Chapter 8 #3
He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in the chair casually. “How fascinating. And what should I do about that? Would you have me imbibe a chemical concoction that will make me vomit up my heart?”
I shook my head. “No, sir. As I’ve said, purging won’t help your condition.” When he coughed into his handkerchief, I asked, “Do your coughs produce blood?”
“Not yet. Maybe not ever, now that I have the best nurse in New York City to take care of me,” he murmured with light dancing in his eyes, as if the disease was merely something he could pay to make go away.
I forced myself not to think about the strange male voice calling my name, to concentrate on the task in front me and ignore the panic and worry pulsing through me.
I dug through my medical bag to find a bottle labeled COUGH, DAILY and instructed Mr. Hoffman to open the balcony doors to let in fresh air.
“For a few minutes in the morning, then again in the afternoon,” I told him.
“Trying to freeze me to death is a novel treatment,” Voss complained lightly as his servant opened the curtains and both balcony doors.
Daylight flooded the room, bringing with it a chill.
“Watch it, Hoffmann. That damned bird will be up here soon, pestering me. I don’t want him flying into my rooms.”
Most birds were likely already migrating their way down south, but I wasn’t going to correct the man to his face.
“I’m not trying to freeze you,” I told Voss. “But inhaling this much candle wax and incense can’t be good for your lungs. If you want to start improving, you need fresh air and good food every day.”
At least, that’s what some physicians said would help. In addition, Sister Helen had provided a bottle of concentrated vitamins that I’d start administering to him. I’d given a similar vitamin elixir to my mother, and she’d never improved.
A brisk breeze blew golden leaves through the open balcony doors, and the dogs lifted their heads to take in the outdoor scents. I measured out half a spoonful of deep red cough syrup that was laden with so much alcohol, it made me cough when I poured.
Voss squinted at the bottle and gingerly sniffed the liquid in my spoon.
He was wary. Why? Had the servants tried to drug him, too?
I tried to steady my trembling fingers holding the medicine.
“It’s the same medicine we use in the hospital.
I’ll need to give this to you twice a day, but it should provide a little relief. ”
After a moment, he conceded and swallowed a dose.
“Strong. If nothing else, it’ll give me a pleasant buzz,” he said, widening his eyes comically.
“It is quite strong, indeed,” I agreed with a smile. While I wiped off the medicine spoon and stashed away the bottle in my bag, my gaze slid to the pile of books that Mr. Hoffmann had been straightening earlier. Specifically, I spotted one title sitting on the top.
The Bremen Manual of Demonic Magic.
My fingers stilled inside my bag as I skimmed the spines of other titles within the stack. The Sworn Book of Viteos. The Cobalt Tablet of Spirits. Balo’s Goetia. De Necromancia. Summoning Godforms Across the Veil. Chod: Severing Souls.
Unease crept over me. I flicked my gaze over the overflowing bookshelves and spotted several moldering medieval tomes whose spines were embossed with skulls and strange symbols.
Hundreds of books. An entire occult library.
My heart pounded more forcefully, and I became lightheaded. I suddenly remembered Voss’s strange fit of laughter back in the hospital exam room when I’d first met him. The doctor had said it was caused by grief over the sister’s death, but now I wasn’t so sure.
What in God’s name is going on here?
“Ah, don’t be alarmed by those,” Voss said, eyes following mine.
“I’ve inherited a rather interesting but odd collection of books that my sister acquired from an overseas collector before she died.
The entire lot arrived from Europe recently.
Most of it seems to be ignorant foolishness, but I’m evaluating them one by one to see if there’s anything of value. ”
“Oh?” I said dumbly, unsure whether he was being truthful.
“Do you believe in such things, occult knowledge of other realms and beings?” He cocked a brow at me almost playfully.
Was he testing me about ghosts? Daring me to ask him about the boy in the basement?
Or was he being honest about these books and merely engaging in polite conversation?
I just don’t know!
While fumbling with an answer, my gaze snagged on the bottom title in the strange stack of books: A Master Magician’s Book of Traps and Bindings. That certainly wasn’t a title that the average book collector possessed, was it? At the same time, it wasn’t proof of any crime.
But that didn’t stop my thoughts from shifting to the boy in the basement, and all that strange writing on the columns… and the circle design on the ceiling above him.
I’d been wondering how it was possible to chain up a ghost. Maybe the answers were inside this bizarre book…
Stop being silly, I told myself. If these books had been purchased by the master’s sister before she’d died, likely she’d been the one fascinated with the occult.
Or maybe they were… merely an investment?
Who knew. I certainly didn’t understand exactly how wealthy people like the Vosses made money.
But even if his sister had been fascinated by the occult, it wasn’t proof of anything.
Just because someone had a keen interest in horse racing didn’t mean they could win a race themselves.
After taking far too long to reply, I finally said, “As a nurse in training, I believe in science and reason. But my mammy always said that there were things on this Earth that could not be understood or categorized.”
A slow smile rose across the master’s face. He approved of my diplomatic answer.
“Indeed, that is sound advice,” he said, blue eyes dancing with excitement. “We are living in a time of miracles. It’s good to keep an open mind.”
Open mind… and open eyes. Mine were wide and wary.
And until I was sure that everything was right in this house, I’d need to keep them that way.