Rawlins left the police departmentand stepped into the blistering cold. Half a dozen news vans were camped out front, and reporters rushed toward him as he emerged.
The Banestooth story was a sensation, and it only got juicier with each new detail that came to light. Sixteen dead. Dark rituals. Allegations of decades of murder, an elaborate cover-up. A recently released convict who was now a fugitive on the run.
When the news broke, one of the most crowd-pleasing parts of the story was how a teacher, concerned about his student after getting a worrisome text message, had gone to check on her well-being and ended up saving her from ritualistic murder. Rawlins had briefly been hailed as a hero…but the narrative changed the very next day, as soon as his relationship to Max came to light. The fact that he had been Max’s teacher years before—and even worse, that he had spoken up on behalf of Max’s parole—quickly changed the dominant perception of him from savior of a helpless student to champion of a mass murderer. As the story shifted, everyone started to believe that Rawlins had personally taught Maxwell Keene the obscuration ritual he had used to kill.
Rawlins waved off reporters as he hustled across the snowy parking lot to his rental car, which he detested. But he was holding out on buying a new one, since he was confident the police would soon find his beloved old BMW abandoned somewhere, and once the investigation had processed it, he was counting on having it back. Hopefully in one piece.
Rawlins blew in his hands to warm them while the heat kicked in. It was three in the afternoon and he was eager to get home—to a cup of tea, while the sun was still up, and the night’s first whiskey, as soon as it dipped below the horizon. But he had another stop to make.
The campus was quiet but had not shut down entirely; classes in the arcane mechanicals department were canceled for the week, and students were being encouraged to make appointments with counselors. But the department building still showed signs of activity; students and teachers came and went, huddled against the flurrying snow.
As Rawlins headed in, he looked under every hat and hood, hoping to catch sight of Ellsbeth’s face. It had been three days since they had spoken, in the charged moments before the police arrived at the Banestooth house, when they had hastily agreed on a story to tell, and on what they would keep secret—their research on writ magic and obscuration, their entire romantic and sexual relationship. Rawlins knew they would both be scrutinized closely for the foreseeable future, and if they were going to maintain the lie, they needed to act as if they had no connection beyond being student and teacher. He had deleted all their previous correspondence and refrained from textingor calling, since any communication could be monitored or subpoenaed. But if he were to run into her, purely by chance, surely it would not be suspicious for them to converse briefly in public.
He caught the eye of a dozen students, all of whom stared at him with a mixture of awe and fear while giving him a wide berth. He had been a recognizable figure on campus for his whole career, but this was different; he could feel the nebulous horror that his presence evoked. Even if he was not being accused of any crime, his proximity to such violence had lent him an aura of darkness, and people retreated from him as though it might be contagious.
Rawlins entered the arcane mechanicals building and headed straight up to Lennox’s office; her assistant had him wait while she finished up a call. A minute later Lennox beckoned him inside, closing the door and gesturing for him to sit. “How are you holding up, Tad?”
He ignored the question and the offer, preferring to stand for what he needed to say. “First, I just have to know…” He leaned in, watching her reaction, as he asked, “Did youknow?”
Lennox shook her head indignantly. “About the murders? Of course not. You really think I was aware they were killing girls, six blocks from here? Although…” Her voice became small, and she looked at the floor. “I wish I’d asked more questions.”
“When Bertie died,” Rawlins prompted her. “The autopsy…?”
Lennox sighed, and when she looked back up at him, she appeared exhausted. “I was trying to protect the school. After everything with Max—the last thing we needed was another scandal, do you understand?” She used the heel of her hand to rub at her temple. “It was Paul, actually. Gallway came to me, offering friendly advice. It’s just a tragedy, he said. And he was right. It was. He said that there was no use in stirring up trouble, bringing in the media, hurting the family.” Her lip curled and she made a hard little sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “If I had known what was happening, I would have killed him myself.”
Rawlins knew Lennox well enough that he did not doubt her sincerity. He took a seat, a gesture of peace. “I’m sorry. It’s been a tough few days.”
“I can imagine,” she said. “What a nightmare.”
He leaned forward and got to the point. “I’m here to tender myresignation. Effective immediately. I can get it to you in writing, but…I wanted to let you know in person.”
“I see…” Lennox pursed her lips, looking as if she were not entirely surprised but also calculating how to proceed.
“It’s the best thing for the university,” he went on. “My connection to what happened…it will overshadow any teaching I do for years to come. The college has to move on.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a sabbatical?” Lennox asked. “Go away, finish your book, come back in the fall?”
“No…I’m done here. It’s not just the distraction my presence would create, it’s…”
He looked out the window at the bare trees collecting snow on their branches as he searched for words. “It would hurt too much. Being in a classroom. Talking about mechanicals, when I know…where it can lead.”
Lennox sighed. “You will certainly be missed. We’ll draft a statement to share tomorrow, and I’ll figure out who can take over your classes.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll send all my lecture notes and syllabi, which should make it pretty easy.”
“Much obliged,” Lennox said, pushing back from the desk, assuming their meeting was over. “And if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”
“There is, actually,” he said delicately, remaining in his seat. “A favor to ask, regarding…Ellsbeth.”
“Right, the girl,” Lennox said, with a pitying shake of her head. “Quite an ordeal. I’ll suggest a semester off, keep her funding in place, and hope she comes back in the fall.”
“She won’t want the time off,” Rawlins said. “She’ll prefer to keep working. I just…need you to look out for her.” Lennox frowned, not sure what he meant, and Rawlins continued, “Make sure she gets a good adviser. I know it can be hard to convince anyone to take on a new student midway through the year, but she needs someone who can challenge her intellectually—maybe Koenig or Sapersky.”
“I’ll try to help,” Lennox said. “If she’s as bright as you say, it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“It might, actually. Because the thesis she’s doing…it’s on writ magic.”
Lennox’s eyebrows shot up, and Rawlins continued, “It’s purely theoretical, of course, but—it’s important, rigorous,interestingwork. So you need to convince someone to let her continue those studies. And when it comes time to publish, I need you to back her. The work will be strong, I promise, but she needs access, and someone with credibility to stick their neck out and vouch for her. Now that I’m gone, there’s no one better positioned to help her with that than you.”
