Page 5 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 5

Calvin

W hat do you know about Settlement Houses?” Abby asked as she and Calvin rode in the hired carriage from the train station into the city. Winston left early in the morning to pick up provisions and connect with some of his contacts in the city. He promised to be back in time to have supper waiting.

“Not much,” Calvin admitted. “I got the impression somewhere that they help get homeless people off the streets and give them a fresh start by teaching them skills.”

“Sort of. The concept started in England, intending to bring together rich and poor to create a better community for everyone. They aren’t just flophouses—they provide lodging, of course, but also classes to teach job skills, practical things like sewing and cooking, plus reading and writing, as well as having a clinic. They’re a lifeline to help people get established and rise above their station,” Abby added with pride.

“Some of the houses help new immigrants adapt, and others focus on the Black folks who have come up from the South after the war,” she told him. “And some are for anyone who needs help. I’ll give you a little tour first, and then we’ll go see Molly. You can ask all the questions you want.”

The first place Abby sent the carriage was a sprawling brick mansion. “This is Hull House,” Abby proclaimed. “It’s the crown jewel, and the founders of the movement used their connections to establish it. It’s known for being well-run, so I doubt your body snatchers are having luck there. As you’ll see, most of the other facilities are much more modest, with fewer resources and smaller staff. They’re stretched thin, which leaves more room for error.”

Abby directed them past three other facilities, which were large, repurposed homes. Calvin saw children playing in the yard and mothers seated in small groups.

“The people who come to the settlement houses are very poor,” Abby explained. “Often, they’ve just come to America and left everything behind. They want to work and do better for themselves, but they need help.”

“If they’ve just emigrated or moved to the city from the South, then they don’t have family nearby,” Calvin guessed. “No one looking out for them.”

Abby shook her head. “Sometimes it works like a chain. One person comes, does well, and sends back for others. Most of the time, people are just trying to get out of a bad spot and find something better. Without organizations like the settlement houses, they get preyed on by criminals or have trouble making ends meet.”

The house run by Molly Dawson was a modest two-story brick home with a porch and a small, fenced yard.

“Molly does a good job with her resources. Many people contribute time and money to help. It’s just that the need is so great, and there are a lot of lost souls who get here and aren’t prepared for the change.”

Abby knocked on the door, with Calvin a step behind her.

“Hello, Miss Edwards,” a plump woman with graying hair greeted them. “Welcome back.”

“Hello, Matilda,” Abby replied in a warm tone that told Calvin they were well-acquainted. “We’re here to see Miss Dawson. She’s expecting me.”

“Right this way.” Matilda ushered them into a small parlor. The home smelled of baking bread and laundry soap, and despite being home to multiple families, everything was clean and tidy.

They passed through the kitchen to a room that looked like a repurposed closet, which served as Molly’s office.

“Abby! It’s so good to see you.” Molly Dawson was a sturdy woman in her forties with a kind face and silver-streaked brown hair in a bun.

“Thank you for allowing our visit. This is Mr. Calvin Springfield. He’s with the Secret Service.” Abby dropped her voice on the last sentence.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Agent Springfield,” Molly replied, as if meeting a federal agent happened every day. “How can I help you?”

“Can we speak privately?” Calvin asked.

Molly closed the door partway and asked someone outside to make sure they weren’t disturbed. She sat behind a narrow desk and motioned for Abby and Calvin to take the chairs across from her.

“It’s about the missing bodies,” Abby told her. “They’re trying to figure out who took them and why.”

Molly gave Calvin a more assessing once-over. “That brought you all the way from Washington?”

Calvin nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’s part of a larger pattern—and we think there’s something very dangerous going on behind the scenes.”

“Not being able to give someone a proper burial is sad, but how is it dangerous? I’ve heard rumors about corpses going to medical schools, where at least they’re used to help train doctors and learn about diseases,” Molly replied, and Calvin appreciated her practical view.

“We have reason to believe that this is different and worse. We think the people taking the bodies are using them for experiments that I can’t talk about but would best be summed up as ‘nefarious.’” Calvin hated being vague, but he didn’t want word of their suspicions to get out and start a panic. Or worse, get back to the perpetrators to tip their hand.

