“Oliver, let go,” Felipe whispered, laying a gentle hand on his leg. “You’ve done what you can. Let someone else take over.”
“Someone tell Mr. Turpin she was cursed,” Oliver gritted. “I can’t— She’s almost—” Before Oliver could finish, the tether snapped.
Felipe jerked back, grabbing his chest as the secondhand pain ripped through him. With choked panic, he grabbed for his end of the tether and was relieved to find it intact, but when he reached for Oliver, he felt as if he were falling. Oliver wavered and screwed his eyes shut in pain. His hand went to his breast, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out except a hoarse cry. The fibers of the tether frayed as Felipe scrambled to his knees and dove forward to catch Oliver as he crumpled.
“Oliver! Oliver, wake up!” Felipe frantically rubbed Oliver’s chest, but he didn’t move.
“Heal him!” someone called.
Laying his hand on Oliver’s clammy cheek, Felipe reached for the magic trapped inside him. He knew it was there; it had been inside him his whole life, healing the only person he couldn’t protect, but it wouldn’t flow. Oliver’s head lolled against his chest, his usually pale pink lips were colorless and his limbs limp. Felipe listened to Oliver’s heart struggling beneath his ribs as the tether untwisted and frayed. Felipe tried to grab the power creeping through his damaged skin and drag it across the tether to the man he loved. He couldn’t lose him. Not now, not ever. A broken sound slipped from his lips as he shoved his magic toward the tether again. Before he could try again, one of the healers pulled Oliver from his shaking arms. Felipe watched on in frozen horror as Oliver’s life continued to slip away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
After all, what good was a healer who couldn’t heal?
Chapter Sixteen
Squandered Potential
Felipe sat in the corner of private room three in the Paranormal Society’s infirmary and watched Oliver’s chest rise and fall with each slow breath. He had been sitting in the corner like a gargoyle for two days, barely moving, barely thinking of anything, except that he almost killed Oliver. When the healers came in to briefly check on him, Felipe made certain to ask the right questions and act like a functioning human being. He had already unintentionally scared a younger healer who hadn’t realized he was sitting in the corner until she caught his eyeshine from the corner of her eye. After she refused to come back, Felipe made a point not to lurk like a vampire in the dark when they were in the room, even if he had nothing to say. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He used to be good at keeping a lid on his intensity after that initial stumble when he joined the Paranormal Society, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend. At a knock on the door, Felipe’s head snapped up, and he uncoiled his stiff muscles. This time it was Dr. Perkins, the man who had healed Mrs. Cutler and then Oliver in his Sunday best.
“Inspector Galvan,” he said by way of greeting before going to Oliver’s side. He checked his pulse and laid a hand on his brow. His eyes narrowed with concentration before he nodded and jotted something down in his book. “Was that the youngestMiss Jones I saw leaving a while ago? Ivy warned me her sister might stop by.”
Felipe nodded. He hadn’t known if visitors were allowed in the society’s infirmary, and he had been too afraid he wouldn’t be let back in if he left to even think of stepping away from Oliver’s side. When Gwen showed up with fresh clothes for both of them, Felipe nearly collapsed with relief at having someone else who understood all the things he couldn’t say to the doctors. In the end, he and Gwen hadn’t said anything; they didn’t have to. He quietly stepped out of the room to change out of the clothing he had ruined at the bazaar, use the lavatory, and wash his face, and somehow, that small act had made him feel human again. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have dared to leave Oliver alone, but he trusted Gwen. She had loved Oliver before he did even if it was in a different way.
When he came back in, he found Gwen sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing Oliver’s arm in long, firm strokes and watching him with that familiar look of fondness tinged with sadness. At first, Felipe feared she might ask him what happened at the bazaar or want to talk about Oliver becoming an anchorite, and Felipe knew if he tried, he would crack. Instead, they sat quietly together holding vigil until it grew late. Clasping his shoulder as she stood, Gwen promised to return the next day and asked if he wanted her to reply to a note from Agatha and Louisa that she saw on the bench when she picked up his and Oliver’s clothes. He did. He couldn’t face his family’s questions right now, and Gwen seemed to understand that. When Dr. Perkins cleared his throat, Felipe raised his gaze to find the doctor watching him expectantly as if he had missed a question.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I said, have you noticed any changes in Dr. Barlow’s condition?”
Felipe shook his head. He suspected Dr. Perkins could sense some sort of bond between them. When the healers first pulled Oliver from his arms, he foolishly let slip how fast his heart had been going and what the beats felt like. No one had batted an eye at that or asked how Oliver had managed to keep Mrs. Cutler alive until they got there. Whether it was due the chaos or discretion, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he appreciated the discretion. So far though, Oliver’s heart had been slow but steady, and the tether had stopped fraying. Slipping his stethoscope into his ears, Dr. Perkins parted Oliver’s nightshirt and listened to what Felipe could already hear.
