He still wasn’t sure what he would do with the list of club members or any of the information the men had given them, but he would think of something. As Felipe climbed into the passenger seat of the steamer, he winced and tugged at the bandage sticking between his fingers. He couldn’t wait to get back home and strip off his bandages. He wasn’t eager to see what lay beneath the gauze, but cleaning his healing skin would at least make him less itchy and uncomfortable. Between the constant low-level pain and his head buzzing with too much information, he could scarcely see the forest through the trees. The only suspects they had in Enoch Whitley’s murder were Mr. Vaude, who had seemingly fled before Mrs. Cutler was attacked, and someone who had threatened to get Enoch Whitley arrestednearly a decade ago. If they could figure out who he robbed, they might have a clearer idea of who wanted him dead, but the only easy way Felipe could think to do that was to wake him up and ask.
Felipe watched Oliver from the corner of his eye as he pulled the steamer away from the curb and headed down the street as the sun slowly set over Manhattan. Even if Oliver didn’t say anything, Felipe could tell he was tired. His movements were slower than usual, and it took him a few extra seconds to process what Felipe said. Maybe they should skip going out for dinner and call it an early night. They could always plan to go out on their usual day. Oliver had only been out of his magic-induced coma for a day, and even though he seemed fine physically when Felipe checked the tether, he didn’t want him to overdo it. That was why he wasnotgoing to even think about suggesting that Oliver reanimate Enoch Whitley. He was too likely to say yes if Felipe laid out his reasons for asking him to do so, no matter the physical danger it would put him in, and Felipe wasn’t about to take advantage when there was another way to figure out where Enoch’s books came from.
“Turn down the next street. Then, take a left at the first corner. I want to take a look at Enoch Whitley’s house.”
“Are you sure? It’s getting dark. We could come back tomorrow.”
“I plan to come back in daylight. I just want to take a quick look around. If we can confirm there are multiple books ofdubious provenanceinside, maybe we can borrow Gwen or Reynard to help go through them.”
Plus, the neighbors would be less likely to notice him breaking in, Felipe thought as Oliver carefully followed his instructions and slowed to a crawl, so he could read the addresses in the dark. The buildings were older, a mix of wood and brick homes probably built before either the great fires,and had seen better days. What had once been a prosperous neighborhood had become shabby and clung to what little respectability it had left. There was no filth or overcrowding like in the Bowery, just a lack. A lack of paint on shutters, a lack of glass in a few windows carefully obscured with curtains, a lack of life in some of the houses. Felipe eyed the numbers on the houses, his gaze drifting from one side of the street to the other, but as he counted down to Enoch Whitley’s address, the knot in his throat thickened. Oliver slowly drove past the spot where the house was supposed to be, and Felipe’s blood ran cold. He had to be wrong. His gaze scrambled over the other house numbers around it, but no, it was correct.
“Oliver, pull over. I— Let me out,” Felipe ordered.
The moment the steamer stopped, Felipe bolted out. He could hear Oliver calling out to him, asking what was wrong, but he needed to see it with his own eyes. The icy air seared Felipe’s cheeks as silence and snow settled over the street in the blue-grey dusk. The slap of his shoes hitting the pavement and Oliver’s distant calls for him to wait rang across the desolate neighborhood like gunshots. People watched them from the windows, but no one came out to stop them as Felipe counted the house numbers under his breath. His steps slowed to a stop as he came to number one-seventeen.
“Felipe! Felipe, wait for me.” Oliver called breathlessly behind him. “Your eyes—!”
Felipe knew his eyes were probably flashing orange in the dim light, but he didn’t care. He counted the houses a third time as dread set in anew. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. By the time Oliver caught up with him standing in the middle of the sidewalk collecting snow, his partner’s cheeks and ears were red, and his heart hammered across the tether. Oliver stopped to catch his breath before he could speak, but when he saw Felipe’s bleak expression, he followed his gaze to the wreckage.
“Is this—?Wasthis—?” When Felipe nodded, Oliver stared in disbelief.
Where there had once stood a house, now there was only rubble. Charred bits of wall reached up like broken fingers while the bricks that had once been the chimney lay scattered amongst the soggy, grey heap. On either side, the houses had been scorched from the heat of the blaze with one needing its windows boarded up on the wall that stood between the lots. Ash coated Felipe’s tongue as he crossed what had once been the threshold. The remnants of a candlestick holder and broken bits of furniture jutted from the pile of debris, but what caught Felipe’s eye were the flapping pieces of paper scattered across the lot and the book-shaped piles of pulp. Between the firefighters putting out the blaze, the snow, and fire itself, nothing remained unscathed.
Enoch Whitley’s library of rare magical texts was gone, all gone, and had been for days.
Felipe hoped that whoever had set fire to the house had done so to cover the theft of Enoch’s precious books, but as he picked through the rubble with his burnt hand, Felipe knew it wasn’t true. He reached for something book-shaped only to have it crumble at his touch. They had all gone up like kindling. Felipe stared down at the soot-covered remains of Enoch Whitley’s home and wondered if somewhere in the rubble was another curse or if someone had merely put flame to paper and let nature take its course. No matter how it was done, their community had lost knowledge they could never get back.
After they had found the message in Enoch Whitley’s body, Felipe had been expecting violence. He was accustomed to violence. What he had never expected was annihilation. Whoever said,Magic must die, meant it. Magic wasn’t just the abilities they carried. It was the books they wrote, the knowledge and community they shared. It was caring for each other andraising the children of those they had lost to know who they were and the gifts they possessed. It was their connection to the past, present, and future. And someone was plucking those threads one by one.
