“Morris, old boy, you might want to—”
Holbrook waved Appleton away without taking his eyes off Oliver. “All I’m saying is that it would benefit those who oppose us if we were to cancel our biggest recruitment event. We can’t let some invisible evil get in the way of strengthening our community. More importantly, we shouldn’t listen to someone who comes uninvited and who staunchly refuses to let their guard down. You refused to submit your powers to the greater good. How can you say you’re looking out for your community when you won’t even trust us with something so small?”
“I told you my powers aren’t applicable to the task at hand. That was a statement of fact, not me being difficult,” Oliver gritted out, anger flaring in his breast.
“Everyone’s powers can be useful to the cause. The whole point of sharing is that it builds trust. You would agree that trust is key in our line of work, wouldn’t you, Mr. Barlow?”
Oliver was so tired of this. First, the head inspector had thrown his necromancy back in his face and threatened to use it against him, and now, this. Oliver hadn’t told them because he feared how they would perceive him, but it didn’t matter, did it? To people like Holbrook, he would be the villain no matter what he did. No matter how quiet or cooperative or helpful, it would never be enough. Well, the Paranormal Society wasOliver’s home too, and he deserved to live there as himself; the consequences be damned. At least the head inspector couldn’t use it against him if others knew. Oliver’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he rose from his seat and locked eyes with Holbrook. The other man stared him down, and while Oliver could feel everyone’s eyes upon him, he didn’t waver.
“Yes, trust is key, and that is why you should trust me that you do not want my powers to be necessary to your cause. I’m a necromancer, and if my powers areusefulduring the open house, then it means things have gone catastrophically wrong. I am asking you to postpone the open house until we have a better idea of who is behind the murders and attacks because I don’t want to have to awaken people I know and ask them if they saw who killed them.”
Holbrook’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re a necromancer?”
“Yes. With my powers, I can wake up the dead for a few minutes to speak to them. I ask them how they died or what they last saw, so I can bring their killers to justice or bring their families some comfort.” Drawing his spine straighter, Oliver found his voice. “Before you spoke of making people feel welcome. Perhaps, you might want to think about why someone like me wouldn’t feel safe enough to be who they truly are in front of the committee and the society as a whole. The purpose of this committee is to help make the world a little more equitable, and you can’t do that as things are. Either way, I will not be a party to this open house. What you’re doing might lead to dozens of deaths, but you refuse to listen because I’m the one saying it. Don’t worry about adding me to the attendance list; I won’t be back.”
Picking up his notebook, Oliver avoided Gwen and the other’s eyes as he swept out of the room. The only sound as he fled was the clack of his shoes on the wooden floor, but as soonas he reached the hall, a murmur arose behind him. He tried to sprint away only to have his legs shake and wobble so badly that he had to lean against the wall. Bisclavret’s voice rose, followed by Gwen’s and Reynard’s, but Oliver clasped his hands over his ears and slid down until he rested on his heels. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to know. Oliver’s breath came in short, tight bursts as reality sank in. He told everyone on the committee that he was a necromancer. By tomorrow, everyone would know, and he would have to weather their stares and the rumor mill. Tears scalded Oliver’s eyes as he bit his lip. Someone would surely say he was fucking the corpses or something equally vile, and there would be an inquiry, and someone would find his bedroom in the closet just outside the morgue, which would only make matters worse, and—
Something tapped against his foot, and when Oliver looked up, he found Gwen, Bisclavret, and Reynard staring down at him with varying levels of concern written across their features. Squatting beside him, Gwen laid a steadying hand on his shoulder and searched his face.
“You okay?”
When Oliver shook his head, Reynard offered him a hand up and pulled him to his feet.
“Come on, Barlow. I have some whiskey in the staff room. You look like you need it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Understanding
Felipe set down the telephone receiver. None of the local hospitals he contacted had anyone named Antonio DeSanto in their wards or anyone matching his description. The only positive was that meant none of their morgues did either. He also contacted the Metropolitan Police’s morgue, and while he was given the runaround, it didn’t sound like anyone matched Tony’s description. He should have been relieved, but he wouldn’t be until he spoke to DeSanto. He needed to figure out what he had done and how to get him out of this mostly unscathed. Felipe had barely left the telephone and telegraph office when a rush of anger surged through him. The entire time he had been on the telephone, he had felt hot fury trickling across the tether, but the damn had finally broken on Oliver’s end. Felipe released a calming breath and let Oliver’s anger pass through him. Heaven help whomever he was mad at. Saying goodnight to the office’s secretary, Felipe took the elevator down to the basement. He had just stepped into the silent hall when the rush of anger cooled to soul-chilling panic.Fuck.
By the time he made it back up to the library’s meeting room, Oliver and Gwen were gone from the meeting as well as several others if the empty chairs were any indication. He was about to stick his head in and ask where they had gone when he heard raised voices. Whatever happened in that meeting, ithadn’t been good. Felipe tried to imagine where Oliver would go in a flurry of panic, and his little room on the uppermost floor of the library felt like a safe bet. By the time he reached the library, Oliver’s panic had mellowed to a steady stream of grey chaos. Pushing open the library doors, Felipe was about to make for the stairs when Reynard glanced up from the front desk and waved him over.
“Barlow’s in the staff room,” he said, nodding to the door behind him.
Felipe hesitated only a second when Reynard opened the counter and let him pass into an area that belonged only to the librarians. The room was populated by tall wooden desks with matching stools set into each corner of the room. Some appeared to be used for bookbinding and repair while others were cluttered with papers and stacks of books. Felipe found Oliver sitting ramrod straight at what he assumed was Gwen’s desk with an untouched teacup full of whiskey and the look of someone going to the gallows. Gwen sat at one of the bookbinding desks, casting Oliver worried glances while his left shoe knotted and unknotted itself. Relief washed over Oliver’s face when he spotted Felipe in the doorway, and the tether pulled taut beneath his heart.
“Everything all right?” Felipe asked softly.
“No,” Oliver replied the same time Gwen said, “Oliver told everyone he was a necromancer.”
Felipe opened his mouth to say something but closed it at the pained look on Oliver’s face.
“And we all quit the Mutual Aid Committee,” Reynard chimed in from the front desk. “Holbrook’s gotten too big for his britches.”
“I see.” He wasn’t sure how that could happen on a committee meant to help those in need, but people stole power where they could. Felipe feared Oliver might bolt, but when helaid his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, Oliver leaned into him. “What happened to make you tell everyone?”
“It’s— I— Holbrook tried to—”
“I got this,” Gwen said, taking the teacup from Oliver’s hand and passing it to Felipe. “Holbrook tried to insinuate Oliver was hiding something, and that wasafterhe tried to suggest Oliver was somehow involved in the attack.”
“He did what?”
Felipe listened in silent horror as Gwen laid out all that had transpired in the committee meeting. Rage at Holbrook and the others in the meeting who said nothing boiled in Felipe’s chest. How dare they. His hands shook, and he quickly stuck them into his pockets. He understood why Oliver had told everyone, especially after the head inspector had tried to use his powers against him, but he shouldn’t have had to.
“That’s ridiculous. Holbrook should be removed as committee chair. He shouldn’t have forced you to—”
Oliver sighed and rubbed at his brow. “He didn’t. I wanted to. No one can hold it against me if it isn’t a secret. Well, they can, but it’s harder to do. I’m just tired of constantly having to hide it or worry someone will find out and make a mess for me. Better to tell everyone on my terms. My only fear is they’ll figure out—”
