“Whatever you say, Professor.” She headed out the door, glancing back as she left to see if he was watching her go. He was, of course, and their gaze lingered for a full second. She was the one who smiled and turned away first.
The revision was in hisinbox when he woke the next morning; from the timestamp, he could see that she had stayed up most of the night reworking it, abandoning the two-column approach. She hadn’t merely corrected the errors; she had actuallyunderstoodhis feedback regarding the unnecessary complication and had found a more streamlined approach to the entire thing.
It was common for grad students to spend an entire semester perfecting a written ritual of this level of complexity—yet Ellsbeth, withher second draft, only four days after she had begun, had given him a draft that was worthy of testing—and likely of publication.
There was no way to reply without praising her. And if he praised her, he would be making his feelings obvious. And so, Rawlins blinked and closed his computer. He would figure out how to respond later. He told himself that if she weren’t working on such controversial magic, he would find her another adviser to work with, but he was aware even as he had the thought, silent and internal, that it was a lie.
When Ellsbeth arrived at his office hours the next week, he realized he had been anticipating her. He had worn his favorite green sweater that day hoping she would come. “I never got your thoughts back on my second draft,” Ellsbeth said, sitting in the chair across from his desk.
Rawlins had the presence of mind to pretend to be busy for a few seconds. “I didn’t have a chance to look at it,” he said, hoping his voice sounded convincing. It didn’t. He tried again. “I mean, I didn’t get a chance to get my thoughts together.”
“But what did you think?” Ellsbeth said. “Just looking at it.”
“It’s…” He tried to choose the word carefully. “Solid.”
Ellsbeth picked at her cuticles. He tried to read her expression, but he couldn’t. “I was hoping for a little bit more feedback,” she said. “I want to grow as a scholar. You haven’t even told me if the ritual is any good.”
“Ellsbeth, it doesn’t matter if I think your ritual is any good or not,” he said.
“Actually, it does,” she said. “You’re my adviser.”
At that, Rawlins laughed. He couldn’t help himself, and Ellsbeth, too, relaxed slightly, almost smiling. “Yes,” he said finally, quietly. “It’s very, very good. Is that what you wanted me to say? Did you want to know if you impressed me? You did. Do I think you’re special? I do.” His heart was pounding now. He could see the downy hair that softened her cheek; he fought the urge to reach out and touch it. “But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is whether the ritual will work.”
He wished he had asked her to close the door. No; thank god she hadn’t. He was grateful the door was open and Professor Langdon could be strolling down the hall at any moment after reheating her mug of tea in the faculty microwave. There was a desk between them,but Rawlins felt as though their bodies were connected by a taut, vibrating string. He couldn’t look away from her, and he felt his breath quicken.
“Okay,” Ellsbeth said. “Then let’s test it.”
His mind echoed with voices of concern:It’s dangerous. It’s illegal. This is what she’s wanted all along, she’s maneuvered you into this position, and you don’t even understand why…
But before Rawlins had the chance to properly contemplate any of these concerns, some combination of curiosity and hunger shut down all his protests. “Let’s test it,” he said.
On Friday night, Rawlins walkedto campus around nine in the evening. The night air was alive with the tumult of undergraduate carousing. Students pre-gaming in dorms and apartments, rowdy voices in packs coming down the streets and across the quads. Raucous laughter. “Professor Rawlins!” He lifted his hand in silent greeting to a gaggle of students who had taken his undergraduate lecture as he walked past, away from the dormitories and toward the academic buildings.
A cold front had moved in, driving back the earlier week’s warmth and filling the night air with a chilly fog that swirled in the glow of the yellow lamps that lined the campus walkways. Ellsbeth stood waiting for him near the statue of Gregory Hale, wearing a long coat that, while appropriate to the weather, struck him as amusing—the type of thing a detective in a noir film would wear. He thought of her trying on various outfits, selecting the one most suited to a clandestine meet-up…then tried to banish thoughts of her dressing and undressing.
Unhelpful.
“Shall we?” he said, and indicated for her to follow. She glanced up and down the walkway as she fell into step beside him toward the Practicum.
After hours, the buildings of the College of the Arcane Arts were locked. Rawlins swiped a card that opened the door to the Practicum with a satisfying click. Their entry would be recorded electronically, but it was not out of the ordinary for professors to come in after hours;use of the Practicum required reservations and permissions, but as the one tasked with managing its supplies, he was confident no one would question his presence.
Their shoes clicked on the cold tile floors, echoing in the empty hallways. Ellsbeth stayed at his heels, and he could sense her nervous excitement while he tried to hide his own. She huddled close as he slid his key into the lock and opened it into the dark expanse.
Rawlins flipped a switch near the door but neglected the overhead lights, which would be visible through the high windows and might draw attention. The small tungsten lamp barely penetrated the darkness, leaving the platform of the ritual space obscured.
“Think you can manage?”
Ellsbeth nodded; if she was daunted, she hid it well.
In the cavernous space, every sound echoed, and she slipped off her shoes along with her coat. Underneath, she wore a light blouse and black pants.
Rawlins unlocked the cabinets, leaving them open one by one. “We’ll need to make a record of everything we use.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For…you know.”
“Risking my job?” He shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve engaged in after-hours ritual practice.”
“For trusting me,” she said.