Oliver’s hand gently closed around Felipe’s shoulder as he picked up another water-logged book from the rubble and tossed it aside. Pain radiated through his arm as he stood, but Felipe clung to the sensation to keep him moored. There was nothing he could have done to stop it, but the loss still stung. He should have done something. He should have kept working instead of festering when— Concern and disbelief rolled across the tether followed by a singleI love youtug.
Drawing in a long, slow breath, Felipe gave the tether a tug and took Oliver’s hand. “Let’s go home. I think I’m done for the night.”
Chapter Twenty
Righting Wrongs
Oliver followed a step behind Felipe through the doors of the Paranormal Society. He had been quiet since they discovered the wreckage of Enoch Whitley’s home, but the emotions crossing the tether were not. Oliver wasn’t always adept at figuring out how people felt, but he didn’t think Felipe knew either. The emotions washing against him like a tide were muddled together: anger, loss, a deep vein of fear, something fiery that felt like determination, but all of it was overlaid with something grey that Oliver couldn’t name. He wasn’t sure if it had to do with Enoch Whitley’s case or if it came from everything Felipe had told him the day before. Sometimes, Felipe sank into melancholy out of nowhere, which made sense since they were getting closer to Christmas and New Year, and that time of year weighed on him. He would ask Felipe once he had a chance to unwind.
It had been a long day for both of them. While he would have been happy to go to the noodle house or Mather’s with Felipe, he was secretly relieved to be back home. He had spoken to far too many people, and he needed quiet. As they neared the dining room, he gritted his teeth. The sounds of talking and clattering plates and silverware went through his head like a knife, but as they headed for the basement staircase on the other side of the hall, a handful of people near the kitchens turned to watch them. Oliver averted his gaze even as their eyes dug intohis back. He didn’t know if word of what happened during the previous week’s meeting with Holbrook the spread or if they had heard about what they did at the charity bazaar or if he had done something innocuous to offend them, but he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted them to stop. Focusing on Felipe instead, Oliver caught him wincing as he pushed the door open. When they got down to the lab, he would change his bandages and do what he could to make him more comfortable. It would be a rough few days, but his skin would heal soon enough.
As soon as Felipe hit the stairs, Oliver had to race to catch up. Oliver struggled to catch his breath by the time he made it to the hall, but when Felipe already had his keys in hand by the time they rounded the corner, Oliver suddenly understood. He had had so many days where he had raced to the lab, and the only thing that could unknot the feelings in his chest was to be inhisspace where he felt safe. He flicked on the lights when Felipe made a beeline for their bedroom and was relieved to find the lab exactly as they had left it, albeit with even more evidence stacking up. Oliver sighed. After dinner, he would sort it all and prepare a schedule for the next morning, so he could get through it all efficiently. Eventually, he would also have to figuring out who at the society could investigate the housefire at Enoch Whitley’s address to ascertain if there were any clues left, but right now he had to focus on the fire in Felipe’s brain.
As Oliver set the books they purchased from Ravencroft Books on the counter, he listened for any sign of chaos in their bedroom. When there was nothing alarming on the tether, he quickly wrote out their usual dinner order and sent it up the tube to the kitchen. Several capsules were stacked in the receiving tube for him to deal with, but he really didn’t want to even if it gave him a pang of anxiety to ignore. Oliver hung up his coat and hat and drifted over to the bedroom. From the doorway, he watched Felipe shuck off jacket and drop it onto the deskchair. The wad of papers Mr. Nichols had given them hung precariously from his pocket, but Oliver would grab them later. Felipe pulled his revolver from its holster and stuffed it into the lockbox in Oliver’s desk followed by the knives he had tucked in his belt, holster, and boot. He fished his keys out of his pocket again and was about to toss them onto the desk when he spotted the bowl Oliver had bought for him. Felipe used the one in the upstairs apartment as a catch-all for keys, change, loose knives, and any other scraps he accumulated, and Oliver hoped this would help him feel at home in the basement apartment too.
Felipe picked up the ceramic bowl and ran a tender hand across its smooth surface. Oliver wasn’t sure who made it or how it came to be at the bazaar, but he had picked it up because it looked like the blue and white bowls they used at the Tam Noodle House. It made him think of all the meals they had there together, especially that first dinner back in January. Felipe turned the little bowl over in his hand, his thumb catching on the imperfection in the glaze that had drawn Oliver to it. He knew he had chosen correctly when a flare of warmth and wistfulness drifted across the tether. Setting the bowl back on the desk, Felipe gently dropped his keys and badge into it. As he carefully removed his gloves, Oliver toed off his shoes and slipped his arms around Felipe’s middle. His partner leaned into his grasp and let out a silent sigh.
“What’s going on in your head?” Oliver asked as he kissed his temple.
“Too much. I hope you know that you bought a rice bowl for my keys.” Felipe smiled and nestled against Oliver. “And I love it. It’s perfect, Oliver.”
“I’m glad you like it, but somehow, I doubt that’s the only thing you’re thinking about.”
A small morose laugh left his lips as he held Oliver’s hands close. “I keep thinking how everything that was in EnochWhitley’s library took centuries combined to create, years to collect, and probably minutes to destroy. I hate how everything is so damn fragile.”
“It’s a miracle anything makes it through life unscathed. People get hurt or die, and a porcelain bowl manages to survive the same event. It feels unfair.” Hugging him tightly, Oliver kissed his cheek and shut his eyes, so he could focus only on his partner’s warmth. “I ordered us dinner. It’s curry night, your favorite. Want me to clean and rebandage your arm before it arrives? Your gauze looks like it’s seen better days.”
“Please. I don’t know if it’s because it’s healing, the cold, or both, but it’s unbearably itchy.”
