My eyebrows shot up. “You want me to wear them?”
“Yeah. And tell me what you see.” He set the books on the ground against the wall and, taking my hand, he put the goggles in my open palm. His face tightened. “But do be careful.”
I slid them on and scanned around me. The lenses were heavy and thick. They pulled at my ears and pressed on my nose. I studied my hand; the white of my gloves was barely visible. “It’s so dark,” I said. “And blurry. It feels as if I’m staring through muddy water.”
“That’s good. It means there is no spiritual energy here. If there was something Dead around, the lenses would clear up.”
“Why?” I tried to examine his face, but all I could make out was the general shape of his head.
“The goggles operate on a simple principle. They rely on magnetic energy—electromagnetism, to be precise.” He spoke much like Elijah would when explaining his latest theological find: animated and articulate.
I slid the goggles down and peered over the tops. I watched the curve of Daniel’s lips—delicate, round, and at odds with the angle of his jaw. I caught glimpses of his tongue as he spoke.
What was it about mouths that made them so fascinating? I had read of kisses (Shakespeare was fond of them in his plays), but I’d never seen one. And I’d certainly never experienced one. Did people merely touch lip to lip... or was there more to it?
Has Daniel ever kissed anyone?
My whole body stiffened when I realized the direction my thoughts had taken. I scrunched my eyes shut. This was not the sort of curiosity I should indulge.
When I lifted my eyelids, I realized I’d missed Daniel’s entire lecture.
“Could you repeat that last bit?” I prayed he wouldn’t notice the strained tremor in my voice.
“I said there’s fluid between two pieces of glass.” His tone was disapproving, as if my lapse in attention was an insult. “That fluid has a magnetic powder in it.”
“And?”
“And since electricity is magnetic, the magnetic powder moves within the lenses according to the energy around. Come on—the particles are easier to see in the sunlight.”
He pushed the goggles up my nose and over my eyes again. Then I felt his hand clasp my elbow. He guided me toward the eastern wall on the right. We walked, my footsteps careful and controlled, as he continued to explain.
“All free energy leaves a residue behind—something traceable. I calibrated the goggles with grave dirt, so now the magnetic particles are attracted to spiritual energy. That way when something Dead has been in the area or touched something—”
“Like the letter the walking corpse delivered?” I interrupted. “You said it was covered in spiritual energy.” I strained my neck this way and that, scanning everything we passed. We turned around and walked back toward the armchair and private collections room.
“Yeah, like your letter. The magnetic powder moves toward the residue, and the fluid clears up.”
“Does it work?”
He sniffed. “Of course it works.”
I stopped walking. “Then why don’t I see you?” I squinted and tried to make out his features. “Don’t living people make the powder move since we have spiritual energy too?”
“Good question,” he said. “The general principle is that our spiritual energy is attached—it’s woven into our bodies. When we die, the spirit and the body split apart. One half heads to the other realm while the other half goes into the ground.”
The hairs on my arms pricked up beneath the faille of my gown. “So that spirit my mother let in, it’s just pure spiritual energy?”
“Exactly. And the walking Dead, they’re mostly just rotting corpses with a bit of energy to animate ’em.”
I lowered the goggles and gazed at him. “And that energy isn’t attached, so it leaves a residue.”
“Right again.” He measured me with a narrow-eyed stare, and then his lips quirked up with pleasure.
My mouth went dry. I shoved the goggles back up. That smile was unnerving.
I stepped hesitantly back toward the private room, searching around as I’d done before and taking comfort in the blurry darkness of the lenses. At least now I couldn’t see Daniel’s face. Except the darkness wasn’t so dark anymore. In fact, the fluid wasn’t muddy at all. I could distinctly make out the bookshelves to my left, the wall to my right, and the velvet armchair ahead.
But no—I couldn’t actually see the armchair. All the magnetic powder had clumped where the chair should have been in my vision. The more I gazed at the fuzzy blob where I knew the chair stood, the more everything else came into focus. Something magnetic was pulling the powder toward the chair.
“Mr. Sheridan.” My voice came out husky with shock. “Mr. Sheridan, come quick.”
He appeared in my field of view: messy blond hair, bright green eyes, and concern wrinkling down his brow. He and the rest of the library looked exactly as they would without the goggles. Only the armchair remained dark and indistinguishable.