“Jacob Schwan and his family came to our house a month ago. We treated him for a bad cough. He took a sudden turn for the worse and died in the night,” Molly said.

“We do the best we can for people, but many of these folks have been sick or battling a condition for a while without treatment, and they succumb,” she added. “I think Jacob was sicker than he let on to get his family shelter.”

“Just the cough? No other ailments?” Calvin asked.

She frowned and gave him an odd look. “None we knew about. Of course, there was no autopsy. Our doctor declared him dead, and we put him in the locked shed in the back since it was the middle of the night. In the morning, someone had broken in, and the body was gone. No one saw anything amiss, but then again, we have one night watchman, and he has to make rounds.”

“Would anyone have left the grounds after Jacob died?” Calvin asked.

“I wouldn’t think so. It was quite late. But it was known that evening that he was likely to die overnight,” Molly said. “Why?”

“We believe that the people who are using the bodies for their experiments reach out to workers in places like this and offer them money to let them know about a death,” Calvin replied.

“Did any of your workers quit after the body vanished?” Abby asked. “Or perhaps just not show up for their shift?”

“One of our janitors, Peter, called off sick the next day,” Molly replied. “I didn’t think anything about it at the time. The colder weather has everyone coughing and under the weather. He lived here in the building. But when someone went to check on him, he was gone—and so were all his things.”

“Did he mention leaving to anyone?” Calvin asked.

Molly shook her head. “No. And if someone gave him money to watch for a death and steal the body, they must have paid well because the janitor position was one of our better house jobs.”

“Do you know anything about Peter?” Abby asked. “That might give us a clue to who might have gotten him involved.”

“Assuming that he did take the body,” Molly reminded them. “We don’t know that for certain. It’s circumstantial evidence.”

I could bring Owen and see if he can contact Jacob’s ghost. But finding Peter without more details will be a dead end, even if we know he took the corpse.

“Do people here know the body was taken?” Calvin asked.

Molly shook her head. “We did our best to keep it quiet. That’s such a terrible thing. Our residents have very little besides their dignity. It shouldn’t be too much to ask to be treated like a human being.”

“What have you heard from the other smaller settlement houses?” Abby asked. “You know everyone who’s involved.”

“Most of the houses have had a body go missing,” Molly said. “Not Hull House, but they have more security, and the police have to pay attention to them. The cops ignore the rest of us, even though what we do makes their job easier by helping people get off the street and out of poverty and crime.”

“It’s happening elsewhere?” Calvin confirmed.

Molly nodded. “We don’t talk about it publicly because how would that look? We depend on the goodwill of the community and the government. But yes, it’s happened other places. We’re scared. No one knows what to make of it. We can’t afford to hire guards. I can deputize more of our residents, but they might not be more honest than Peter was.”

Calvin admired Molly’s matter-of-fact approach and was impressed that she assessed the situation so calmly.

“Folks are here because they’re poor,” Molly said. “Even some of our staff started as clients and then pulled themselves together and qualified for a job. Offering what to them seems like a lot of money for something that doesn’t hurt anyone would be hard to turn down.”

“Given the type of people we believe are behind the experiments, there’s a good chance that the body thief won’t get paid—but could end up dead,” Calvin warned.

“Desperate people are used to taking risks,” Molly told him. “Compared to what they may have survived, they might not see it as dangerous.”

“When the other houses had bodies vanish, did they also have a worker disappear? It would be helpful to know whether these are all inside jobs or if some involve a break-in,” Calvin said. “And if there’s a connection between the body being taken and a worker leaving suddenly, it could be helpful to remind the staff of the risks if someone offers them a job that’s too good to be true.”

Molly took a deep breath. “I can suggest it, but I don’t think they’ll do more than make a very general statement if that. We’re all mortified about what happened and afraid that if word gets out to donors or the newspapers, we’ll lose support.” Molly paused. “You’ll keep what I’ve told you confidential, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

Calvin could empathize with the settlement houses’ predicament and wagered that whoever was behind the thefts also understood the pressure on them to remain silent and not make a public fuss. Given his experience with police, he doubted any useful investigation would ensue, meaning the houses would have compromised their reputations for nothing.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Molly asked.

