“You said Mr. DeSanto works in the dark room?” Bisclavret confirmed. “I’ll speak to him first thing tomorrow morning. And his supervisor too. If DeSanto is willing to stay with me during the day for a week or two, we might be able to get a handle on his shifting fairly quickly. Do you think he would be willing to do that?”
“He seems desperate to get it under control, but he’s equally desperate to keep his job. If you can arrange something with Mrs. Fleischer, so he doesn’t lose his job, I think he’ll do it. Truthfully, I think it would be good for him to spend some time with shifters who aren’t investigators. I really don’t like that he thinks that being an investigator is his only option once he can control his shifting. A week or two in the greenhouses or library might do him some good.”
“Or it could turn him off vegetables and books forever,” Reynard said under his breath.
“Maybe, but I agree with Inspector Galvan,” Bisclavret replied. “When I first came here, I was surprised by how many people questioned why I was working in the greenhouses. Everyone assumed I would want to do the other kind of field work because I am the Rougarou’s son, but where I’m from, being a wolf is just being a wolf. There’s no greater meaning or purpose behind it; it’s just who we are. The Brooklyn Pack is held in high esteem, but their influence here is obvious. And as much as I appreciate what the Paranormal Society does, I don’t like the emphasis on shifters being hunters and fighters. It sends the wrong message.”
“The worst part is that it’s been this way for years, and old habits are hard to break. It was this way when I joined the society in the seventies. Mrs. Galvan ended up leaving the society because some people only saw her as a potential investigator and not a person with talents and ambitions of her own. She has a great life and no regrets about leaving, but I wish she had gotten the chance to explore different departments. She probably would have had a better opinion of the society if she had.” Felipe ran a tired hand over his cheeks and remembered DeSanto’s look of desperation. “I wish we had a way for new members, especially the younger ones, to try different departments, so they can find where they fit instead of being shunted into a role based on their magic.”
“There’s also the trades,” Oliver added softly, keeping his eyes on his remaining hot chocolate when Reynard and Bisclavret turned their attention to him. “Not everyone can be an investigator or a librarian, but we have a whole network of people like us across the city who are tied to the Paranormal Society in one way or another. Surely some of them would happily hire other magical people or even let the youngermembers apprentice with them. If DeSanto found he didn’t fit in any department or didn’t want to work for the society, he might do well learning how to run a photography business from another person with magic.”
Reynard nodded thoughtfully. “We already have a directory in the library of magical-owned businesses. It isn’t exhaustive, but it would be a start. If we divided a new member’s time evenly between most of the departments, you could have them spend two weeks or a month in each department, so it would be six months to a year of orientation. I think it could work and wouldn’t be too onerous. We would need to figure out how to handle multiple new people starting at once, but I think it’s doable.”
“We should also have overseers or mentors,” Felipe added. “We need someone to keep people like DeSanto from falling through the cracks. Someone they can go to if they have any problems.”
From there the idea continued to grow. In the time it took for Oliver to finish his knish, they had a rough idea of how this new introduction to the Paranormal Society might work and how the departments might be structured for maximum exposure to different roles and jobs. Bisclavret and Reynard eventually said they had to leave to go visit a friend, but they left with assurances they would speak to DeSanto and Mrs. Fleischer and that they would continue to think about how they could make their idea work. As Felipe watched the two men head for the door, he was surprised by how good he felt. There were plenty of things they still needed to figure out and several questions that needed answering before they could implement anything, but perhaps, they could finally keep the same mistakes from happening.
“It’s a good idea, you know,” Oliver said softly, holding Felipe’s gaze. “You should tell someone higher up at the societyabout it and see if you can do it once you iron out the details with the others. I’m sure they would be willing to help.”
The high Felipe had felt a moment earlier came crashing down. Ideas were one thing; cooperation was another. Suddenly, it all felt so pointless. They would never give him permission to run something like that. It would take too much man power and time. He had gotten his own hopes up for nothing. His feelings must have shown on the tether because Oliver gave his arm a gentle squeeze and offered him the last doughnut, which he waved away with a sigh.
“Oliver, who do you think is going to sign off on this? Ideas are a dime a dozen, but the head inspector certainly won’t agree to any of this if it takes shifters away from him and requires any work on his end,” Felipe replied, barely biting back the bitterness in his voice.
