Tanner took a second to consider this and rallied. “Well, that doesn’t count—”
“I had thought when I accepted this position that Iwouldcount,” Emily said, heart beating too fast.
Of course Ashburn only hired her for scut work—of course they would use her up and spit her out when her one-year contract was up. She blinked and saw the entire department fixing her with expressions ranging from pitying to patronizing.
Aldridge, perhaps trying to return to familiar ground, said: “If the administration didn’t insist on putting its money into the biology wing renovation rather than the humanities building, you would even now be in a first-floor office.”
“Or perhaps one should have considered academic standing before one chose an inane specialty,” Tanner muttered. “If you don’t mind, I was trying to make a point.”
Emily leapt to her feet before her brain caught up with her reflexes—or her mouth. “You’ve been making the same point all semester. If you have time to monitor pen movements, I suggest you teach one of the courses I’ve been assigned next term. It would give you something constructive to do.”
“Howdare—”
“Also,” Emily said, unable to stop, “I move that we skip these preposterous meetings from here on out!” She hoisted her cup for emphasis. “Can I get a ‘seconded’?”
She got a second of scandalized silence, followed by a terrific crack as the cup split into four pieces and clattered to the table in a pool of cold liquid.
The meeting fell apart nearly as quickly. Emily sat by herself in the conference room, holding the jagged chunk of porcelain still attached to the handle. She’d just had the most disastrous morning of her employed life, and she couldn’t concentrate on how to salvage the situation. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the former cup.
What had happened was magic. Magic she’d worked.
Her hands shook. Not just her hands, but every part of her body. It felt as if the entire world was shaking.
She’d just donemagic.
She wanted to say the words out loud, yell them, jump up and down, dance the tarantella—and she couldn’t wait to tell Hartgrave. He would have to train her. She’d just made something burst apart without trying to—without even wanting to.
Her breath caught in her throat. Did that mean in a fit of anger she might accidentally break other things? Or people?
She looked at the wreckage on the table, then at the clock. Five minutes to eleven. She had to get help before thirty unsuspecting students gathered for her noon class.
She fled to the Inferno and paged Hartgrave. Bernie had a Thursday class from ten to eleven thirty, which left her alone—pacing—until Hartgrave responded to her summons.
“I suppose it’s too much to ask that you keep your computer working for forty-eight consecutive hours,” he said, no real heat to the complaint.
“No, it’s—it’sthis.” She held up the cracked-off cup handle.
“If you called me here to fix another of your coffee mishaps—”
“I didn’t drop it! It spontaneously broke apart. In myhands.”
A pained look settled on his face. He gave her the impression of a man expecting trouble but trying to put it off.
“Hartgrave—”
“Come with me,” he said, turning on his heel.
She followed him through dimly lit corridors in a frenzy of anticipation, heartbeat playing a staccato rhythm in her ears. He’d never invited her into his hidden room before, not if you didn’t count their original and short-lived agreement.
But then, she’d never done magic before, either.
6
Contrariwise
This was what she’d wanted for most of her life—first consciously, then subconsciously—and her words tumbled over each other in her rush to explain. Hartgrave closed the door behind them and leaned against it, listening without interrupting. When she skidded to a verbal stop, she focused on him long enough to notice that he seemed neither surprised nor impressed.
“Well?” she said.
