The adrenaline and pace of the argument was a buoying force, and Rawlins felt his mouth open even before he had found his retort—but he paused when he realized a flush was rising in his cheeks. Ellsbeth finally broke their eye contact, glancing down at the napkin Rawlins had spun into a needle-thin line. “I mean, in certain contexts,” she said. “I like being…ordered around.Compelled,even. To do what’s best for me, or…things I wouldn’t do otherwise. As long as it comes from someone I trust.”
For an instant, her knee pressed against his. Then it was gone so fast that if it hadn’t been for the lingering heat, he couldn’t have been entirely certain he hadn’t imaginedit.
Rawlins’s heart raced. He shifted in his seat and forced his fingers to abandon the shred of cotton that was becoming confetti on their table. He looked toward the window, hoping he appeared to be deep in thought, when in fact he was afraid that she would see in his eyes how thoroughly he was consumed by an effort to resist the inexplicable urge to reach across the table and brush his thumb across her lower lip.
Finally, he broke the silence, searching for a logical argument with which to find some handhold on this slippery conversation. “Even if your interest in writ magic is purely theoretical, this degree is not in theory, it is arcanemechanicals.For your dissertation, you need to compose a novel ritual that can be evaluated. And I can’t see how you plan to do so, if you’re writing up a ritual that you are legally barred from carrying out.”
“There’s precedent,” Ellsbeth said. “Newlyn approved a thesis on energetic sublimation that was never put into practice. Pure theory.”
“That was because the cost of the elementals would have been astronomical,” Rawlins replied. “And that was, what, forty years ago?”
“Okay, well, Persky’s arcane mechanicals department has approved a number of theses on theoretical topics, including one as recently as two years ago.” Clearly, Ellsbeth had done her research and come inprepared for exactly this argument, which earned another notch of grudging respect from Rawlins.
“Persky has a reputation as an Ivory Tower with their collective head in the clouds,” he said. “And most of those are topics in astronomy, on a scale thatcouldn’tbe tested. What you’re talking about is a ritual that would either work ornot,and without the ability to iterate, with data, you’ll be flying blind. You won’t know what you’re missing unless you’re able to test your ritual, and testing is illegal. Your work will go before the committee, and if they spot something you overlooked, you’ll fail.”
“I mean…Icouldtest my work. Even if I couldn’t necessarily include the results in my paper, I could conduct rituals independently to steer my progress, refine the writing.”
Rawlins regarded her across the table. Her sweater, her backpack, her conservatively pinned-back hair—none of these suggested an iconoclast, much less a criminal. Yet here she was, casually hinting that she would engage in felonious arcane practice to develop her doctoral dissertation. Unsure if she even realized what she was saying, he pressed her: “To be clear: You’re talking about simply flouting the law?”
“I’m talking aboutprivatelycarrying out scholarly work, in a spirit of exploration, that might not strictly adhere to the letter of the law.” Her words were not merely precise, they were also…playful. As if she was teasing him. “That’s what arcane scholars have done since the earliest days of the field, when this work was viewed as demonic. I thought you, of all people, might see the value in genuinelyindependentstudy.”
He felt himself being drawn in, his curiosity piqued—but he leaned back, working to maintain an air of objective detachment. “Even if I were to tacitly approve this course of action…which I’m not saying I do…any writ magic would require a testsubject.And I can’t imagine you’ll find anyone in your cohort who will consent to being the target of an untested ritual to control their will.”
He intended it as a challenge, half hoping she would back down and half hoping she would reluctantly accept. What he hadn’t counted on was the way that a small smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Ionly need todesignthe ritual, right? Not be the one to actually perform it? Well, then I would be willing to be the subject. As long as someone whose skill I trusted entirely was conducting the ritual. Like you.”
Rawlins realized at that moment he had lost the debate. Not only that; she hadplayedhim into this corner. And yet, even as he bristled at feeling manipulated…his heart was accelerating, his breath shallow and quick. He wasexcited.By the danger of it, yes, and by the intellectual audacity, but even more so—byher.
He leaned forward now, his face coming perilously close to hers. “If you proceed with this idea, and it goes badly—if it doesn’t work, or your abstract is not approved—then your academic career will be finished. So if we are to proceed on this course, I need you to be absolutelycertainof your decision.”
Ellsbeth appeared unfazed by his warnings. “I’m aware.”
His mind spun, unmoored.This would be a disaster.If he allowed himself to open the door to practicing writ magic, the consequences would be dire and lasting.
But then there was Ellsbeth. And the red slash of her lips. And her leg against his.
Rawlins had lines, very clear lines he had drawn early on in his career. Lines that he could never cross. It had been easy for him to bat away flirtations and confine fantasies to a few quiet moments alone in a shower before they were dismissed entirely. Something about Ellsbeth was different. She was drawing him in, down toward an abyss, and he knew as soon as he stepped forward, gravity would take over.
He suddenly had a vision of his life, his perfectly respectable career, the quiet existence he had built for himself, quivering like custard. Allowing himself to study writ magic again, and allowing himself to spend time alone with Ellsbeth Storer—they were both illogical choices, verging on foolishness. They were unnecessary and irresistible temptations, either of which could easily lead to complete catastrophe. Heknewthis. But Rawlins also knew something else, something deep in his soul: He wasn’t going to stop.
“You—you’re sure you want to do this?” he said.
Ellsbeth tried to suppress her smile and her eyes flashed. “Oh, I’m very clear about whatIwant, Professor Rawlins,” she said. “Are you?”
Ellsbeth
When Ellsbeth was in her final year at the University of St. Andrews, she had an affair with the semi-acclaimed British novelist Amos Paul. Well,shethought of it as an affair. No doubt he viewed it as a brief, forgettable conquest, merely one more of the many young girls who threw themselves at him, hoping his talent or fame would be sexually transmittable. She understood that now.
Here is how it happened: Ellsbeth was in a ten-person seminar, under a professor who happened to have been classmates with Amos Paul at Harrow. So, when Amos Paul was touring Scotland to promote his latest book (a bleak novella calledPallbearers), Ellsbeth’s professor invited him to stop by the university to speak to the class.
Ellsbeth was humiliated on behalf of her fellow students during the whole ordeal. Their questions ranged from the inane (“Where do you get your ideas?”) to the cringe inducing (“Do you think your agent might be willing to read a manuscript from a new, up-and-coming writer straight out of uni?”). Ellsbeth restrained herself to one question that she hoped came across as mature and dignified, asking Paul which other writer had inspired him the most (Chekhov).
She decided she wanted to sleep with him about thirty minutes into the class. It wasn’t because he was particularly handsome (although she liked his horn-rimmed glasses). It wasn’t even because he was successful. If Ellsbeth was truly being honest with herself, the reason she decided to seduce Amos Paul was to see if she could. She wastwenty-two at the time, and reasonably pretty. He was in his forties and unmarried according to his Wikipedia page and lack of wedding ring. The attempt at seduction was almost clinical in her mind, an experiment: What behavior could she input in order to achieve her desired outcome?
Amos Paul had left the seminar without lingering, and so Ellsbeth went to his reading at Waterstones the next day, wearing a short skirt and high boots. She sat in the second row and tried to make eye contact with him as often as possible, and when he happened to glance her way, she tried to give him a flirtatious smile. When his reading was over, she waited in line to have him sign her book.
“I was in Professor Miller’s writing workshop,” Ellsbeth said when she finally reached Amos Paul, who had already begun to robotically sign the book she slid in front of him (Best, Amos Paul). “You were so incredibly insightful.”
“Thank you,” he said, already looking past her at the older man in a sweater vest elbowing his way forward.
