Oliver looked up pointedly at Felipe, and he understood. The chance of them figuring out Felipe was dead and reanimated was slim to none. He had waited ten months for someone to put the pieces together, but no one had. Most people’s imaginations weren’t that good. If they were going to accuse Oliver of anything, it would be something tawdry or ridiculous because it was the quickest and most salacious narrative they could cook up. Mundane queerness was far more difficult for people to notice when there were easier explanations. Agatha had lived her life as a woman for nearly three decades, and no one outsidethe house ever mentioned that she had been born anything but a woman because it never occurred to them to question that she wasn’t. People saw what they expected to see, so as long as he didn’t resemble a shambling corpse and could explain away his slower healing with age, no one would realize he had been reanimated and tethered to Oliver.
“I really don’t think they will.”
“If you say so. Oh god, what if I lose my job over this? Even if they don’t fire me, they can try to force me out.”
“I’m pretty sure the investigators will mutiny if they fire you without a replacement. The fact that you process their evidence quickly and get the autopsy reports to them with clear answers has endeared you to them even if they don’t say it. Knowing you’re a necromancer doesn’t change any of that as long as your performance doesn’t drop.”
Oliver started to rock forward but caught himself. “Surely, they have to care about how I get answers.”
“They really don’t.”
“You’ll probably get more people who want to interrogate the dead when you wake them up,” Gwen added. “Or they’ll want you to wake up their relatives for a final goodbye or to tell them off.”
“Absolutely not.”
A small smile crossed Felipe’s lips. “The investigators probably won’t oppose you being a necromancer. The fussier members might, but they also take issue with the healers for undressing people, the investigators for being a little fast and loose with the law, and shifters for being naked too often.” When Oliver didn’t look swayed, Felipe knelt in front of him. “Look, if anyone tries to push you out, I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening. You have me, Gwen, and Turpin to swear to your character, and I doubt the head inspector will move against you, especially if that article comes out.”
“You have me too, and I’m sure Theo, Miss Pfeiffer, and Mrs. Galvan will vouge for you too,” Reynard replied, leaning against the doorway. His green eyes ran over Oliver’s form. “I take it you both have seen him do it, so how does necromancy work? How do you, you know, wake them up?”
Felipe was about to tell the fox now was not the time when Oliver straightened. “It isn’t that interesting, truly. I just reach out to the dead person’s—for lack of a better word—soul. I can tether their soul to mine for a short time, and that allows their body to reanimate. I have a set of rules regarding reanimation, but for the most part, I wake them up, ask them questions about how they died, and once I get the answers I need, I thank them and cut their soul loose. They go back to being dead after that. You just have to plan what you want to ask because you can only reanimate a person once.”
“Really? Why only once?”
“I don’t know. Reanimating someone seems to uncouple the soul from the body afterwards.”
“Huh. What about skeletons? Can you chat with them?”
“No, and I can’t reanimate someone in that way when their body is too decomposed either. With skeletons, I can make them move or go back into the shape of their body, but that’s it. Skeletons are cooperative; the freshly dead are as obstinate as the living.”
Reynard nodded and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I need to discuss this with Theo. This opens up so many theological cans of worms.”
When Reynard left to go help a patron, Oliver deflated and let his stool spin toward Gwen. “Is this how it’s going to be?”
“Well, it isn’t the worst reaction,” she offered. “I’d take morbid curiosity over hostility.”
“I know, but now, I have to brace myself for people doing that a hundred more times. I much preferred it when I was invisible.”
“It’ll get easier with time. And if anyone gives you shit for it, let me know, and I’ll deal with them.” At Oliver’s groan, Felipe wrapped an arm around him and hugged him close. “I know you’ve had a long day, but I need to stop by DeSanto’s mother’s house to see if he’s hiding out there. Afterwards, I thought we could have dinner out, anywhere you’d like. What do you say?”
Oliver let out a sigh. “Fine, but I’m going to eat my weight in dumplings.AndI’m staying in the steamer.”
***
Even at dusk, Mulberry Street teemed with life. The steamer crept slowly forward as Felipe snaked around carts loaded with goods and clots of men hanging outside the saloon. The dark brick houses lined the street like crooked teeth. The bottom floors belonged to businesses, some shuddered already for the night while others burst with light and life. Above the street the decorative ironwork fire escapes were just as busy. Men chatted animatedly with each other between floors despite the cold as women gathered hanging laundry or called down to children playing in the street below. While the area had a reputation in the papers for being rough, it was far better than the slums in the bowels of the bowery. The people of Mulberry Street reminded him of those living on Hester Street. They were driven to weave a new fabric across their little corner of the tapestry that was Manhattan, one that melded with the world around them yet was wholly their own.
Pulling the steamer as close to the curb as he dared, Felipe parked a few doors down from the address DeSanto had listed asMa. It was one of the newer tenements, the kind required tohave water closets and at least minimal building codes. It sat above a pawnshop, and through the upper windows near the fire escapes, he could see people moving within. Even though it didn’t look like the kind of place that would fall down around their ears if they slammed a door, he didn’t think Oliver would be able to handle it. More than likely, it would still be crowded with people and the smells of cooking this time of day.
“Still planning to wait in the steamer?” Felipe asked.
“Felipe, I have one outing left in me, and I’m saving it for the Tam Noodle House’s private dining room.”
“Understood. I shouldn’t take too long. Give the tether two tugs if you need me.”
Oliver plucked it once as Felipe swept out of the steamer and pushed through the crowd. Slipping inside, he made his way up the steps to the third floor. Through the walls and open doors, he could hear babies and children playing, a couple arguing, and an accordion playing next door. Felipe doublechecked his notes before knocking on the door. Voices called out in Italian from the other side, and it was at that moment that Felipe realized he may have made a mistake.
“Avanti!” someone called again, but when Felipe hesitated, a woman around his age opened the door. Her black hair was threaded with strands of silver and pulled back in a voluminous chignon, and while her face was rounder, there were echoes of DeSanto’s chin and eyebrows in her features. Behind her head, he could make out a crucifix on the wall and several men and women preparing for dinner. She gazed at Felipe warily as she asked, “Come posso aiutarti?”
Felipe understood that well enough, so he replied in slow, clear Spanish, “My apologies, ma’am. If you don’t understand me, please say so, but I’m looking for Antonio DeSanto.”
