliver with a mix of steel and sorrow.
“It will be difficult, but the next century requires anchorites who will remember the past and help those within these walls learn and grow without their pride getting in the way of doing the right thing.”
Gwen. Gwen was all that and more. She was smarter than Oliver, sharp and bright and deserving of every good thing the Paranormal Society had to offer. If anyone was worthy of quasi-immortality in exchange for helping the society grow, it was her.
“You should pick Miss Jones. She knows everything there is to know about the society and the library. And she’s a good person through and through. She’s good with people, far better than I am, and she helps with her church and her family. She—” The words died on Oliver’s tongue. That was why Gwen had asked him about the future and why she had seemed so distracted the day before. Mr. Turpin had spoken to her first. “Gwen is the other, isn’t she? You want me and Gwen to be the next anchorites?”
“Yes, Dr. Barlow, we want the two of you to take our places. Katherine and I were near strangers who didn’t get along before we became anchorites, and it only got worse when we had to work together. We decided that we wanted to pick a pair of anchorites who were friends but not lovers, preferably people without a family of their own.”
“But we do have families,” Oliver snapped. “Gwen has her parents, her sisters and their partners, and all of their children, and I have Felipe and his family. Just because we don’t have children doesn’t mean we’re without family.”
“I understand what you’re trying to say, Dr. Barlow, but you know I mean—”
“And what about Felipe? What will happen to him if I become an anchorite?”
For a long moment, Mr. Turpin merely held Oliver’s gaze as if weighing his answer. “No one knows. Magic is unpredictable, and as I have said to you before, your necromancy mixing with his healing is a grand experiment. When you first take the society’s magic into you, it will be overwhelming and uncontrollable. It could extend both of your lifespans equally if the tether is permeable enough, but I doubt it is. More than likely, Galvan’s lifespan will be untouched or be slightly extended. At some point, his aging will overtake his ability to heal, and you will have to let him go.” Drawing in a heavy breath, Turpin added, “There’s also the possibility that the rush of magic through your body will be so strong that it will destroy any magical ties you have to him.”
The breath caught in Oliver’s chest at the nightmarish vision of the tether burning away and Felipe dying again with no chance of returning. Even if the tether held, Felipe would grow old without Oliver. He would be trapped within the society’s walls, aging and changing by himself while Oliver lingered decades behind him. Oliver traced the edge of his wedding ringwith his thumb.Don’t go where I can’t follow. He had made a vow, and he intended to keep it.
Shaking his head, Oliver replied, “No, I can’t. Thank you, sir, but I don’t want to be an anchorite. I won’t do anything that might hurt Felipe or cause me to lose him.”
“But there’s a possibility your time with him might be extended.”
“Or it could prematurely end at my hand.”
“It could end any time; life has no certainties,” Turpin said, annoyance sharpening his words.
“No, but the point is that I didn’t do it.Mychoices didn’t cause it. You wanted me to be an anchorite because of my principles, so let me remind you that I take do no harm and my vows to my partner seriously. I will not do anything to harm the man I love. I will not gamble with his life for a century of empty years without him no matter whom it helps. There is no point in having more time if he isn’t at my side to experience it with me.”
“You would still have Miss Jones.”
Oliver shot up from his seat, his eyes burning with angry tears. “Don’t! Don’t you dare pit them against each other, and don’t you dare use my love for them against me. My choices are staying as I am with Felipe and eventually losing Gwen to immortality, or losing Felipe and having a century with my best friend at my side. No matter what I choose, I lose.”
“My boy, think for a minute,” Turpin implored. “Think of all the good you could do.”
“I am not your boy,” Oliver gritted, using every ounce of self-control to keep from yelling. “You obviously don’t know me as well as you think you do, Mr. Turpin. Because if you did, you would know better than to ask this of me. Find someone else to be the other anchorite. I want no part of it.”
Ducking his head, Oliver spun on heel and crossed the sitting room in two long strides. The door clicked open before heeven touched the knob, but as he moved to slip through the gap, Turpin softly called, “Oliver.”
He froze, his heart pounding in his ears at the slight tremor in the head librarian’s voice. He had never heard him upset or uncertain before, and no matter how angry Oliver was, it gave him pause to know he had been the reason for it. When he turned, he found Mr. Turpin slowly easing out of his chair. This time he didn’t look more than human or like someone who had seen more change than any mortal ought. The downturn of his mouth and the pained softening of his gaze only spoke to a century and a half of regrets and lessons learned the hard way.
Turpin didn’t step closer to Oliver, but his eyes searched the younger man’s features as he said, “I know I… misjudged the situation, but I hope you will still think about becoming an anchorite.” Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Turpin half held up a hand for silence. “Just think on it. I will not force you or punish you for not taking up my offer, but no important decisions should be made in anger or haste.”
The answer would still be no. It would always be no, but Oliver gave him one tight, hesitant nod before slipping back into the library. The door to Mr. Turpin’s parlor vanished behind him as it clicked shut, and the stillness of the library rushed in, making each tremulous breath that slipped from Oliver’s lips unbearably loud as he steadied himself against the empty wall. He needed to leave. He needed to find Felipe.
Oliver wove through the maze of shelves; the lights overhead bloomed and darkened with his steps. As he reached the main aisle, Oliver caught a globe of light flaring to life on the uppermost mezzanine from the corner of his eye. He snapped his head up, but by the time he found the light, the filament had already crackled and hissed down to a dull, red pupil. Oliver peered into the darkness of the balcony for any sign of movement or shadow. For a moment, he wondered if he hadimagined the light or if it had been merely a fluke, but he swore he could feel eyes upon his back as he turned and strode to the exit as quickly as his legs could carry him.
Chapter Eleven
The First Shift
Felipe’s eyes faintly glowed orange as he descended into the dim light of the stacks and let out a huffed sigh. He hated being in this side of the archives any longer than he had to be. While the records room upstairs looked and felt like an off-shoot of the library, the tunnels of shelves snaking beneath the society gave him the creeps. In the past when he had asked for boxes of material relating to old cases, the archivists had delivered them into one of the archives’ private rooms where he could pour over it for as long as he wanted. He had hoped Miss Patel would do the same with the information he needed, but instead, she handed him a card with the call number for the book of warrants from the timeframe he mentioned and sent him down on his own. So much for a quick trip.
Felipe steeled himself as he left the safety of the stairs and the full weight of the silence pressed in around him. In the library, no matter how quiet it was, there were always the faint sounds of people, pens scratching on paper, or pages turning, but the only sounds in the archives’ stacks were Felipe’s muffled footfalls and the distant hiss of radiator pipes. Even if there didn’t appear to be a speck of dust to be found on the rows of shelves, stale, papery air coated Felipe’s tongue. Every shelf for as far as Felipe could see contained books of documents bound in the same utilitarian cream case with only a series ofhandwritten letters and numbers to differentiate them; it was disorienting. Being in this part of the archives reminded him far too much of those nightmares where no matter which way he turned, he ended up back in the same place.
Checking the card in his hand against the markers nailed into the shelves, Felipe headed deeper into the stacks. He had heard of people getting lost in the endless labyrinth of bones in the Paris Catacombs only to be found years later as a clothed skeleton huddled in some forgotten corner. Felipe could imagine some enterprising archivist finding his desiccated corpse lying between shelves of decades old paperwork and leaving him there as a landmark, so they could differentiate that section of cream-colored books from the rest if they got turned around. Suppressing a shudder, Felipe found the shelf he had been looking for, and with a final glance over his shoulder, he made certain he was still alone before slipping between the shelves.
