Chapter Nineteen
Taking Risks
Felipe was making Oliver nervous. Ever since Felipe had spoken to Mr. Allen before lunch, the tether had hummed like a struck tuning fork. The tension set Oliver’s teeth on edge, but every time he tried to corner Felipe to ask him about it, he managed to turn the conversation back to how Oliver was feeling and the care they needed to take while meeting with Willard Jarngren. It was maddening how Felipe managed to deflect without Oliver realizing it until he was alone replaying the conversation, but Oliver didn’t push. The case left little time to decompress, and whether Felipe admitted it or not, he hadn’t been off since they left the society. Even when they were alone in their room together, Oliver sensed Inspector Galvan always lurked right below the surface.
He couldn’t really blame him for being punchy. After all, they didn’t know Willard Jarngren, and after being pushed into the woods and finding out that his father tried to get as far away from Aldorhaven as possible, they had plenty of reasons to be concerned. Still, when Felipe didn’t give him a hard time about wanting to meet Willard Jarngren, Oliver had been slightly taken aback. Then again, it was better to meet with him in a somewhat agreed upon manner rather than be caught off guard should they ignore the invitation and have Mr. Jarngren pursue them. Even if he had agreed, the humming in the tether felt like a tell.
Oliver had tried to stay busy to keep from fixating on it. While Gwen went off to interview Mr. Allen about his time in the Union Army, Oliver brought their half-damp clothes outside to figure out if they were clean enough to bring home or if they had to take them to a laundress in town before they left. Oliver had been out hanging the clothes on the line when Felipe came outside and made a beeline for the trees. Panic rose in Oliver’s breast until he realized Felipe was heading for the clump of oaks that didn’t belong to the Dysterwood. From behind the wall of wash, Oliver watched Felipe throw one knife after another into the tree as easily as Oliver tossed paper into the wastebasket by his desk. Satisfied with his handiwork, he did it again but this time while running. The practiced ease with which he fought all at once aroused and intimidated Oliver. Felipe trusted the weapon and his senses so completely he seemed to fight without thinking. Oliver had admired his dancer’s grace in the training room, and his infinite patience. He had never done anything with such ease.
Seemingly satisfied with his target practice, Felipe pulled the last blade from the bark and headed inside. Oliver was about to join him when one of Gwen’s blouses came loose from the line. By the time he got back inside, Felipe had retreated to their room, but when Oliver reached their door, he stopped at the smell of gun cleaner. Even though Felipe was exceedingly careful, he didn’t want to be in the room with the revolver while he worked on it. Oliver wasn’t certain if all this preparation was because Felipe was anxious or because he thought they needed to prepare as if they were going into battle. If Willard Jarngren was anything like Lucien Stills, a flare of temper might be enough to send him scrambling. Oliver frowned as he sank onto the steps. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Lucien; he barely knew him. He just reminded Oliver too much of himself during the stretches of time when he tried desperately to make his ex-lover, Ansley, happy. That placating tone set his teeth on edge, and Oliver couldn’t help but wonder how much of himself Lucien had sanded off to make himself more palatable to his parents. From the way Lucien talked about his—their—cousin, Willard sounded as if he at least had a spine of some sort.
“What are you thinking about?” Gwen asked when she found him sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands.
“What Willard Jarngren is like.”
“Well, so far, we have paranoid, a wildcard, and knows at least a little about decomposition. He sounds like your type of person.”
Oliver released a mirthless laugh. “I know I shouldn’t care what any of these people think, and I’ve already met Lucien, but this time it’s different because he knows we’re related. What if he hates me?”
“Then, you can leave and never see him again. The more important question is, what if he’s a murderer?”
“Then, he would get arrested, cousin or not. What if he’s not a murderer, but he doesn’t like you and Felipe? That would be worse.”
“That would be a dealbreaker. What if he hates coffee?”
“Or likes frogs?”
