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I considered my choice again, second-guessing my interest in the one book filled with the worst of the things I had seen written in the various notes and essays I’d picked through. I guessed it was a snub of my fears, a stubborn sniff at the house and its people, and my strange mind. A dare. At any rate, if my plan went the way I’d hoped, I wouldn’t be reading it. I’d be standing in the sun chatting with a ray of light made human, and I would go to bed tonight feeling more myself and less like the trembling, haunted woman whose skin I’d somehow stepped into.
I abandoned the gloom of the house and stepped back into the world. Though my hand stung, my mood was cheering. Proper spring lingered far away yet, but the midwinter harshness seemed to be begging off. I made my path, knowing my purpose. My previous exploration of the grounds had yet to make me an expert on the place. Still, I was less worried about getting lost behind the evergreens, arbors, and stone walls sectioning the gardens into their little wards where once upon a time, carefully tended flora had transported guests to entirely new worlds.
I traipsed past the kelpie pond, stopping to regard its lichen-blanketed muzzle and the carve of tense muscles in its shoulders. His flank, below the water, had turned green with algae, and despite being a creature of death, I pitied it for the neglect befallen it. The longer I peered into its wide, stone eyes, the more real it became, giving the impression that it was merely in suspension, that at any breath it would reanimate and drag me to my watery death. My lungs burned with phantom pain igniting a panic that expanded in my chest. I sucked in a long, cooling breath, reminding my body that I was on land, above water, safe, and breathing life-giving oxygen. The kelpie’s determined glare was not helping me decompress, and I turned away, hastening to the tunnel of cherry blossom trees that would lead me into the Italianate gardens. The bare branches clicked together in the breeze, welcoming me.
I’d been fond of the kelpie pond from a distance, but having regarded it closely, the rosy veil of magic had fallen away, frightening me. Callum’s mother had built shrines to the beautiful and deadly powers of the otherworld, and I had forgotten that they were meant to be portents. I made a concerted effort to stroll instead of scamper, to walk leisurely again and enjoy myself, but as my feet were beginning to listen to reason, the loud snap of a branch frightened my heart back into its anxious rhythm. I glanced over my shoulder through the tunnel.
The hulk of a body jumped toward me from the left, goosing me in the waist. I yelped and sent my elbow back, landing a grazing blow in Rodney’s ribs. He’d anticipated my flailing and moved back in time to avoid the worst of it.
“Oof, close one.” He grinned, taking hold of my elbow to steady me. I was so relieved to see him, my fright turned to a soft giddiness. I’d been pranked. I smacked him with the book good-naturedly, returning the smile.
“You’re going to get yourself injured sneaking up on people like that.”
He grasped his arm where the book had landed its blow and grimaced theatrically.
“Already have. Forgive the joke, I saw you get spooked back at the pond and couldn’t help myself. No work today?”
“Erm,” I fumbled, then lied all the way from my toes, “the professor’s not feeling well.”
“Ah,” he replied, and in that one word he seemed to reveal that he knew exactly what I meant. He leaned against a nearby tree trunk, enjoying a broad shaft of sunlight. His demeanor was so serene it was impossible not to relax. I knew I’d made the right choice seeking his company. He nodded to the book in my hand. “A bit of light reading?”
“Not much else to do on afternoons like this. Ms. Dillard has practically forbidden me to help her.”
“She’s an old fusspot,” he said with fondness. “She has her way of doing things and woe is anyone who tries to interfere. Anyway, I’m glad you got sent outdoors. What’s the subject today?”
I told him the title and regretted my decision instantly. His agreeable smile tightened into a tense, hard-shelled grin. He was struggling to keep it.
“I see you enjoy the dark fairy tales. Mrs. Hughes did too.”
“Yes, I can see it in the way she built the garden. Especially the kelpie.”
“No, not Callum’s mother. His wife.”
A cold tingle began to spread out from the center of my back. I didn’t know what to say.
“He treating you all right? The professor?” Rodney asked out of the blue, his attention intense, and after a second he added, “Not working you too hard?”
I released a relieved laugh, but now the professor and last night’s humiliations were fresh on my mind again. “No, the work is fine. Tedious but interesting. I don’t mind it.”
“He can get a little zealous when his sights are set on something. If you ever need an escape, my cottage door is always open.”
There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t hard to interpret. Before I could playfully shame him for being fresh, his expression grew somber and he straightened himself from his casual posture. Looking over my shoulder without a drop warmth on his face, he tipped his hat to someone approaching.
“Rodney,” Professor Hughes said by way of greeting as he neared us. My pulse became a hummingbird in my veins. “A surprise to see you. I thought you were on a town run today.”
“Going in a few hours, Professor. Got word that the mulch shipment was running late. Didn’t want to waste time waiting around town for it.”
“Prudent,” the professor said rigidly.
“Well, I best be getting ready to leave. Professor. Miss Foxboro.”
He nodded to me, his eyes meaningful, then took his leave, disappearing back through the naked trees the same way he’d come.
Professor Hughes watched him out of sight, his countenance inscrutable. I was annoyed. I’d been having a lovely time bantering. Frustrating me in turn was the unwelcome delight at this sudden appearance. I regarded him icily. He didn’t look hungover or sleep-deprived. His face was clean-shaven, his hair arranged with only a few strands blown out of place by the wind, but even this looked intended. There were no dark circles beneath his eyes as I’d seen under mine that morning, and as usual there was not a wrinkle or a wayward fold on any of his clothing from the starched collar peeking from the neck of his Fair Isle sweater, to the hem of his well-fitting umber slacks brushing the tops of his shining black shoes.
“Professor Hughes, what brings you outside?” I asked with a brusque clip.
“Can’t a man roam his own garden without ulterior motives?” he asked, a faint turn at the corners of his mouth.
