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“Insight to the human mind. To our love of superstition,” he said. “Or perhaps I’m just hoping to remind myself that it’s all make-believe and there’s nothing but the flesh.”
The smile had vanished, his countenance shifting, becoming a shadowy field.
“Do you believe in monsters, Miss Foxboro?” he asked absentmindedly.
He must be teasing me.
“Yes,” I replied, teasing in return. “The human kind.”
“Well done,” he muttered, then motioned with a new sense of energy to the disaster surrounding us. “Your personal interest in all of this benefits me better than the academic mind of a stuffy student constrained to rote memorization. I’ll need your help organizing these notes first. I’m finished with them, and I’m afraid I let them accumulate.”
He gave me a few other directions, and we were to work.
Despite the long bouts of quiet, I contented myself with the music of rustling papers and a crackling fire. The contents of the pages I examined interested me, and I lingered longer than necessary over a note or two, absorbing the information.
The Bodach I was familiar with because of Ms. Reeves, who took joy in trying to scare me silly with little tales from her childhood. It was a boogeyman of sorts, a creature of varying mischief and ill intention depending on the story, more unsettling than fatal. Through reading famous legends, I’d learned of Caoránach, the dragon who birthed demons, banished by Saint Patrick. But I hadn’t known Clíodhna, the queen of the banshees, had also been revered as a goddess of love, and I’d never heard of the Dobhar-Chú, the otterhound who ate anyone who came near to their waters.
All of these entries were of malevolent creatures that threatened or predicted doom to the well-being of humankind.
“Professor,” I ventured, interrupting a long stretch of silence, “there’s an entry here for Gancanagh, but there’s no description. What is it?”
“A fairy who seduces women,” he replied, glancing from his work and concluding, “to their deaths.”
“Ah,” I replied, penning in the missing information, trying to seem untroubled. Willing away the awkwardness, I continued, “I know of Leanan Sidhe, who does the same to men; I wasn’t aware she had a male counterpart.”
“Well”—the professor divided his attention between me and his notes—“Leanan at least gives something of value to her lovers in return for their short lives, mostly inspiration and success. The Gancanaghis just a bastard.”
His candid comment caught me off guard, and I laughed. He offered a small smile of his own, and some of the tension between us abated. We worked until the natural light began to fade. To my mild annoyance, we’d barely made a dent in the chaos, even after several hours of focus. I tsked silently, sitting back in my chair, my eyes dry and head full. As I released a tired sigh, I found the professor observing me, the fresh murk of the room turning his expression into one similar to what he’d worn that night in the hall. How long had he been watching me? When our eyes met, he didn’t turn away.
“I think we made some progress,” I said, not wanting the silence to stretch too long.
“Yes,” he replied, breaking his gaze and pressing a hand to his temple. “Thank you, Miss Foxboro. We’ll resume tomorrow after breakfast.”
I bid a courteous goodnight and left with a sense of accomplishment. Despite the rocky start, everything was going rather well after all.
***
For the next week, I dined alone in the morning and then met Professor Hughes in the library to work until nightfall. We took a light lunch together in the afternoons and drank so much coffee between us that we were likely supporting the industry single-handedly. The formal stiffness began to weaken, and though I caught him monitoring me occasionally, he left me to mind my responsibilities. I wasn’t much more than a glorified secretary, and my knowledge of myth and Celtic languages came in handy only a fewtimes.
Despite the peculiarities, I enjoyed my purpose and looked forward to leaving my room with an engaging job to do, especially since the nights in this house were still strange and challenging. I awoke often in the midnight hours, hearing odd noises, voices that grew quiet when I opened my eyes. I’d hoped the unsettling dreams and dogged restlessness would calm, but this shift in my life had me muddled.
While filtering through variations of each folk creature, I came across more notes on Clíodhna, queen of the banshees, and a sudden tremor of recognition electrified my brain.
“Professor, the goddess Clíodhna, is that who the fountain in the front of the house and this portrait is meant to represent?”
“Yes,” he affirmed, taking a moment to rub his neck, stiff with reading. “In a variation of her folklore she fell in love with a human, invited him to live on the immortal isle of Tír Tairngire, then drowned him in the sea when he wanted to return to the mortal realm.”
“Did she mean something important to your mother?”
He raised a brow and then his eyes.
“Speaking with Ms. Dillard?”
I don’t know why my cheeks grew hot; surely his mother’s fairy renovations were not a secret.
“She gave me a short history lesson on Willowfield.”
He nodded. “That’s good of her. To answer your question, yes. My mother respected the dangers of the Good Folk as much as she admired their charm. Clíodhna is a creature of beauty and passion whose love has the power to be a boon or a curse. The likenesses of her are an offering and also a warning. For a mortal to accept the favor of the fae is a gamble on their life, and there are always consequences. Favors must always be paid back. Their love often means death.”