And from there, the what-ifs only got sillier, but it snuffed out the lingering fear of meeting his cousin. The feeling slowly crept back as the steamer cut through the shadows that fell over Aldorhaven at sunset. Crowded into the front bench between Felipe and Gwen, Oliver watched his lover as he drove out of the heart of town and down a treelined road toward the Jarngren’s home. His jaw was set as he held the steering wheel in an iron grip, and as they passed under the shadows of the next copse of trees, Felipe’s eyes glinted orange. While Felipe couldn’t smell magic the way Oliver could, he was certain he could feel how thin the veil between worlds was as they drew closer to the Jarngrens’ stronghold.
Oliver winced at the burn in his sinuses. The magic seemed to ooze from the trees closing in around them like sap. He had felt it faintly when he got close to the oaks that had appeared across the road, but this was far more intense. He imagined this was what a murder town felt like: the earth bathed in magic until it imbued everything that grew from it. Even in the dark, the pines lining the well-tended road looked wrong. They weren’t as uncanny and perfect as the ones in the Dysterwood, but Oliver knew they weren’t normal trees. They looked as if they had been plucked from somewhere far away and transplanted here, though their roots still remembered and clung to their homeland as tightly as they did the soil.
When the gap in the trees widened to reveal the looming fa?ade of the house in the distance, Felipe pulled the steamer to the side of the road and parked it as near the forest as he dared. “I think it’ll be safer if we walk from here.”
“Won’t someone see the steamer?” Gwen asked.
“Only if they come through before dark.” Pulling out the hand-drawn map Mr. Allen had made for him, Felipe pointed to the road that ran parallel to the house on the other side of the trees. “I could have parked here, but if we need to make a hasty exit, we’ll have to cut through the woods.”
“Yeah, no thanks.”
“That’s what I thought. I’d rather take my chances leaving it here.” Felipe stuffed the paper back in his pocket before turning to Oliver and Gwen. “Remember what we discussed.”
“Stay behind you, don’t lose sight of each other, and if anything goes wrong, we go back to the steamer,” Oliver rattled off. “I would also like to add, stay away from the woods. The trees don’t feel right.”
Gwen and Felipe exchanged a wary glance but said nothing. As Oliver stepped out of the steamer, he quickly gripped the door as the world roiled around him. The magic that had soaked into the land rushed for him, cresting over his head as if trying to drag him under. Bones. Bones were everywhere in the forest. If he closed his eyes, he could see them glowing against the darkness, calling to him. Deer, bears, cougars, things far older and larger Oliver couldn’t name. They weren’t human, but it didn’t matter; they would answer his call. All he had to do was let them in. Let them in, and he could be far more powerful than the Jarngrens ever could. Ripping his mind away, he straightened and shook out his hands until the prying whispers subsided. A few feet ahead, Felipe and Gwen waited. He didn’t need or want the Dysterwood’s help. He already had everything he could ever want.
“Did you feel that?” Oliver asked softly as he caught up to Gwen and Felipe, ignoring the eyes at his back.
“Feel what?”
“Nothing, just the magic in the trees again.”
Felipe narrowed his eyes at him before sweeping them suspiciously over the darkening woods. “Hold Gwen’s hand until we get closer. My heart can’t take you disappearing again.”
With a silent sigh, Oliver did as he was told. Training his gun ahead of him, Felipe led them down the road. Oliver listened for any signs of something lurking in the shadows, but all he heard were bats and the distant screech of a fox. Moths with spots like eyes on their wings and skittering jeweled beetles were the only witnesses to their intrusion. The sounds of nature fell away as they reached the edge of the Jarngrens’ property. The ancestral home of Aldorhaven’s founders was like nothing Oliver had ever seen. It was all at once modern and ancient, a house fit for another world. While the foundation had been made of grey stone, the house had been constructed of soaring pines whose resin had blackened with age. It towered over the neighboring trees with its layers of Mansford style roofs that looked as if someone had stacked progressively smaller houses on top of each other until they culminated in a tower as sharp as a pike. Against the red and pink sky, Oliver could make out what looked like dragons or gargoyles jutting from the far ends of the roofs, lips curled and teeth bared.
