I blinked, coughing a little at the dust swirling in the air. “You have anything on hexes?”
“Do I?” He grinned and turned to the shelves. “Back in a jiffy. Don’t you go disappearing on me,” he called as he shuffled down the aisles. “Hate to grab all these books and then not see you again for another five years.”
Robetresse stopped me in the hallway on the way back.
“Cella,” she called, “how is it going? I’m sorry to pry, but the council is feeling the pressure, so to speak. Maya Hagood’s parents have been calling my office nonstop. I’ve managed to convince them to wait for the results of the internal investigation before going back to the police, but they’re not going to wait forever. They want answers. And the students are getting antsy. We need something to tell them.”
I shuffled on my feet. “I’m not sure we have anything concrete to announce, but we have some definite directions …” Her face fell, and my pulse spiked. “But we should have something soon. For sure. Hopefully, within the week.”
Her eyes brightened. “That’s reassuring. I hope I have no need to remind you of the dire circumstances here. Or of the extreme physical toll this Magic is causing on Miss Stewart’s body.”
I winced when I thought of all the scars and scratches on Dani’s skin, like she was being torn apart from the inside. The sickening angle of her neck when she lifted into the air. Her eyes, so unnaturally dark, like she’d fallen into a shadow. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I didn’t help her, maybe no one would.
“That reminds me. The RA who was working the night shift at the dorm on the night of Maya’s murder has been out of town. Death in the family, I believe, but she’s back now. We’ve had a look at the logs from the night of the murder. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but you might speak to her. See if she noticed anything unusual?”
“We’ll do that.”
“Great, well, I’ll leave you to it—” Dr. Robetresse started.
“Dr. R? One other thing. Dr. Rose Oswold, how long has she been on faculty here?”
“Dr. Oswold?” Robetresse frowned. “She transferred here during the middle of the term last year. A bit unusual, I don’t usually accept staff members in the middle of a term, but not completely unheard of. This is the first year she’ll be holding her own classes.”
“Um.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “I’m aware of the transfer. I was wondering, has anyone ever looked into the reason why she transferred?”
Dr. Robetresse’s fingernails tapped against her coffee cup. “Ah. I see you’ve been busy.”
“It just surprises me, is all,” I said quickly, “that a member of staff would be hired with a restraining order against her citing harassment and attempted impersonation. And from one of her former students, no less.”
Dr. Robetresse nodded. “We’re aware of the incident, and Rose has explained her side quite in depth. Given her presentation of facts, I have no reservations regarding her character nor her teaching abilities at S&B.”
I raised an eyebrow. Usually, I wouldn’t push against Dr. Robetresse’s judgment, but this to me seemed like a glaring oversight. One I couldn’t just ignore. “So, chalk it up to a misunderstanding? Is there a specific reason she’s given you to trust her?”
“Everyone has their past, Miss Gibbons. I would think you, of all people, would understand that. If you’ll excuse me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Max and I headed to the front desk of House Torlaine in the afternoon, which ended up being staff ed by a bored-looking student twirling a pen in her fingers.
“Dr. Robetresse said we might have a look at the logs for the days preceding the incident with Maya Hagood,” I said.
“Sure,” she droned, barely looking up. She pulled a clipboard from a locked drawer and handed it to me.
“I’m also curious if anyone visited Dani’s room as well.”
“Those are the logs we have for all the rooms.”
Dr. Robetresse was right. There was nothing unusual in the logs the day of or before the murder. No one had visited either girl’s room that week. However, at least twice in the month leading up to the incident, an “A. Strauss” was logged as visiting Dani’s room after hours.
“How are these logs taken?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “I write down who comes in. And when.”
“And the times, are those always accurate?”
The girl smacked her gum. “I mean, yeah. Who comes in, where they’re going … and what time.”
I peered at one of the entries. “And Antony Strauss, do you remember him coming in on the night of the February 15th?”