Calvin shook his head. “No. You’ve been generous with your time.” He took out a card from his vest pocket. “If anything else strange happens, please contact me. Miss Edwards knows how to reach me as well. Thank you for the information.”

When the carriage pulled away from the curb, Calvin turned to Abby. “You know her. How do you think that went?”

Abby looked thoughtful. “She was definitely uncomfortable talking about it—not surprising. Worried about the house’s reputation. I think she was honest with her answers, and she’s scared that harm could come to the residents. Molly’s a straight shooter.”

Calvin nodded. “That was my impression. She’s an impressive lady.”

The carriage dropped Abby off at her rooming house, with a promise to talk soon, and then took Calvin back to the Pullman car.

“Oh, good. You’re back,” Winston greeted him. “I trust your morning went well?”

“Reasonably so. Did I miss anything? Is Owen back yet?”

Winston laughed. “You didn’t miss anything, and Owen has not returned yet, but I would expect him fairly soon. But there have been some new developments.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve made contact with Arabella Munson, and she’s willing to meet this afternoon for tea at the shop near the train station,” Winston replied. “Apparently, the owner is a friend of the coven and will give us a private seating area to talk. It’s also warded for protection, which is handy to know.”

“Very,” Calvin agreed. “Are Owen and I included in the invitation? You’ve known her for a while.”

“Either or both of you,” Winston said. “I made sure. And one other thing. Miss Sunderson sent tickets for the two of you to attend the galvanism demonstration tonight with her. I’ve adjusted dinner time to accommodate the show.”

Calvin’s eyebrows raised. “The show? Interesting. I wonder if she has a new lead.” He checked his watch. “Owen’s late.” Not enough yet to worry, but Calvin felt on edge.

“Still at the Wild West Show, I presume. He hasn’t sent a message that his plans changed.”

That meant there was no way to let Owen know about tea with Arabella or the tickets. He hoped Owen returned in time to join them since he badly wanted his partner’s perspective on the show.

“Miss Sunderson said she would send a carriage to pick you up. You’ll want a bite for lunch before then,” Winston advised. “I’ll bring out something to the table. Maybe Owen will be back by then.”

Winston headed back to the kitchen. Calvin checked the telegraph out of habit, but no new messages had arrived.

Winston returned with a tray of sliced salami and cheese along with a variety of crackers, jams, and spreads, a favorite quick meal when there was a lot going on. Calvin poured himself a cup of hot coffee from the pot Winston brought to the table and reached for a fork.

“Perfect choice, Winston. I’m hoping Owen will get here in time to share it.”

“If not, I’ll leave it in the ice box for him. But I also hope he can join us.”

Owen hadn’t returned by the time they were due to meet Arabella, so Calvin left him a note about the food and where they were headed, as well as the show that evening.

The brisk air helped Calvin shake off his post-lunch drowsiness. He and Winston stayed alert, but they didn’t sense that anyone was following them. Calvin also suspected that Winston’s magic made them slippery to a pursuer who did not possess equal arcane skills.

The tea shop had a Bohemian feel. Tapestries and printed fabric swags adorned the walls, along with beaded lampshades that suggested exotic locations. The unusual décor distracted the eye from real magical sigils Calvin spotted inscribed on the walls.

“We’re looking for Arabella,” Winston told the woman who greeted them.

“Right this way. She’s expecting you.”

Calvin noted that the woman’s accent sounded Eastern European, perhaps Romani. Even without activating his touch magic, the tearoom gave him a sense of well-protected safety.

“Winston. So good to see you. And who might this be?”

“Calvin Springfield,” Calvin introduced himself with a hint of a bow.

“Interesting.” Arabella did not clarify what about Calvin she found intriguing. He wondered whether she was psychic as well as being a witch and if so, what she could read from him. “Please come in. We won’t be disturbed.”

Arabella had long, dark hair worn loose around her shoulders with brown eyes. Her deep plum gown accentuated her striking features. She led them to a table that looked like one used for tarot readings and motioned for them to sit.