He understood why everyone referred to it as the big house. While it was a far cry from a Fifth Avenue mansion, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. The house struck equal parts terror and awe in his heart, yet he felt no kinship or longing for it. A part of him had foolishly hoped going to Aldorhaven would unlock something deep within him, that he would find some connection to the people who had come before him. Instead, the longer he stayed, the more he yearned to return to the Paranormal Society, to their little apartment with the window that stuck and their other bedroom in the basement that wasn’t nearly as cold or lonely as it used to be. As they skirted the edge of the property, Oliver understood why his father had chosen to leave the massive hall in favor of a normal house that didn’t reek of coercive magic. Could a place truly be home if it demanded all of you? Oliver’s hand drifted to the signet ring hanging from his throat when he caught sight of the black and gold enamel band on his ring finger. A small smile crossed his lips as he stared at Felipe’s familiar profile and walnut curls in the evening light. No, it needed to be freely given to be love.
“Mr. Jarngren said by the fountain at seven, right?” Felipe whispered, not lowering his weapon as he peered around a bush into the empty garden.
Oliver nodded and stood over his partner’s shoulder, looking for any sign of Willard Jarngren. While a few rooms were illuminated with candles or oil lamps, none were on their side of the house, and the grounds quickly sank into shadows as the sun dipped behind the trees. Even without it being sunset or without having Felipe’s night vision, it was impossible to see anything with certainty. The yard was a riot of foliage. What had once been well-tended had gone to seed long ago. The ornamental hedges and bushes surrounding the fountain had grown to monstrous proportions, and it would be next to impossible to spot someone in the middle of the garden until it was too late. The fountain at the center was covered in slime mold and ivy to the point that Oliver couldn’t tell if the figure holding a jug was a man, woman, or tall cherub, and from where he stood, it looked as if a small tree was sprouting in its base.
“I don’t like this,” Gwen replied as she eyed the pines susurrating in the evening breeze. Levitating Oliver’s watch out of his pocket, she checked the time with a frown and shook her head. “He should be here any second. Should we get closer to the fountain, so he can see us?”
“No, we’ll be too exposed,” Felipe said.
“He’s right, you know.”
** *
Felipe whipped toward the low, thin voice, his revolver trained on the man who stepped from behind the mangy hedge. Willard Jarngren held his pale hands up to show they were empty, though that didn’t matter much for those with powers. From the way his dressing gown and trousers hung off him, at least he could be sure he didn’t have a weapon on him. Willard’s light green eyes dismissively slid from the gun before running over each of them with undisguised interest. The cousins looked each other over, but their expressions were inscrutable.
Felipe had never expected to meet someone paler than Oliver, but Willard Jarngren was the kind of colorless that spoke of sickness and little sun. The hollowness of his cheeks and the way his clothing gaped at the edges, as if at one time he had filled them out, only hammered that home. After years of being dragged to people’s houses while his mother tried to heal them, he recognized the signs of someone wasting away, even if he couldn’t do anything about it. Most strikingly, Willard’s hair had gone white, though he couldn’t have been older than his mid or late twenties. Felipe knew that could happen, and he had several ideas about what might have caused it. Despite looking emaciated, the younger man’s features were naturally more delicate than Oliver’s or Lucien’s. Felipe always thought of Oliver as sturdy and sure, so if Oliver had been carved from wood, then Lucien had been made with straw and Willard had been cast in porcelain. Any lingering thoughts of fragility disappeared when Felipe met the younger man’s steady gaze.
“You can put the gun away, inspector. I mean you no harm, and there’s no one home now who could hurt you,” Willard said, his voice rough from disuse. Clearing his throat, he straightened. “We have exactly an hour and twenty-three minutes until my jailers return, so we had better use it wisely and get moving. We have a lot to discuss.”
Without another word, Willard turned and swept toward the back of the house. Oliver took a step to follow when Gwen yanked him back and looked to Felipe. Their choices were to go back to the inn or follow him, so Felipe nodded them forward. Lowering the gun but not putting it away, Felipe swept his gaze over the lower windows and through the unruly foliage for any signs of hidden creatures or people lurking in the dark. Mr. Turpin had said Aldorhaven wasn’t a place to go after dark, and Felipe was taking no chances. As they neared what appeared to be a servants’ door, Felipe thought Willard would stop, but instead, he led them to a half-rotted trellis near the center of the house. Thick vines of what looked like pumpkins or squash climbed up its face and reached toward the upper floors. At the very top of the house, the tower room’s window burned brightly like a glowing eye. Felipe hoped whoever used it wasn’t home because if they looked out, there was no place for them to hide.