“I’ll be off duty for the next two days, but I left a note at the front desk for Miss Huang to let you stay with Dr. Barlow. I hope you know that we usually don’t let a patient’s companion stay outside of visiting hours.” Felipe began to bristle when the doctor added, “But I’m willing to make an exception when they’re a healer who can keep an eye on their person for me. Most are quite hyper-vigilant in that regard.”
“I’m not a healer, not like that,” Felipe replied, his voice still rusty from disuse.
“Oh, I know what you are. I’ve heard the stories and seen the proof with my own eyes,” he replied, nodding toward Felipe’s bandaged arm. “Why do you think I didn’t make you get your wounds healed? Your reputation precedes you. Most of us can self-heal to some extent but not like you can.”
Felipe nodded but kept his bandaged hand close for fear the doctor might look closer and realize he wasn’t healing as expected. When he arrived at the society in the back of the ambulance with Oliver, the healers had taken one look at him and ordered he be sedated in order for his burns to be treated. Felipe had shot down that idea politely at first. He couldn’t risk letting Oliver out of his sight in case something happened to him or he needed him. That and there was a little voice in the backof his head reminding him that people who knew the workings of the human body intimately might notice he was dead. Neither he nor Oliver needed that kind of scrutiny. Felipe couldn’t remember what he said in the heat of the moment when they kept pushing, but it hadn’t been polite. Dr. Perkins had come storming out of Oliver’s room looking mutinous before ordering Felipe into an examination room under the threat of not being allowed to stay with Oliver.
“You will not bring infection into a patient’s room, and you will not be a distraction for my healers. Sit and show me your arm, Galvan.”
Oliver wouldn’t have let him walk around with open wounds no matter how well he could heal, so he sat and pulled off what was left of his shirt. Dr. Perkins efficiently disinfected and wrapped Felipe’s wounds before sending him off to Oliver’s bedside with the order to fetch him if anything changed with Oliver or him. While the doctor cleaned it, Felipe tried not to look at his arm and hand, but at a glance, he knew the acid burns were deep and ugly. They would heal eventually. For now, the pain was a good reminder, even if it was starting to grate on his nerves. Felipe watched Dr. Perkins attach a sphygmograph to Oliver’s wrist and wind it up.
“Were you given any training as a healer, inspector?” Dr. Perkins asked as the machine started recording Oliver’s pulse.
“No,” Felipe lied as he squeezed his burnt hand and rode out the wave of pain until it sharpened into focus.
“That’s a pity. You’re very attuned to your companion’s body, and your self-healing is excellent. When I train new healers, those are some of the first places I start before branching out to healing other people. If you ever decide you want to learn, come see me. I would be happy to at least get you started on the basics.”
Felipe blinked up at him. He couldn’t be serious. “I’m forty.”
“So? Plenty of people discover their powers late or find new ways to use them. Look, I don’t believe in squandering potential, and I promised myself I would help others grow into their healing as my mentors did for me. Anyone with the gift is capable of healing. It just takes time and patience.” When Felipe said nothing, Dr. Perkins undid the sphygmograph and laid his hand on Oliver’s forehead. “I’m going to let Dr. Barlow come out of sedation. It should take a few hours to fully wear off, but when it does, he might be agitated. That tends to happen when they go down fighting. Your job is to keep him calm and come get Miss Huang or one of the other healers when he wakes up. Can you do that?”
Felipe nodded and bit back a wince when he squeezed his hand again and the pain didn’t go away.
“Good, because if he gets wound up again or uses his powers too much, we’ll be right back where we started.” Dr. Perkins took a step toward the door and stopped. “Oh, and I’m going to have Nurse Beaumont drop off a plate of food for you. You look like you were rode hard and put away wet, and I doubt your companion will be calm for long when he sees the state you’re in. Eat. Doctor’s orders.”
Before Felipe could bristle or roll his eyes, Dr. Perkins slipped out and shut the door behind him. Felipe let out a huffed breath and sank back into his chair. He didn’t like that he couldn’t hide his symptoms from other healers. Hunger gnawed at Felipe’s gut and nerves, and his bandaged hands shook if he so much as looked at them, but it was as much negligence as it was penance. He hadn’t eaten since the charity bazaar and had only slept in minutes long snatches to keep from missing any change in Oliver’s condition. Even if the fatigue grated at him, it and the pain wracking his arm served as a reminder that his actions had major consequences. If he had paid more attention and not rushed to stop the black tide, then Oliver’s powers wouldn’t havebeen stretched past the limit. Felipe rubbed his aching hand and watched Oliver sleep. He had spent so long running headfirst into danger that it had become second nature, but his actions didn’t just affect him anymore. He and Oliver shared far more than a bed or an apartment; they shared a life, and what he did could have ended it.