“What brings you to Chicago?” She addressed her question to Winston.

“Missing bodies that aren’t going to medical schools,” Winston replied.

“We think someone intends to sell to those willing to pay for replacement parts,” Calvin added.

Her eyebrows rose. “Interesting. And how would that work?”

“We’re not entirely sure, but we think it’s a combination of science and magic,” Calvin replied, not put off by her skeptical tone.

“You know the area covens—both the independent ones and the ones that are part of the Mob Families,” Winston put in. “Has there been any recent interest in necromancy or grave magic?”

Arabella whispered a word of power under her breath in protection. “Those are dark magics. No reputable coven would traffic in them.”

“What about the disreputable ones?” Calvin asked. “There’s always someone willing to use whatever power they’ve got to make money.”

“You sure you want to know? Knowledge is dangerous,” she warned.

Calvin shrugged. “It goes with the job. And if our hunch is right and there’s money to be made, how long will it be before they start shopping for bodies with particular attributes? No one will be safe.”

“You make a compelling case,” Arabella said. “I don’t think any witches involved are part of covens. There are plenty of lone practitioners who don’t play well with others. The covens tend to ignore them until there’s a problem, and then it all gets complicated.”

Calvin didn’t want to ponder what witch wars might involve.

“I don’t know any names. This is serious enough I might be tempted to share if I did,” Arabella said. “But I have heard some general gossip that might be related.”

She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “There have been inquiries about sources of elemental power—in particular, the Vril and Zodiac Force. Serious practitioners don’t take those fads seriously, but they seem irresistible to non-witches who want to be something they aren’t.”

“I’m not familiar with either of those,” Calvin said.

“I must admit, neither am I,” Winston admitted.

“The Vril comes from an awful book by Bulwar-Lytton,” Arabella said, distaste clear in her voice. “Those who believe in it say it’s a mysterious energy source, but they can’t tell you any more about where it comes from, and they’re fairly unclear about how to harness and use it.”

“Sounds like chasing fool’s gold,” Calvin observed.

“Very much. So is Zodiac Force, which takes the astrological signs and concocts a theory that someone could learn to manipulate all of the occult elements associated with a Zodiac sign and use them like a tool. Utter rubbish, but it keeps the dabblers intrigued.” Her lip curled in disdain. Winston’s expression wasn’t quite as easily read, but Calvin had the impression that he shared her sentiments.

“If those are bogus, then what’s real?”

“Necromancy and grave magic are discouraged because the power is enormous, but so is the temptation,” Arabella said. “Both tend to corrupt the practitioner beyond the usual dangers of magic. I’ve always suspected it’s because they deal with harnessing souls and forcing them to do the bidding of the witch.”

“It’s been said that absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Winston observed. “That would seem to apply.”

Arabella nodded. “We are witches, not gods. Our powers are meant to protect, help, and heal. Not to make ourselves overlords or corrupt the natural order of the world. And yet, there are always those who do not heed the warnings. They eventually fail, but usually after they have caused dangerous havoc.”

“Have there also been inquiries about reanimation and necromancy?” Calvin pressed.

Arabella frowned. “Not to my coven. We would not answer. As for the other groups, I can’t say for sure. It’s been done quietly if someone is asking around. My suspicion is that whoever might be behind this situation is either a witch of some power or has a person with powers as a partner. Usually, they are deluded about their strength and ability to control whatever they raise.”

“Hypothetically, if someone were able to harness enough energy—from electricity or some other source—to reanimate a body part from a corpse so it could be transplanted to a living person, would it require a powerful witch?” Calvin asked.

Arabella thought for a moment. “It’s not always the power behind a spell that requires skill; it’s the nuance of wielding it. Brute force will open a door or blow up a barn, but for something like what you’re talking about, it’s the magical equivalency of surgery. There aren’t a lot of witches capable of doing that, assuming that whoever is stealing the bodies understands how to gauge a magic user’s competency.”

The idea of an incompetent necromancer made Calvin shiver.

“Does it suggest anyone in particular?” he asked.

