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When we reach the threshold of the Div School, a modernish building constructed in the 2000s with ugly orange wood and new stone façade that makes it look like a child’s rendering of a Gothic building, Lacie pulls her arm from my grip.
I can almost feel her shake, a dog wringing fetid pond water from her fur. Me. The fetid fucking water.
I sigh and hold the door open. I’ve been on one end of an unrequited love situation before, and I don’t care to be there again.
Inside, a few Divinity School grad students mill and circle with coffee cups, chatting quietly about exams and whatnot. There’s a minister of some sort, probably Catholic by the collar, sitting with a prayer book. And, mercifully, there’s the smell of coffee snaking out of the food hall.
As we queue up, Lacie takes her glasses off and rubs the deep purple troughs beneath her eyes. “I tried to make a booking for the Rare Book Room today but found all the spots taken.”
“Exam season, I suppose. One mocha with extra chocolate, one black coffee.” I tap my card to pay and lead her to the side, but she’s typing away on her phone. When she looks up, her lips are tight, her gaze troubled.
“Odd…”
“What is?”
“I have never seen the RBR full. There are four spots per half hour, five hours a day, five days a week.”
“And?”
“And … I think it’s strange, is all. I’ve emailed my favorite librarian, but she hasn’t replied yet.”
“It’s like 7 AM, Lacie. We must give normal people not haunted by the undead a chance to wake up properly.”
She shoots me a withering glance and I offer her a toothsome smile in return.
“Please take this seriously. Not everyone is basically immortal.” She casts her eyes around. “And lower your voice.”
I wave an unbothered hand. “No one is listening.”
As if on cue, Evan shoulders his way through the early morning crowd. I sigh inwardly.
“Don’t look now,” I mutter, turning my body away, “but boy genius is here.” Little help that’ll do. I’m magnetic to certain people—that includes him.
“He’s coming toward us,” Lacie groans, grabbing our coffees from the bar. “Let’s try and—”
“Good morning, you two,” Evan says, unruffled. Lyle trails behind him, looking abashed. “Didn’t see you two for long at the after-party. What, are you squeamish?”
I roll my eyes. “Perhaps we had better things to do.”
“Better than hobnob with Dean Shea?”
“Mayhap.” I sip my chocolate milk cum espresso and give him an airy look. “Why, did anything fun happen after we left?”
Evan angles his gaze at Lacie. “I don’t know, did it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I quip, putting my shoulder in front of her.
“I can handle myself,” she mutters.
“Oh, nothing,” Evan says, ignoring Lacie’s grousing as he grabs his Americano off the bar. If I was a betting undead, I would have pinned him for a flat white. He slugs pure caffeine before clearing his throat. “Just, Lyle here saw you and Lacie running off. He said you seemed scared.”
“Truly? When?” I query.
I notice Evan didn’t specify when: before Sims or during the after-party. I decide not to entertain either theory. Lyle glances at him, confusion flashing across his face for the briefest instant.
When Evan doesn’t reply, I continue. “Evan, you and Lyle both know that last night is not something to be discussed near those who were not invited.”
Lyle shifts on his feet. “I was just worried,” he mutters.
