“No, please let me finish. I want you to be one of the anchorites. You would be a good one, and if you can’t do it because of me, then maybe it would be better to let me go. I don’t want to make your life smaller.”
Oliver’s chest tightened at the surges of hopelessness and relief on the other end of the tether. Taking the plate from Felipe’s lap and setting it on the dresser, Oliver scooted closer until their bodies touched. He cupped Felipe’s cheek and searched his partner’s features for any sign that this had been some fleeting fear, but no, he was serious. Gently pushing a wet curl from his brow, Oliver held his gaze.
“Felipe, how could you ever think you make my life smaller? Do you know what my life was like before you? I woke up, went to work, and went to bed. I had given up on a life beyond these walls, but then, we found each other, and you made my world so much bigger and brighter.You,” Oliver said, pushing a kindling of warmth from beneath his heart to Felipe’s. “You gave me a family to be a part of. You and Gwen helped me find out what happened to my parents. You loved me when I thought I was unlovable, and you taught me what it means to love someone thoroughly in return. I never thought I would have any of those things, but I do because of you.”
Wrapping an arm around Felipe’s shoulders, Oliver held him close. His partner stiffened, but sagged against him when Oliver left a trail of soft kisses from temple to cheek. He slipped his fingers between Felipe’s and watched their gold rings glimmer together in the lamp light. Amber for life, a skeleton fordeath, and a promise to go through life and everything beyond hand-in-hand.
“Every day I’m riddled with a thousand uncertainties, but the one thing I never question is if you love me. When you proposed to me, you asked me not to go where you couldn’t follow, and I intend to keep that vow.”
“But you could have so much more time.”
“I don’t want more time if you aren’t at my side to share it with me. You are the light of my life, Felipe, the sun that warms me and helps me grow, and a lifetime spent without you would be nothing short of purgatory as every day would be spent waiting until I could be with you again. I promise I’ll never leave you behind, but I need you to promise to do the same. I want you to choose to come with me, wherever the road may lead. I wantyouat my side forever.” As Felipe’s eyes filled with tears again, Oliver hugged him to his chest and held him so tightly that the tether pulled taut between them. Burying his face in Felipe’s neck, Oliver whispered, “I know you would die for me, Felipe, but will you live for me?”
“I will,” he promised, and Oliver believed him.
Chapter Eighteen
Book Row
Felipe chewed over what they knew as he ate his bagel and lox in the passenger seat of the steamer. Sleet dusted the road and pattered across the pavement as people drifted through the market, huddling deep into their coats and shawls. Even from inside the steamer, he could smell vinegar and fresh bread drifting from the market carts. The bagel in his hand was still warm despite the chill, and as he bit into the smoked fish, cream cheese, and red onions, he felt Oliver brush against to the tether to check on him for what had to be the fiftieth time that morning. He couldn’t exactly blame him after what happened the night before. Somehow, the combination of severe pain, sleep deprivation, hunger, and Oliver being so damn gentle had done him in. He was still mad at himself for making Oliver’s injury all about himself and embarrassed that he had a complete breakdown in front of him. But if not in front of Oliver, then who?No onewas the answer that sprung to mind, but the voice sounded more like his father than him. He had hoped to never tell Oliver about how he punished himself or how pain helped him cope when things were bad for fear he might hate him for it, but Oliver understood self-destruction better than most.
Instead of judgment, there was care. When he finally calmed down, Oliver coaxed him to eat, and while the amount of food on his plate made him queasy just looking at it, he ate itanyway. Two days of not eating had led to a hollowness that turned to ravenous hunger after two bites. Oliver forced him to slow down, so he didn’t throw it back up, which was, once again, embarrassing, even if his partner didn’t seem to think it was. Oliver brought him coffee and sweets from the bazaar, and even though he was certain Oliver was not tired, they hunkered in bed together under the wedding quilt his nana had made for him and settled in for the night. Felipe blacked out the second his head hit the pillow, and he awoke late the next morning to find Oliver dressed and puttering around the lab with a plate of eggs and meat for him waiting on the bench. When Felipe drew closer, he found Oliver examining the shattered metal ball that had been in the fountain. Felipe had given it to Gwen wrapped in his shredded clothes to take back to the lab and promptly forgot about it in all the chaos. As soon as Oliver heard his footsteps, his head snapped up, and he rose to greet him with a relieved smile. When he hugged him tightly and kissed him as he did every morning, a knot Felipe hadn’t realized was in his chest loosened.
