Page 34
“Was wondering when you would say something, Lacie love,” Marcella croons, claws twining the string together before she slips the tangle into her pocket. “I can teach you sometime, if you’d like.”
“What?”
“Cat’s cradle.”
“I—” I blush, and I’m not even sure why. “What the hell was that with Arjun?” I barrel on, ignoring the invitation to be a hair’s breadth from her.
“Oh, that? Thought it would be wise to ingratiate myself a bit. We left off on a little bit of a strange note after the Dean’s Dinner, and I knew he’d give me what I asked for. Provided, of course, I asked nicely.” She inclines her head, the strong column of her throat catching the failing light. “You wanted to investigate, so I’ve begun.”
Swallowing hard, I tear my eyes from her and stare at my penny loafers. I can’t tell if the sparks between us yesterday were real or wine-fueled, so best to put it out of my mind. “I guess. Where to?”
“I thought we’d start with Dean Shea’s office, since he’s gone for the day.”
“Wait,” I hiss, stepping closer to her. She blinks her glinting, icy eyes at me, face impassive. “No. We just talked about this—there isn’t even a plan. We’ll get caught.”
“No. You won’t.” Lyle comes around the crumbling corner of the sandstone building, with Therese trailing behind. “We’ll keep watch. Plus, I checked Slack, and Shea has a meeting with the bursar right now. You have an hour.”
“Who schedules a meeting for a Sunday?” Therese says, sucking the rest of an iced black coffee down and tossing the empty in a nearby can.
“Lucky for us,” Marcella drawls.
My eyes flick to Marcella. “What is this?”
“This is called an intelligent plan.”
“Going behind my back?”
“You had class.”
“I can’t believe you’re involving other people. I said we should break in. Not”—I wave my hand around—“us.”
Marcella laughs a little, her fingertips—those deft talons of hers—gripping my shoulder for a nanosecond. “Lacie, you’re an assistant professor. We all are. We have key cards. It’s important we all know the lay of the land, for protection’s sake. We belong here, don’t we?”
And she’s right, we do, but it has always felt like an ill-fitting sweater for me. Even with my position I feel stunted, stuck in some strange everlasting childhood, less belonging.
“We want to figure out what happened as much as you do,” Lyle says, his voice a sotto voce timbre. “I’m glad Marcella messaged me.”
“Your key card should work,” Therese says, her eyes flashing as she nods in agreement. “I did some fast work on the software back end with IT.”
I stare at her. “You what?”
“I have a friend in the department,” she replies with a shrug. “They don’t like Dean Shea, either.”
Lyle nudges her shoulder. “I keep this one around for lots of reasons.”
The two warm to each other briefly, and I can see how much they love each other. I would be green with envy if my knees weren’t trembling.
“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice a soft whine. “Why would you do this, too? What does it matter to you?”
Lyle’s dark eyes snap to mine, and I see an unexpected sharpness there. A hardness I’ve never known him to have, not after all the days bent over books in the library together or in faculty seminars where the whole damned board was up our asses about research proposals. He’s always been quiescent.
But maybe not.
“Lacie, don’t you know me at all?”
“I just don’t want to get in trouble. This is a big risk for me.”
Lyle snorts and looks like he’s about to say something when Therese cuts in. “Do you think you’re the one likeliest to ‘get in trouble’? That of all of us, a white woman is the most persecuted in Classics?” She crooks her fingers as she levels a deathly stare at me. “I mean, come on, Lacie.”