She gave a knowing smile. “We are a tight-knit community. Accusations like that can’t be made lightly. I will make inquiries and look into it in my own way. If I find something suitable for your agency to handle, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, depending on what I find, we will deal with this as an internal matter.”

Translation: She doesn’t think the Supernatural Secret Service or Winston, Owen, and I can handle this. Maybe she’s right. I don’t mind handing off something to someone better suited, as long as the problem is taken care of—and the perpetrator is dealt with.

“I can respect that,” Calvin said. “At the end of the day, I just want an end to the problem—both the body snatching and the reanimated parts.”

“That would be best for everyone,” Arabella agreed. “Let me see what I find out. I’ll reach out to Winston when I know more. But please—do not meddle with the covens. Many of our people are very private. I can’t protect you if you earn their ire.”

“Oh, good. You’re back,” Calvin greeted Owen when he returned to the Pullman. “We’re having dinner early tonight. Louisa got us tickets to the galvanism demonstration.”

“Tonight?” Owen echoed.

“Yeah, just came up this morning after you left. Change clothes if you want, and you can tell me all about the Wild West Show over dinner.” Calvin leaned in to give Owen a peck on the cheek.

Dinner felt rushed, but Calvin appreciated Winston’s efforts to feed them before the show. Owen didn’t seem quite his usual self, and Calvin wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

Calvin had decided at the beginning of their relationship, that he would avoid using his psychometry to take information from Owen that he wasn’t yet ready to share. Owen had spontaneously promised not to use ghosts to tattle on Calvin unless the situation was dire.

“How did things go today?” Calvin asked after filling Owen in on his meeting with Molly and Arabella.

“Our hunch was right—the body was stolen.” Owen didn’t look up from his food. “We tracked it to a barn hand who was a local hire. He’s missing—and my bet is that he turns up dead. I let their security chief know that it wasn’t a random theft, so if they have any more fatalities, they’ll be better prepared.”

Owen seemed pensive, and Calvin wondered why. “Did everything go okay?”

Owen shrugged. “Yeah—except for how the whole situation is crazy. I was lucky the security chief didn’t throw me out on my ear. The manager tried.”

Before Calvin could ask more questions, Winston stuck his head into the compartment. “You’d best be going to make it to the show on time,” he reminded them.

On the ride, Owen seemed quieter than usual. Calvin took his hand in the darkness, and he could feel Owen relax.

Must have been more involved than he let on. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.

Their hired carriage pulled up in front of the Coliseum, and Calvin spotted Louisa waiting for them. They had all opted for business attire rather than the luxury of fancy clothes for the theater or opera, a dress in muted colors for Louisa instead of an evening gown, and suits for Calvin and Owen instead of tuxedos.

“Thanks for the tickets,” Calvin said when they alighted and joined her.

“The opportunity arose and I seized it,” Louisa replied. “Decide for yourself whether you think Augustus Gordon could be the mastermind. He’s the one doing the show.”

The crowd swept them along into the grand showplace. Tiers of seats stretched all around the sides of the huge building, beneath the high arched ceiling. The open center could be used for many things, but tonight, a large stage took up most of the space, illuminated with spotlights.

On the stage were several tables with big silver domes covering whatever they held. A large cylindrical contraption stood at the edge of the stage with wires snaking to each table. Calvin recognized it as a Tesla coil for generating large amounts of electricity.

“You’d think this was the season opening for the symphony,” Louisa said. “The seats are full, and there’s a definite buzz of excitement.”

“How much do you think most of them know about what they’re going to see?” Calvin asked.

“A few of them—most likely doctors—have probably heard a lot,” Louisa replied. “They want to see proof of concept. As for the rest, some folks just want to be at the center of the new big thing. They’re likely to get more than they bargained for.”

The next half hour passed as they traded comments about interesting articles in the newspaper and which plays and musicals were coming to the city’s theaters. With the seats full all around them, they didn’t dare speculate about Gordon or the case.

A blast of music from the small band behind the stage startled Calvin. Augustus Gordon swaggered into the center area to the fanfare, and the crowd began to cheer.

Louisa took a pair of opera glasses from her bag and peered at the showman, then passed them to Calvin and Owen, who took turns getting a close-up view.

