Rawlins studied Ellsbeth and the coy smile that tugged at her lips. They both knew that her interest in obscuration would not be confined to interesting historical anecdotes. She wanted to see if it could be done. It was like she was inviting him to look through her, to see not only her true agenda, her plan to test out and use secret forbidden arcane rituals…buther,her unspoken desires and complications.
But at the same time, Rawlins could not help but wonder if this apparent transparency was itself a manipulation. Perhaps one that Ellsbeth was not even conscious of. Sheknewhe would be excited by the tantalizing glimpse she offered; sheknewhe’d be drawn not only to the topic itself, but toher,a student daring enough to pursue it. She was baiting him. And though he was aware of it, he still could not resist.
“Even if it is possible, it’s forbidden,” he said, knowing very well that would not deter her in the least.
“Allwrit magic is forbidden,” she said. “And you still seemed to enjoy the ritual we did last weekend. Or was I mistaken?”
His stomach somersaulted at the thought of her bound wrists around his neck, her face inches from his own. “I did,” he conceded. “And I suppose…there’s nothing wrong with a bit of scholarly investigation.”
“Does that mean you’ll help me? Obviously, never to actually practice. Just to…look into.”
“I’m not sure I can say no to you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them; he couldn’t let her know the power she had. He straightened and cleared his throat, looking away. “Why don’t you come by my office? I have hours tomorrow from three to five.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ll be there at three.”
“Come at five. I don’t mind staying late, and I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Ellsbeth
Ellsbeth waited outside Professor Rawlins’s office at 4:58 p.m. His door was closed, and she could tell from the hum of voices on the other side that he was still meeting with a student. Ellsbeth had brought a new issue of a journal of arcane studies that she could read while waiting, but she was too nervous. She told herself again and again that nothing was going to happen, that their meeting would be strictly professional, and yet she had prepared for office hours like she was getting ready for a date. She washed and dried her hair, shaved every inch of her body using the good shaving cream she usually forgot she had, and then sprayed herself with perfume, once between her wrists, once on her neck, and once between her knees. She put on a matching set of lingerie and a silky top she knew she looked good in, pairing it with a skirt long enough that she hoped it made the entire effect look casual, just thrown together.
There was no other way to explain it: She had acrush.It was an unfamiliar feeling for Ellsbeth, who was more accustomed to viewing romantic prospects on their logical merits. And she knew, intellectually, that there was far more to lose from having sex with her arcane arts adviser than there was to gain. She was lucky enough to be in the program—it was a miracle, really, that he had overlooked her disastrous Arcanus. She had achieved what she had set out to do—to study here, among the best, and at the one place where she might get answers about what had happened the night that Bertie died. AndRawlins had agreed to help her study obscuration. He hadn’t laughed in her face, kicked her out of the program, or called the university to put her on psychiatric watch—all of which would have been understandable reactions.
To risk everything she had already achieved, the impossibly fortunate position she had shockingly managed to secure for herself, for a moment of pleasure—it wasn’t just foolish. It was self-sabotage. And it wasn’t just the risk of the administration discovering their impropriety; men’s feelings changed after sex. Ellsbeth knew that. That interrupting phone call had been a miraculous intervention. At least for now, Rawlins saw her as the charming, seductiveingénue.But if he actuallyhadher, if he saw her naked and vulnerable, if he knew that her crush was more than a controlled titration, he would pull away. She could see the chess pieces as they moved: If they had sex, her flaws would no longer be disguised by his longing. He would see her, needy and pimpled, in the fluorescent light, and whatever power she had wielded as the pretty, precocious girl two decades younger than him would dissolve, replaced by Rawlins’s guilt and shame at having slept with a student that he would sublimate into resentment for her. He would almost certainly be smart enough to know that he couldn’t kick her out of the program, but he would probably foist her on a less prestigious adviser, citing a busy workload. His emails would become distant, less frequent, purposefully polite, as though he was preempting the possibility that they might be read by some scrupulous university administrator. He would certainly never help her with obscuration.
And so, even as Ellsbeth dotted her lashes with mascara and swiped gloss across her lips, she knew: She wasn’t going to have sex with Rawlins. She would have to let the fizzing pleasure of a new crush be its own reward. Self-control was one of the most important tenets of being a good scholar of arcane mechanicals, and Ellsbeth was going to prove to herself that she deserved to be here at Newlyn, among the best.
It was Curt who had been in Professor Rawlins’s office, and as he exited, he looked Ellsbeth up and down, as if noticing her for the first time. Under his gaze, Ellsbeth suddenly wished she had worn a shirt with a higher neckline.
“You can leave the door open, Curt,” Rawlins called from his desk.“Ellsbeth, come in.” Ellsbeth closed the door behind her without being told. His office was small, and it looked even smaller because the walls and every flat surface seemed to be covered with books, some shelves stacked three- or four-deep. His desk was a mess of papers—it was a wonder how he found anything.
“Good meeting?” she asked.
“It’s funny,” Rawlins said, standing from his chair but not closing any of the distance between them. “I’ve been teaching at Newlyn for a very long time. And it’s been a long time since a graduate student brought a thesis proposal to me that actually excited me.”
“Curt’s proposal was that good, huh?”
Rawlins eyed the closed door. “Fortunately Professor Gallway is Curt’s adviser. Because I couldn’t give less of a fuck about his proposal.”
Ellsbeth smiled, and she noticed how strong Rawlins’s hands looked, how the veins pressed against his skin and his fingers extended elegantly. She wondered if he played the piano.
“So of thoserareproposals that excite you, how many of those advisees managed to pull off a fully functioning ritual already by this point in the year?” She wasn’t supposed to be flirting,but she couldn’t help it. With him, flirting felt like speaking in a mother tongue after being away from your home country for years, and only running into another native speaker by chance.
Rawlins smiled back at her then, but he kept his mouth closed, the crooked dog-teeth Ellsbeth fantasized about mercifully still hidden.
She eyed the bowl of black licorice on his desk and reached over to pop a few pieces into her mouth. “You know,” Ellsbeth said, “professors who want students to come to their office hours put out candy that most people like. Chocolate, you know. M&M’s or something. Most students don’t like black licorice.”
“But you do,” he observed.
Ellsbeth ate another piece, chewing it slowly. “I’m not most students,” she said after she’d swallowed. “I was serious, you know. Obscuration.”
“Oh, I never had any doubt that you were serious. Whether it’spossibleis another matter entirely. And maybe I keep black licorice in my office because I don’twantto make it too inviting.”
She looked straight into his blue eyes. “You’re telling me, you’ve never considered that there’s actually a way to pull it off?”
He moved over toward his bookshelf, out from behind his desk but still no closer to Ellsbeth. He was standing six feet away from her, but Ellsbeth somehow felt as though her body was responding to the heat of his skin. “I don’t know,” he said, breaking eye contact and running his finger along the spines of the books stacked two-deep. “Maybe when I was younger and more foolish.”
“I think the stigma against writ magic has made people scared to explore what might actually be possible. Think about all the new discoveries that have been made in modern neuroscience in the past five years alone. If we were methodical about it—combing through historical texts and applying modern scientific thought…Functionally, Iknowthere’s a way to do it, I just don’t know how yet. That’s why I need your help.”