“How are you feeling?”
“Mortified.” When Oliver gave him a lopsided frown, Felipe quickly added, “And tired and relieved and itchy. You know, I should be asking you how you’re feeling.”
“I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re better. I got you a preliminary breakfast, but I thought we could go get bagels and lox and then go check out Enoch Whitley’s address.”
“Oliver, you’re supposed to be resting,” Felipe said, picking up his fork.
“I doubt watching you pick the lock to get in will be strenuous. I would say you can even drive, but I doubt your arm is up to that yet.”
Oliver wasn’t wrong. It itched like it had been chewed by fire ants, but that meant it was healing. Still, it would take at least afew more days until it was completely back to normal. Felipe ate his breakfast of eggs and meat, forcing himself to slow down, but each bite took the edge off the healing gnaw in his gut. As soon as he was finished, he returned to the bench where Oliver inspected the shattered metal ball. He hovered over Oliver’s shoulder as much as in interest as it was out of fear Oliver would slice his hand open on the shard or burn himself.
“This is the thing you pulled out of the fountain, right?” Oliver asked. When Felipe nodded, Oliver frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think this was filled with acid. I tested some of the gunk that was in it, and there weren’t any strong acids or bases on it, or at least nothing caustic I can identify. It’s almost like the magic in it produced an approximation of acid based on the curse creator’s imaginaton when it mixed with water. It doesn’t make its effects any less real, but it wasn’t some elaborate chemistry experiment.”
“Then, what was inside of it?” Felipe had seen the gunk blow out of it when he shot it.
“That’s the weird part. Look at this,” Oliver replied, gesturing to the microscope.
When Felipe looked through the lens, he could make out a sea of colored circles along with some larger ones that appeared to have darker blobs inside them. “Is that blood?”
“It is. The inside of it was filled with blood, ink, paper, and probably other things I haven’t identified yet but mostly blood. The weird thing is I don’t think it’s exclusively human blood. See the white blood cells? The ones with lobular structures inside them? There are certain types that are exclusive to different species. While most of these cells appear to be typical to humans, some look a little off. I need to check my notebooks later, but I think whoever’s blood is in here, they might be a shifter.”
Felipe had been turning that over in his mind since they left the society. Oliver hadn’t checked his notes against the cells on the slide yet, but Felipe had a sinking suspicion about whose blood it might be. Gut feelings and hunches were never something to be trusted above evidence; still, he hoped he was wrong.
“You all right?” Oliver asked.
“Yeah, just thinking about the case. I had way too much time to do that while you were in the infirmary, and I think it would make sense to keep our focus on Enoch Whitley rather than focusing on him and Mrs. Cutler.”
Oliver took a bite of his bagel and gave him a nod to go on.
“Okay, so I think we can safely assume Enoch Whitley and Mrs. Cutler were attacked by the same person or group, but I think Mrs. Cutler was a target of convenience. She’s well-known within paranormal circles, she’s highly visible, and even if they had been planning to attack the bazaar for months, it was done because the event would attract a lot of people, not because they want Mrs. Cutler dead specifically. I think if she had handed off the reins to her daughter, they would have gone after her instead. Because Mrs. Cutler wasn’t attacked due to something she did, it will make it much harder to find out who did it. Enoch Whitley, on the other hand, seems to have lived a much more insular life. Killing him in a splashy, public way feels more personal even if it isn’t. He wasn’t a public figure or someone important to the paranormal community. We need to confirm his movements, but it seems like he spent most of his time around books, his or other people’s. Whoever attacked Enoch must have known him; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to dangle a book in front of him they knew he couldn’t resist stealing. Attacking Mrs. Cutler was meant to scare people, and I assume Whitley’s death was meant to do the same on a smaller scale. But who?”
“The Guttenberg Club,” Oliver replied before popping the last of the bagel in his mouth and dusting the crumbs off his thighs. “It would make sense for him to get a new book and show it off to his bibliophile friends. If he or someone else there started to read it, the curse would latch onto them, and everyone at the club would know there are magical books that can kill you. Rumors would have spread, it would have been in the press, and everyone at the society would have known about it. Unfortunately for the killer, Enoch ruined that when he read the book in the Livingstons’ library, and it got swept under the rug.”
“That makes sense, so we need to see if we can find any evidence in Enoch Whitley’s house, whether that’s about who might have wanted him dead or what he was up to, talk to Mr. Vaude to find out where the book came from, and visit the Guttenberg Club to see if they might know who wanted him dead.”