Gordon looked to be in his late forties with reddish hair and a full beard. He had a broad face and stocky body and moved more like a pugilist than a surgeon. He turned from one side to the other to acknowledge his fans. He hopped up the few steps to the platform and donned a butcher’s apron before he picked up a megaphone to address the crowd.

“Prepare to be astonished, amazed, and disquieted,” he boomed. “What you are about to witness is at the very forefront of science. Today, this new technique is groundbreaking and presented for your edification and entertainment. But very soon, galvanism will no longer be the stuff of traveling shows. It will play a vital role in hospitals in every land, restoring and replacing what has been lost.”

“This coil generates electricity which will follow these wires into my test subjects, and you will see for yourself the possibilities!”

Gordon removed the dome over one area of the table. On it sat a slab of beef.

“Ordinary meat, like anyone could buy at the butcher shop. Nothing special about it, clearly no longer roaming the pasture,” he added, which got a laugh from the audience.

Gordon attached three electrodes to the meat with long wires trailing back to the coil and moved to flip the massive switch.

“And yet, with the application of electricity, behold!”

The coil sparked a brilliant blue, the air crackled with power that raised the hair on the back of Calvin’s neck, and the piece of beef began to twitch and lurch like a living thing.

“Oh my God,” Louisa murmured under her breath. Owen paled, and Calvin felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach. From the gasps and other noises around them, some of the crowd had similar reactions.

“What makes your muscles move? How can you lift your arm or swing your leg?” Gordon continued. “Our brains send small pulses of electricity through our bodies for every movement. This is completely natural. Nature tends toward life. Death is against nature, and I believe that as these principles are better understood, we may finally, one day, triumph over death itself!”

He whisked the next dome away to show a plucked turkey that looked like it came straight from the poulterer’s shop.

“Take a good look—this turkey is just like what you buy at the market. It’s fresh, but clearly not alive as it is missing both its head and its insides.”

The crowd chuckled nervously. Calvin scanned faces when it was his turn to hold the opera glasses and saw a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

“Electricity will not make up for what the bird lacks,” Gordon said. “But science can animate the body that remains.”

He attached the wires once more, and the blue glow lit up the arena.

The turkey began to jerk and wobble. Naked wings made feeble flapping movements.

People shrieked and screamed. Some of the women swayed in their seats and collapsed onto their companions, fainting dead away.

Louisa’s attention remained fixed on Gordon with a grim expression on her face. Owen’s eyebrows drew together like thunderclouds, and he looked more angry than transfixed.

Calvin felt a strange mix of emotions, a tangle of awe for the science and apprehension over how it might be applied and who might control the power.

The blue glow faded, and the bird stilled. Once the murmuring from the crowd subsided, Gordon picked up his megaphone again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, surely you can see the miracle of science that is galvanism. Imagine the possibilities! Think of what this technology, fused with medical knowledge, could unlock. The next wave of inventors will develop tools that can be used to combine electricity and medicine in ways we can hardly even now comprehend!”

“He puts on a good show.” Calvin leaned over to murmur in Owen’s ear. “I’ll give him that.”

“For a total crackpot,” Owen muttered.

“For my third and final demonstration, I hope to make the possibilities of this wonderous new technology clear. Behold!”

Gordon lifted the third lid, and screams came from alarmed patrons as he unveiled a severed human arm.

“Wonder where he got that,” Louisa whispered with a wry look.

Calvin peered closely at the limb through the opera glasses. It was pale but did not appear to be decomposed. Although difficult to see at a distance, the hand looked gnarled from hard work, giving him to suspect it might have been taken from one of the vagrant corpses.

Once again, Gordon attached wires and switched on the coil.

The fingers splayed wide, then clenched convulsively into a fist as the forearm quivered.

He cut the power on and off, repeating the reaction. Somewhere in the audience, a patron threw up.

“For the love of God, stop!” a man shouted.

The power shut off and the hand opened, dead meat once more.

“I realize what I have shown you has shocked some sensibilities,” Gordon admitted, having at least the decency to cover the severed limb with a dome once more.

