Fletcher cleared her throat. “Nothing coming to mind?”
“Well ...”
She was as desperate as the tourism board to think of something, anything. Now that she’d flushed magic and adventure out of her system, she wanted nothing morethan to be a professor—to find, analyze and dispense knowledge. She’d studied for years and saddled herself with debt to do just that.
Perhaps she could suggest the known portion of the Inferno as an oddity—a planned catacombs in a bizarre place. Why not? The odds that tourists would stumble upon the hidden door were—if not zero, at least low. She needed this opportunity. Judging by the few full-time openings and the complete lack of response to her applications for them, Fletcher’s offer was probably her last chance. Shehadto take it.
Her stomach twisted. How familiar this was—how much like the way she’d justified her increasing demands on Hartgrave. Just because she really wanted something didn’t mean she had the right to get it.
“No,” she told Fletcher, the word pressing down on her like a physical weight. “I wish I could suggest something, but—I can’t.”
“You’ve got one more day. Perhaps you’ll find something in the records here.”
Emily sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve already been through this library for any shred of information related to magic. But thank you very much for thinking of me.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” Fletcher’s fleeting smile made a reappearance—compassionate this time, not sly. She rose from the seat. “I’ll be happy to act as a reference for you as you look for your next position.”
Emily stared at nothing in particular as the department chair’s footsteps faded. That was that: Her career was officially dead. High school history awaited. She tried to imagine her future, this fork off the path she’dintended to travel, and couldn’t figure out how to make it better than merely okay.
Then—determined not to slide back into wallowing—she sat up straight, wiped her eyes and continued plowing through the microfiche.
Bernie appeared as she returned them to the collection. “Lunch,” he announced.
“I think I might skip out today—sorry. Not really hungry.”
“Em.” He shook a finger at her. “Willi’s expecting you, and just think how much food I’ll have to eat if you don’t show up to claim your share.”
The laugh burst from her throat before she realized it was there. Somehow the thought of Willi waiting for them with a small mountain of tacos made her decision more bearable. She couldn’t say why, but there it was.
She took Bernie’s arm—a bit of support still helped—and walked from the building into the biting wind, the last gasp of winter a full two weeks into spring.
“So,” he said, “why no appetite?”
He eyed her, probably for signs of emotional re-lapse. But she was doing all right. The anger had burned itself out. The bad dreams were fading. The grief over what she’d lost … well, she was still working on that. (What did it mean that her career wasn’t the loss she felt most deeply?)
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be ready to eat when we get there.”
He harrumphed. “All right, then.”
She hoped he was as watchful of Hartgrave’s well-being. Which, of course, made her wonder for the thousandth time how Hartgrave was.
Never mind her resolution to never bring him up. One question wouldn’t hurt.
“Bernie—how is he? Hartgrave, I mean.”
His eyebrows rose. “You really want to know?”
“Yes. I do.”
He pursed his lips, then frowned, then sighed. This so clearly communicated what was coming that it blunted the surprise when he said, “Pretty bad. But we’re working on it.”
Perhaps a tiny, ungenerous part of her relished the idea of him wracked by regret, but the rest of her had hoped to hear he was fine. Not worse than she was.
But wasn’t that exactly what she should have expected, given how much experience he had with guilt? Given how terrible their last conversation was?
She could fix that. The thought was immediate and insistent. She could tell him she wasn’t angry anymore and perhaps by that act make up for some of the selfishness that, ironically, made it possible for him to develop feelings for her in the first place. It would hurt to see him, and perhaps it would set her own recovery back, but it was the right thing to do.
Or maybe it would make things worse. But now the idea of one last conversation had lodged in her head and she couldn’t force it out.
