Page 9

He wrinkles his nose. “That was fast. You see her coursework and research yet? I never met her at the International Congress on Medieval Studies. I guess she’s never been to Kalamazoo?”

I shrug, but inside I’m roiling. “It seems so premature to me.”

“Yeah, and she’s from Seattle?”

“That’s what Dean Shea said.”

“Huh. Odd. Wasn’t the dean of her old department found dead or something?”

“What?”

“Yeah, didn’t you see? There was a whole in memoriam on Brepols.”

“Like in the news section?” Lyle nods, and I twist my fingers hard enough my rings bite my skin. I’ve been so focused on Laurel’s disappearance, I haven’t been keeping up with even the most basic media. More unsettling: When did I start thinking of her not replying to my texts as a disappearance?

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do you know if Therese and Laurel have hung out lately?”

“I know Therese is my girlfriend, but I see her less than the inside of Ovid’s Metamorphoses these days.” Lyle was relegated to second fiddle when another assistant professor, Arjun, entered the tenure track from Yale. It rankled Lyle. Lyle is the far better researcher, but Arjun is more confident. And everyone knows being wrong and loud always wins over quiet and right. So, Lyle’s stuck with Introduction to Ovid, a 101 course, while Arjun already has an office with a door he can close.

I sigh. “I’ll text her. I’m sorry though, that fucking sucks.”

“It’s fine. Wish they’d let us know when we had incoming competition though. Faculty showcase is already going to be basically undoable for me. I’m grading, like, fifty midterms. When am I supposed to find the time to research?”

Christ. What a mess. “I hear you. I haven’t even gotten started on mine.”

“You’ll be alright. You always are.”

“I don’t know about that.” A door clicks open and wouldn’t you know it, Arjun appears in the flesh. He looks like some J.Crew ad in his pressed khakis and sailing sweater. “Wow,” I say, “hopping off your pedestal to speak to the mere mortals, huh?”

“Nah, I was on my way to the Perk and heard voices.” He offers me a glittering, smarmy smile. “Heard Laurel didn’t show up to a class this morning. A shame. I had a bunch of worried undergrads knocking on my door at office hours.”

His words pierce me through and my fists tighten. My head is a riot of unfounded panic and electricity. Laurel would never miss a class. Not unless she was sick, and even then she’d have me cover or teach remotely. Now Marcella has her room. Something doesn’t make sense. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

Arjun raises his hands. “Maybe your girlfriend is sneaking around on you.”

“W-what?” I splutter. “What are you talking about, we weren’t—I mean—”

He laughs. “Jesus, chill, bro. It’s whatever.”

But it isn’t whatever. There are rules about faculty members pairing up, and Lyle and Therese have already had to seek the beneficence of the Classics department committee, like it really is medieval times and John Shea has been made king. It’s gross and I try to stay uninvolved, and I certainly wasn’t with Laurel. The last thing I need is rumors whispered into Dean Shea’s ear from his golden boy. The thought of it makes my breath come too fast, my chest tighten with panic.

“Come on, Arjun, just tell us what you know.” Lyle glowers.

“All I heard was that Dean Shea was none too happy with her.” He shrugs on his leather jacket and scoots past us, patting a bust of Plato familiarly on the head. “I’m about to fully kick your asses in the faculty showcase, but I guess I should offer to save you a carrel?”

“Get lost, asshole,” Lyle mutters. Arjun squeezes his shoulder and Lyle shrinks back. “Don’t fucking touch me, bro.”

“I’m not your bro.” Arjun says it and shows all his snarling teeth. “See you around.”

He disappears down the darkening hall, through the fabric swags bracketing in front of the stairwell door. Lyle looks at me, nods at Laurel’s old door. “Let’s just hope this Marcella isn’t another Arjun, too.” He flees back into his room, and I’m left alone in the hall.

Problem is: I’m pretty sure Marcella isn’t like Arjun. I think she’s coming for all our throats.

THREEMarcella

My first glimpse of Preston was impressive. Driving up the long central causeway, the Gothic chapel looming over the main quad, ringed by fading golden trees, I was momentarily struck thoughtless.

But then Bellatrix mewed in her carrier, and I knew she was right. This place might have the glimmer of money, but I shouldn’t base my opinions of the university on looks alone. I know well that a gorgeous façade can hide any number of ills.