The reasonableness doesn't last long.
I finish my breakfast in a whirlwind of last-minute advice, most of it contradictory. Micah, who's apparently decided Villeneuve is some kind of elf or fae, suggests spilling salt to see what happens. Killian just keeps growling suggestions about watching Villeneuve's hands at all times and which bones in the body are the easiest to break.
When I finally escape to the front door, all four of them follow me like an honor guard. It's equal parts endearing and suffocating.
"I'm just going to work," I remind them. "Across campus. For a few hours."
"We know," Killian says, but he pulls me into a kiss anyway, deep and possessive and tasting faintly of maple syrup.
Sean kisses me next, quick and playful. Then Rowan, soft and sweet. And finally Micah, who cups my face in his hands and looks at me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen.
"You're going to be amazing," he murmurs against my lips.
"Remember," Killian calls after me, "the nose can become a weapon with an well-timed upward palm thrust!"
"That's not a fact I'm going to need today, or hopefully any other," I say with a wave.
They're completely fucking ridiculous.
Then again, I'm actually falling in love with all of them, so what does that make me?
Briar Hall isone of the older buildings on campus with its Gothic architecture and climbing ivy. The third floor houses the Department of Ancient History and Occult Studies, which takes up the entire east wing. Professor Villeneuve's office is at the end of a long corridor lined with display cases full of artifacts that make my magical senses tingle.
The door is open when I arrive just two minutes before the deadline.
Villeneuve is already at his desk, reviewing papers with the focus of a man who's been awake for hours. Today's suit is navy blue, perfectly tailored, and the color brings out the darkness in his eyes. I catch myself wondering how any of his students manage to pay attention to the lecture instead of just staring at him.
"Ms. Cook." He looks up with a tight smile as I enter. "You're early. I appreciate punctuality."
"Seemed like the professional thing to do."
"Indeed." He gestures to a chair across from his desk. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss before the day begins."
What follows is a comprehensive overview of his schedule that would make most people's heads spin.
Three lecture courses this semester. Ancient Magical Practices, Historical Blood Magic, and something called Theoretical Applications of Occult Knowledge that sounds both fascinating and terrifying. Office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Department meetings every other Friday. Research obligations that seem to involve more reading than any one person could accomplish in a lifetime.
He explains my responsibilities with brisk efficiency.
Grading papers.
Organizing research materials.
Managing correspondence.
Attending lectures to assist with demonstrations and being available for student questions during his office hours.
It's… a lot. More than I expected, honestly, and I expected a lot.
"I trust this isn't overwhelming?" he asks, and there's a hint of challenge in his voice.
"Not at all." The words come out steadier than I feel. "I can handle it."
"Good." He gathers a stack of papers, tucking them into a leather portfolio. "Then let's begin. You'll shadow me through today's lectures to get a sense of the material and my teaching style. Questions?"
A thousand. But none I'm willing to ask right now.
"None at the moment."