“But think of what this means! Not today and not tomorrow, but very soon, this could change how doctors deal with patients who have lost a hand, a foot, even an arm or leg. Could it be reattached? Reinvigorated? We don’t know now, but soon this new frontier will become our reality!”

The audience surged to their feet, giving Gordon a standing ovation. He smiled and bowed, looking gratified and serenely smug.

Calvin, Owen, and Louisa exchanged a potent look, appalled at what Gordon had demonstrated and aghast at the enthusiasm of the crowd.

They don’t understand what this really means. For someone to get the spare parts, they have to be harvested from someone else’s dead body. They’re not asking where the bodies come from.

The band struck up again, signaling the end of the show. Two guards escorted Gordon off the stage and away from the crowd as he bowed and waved in acknowledgment while the audience cheered.

They didn’t fight the rush, waiting until the auditorium had largely cleared before they tried to leave. Calvin wondered what the others had made of the demonstration, particularly Owen, whose responses still seemed uncharacteristically muted.

The wait gave Calvin several moments to sit with his own reaction, trying to make sense of it.

If I didn’t know what we know, I can understand their excitement. It looks like a miracle. So many people lose fingers, hands, feet, and legs in the mills and mines. Being able to heal or replace them would be the difference between poverty and being able to provide for the family.

But how long before the people providing parts aren’t satisfied to make do with whatever happens to be available? What’s to keep rich people from ordering their parts to match the rest of their body? What then?

Calvin didn’t need to be psychic to predict what would happen—hired assassins killing people who matched a shopping list for wealthy patients in need of replacements.

“I need time to think,” Louisa admitted when they reached the street. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow and discuss. Assuming any of us can get sleep after seeing that.”

Calvin hailed a carriage for Louisa while Owen got one to take them back to the train station. The driver couldn’t hear their conversation since he sat outside on a bench, but Owen still seemed unusually reserved.

“What did you think?” Calvin prodded, beginning to worry about his partner. He couldn’t shake the sense that something had happened earlier in the day that bothered Owen, something the other man wasn’t ready to talk about.

“It was every bit the abomination we expected,” Owen replied with an edge to his voice. “Although the audience certainly didn’t see it that way.”

“If the process actually gets put into practice, I wonder what the Church will make of it,” Calvin said. “There are some people who worry that bodies that aren’t intact can’t rise to meet the call of the Lord.”

“Screw that,” Owen replied. “What about all the soldiers who were injured doing their duty? Or the workers who got hurt on the job? What kind of God would keep someone from paradise because of that?”

Calvin raised his hands, palm out, in mock surrender. “I don’t believe that. I just said that some people do.”

The ghost of a smile touched Owen’s lips but didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry.”

“I get the feeling that something happened today, something that’s bothering you a lot,” Calvin said quietly. “Whatever it is, whenever you feel like talking, I’m here for you. I won’t judge. I just want you to be okay.”

Owen risked giving Calvin’s hand a squeeze in the darkness. “Thank you. I just had a hard day. That’s all. I promise.”

Calvin believed him but thought he still saw something unresolved in his lover’s eyes. “Let’s go home. I can think of several ways to take your mind off your worries.”

Winston had a tray of shortbread and hot chocolate ready for them when they arrived at the train. He listened silently as Calvin and Owen took turns recapping what they had seen and their impressions.

“We’re meeting Louisa for dinner tomorrow night to compare notes once we’ve had a chance to let our impressions settle,” Calvin updated Winston. “Although I can’t quite picture the showman we saw tonight being the mastermind behind a resurrectionist scheme.”

Owen shook his head. “He wouldn’t have to be involved or even know about the scheme. Raising the concept for the audience and breaking down revulsion by dangling possibilities works in the favor of the people who are stealing the bodies.”

“Everyone wants to live forever,” Calvin said with a sigh. “Desperate people will pay any price and look away to avoid seeing the harm done. I hate to think of a world where some people never have to get old, and other folks become spare parts.”

“This all sounds most disturbing,” Winston agreed. “Helping a person recover from losing a limb could be a blessing, with proper guidelines. Creating an army of soldiers who never die is something entirely different.”

