Athena’s stare could have melted iron. “And what rule is that?”
Dr. Horne glanced toward the answering machine on Athena’s desk. Then, very carefully, she withdrew a folded piece of paper from the inside of her blazer. “I reviewed the funding terms you agreed to for your…radio show, here,” she said. “I specifically recall a member of your committee sharing his concern that real students would be named in your fictional project. You’ve agreed to avoid doing so in your contract here. ‘The contents of Pallas Radio shall be entirely fictional. No students, faculty, staff, or departments will be named or featured on Pallas Radio without written consent of the contributor.’”
Athena stiffened. “I’ve never used real names on my show,” she said.
With a sigh, Dr. Horne withdrew her phone from her pocket and loaded the Voice Memos app on her phone. “And the names of real departments?”
As she clicked play, Athena’s breathless voice cut in almost instantly.“—one is okay, physically, at least,”she said.“But we can no longer ignore that our friend with the cold hands has grown significantly bolder. A student’s life was threatened, in broad daylight. I could easily be reporting another disappearance to you today. Thankfully I’m not. Instead, I come to you with a warning. I encourage all of you to exercise extreme caution at philosophy department events. And to all philosophy students, please watch your backs. It’s not always so easy to know who your classmates are.”
Dr. Horne had a wry look on her face as she stopped the playback. “The philosophy chair is very curious to know why you’re using a community-building grant to defame his department.”
Her hard, birdlike eyes watched Athena closely, as if waiting for her to be ashamed. It seemed Athena wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. “And did you remind Professor Baek that this is a work of fiction?” Athena said.
“Hmm. Well,” Dr. Horne said. “We’ll leave it to the grant committee to decide how far ‘fiction’ is permitted to go. But that kind of review will take time. And I’m sure you’ll understand that we can’t let you keep going with the show for the time being.”
Lucy stepped forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Athena grab for her hand, but she sidestepped it. She wasn’t going to hurt Dr. Horne. No matter how much she wanted to.
“He’ll get bored with you one day, too,” Lucy said. “And when he does, I hope you feel every bit as helpless as those kids you served up to him.”
Dr. Horne’s lip curled. But the words landed. Lucy heard it in her heartbeat. “You’re going to be a delight to deal with for the next four years, aren’t you. Maybe he’ll drain you dry and spare me the trouble for once.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Lucy said.
“Sometimes life goes in a different direction than we anticipate, Ms. Easting. It’s not as if I expected any of this when I earned my PhD,” Dr. Horne said. “Let me tell you this. Ivan Volkov doesn’t particularly like me. The feeling is mutual. But he’s never going to get bored, as you say. Whatever his flaws, he’s a man who understands the convenience of doing business.”
She turned neatly to Athena, her heart rate back in perfect rhythm. “I’ll deliver the committee’s decision in due course,” she said. “But as you know, they’re busy people. They may need to review past broadcasts, and you’re quite the…prolificcreator. It will take time. Possibly through the end of the academic year.”
“When I graduate,” Athena said.
“Goodness,” Dr. Horne said. “You say that like that’s my intention.”
“I notice that you’re not denying it, though,” Lucy said.
“No point in that, is there?” Dr. Horne made her brisk way across the room. When she reached the door, she paused. “I’ll leave you with a word of comfort, if I may. You might think I’m a monster. But I don’t disagree with you on everything. It’s unseemly, the way he drags these things on. It’s cruel.” And with that, she was gone.
Athena watched the empty space she’d left for a long time. When she spoke again, her back was still turned to Lucy. “For a second, I thought you were going to hurt her.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Lucy said. She didn’t love hearing that uncertain note in her own voice.
Athena’s face was darkly wry when she finally turned. “I’m starting to wish you had.”
Lucy laughed. Suddenly exhausted, she positioned herself next to one of Athena’s floor cushions and folded herself onto it. Athena hesitated before perching opposite her.
“It was stupid of me,” Athena said quietly. “The broadcast. But after what happened to Natalie—I don’t think we can trust that you and I are the only ones he’s after anymore.”
“No, I’m glad you did it,” Lucy said. It was kind of funny, imagining what all those nice, normal philosophy students would think when they heard it. “And maybe they’ll still let you back on the air.”
“I’m not sure they will. I think Dr. Horne will see to that.” Athena attempted a smile, but it quickly failed. “She’s been looking for an excuse since I started Pallas Radio.…I guess now I know why. And if something else happens…”
Something else. Lucy wondered if she meant someone else getting attacked. Or maybe she was talking about what would happen when Vanya moved on to someone else. When Lucy was already dead.
“You’ll find another way to warn everyone,” Lucy said.
“Until I graduate,” Athena said somberly.
“Then maybe someone else can take up the mantle,” Lucy said. “Mila could host a show. Or Natalie. Can you picture Natalie’s Pallas Radio? That would be a vibe shift.”
It was supposed to make them both laugh. But Lucy’s stomach curdled again at the thought of Natalie, and Athena looked similarly somber. “Have you…” Lucy had to swallow to wet her throat. “Have you heard from her yet today?”
