Page 33 of Whispers in the Quarter

“Dr. Gautier,” I answer, though formality seems ridiculous given our earlier conversation about moral evolution.

“Lucas.” Ethan’s voice carries that delicious edge of desperation I planted earlier. “The preliminary report on Perkins just came across my desk. Natural causes? Really?”

I spin in my chair, admiring how the fluorescent lights cast my shadow in multiple directions. Rather like my loyalties these days. “Science deals in facts, my friend. And the facts say cardiac arrest.”

“Bullshit.” Such passion in that word. “This is connected to the Gardenia Club deaths, to Celeste, to?—”

“To justice?” I suggest innocently, unable to resist prodding the wound I opened earlier. “To cleaning up what the law can’t touch?”

Silence crackles between us. I use it to pull up Perkins’ full tox screen, admiring my Chimera’s artistry while I wait for Ethan to wrestle with his conscience.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he finally asks, his voice rough.

“Oh, saint, I’m telling you everything. You’re just not ready to hear it yet.” I pause, considering my next move carefully. “Though I must say, your reaction to our earlier discussion about moral flexibility was fascinating. Almost as fascinating as the compound I’m currently analyzing.”

“Lucas—”

“Did you know certain plant toxins can actually enhance mental clarity before they kill?” I continue, warming to my subject. “Rather like how questioning one’s rigid ethical framework can lead to the most exquisite revelations before old beliefs die completely.”

“For God’s sake, if you know something about these deaths?—”

“I know many things,” I cut him off, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know that monsters sometimes wear suits and carry badges. I know that justice and law aren’t always the same thing. And I know that you, my dear friend, are standing at a rather exciting precipice.”

More silence. Then, “Where are you?”

“At my lab, of course. Though I should warn you—my Chimera won’t be joining us tonight. She’s rather...indisposed. Dealing with some fascinating personal revelations of her own.”

“Your what?”

“Oh dear, did I say that out loud? How terribly indiscreet of me.” I giggle, riding the wave of brilliant chaos I feel building. “Come to the lab, Ethan. Let’s discuss evolution and ethics and all the deliciously dark possibilities lying between them.”

As I end the call, I send a quick text to Jazz.

Me: Our friend is coming to play. Keep our Chimera safe while I nurture his budding darkness.

The response is immediate.

Jazz: Don’t break him, doc. Some transformations need time.

“Spoilsport,” I mutter, but he’s right. Can’t rush a proper chemical reaction. Still, as I prepare my lab for Ethan’s visit,arranging evidence and theories like breadcrumbs leading to a beautiful trap, I can’t help but feel excited.

After all, the best experiments are the ones where you can’t quite predict the results.

The door to my lab opens exactly seventeen minutes later. I’ve counted each second, arranging and rearranging evidence like a conductor preparing for his masterpiece.

“You look terrible,” I announce cheerfully as Ethan enters. He does—all delicious dishevelment and moral crisis. “Coffee? I’ve been experimenting with some fascinating South American beans. The molecular structure of their caffeine is quite unique.”

“Lucas.” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “What game are you playing?”

“Game? My dear friend, this is science!” I spin to my evidence wall with perhaps too much flourish. “Observation, hypothesis, experimentation. For instance, observe these toxicology reports.” I tap the screen showing Perkins’ results. “Notice anything... familiar?”

He moves closer, and oh, the hunger in his eyes when he studies the data is absolutely beautiful. “This pattern... I’ve seen it before.”

“Have you?” I perch on my desk, watching him like one of my more volatile experiments. “In the Beaumont case perhaps? Or maybe that unfortunate banker last month? It’s quite striking, isn’t it? The elegance of it. The... precision.”

“Lucas,” his voice carries a warning, but his eyes never leave the screen. “If you’re protecting someone?—”

“Protecting?” I laugh, the sound bouncing off sterile walls. “My dear Ethan, I’m illuminating. Showing you what you already know but refuse to acknowledge.” I slide a folder toward him. “Here. A gift. My private analysis of the last sixnaturaldeaths in our fair city.”

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