Calvin shuddered. “Yeah, that occurred to me. Not the kind of future I’d like to live in.”

He and Owen often played cards before bedtime, but tonight they were both too jittery to focus. They took their leave of Winston early, retiring to their separate cabins to prepare for bed.

Soon, Owen slipped into Calvin’s cabin, and Calvin folded him into his arms. “I don’t know what’s on your mind—and you can tell me when you’re ready—but let me make you feel good.”

Owen answered with a hungry kiss full of longing and promise. They walked backward toward the bed and fell together, shedding pajamas on the way.

“How do you want it?” Calvin murmured, reaching down to stroke Owen hard.

“Just want to feel you,” Owen replied, peppering Calvin’s neck with kisses. “Feel you everywhere. Need to know I’m yours.”

“Always,” Calvin promised. “Never doubt that. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

In response, Owen kissed him again, and Calvin picked up an underlying desperation that was new. Something had clearly affected his lover, and while Calvin wanted to know so he could set things right, he knew Owen would tell him in his own time.

Their touches veered between claiming and tender, possessive and gentle. Owen’s hands slid across Calvin’s chest and down his sides and thighs as if exploring his body for the first time. Calvin chanced a firm but not rough touch, owning and confirming their connection. He added some oil, and they rutted against one another, eager for release.

Calvin made sure that Owen came first. “I’ve got you,” Calvin whispered. “Trust me and let go.”

He held Owen as his partner’s spend streaked their chests, kissing his face and shoulders before chasing his release moments later. Calvin had brought a wet cloth back with him from the bathroom and wiped them down slowly and reverently before tossing the washcloth to the floor.

“Better?” He folded Owen into his arms. Owen nodded and let out a long breath.

For a while, they lay together in silence. Finally, Owen spoke.

“I ran into someone today…at the Wild West show. Someone I knew out there,” Owen said quietly.

“Knew?” Calvin wanted to make sure he understood. “How well?”

Owen gave a rueful chuckle. “Very well in some ways—and not at all in others. He’s their head of security. He recognized me.”

Calvin stayed still, letting Owen tell the story at his own pace, trying not to let jealousy rise.

“I got the information I needed from him,” Owen said. “Then he asked me to join him for dinner. I turned him down.” He looked up and met Calvin’s eyes. “I don’t want anyone but you. I love you.”

Calvin stroked his cheek. “Love you too. And I don’t like to share. Is this what had you off-kilter all evening?”

Owen shrugged. “I had to sort it all out in my head. It took me a while to figure that out. I think…he reminded me of who I was back then. It wasn’t a happy time. I was running away from a lot—my family and what I really wanted. I’d meet someone and sneak away and then hate myself afterward until it all happened again. It took me a while to accept who I am and let go of the guilt.”

“That’s hard to do,” Calvin replied. “Society, the Church—they don’t make it easy.”

“Fuck them all,” Owen said with sudden forcefulness. “I won’t let anyone make me deny that ever again. We might have to hide from the people out there, but I won’t ever doubt again in here.” He took Calvin’s hand and pressed the palm against his chest over his heart.

Calvin pressed a tender kiss to Owen’s forehead and held him close. “Thank you for trusting me. People from before are bound to cross our paths again. What did you tell him?”

“I said that I had someone special.” Owen looked up to meet Calvin’s gaze. “And I do.”

This time, the kiss was long and lingering, saying what they didn’t put into words, sealing a promise.

When they finally broke apart, they were breathless. “Let’s get some sleep,” Calvin said. “Stay with me tonight.”

“I’d like that,” Owen replied.

The beds were customized to be larger than in a standard car. Sometimes they shared a bed for the full night, and other times they went back to their own cabins, depending on their mood. Tonight definitely called for staying close.

Calvin and Owen pulled their pajamas back on and settled in, taking comfort in the closeness and the lingering smell of sex and aftershave.

“Dream good things,” Calvin whispered and pressed a kiss to Owen’s temple. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“You always are,” Owen murmured in a sleepy tone as if the day was catching up with him. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

Calvin started to answer but realized Owen had already drifted off.