“I was thinking you could ask someone like Mrs. Van Husen. She seemed to like you, and your ideas are good.”
Or you and Gwen could do it when you’re the anchorites, Felipe nearly said, but he quickly took a sip of his half-cooled wine to keep the words from spilling out. Felipe swallowed hard. Even cold, it still tasted like the sliver of his young life that hadn’t been awful. He could still picture Señor Quintero’s face that day in the mule cart when he begrudgingly returned him home. He had tried to convince Felipe to stay with him; he had given him so many outs, but when Felipe asked to be brought home, he bustled him into his cart and slowly drove him back. He realized later it was to give him time to come to his senses. All Felipe could think about was how he slayed a demon and lived to tell the tale, so his family would finally be proud of him. He knew that, Señor Quintero knew that, but he still told him,You’re a smart boy. There are plenty of things you could do.He believed he could be more. Two decades later and Felipe still wasn’t sure.
***
Oliver watched Felipe’s features go from biting to tired and rueful in time with a tangle of sorrow and longing knotting the tether. He wasn’t certain if he had made a misstep or if all the talk of DeSanto and Louisa had dredged up some old hurt. At the pensive furrow of his brow, Oliver wanted to put his arms around Felipe and chase away the sudden greyness, but he couldn’t. As he gave his arm another gentle squeeze, Felipe licked his lips and stared thoughtfully into his cup.
“Did you know Louisa made the mulled wine they’re serving tonight?”
When Oliver shook his head, Felipe offered him his cup. Oliver took a small sip of the blood red wine. He didn’t usually like wine, but perfumed with spices and brightened with citrus, it was far more tolerable. “That’s very good.”
Felipe gave him a half-smile as he took back the cup. “It was Louisa’s father’s recipe. Señor Quintero used to serve it on Nochebuena. Every Christmas Eve he would throw a party for everyone who worked on his ranch and their families. My family didn’t really celebrate anything, not like Louisa’s did, but he always invited me. Going there and spending time with them for a little while felt like a reprieve.”
Oliver stared at Felipe. He almost never spoke of his life before he came to the Paranormal Society, and what Oliver knew of Señor Quintero and Felipe’s parents came almost exclusively from Louisa or in half-formed glimpses after one of Felipe’s nightmares. In a half-empty cup of wine, Felipe had handed him something precious, and Oliver wasn’t sure what to do with it. He wanted to ask. He wanted to probe deeper to keep Felipe talking, but he feared if he pushed too hard, he would stop.
“What did your family do?” Oliver asked quietly.
“Church mostly. Then, we would have a feast on Nochebuena too, but it wasn’t the same. It felt like an obligation, not a celebration. Señor Quintero always made sure to invite me in a way that made it impossible for my family to not let me go. He was a good man. He was the only one who treated me like—”
“Ah, there you are!” Agatha cried with a smile as she cut through the crowd with Louisa at her side. “We were afraid you had gone home already. In a few minutes there’s going to be a raffle and an announcement from Mrs. Cutler about how much money we’ve raised so far. I got everyone a ticket. I’m sure we won’t win, but the anticipation is the fun of it and it’s for a good cause.”
Oliver turned to pass the last ticket to Felipe and ask if he wanted to leave, but his partner had already schooled his face into an approximation of ease, even if the lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed him.
Chapter Fourteen
Curses
Dread welled in Oliver’s breast as he watched Felipe talk to Agatha about her next planned gallery show and what she and Teresa had donated to the event with well-feigned interest. He had become accustomed to seeing Felipe transform in an instant from the man he loved to the far harder Inspector Galvan, but he wasn’t sure he had ever seen this persona. It was Felipe, but with his edges sanded down. This bland, biddable version of Felipe nodded at all the right times and asked follow-up questions. Still, it was like looking at him through unfocused eyes, and Oliver didn’t like it one bit. This numb mask combined with how little he reacted when Oliver told him about Mr. Turpin asking him to become the anchorite and the bit he let escape about his childhood put Oliver’s hackles up. They needed to go. Clutching his bag of purchases closer, Oliver tapped Felipe’s shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said before Felipe even fully turned, “but after the raffle, can we leave?”
Felipe stared at him for a long moment as if warring with himself. “Are you sure?”
“Very. I want to go home.”