Running a loving hand over the prickly vines, Willard turned back to them and said, “Who would like to go first?”
Gwen’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “I’m not climbing that.”
Felipe didn’t disagree. The trellis beneath the vines was blackened with wood rot, and while Willard might have been light enough for it to bear his weight, the rest of them certainly weren’t. He wasn’t even sure where they would go once they reached the top. The next window was up a steep roof. Considering Oliver refused to stand on even the low, level porch roof, he doubted he would be willing to scale anything that high.
“Climbing what? Oh. Oh no, you aren’t climbing to my room. The vines will—” Willard made a vague gesture toward the pile of thick vines and then up to the one illuminated window high above their heads. “ Please , we don’t have much time.”
Gwen looked as if she was about to protest when Oliver’s fingers brushed Felipe’s wrist as he held his gaze. A wave of warmth followed by a slow tug passed across the tether. Even without saying it, he knew what Oliver wanted to do. Stay with Gwen. I’ll go first . Felipe gave him an almost imperceivable nod. Stepping up to the wall of vines, Oliver squinted at it as if looking for a door .
“What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. The vines will do all the work. Just don’t squirm or they might squeeze you… Or drop you.”
“What do you mean they’ll drop—”
Before Oliver could finish, the thick vines broke from their moorings on the trellis with a slap and slithered across the terrace to encircle Oliver’s legs. Felipe instinctively took a step forward, but Willard held up a hand for him to stay where he was. Oliver let out a stifled squeak as the vines climbed higher until they coiled around his hips and lifted him off the ground. Felipe watched in horror as the vines pushed Oliver higher, deftly avoiding the darkened windows before stopping at the tower. For a moment, Oliver merely dangled four floors above the ground as if frozen with fear, but with a flick of his gaze, Willard forced the plants closer to the windowsill. Oliver grabbed it and scrambled inside as the vines disentangled themselves from his long legs. As the vines slid back to the ground, panic, relief, and something akin to disgust flooded the tether and crashed against Felipe’s ebbing anxiety, but at least he was safe. When Oliver’s face appeared in the window, Felipe let out a relieved breath and motioned for Gwen to go next.
“I do not like being picked up,” she muttered under her breath as she tucked her skirts around her legs and eyed the vines suspiciously.
“Think of it as a research opportunity.”
She glared at him as the vine lifted her off the ground. “I hate you both.”
When she reached the tower, Oliver wrapped his arms around Gwen and carefully pulled her in. As Felipe holstered his gun and stepped forward, he studied Willard Jarngren’s face for any sign of strain, but his expression was as impassive as it had been before. Felipe had met plenty of plantmancers who could do marvelous things. He had heard of people who could send fields of flowers into bloom or nudge a tree into a new shape or revive a wilting plant with a touch like Agatha, but he had never seen anything like this. Whether Willard’s ability to manipulate plants was due to the Dysterwood’s influence or his innate gifts, it didn’t matter. It was impressive. In a town where there weren’t any farms, a power like his could have done a lot of good.
As the vine lowered and waited for him to step closer, Felipe drew in a steadying breath and braced himself to be lifted. In a minute, it’ll be over , he reminded himself as the vines wrapped around his legs. He screwed his eyes shut the second his feet left the ground like he did every time he went to Coney Island with Teresa. When the vine slowed, he opened his eyes only to have his stomach and heart lurch into his throat at the realization that he was three stories up and rising higher. Felipe jerked in alarm, and the vines tightened around him like a boa. The prickly hairs on the vines poked through his trousers and sent a bolt of searing pain through the bite on the back of his leg. He made a mental note to clean it with alcohol from Oliver’s gladstone when they got back.
The moment the vine stopped, Oliver leaned out the window to grab his arms. Felipe tried not to think about dangling forty feet in the air as the smaller tendrils uncurled from around his legs. He could survive the fall, but he didn’t want to think about the aftermath. He wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, and with a grunt, his partner hauled him inside. Falling back against Oliver, Felipe sank to the wooden floor. He let out a tremulous, relieved breath followed by an oath when he lifted his head from Oliver’s chest and saw the state of the room.