A knock on the door made her jump so violently she nearly sent her cold coffee flying. “Yes? Come in? I’m here?”
Dr. David Morrow poked his silver-haired head through the gap. He looked exactly like what he was, a distinguished, conventional medievalist who wore bow ties without irony and genuinely could not understand why Elodie’s fae paper had been anything other than an embarrassing mistake.
“Ah, Elodie. Working late again?”
“Just finishing up the conference presentation.” She turned her phone over before he could see Sarah’s texts. “Was there something you needed?”
He stepped into the office, his expression settling into what she’d come to recognize as hisI’m about to ask you to do something tedious face.“I have an opportunity for you. A professional assessment, cataloging work. Nothing too demanding.”
Her heart sank. Cataloging work. Academic code for grunt work we can’t be bothered with. “Oh?”
“Baldridge Manor, out in the countryside. Lady Baldridge has a collection of medieval artifacts she’d like properly documented before her May Day celebration. It’s rather beneath your qualifications, of course, but—” He paused, tugging at his bow tie. “Well. You know how it is.”
She did know. She knew that her grant funding ran out in three months. Just as she knew that every job application she’d submitted had resulted in polite rejections. Elodie knew that the fairy girl had become a punchline, and punchlines didn’t get tenure-track positions.
“When would you need me there?”
“This Friday, if possible. Just for the weekend. Lady Baldridge is quite keen to have everything sorted before the party.”
Elodie looked at her laptop screen, then at the presentation she’d been perfecting for weeks, at the wordconservativestaring back at her like an accusation.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Dr. Morrow looked relieved. “Excellent. I’ll send you the details. Lady Baldridge is a bit... eccentric, but perfectly harmless. Try to enjoy yourself.” He hovered in the doorway, clearly wanting to say something else. “The countryside air might do you good. You’ve been looking rather peaked lately.”
After he left, Elodie sat in silence for a long moment. Then she saved her presentation, closed her laptop, and started gathering her things.
Her phone buzzed again with another text. Her best friend was wonderfully nosy.
Well?
Got assigned to catalog some old lady’s artifact collection this weekend. Very glamorous. Very definitely what six years of graduate school prepared me for.
Where?
Baldridge Manor. Somewhere in the countryside.
Wait, isn’t that near those castle ruins? The haunted ones?
Elodie frowned, typing back.
What castle ruins?
Greywatch Castle! I did a photography project there years ago. Super creepy. Locals say you can hear battle sounds when the moon is full.
You’re making that up.
Google it!
Elodie rolled her eyes but typed Greywatch Castle into her search bar. A handful of results appeared—mostly amateur ghost-hunting forums and a single Wikipedia stub that offered little more than a name and an approximate location. 12th century fortification, significant ruins, local folklore suggests paranormal activity.
She closed the browser tab. The last thing she needed was to show up at Baldridge Manor babbling about ghost stories. She was trying to be taken seriously.
Still, as she packed her bag and headed for the door, she couldn’t quite shake the strange shiver that ran down her spine.
Promise me you’ll at least wear something festive.
Jennifer texted as Elodie stepped out into the London evening.
