“And then they left.”
Caleb’s mouth was set in a grim line. Charlie and Spector looked at us with near-identical expressions of sadness. I wished I had sent them away before hearing the story; I wished I could leave now. Trumbull had at least dropped her usual sardonic air for a more focused look, breathing slow and even as if preparing for ritual.
When no one else spoke, I took it on myself. “I’m sorry for what our elders did. It was wrong. If you’d like us to help get you out of here—”
He cut me off with another braying laugh, this time managing to swallow the cough at the end. “Don’t be ridiculous. My family is glad to forget their mad murderer, and they certainly don’t want to take in a dying old embarrassment. Better here than on the streets.”
“Really?” said Caleb. His voice held an edge of mockery. “That’s not how I felt.”
That gave Upton pause, but only for a moment. “You’re young, boy. You’ve all the time you could want to take advantage of your freedom.”
“So I’ve come to learn. But when I came out here, I expected to die.”
My hand tightened on his arm. “You said you wanted to find our books.”
His laughter sounded healthier than Upton’s, but just as bitter. “Of course I did. But I expected our old Arkham neighbors to shoot me on sight. What else should I have done? A grown man who can barely read and write, no trade and no family to feed with one, and the ocean dried out of my blood—what else was there for me to do?”
My breath caught. “You know that I’ve been studying with Charlie, relearning our old arts. Our blood hasn’t dried. We still carry the tide in our veins—the ocean is still waiting for us.” I should have told him before—it was obvious to me now. But somehow, it had never occurred to me that he didn’t already know. My stomach clenched at the realization of what I’d just revealed to Upton, even Spector. But I could not regret it, for my little brother’s sake.
His eyes widened and he stared at me a long moment. Then he drew away and wrapped his long arms around himself, head tucked into a small sphere of private emotion that I dared not break.
Upton looked between us. “It’s true, then. Innsmouth’s leaders really did make some terrible deal with demons under the water. And you actually want to turn into one of those things.”
“No,” I said, still sick at having to speak in front of him at all. “It’s not true. And yes, I do. Those ‘things’ are my family.”
Spector came closer and tilted his head at the door. “Miss Marsh, do you want to…?”
It was an offer, not a hint, and I shook my head. “Go ahead and ask your questions.” I hoped Spector liked his answers better than I had. I retreated and sat near my brother. Charlie leaned down from his chair to put a hand on my shoulder, and I accepted the comfort mutely.
Spector squatted and proffered his card to Upton. “I actually came here today on more immediate business. We have reason to believe someone may be attempting to replicate Ephraim Waite’s crime. As one of the few witnesses who’s seen a body swap, and knew it, I was hoping you might be able to share your observations—so that we can do the same if it becomes relevant.” He spoke smoothly, half-truths falling easily from his lips with no hint of rehearsal.
Upton’s whole frame tensed. His hands shook—I was suddenly unsure whether this was new, or whether I’d failed to notice it before. “Kill him. Shoot him as many times as it takes and burn the body. He can survive—just a scrap of flesh to cling to, that’s all he needs.”
“Yes, sir.” Spector lit two cigarettes and handed one over. “But how do I recognize him?”
Upton took the cigarette and slumped back. “He wanted a weak mind, a weak will. But smart. Lots of room to stretch, and no way to resist him taking over. Poor Ed. He couldn’t hurt a fly—not able, not willing, it wasn’t in his nature. He was nervous and scholarly and so frightfully poetic you could listen for hours when he got into a state. But when she was in his body—when Ephraim was there—Ed didn’t look like himself at all. Not just the determination, or the burst of will and confidence. Something dreadful and alien, looking out through my best friend’s eyes. Even people who’d never known him could tell something was off. He didn’t act like the person who shaped that face. Asenath always disturbed people.” He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “But everyone just assumed it was because she was from Innsmouth.”
He waved the cigarette at Spector. “Now, see, I look at you: you’re not just a confident man, a strong one who’s used to people listening to you. Your body fits, it’s got muscles where you move the most and a face that’s used to your expressions. Or him, he sits down like someone who’s used to favoring a bad leg—but maybe the cane is new? I watch, you see, I always have to watch in case he tries to come after me. Those two, they’ve got Asenath’s horrible eyes and the heads that don’t look quite right, but they don’t act like they think it’s funny, the way she did. And they don’t look at everyone else like they’re thinking how they might taste.”
And now, of course, he turned his attention to Trumbull. She was back to her usual sardonic look; individualized observations of human physiognomy were apparently not something that needed preserving for the ages. Upton looked her over, frowned more deeply, looked again. His hands shook harder, and he sucked on his cigarette to steady them. “You—you don’t look right. Not like he did—but not right.” He tried, I thought unconsciously, to push his chair back, but his strength wasn’t sufficient. Suddenly he whipped around to the rest of us. “Her! I don’t know what she is, but she isn’t a woman!”
“So my colleagues at Miskatonic always tell me,” Trumbull said dryly. “But I’ve checked, and overstudy hasn’t yet made me completely masculine.” Charlie and Spector colored, and even Caleb raised his head.
“I assure you she’s been at Miskatonic for some time,” said Spector, recovering. “And with no reports of abrupt personality shifts, I gather…” This last said with less certainty, but she nodded firmly. It was true that while Skinner had made nasty intimations, none suggested any loss of memory or nervous breakdown that might have cast doubt on her qualifications. I would have to ask how she had managed that.
“Anyone who knows me can confirm that I’m much as I’ve always been,” she said. “I’m afraid your detective abilities are not all that you might have hoped.”
As the rest of us failed to support Upton’s near-panic, he seemed to doubt his own senses. He subsided in his chair, muttering to himself. I was grateful when Spector started to make our excuses.
As we reached the door, Upton craned his neck to follow us. “Funny you should come asking this now,” he said abruptly.