Page 6 of Adam, Mine

“It has been four years of this. Another word and I’ll finally process that long overdue request for your expulsion,” Professor Krempe said, stern. “Have I made myself clear?”

Horrified, Victor nodded.

Professor Krempe stood. “Class is dismissed. . . . Twenty minutes off schedule, I might add.”

Victor was not spared accusatory glances and words from the majority of the class as they filed to the door. His cheeks burned as he packed his things; his own pulse thundered in his ears. He felt so childish.

The weight of Petyr’s hand landing on his shoulder was so unexpected that Victor violently flinched.

“Whoa, it’s all right.” Petyr snatched his hand back. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to join us tonight?”

“Why?” Victor demanded, defensive.

Gregor waited behind Petyr, looking irritated, of course. But Victor’s eyes slid over to Henry, and his former friend’s face was open and curious. Even Jonsi was looking in through the doorway, not objecting to Petyr’s strange request.

Petyr tilted his head to the side.

“You said some things that moved me. You have my curiosity.” He paused. “For the price of a drink, I’d like to hear more.”

Store

Victor’s bones hummed. He’d never been out with anyone before, much less people so well liked as these. He followed Petyr, Gregor, Henry, and Jonsi to the tavern they favored.

He kept double-checking them for signs of sarcasm, like they would reach a halfway point, then all start laughing and send him home. But they didn’t.

They didn’t force him to walk in the street next to them or leave him trailing behind. They rearranged their foursome so he would be at the front with Petyr. Or near the middle with Henry, who was polite enough not to speak to him at all.

They stuck to casual conversation—it seemed—so that he wouldn’t feel excluded from personal jokes or topics they had history with. Gregor the Horrible even steadied Victor’s shoulder when Victor slipped in some mud.

All in all, it was very strange but a bit exciting. It was as if the eye of Petyr’s favor having landed on him had erased full years of Victor being ignored and sneered at.

Victor couldn’t trust it, but he could enjoy it while it lasted.

The tavern they chose was one Victor had never been to.

He preferred taverns that were loud enough for no one to notice him, had better food than they had drink. With whitewashed walls and busty girls to look at. Prices that didn’t make his eyes water.

This place was more like a gentleman’s club. The windows were covered with shades of black velveteen. There were couches and chairs. No one was eating at the bar or getting into boisterous fights, though there was loud chatter. Most of the men here were finely dressed, older. There were no women, even behind the bar.

Petyr selected a table close to the back door and draped his jacket over a chair. He pulled out the one beside him for Victor. Gregor swiveled his own seat over from the bar to perch on Petyr’s other side, visibly irritated that Petyr had not done this for him.

“So,” Petyr started. “I feel like we’ve all heard the direction in which your interests lie, but I’ve been curious: Is what you’re sharing with the class the whole of your ambition, or is it the least of it?”

Victor opened his mouth to reply, but Petyr continued.

“You seem quite straightforward most days, but today for whatever reason, you decided to mention the why after years of only shouting about the what.”

“Well . . . ,” Victor began, then paused, a bit taken aback to have such an open audience for his opinions.

Henry nodded at Victor. “Go on. I’ll grab us drinks.”

Victor looked down at the table. “Well. I have been thinking about, after graduation, where I could be most medically necessary. I wish to focus my attentions on stabilization. I think we can do more effective work if we are able to maintain life support for people while seeking solution for an ailment.* Or even some kind of suspended state of living, once we have achieved that. I’m working on some machines—”

“That’s more like engineering, though.” Henry returned. He put a rich brown lager in front of each of their party, then settled down in his chair. Kicking his legs out comfortably.

“In a way, but the theory behind any machine designed to maintain critical function is one designed on the premise that man can control things we previously considered up to God,” Victor said, taking a tentative sip. “Breathing, blood moving, the brain continuing its feverish spinning. Even blood itself is made of things we have access to—chemically speaking.”

Gregor laughed, sharp and mean. “Ah yes, your fake blood theory. That made class an entire thirty minutes longer. I was late to my sister’s handfasting* because of that.”