1998: 11
It was rather comicalhow, upon waking after a night when her dorm had been literally shaken to its very foundation by a supernatural force, Minerva’s first concern was the coffee. She was running low but thankfully was able to get a pot brewing and poured it into her thermos.
She had a meeting at the Willows that day, and she didn’t think she’d be able to function without caffeine coursing through her veins. Before she stepped out of the dorm, she checked her email and was delighted to see Christina Everett had finally returned from her vacation and was willing to meet with her. Minerva hadn’t mentioned she was interested in talking about Thomas Murphy, figuring it would be too lengthy and odd an email to type, and instead had crafted a vague missive about needing a third person on her thesis committee. Which was true, but she hadn’t really thought of Everett for that position. After a couple more emails, Minerva had secured an appointment for Monday.
Caffeinated, with the promise of the meeting in her inbox, Minerva walked toward the Willows with a heedless optimism she had not felt in a while, though as she approached the house her good spirits waned.
She had spectacularly managed to block out what had happened to her the previous night, but the wind rustling in the treesand the quiet streets she was following evoked a lonesomeness that made her pause. She wondered if Ginny and Betty had walked down the same street she was following, on their way to Carolyn’s home. Then came a thought of her great-grandmother, dead now many years.
She walked with her hands in her pockets, feeling strange, like the child in a fairy tale who ventures into the dark forest. She kept going and soon the Willows was in sight, and she was turning onto the path that led to its front door.
Noah once again admitted her into the library and she grabbed the boxes with archival material and placed them on the table.
“Carolyn says she’ll meet you at one o’clock. I’ll come and fetch you.”
She nodded and began taking out items from the backpack. The notebook, her pen, the camera. Noah watched her with interest. “You’re very organized,” he said.
“You can’t get far without a certain sense of discipline.”
“That’s what Carolyn thinks.”
“What do you think?”
“I try not to,” he said breezily. “I called you last night. You didn’t answer.”
“The phone wasn’t working.”
She didn’t specify that she’d disconnected it because it kept ringing, as if infected by whatever magic had been swirling outside the house. For there had been magic; this she didn’t doubt.
She took off the lid from a box.
“You’re not going to ask why I was calling?”
“I have a feeling you’ll let me know.” He snorted and she looked up at him. “Well?”
“Patricia’s party, it’s tonight. Did you want a ride?”
“Hideo will get me there,” she said. She couldn’t remember if he’d said he would. She was damn tired, hadn’t slept well after the disturbance. But she refused to alter her planned schedule.
“I suppose you want to work now.”
She didn’t reply. Instead she put on her headphones, pressed her lips together, and began paging through Ginny’s papers. Heseemed surprised by her curt demeanor, maybe a little hurt, and he opened his mouth as if to ask her something, but she stubbornly looked down at the desk and pumped up the volume.
He left her alone, which was what she wanted. People made her nervous and right now she was jumpier than usual. She would have to find an excuse to leave the party early. There wouldn’t be wards there—she’d be exposed. Although she’d have the talisman, which she carried in her backpack. Still, it seemed more dangerous to go out at night.
“Damn it,” she said. She didn’t want to start thinking like that. She didn’t want to view the world as a vast collection of perils.
Something had to be done; a solution would have to be crafted. But she didn’t know quite how to proceed. For now, there was research. Concentrate. Carefully write in the notebook. Drown out any noises with the sound of Neutral Milk Hotel in her headphones.
Eventually Noah came back for her and marched her into the living room. Carolyn Yates sat in her black armchair with the high back and her father’s portrait behind it. There was no tea on this occasion. Noah did not join them.
“You’ve had a productive morning?” Carolyn asked. She wore her usual turban, this time black and gold, and around her neck there was a heavy necklace encrusted with gemstones. On her hands, multiple rings sparkled as she motioned for Minerva to sit down. She had the appearance of an idol sitting in a shrine.
“Yes, very.”
“I wanted to get a better idea of how your research is proceeding. You’ve been here a number of times and I’m wondering how many more visits you might require to complete your work.”
“Am I bothering you, Mrs. Yates?”
