Page 15 of Grave Matter

As we enter the building, Kincaid is leaning against the desk beside the whiteboard, his arms folded. He’s dressed in slim-cut charcoal jeans and a black dress shirt that shows off the build of his muscular but lean upper body, not to mention he’s rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. The trifecta is complete: his forearms are magnificent.

He meets my eyes for one electric moment, then moves his gaze on to the next person.

“Please take a tablet from the stack to your left,” he says, his gruff voice tickling my spine. My dream had done such a fine job of mimicking him I’m already blushing.

I grab a tablet and follow Lauren to the table where we sat yesterday.

“The tablet is yours for the duration of your stay here,” he informs us.

“Sweet, I can check my email,” Munawar says.

“But of course, there will be no Wi-Fi for you to connect to,” Kincaid continues, a slight curve to his mouth.

“Barbaric,” Munawar mutters under his breath.

“At the end of your time here, you’ll be able to transfer all your data to your computers back at home, so no work will be lost,” Kincaid goes on. “I know we have a diverse group of students here from a variety of schools, working on different projects, so I hope the tablet will suffice. If you require something with more data, we can loan you a MacBook.”

He unfolds his arms and picks up a textbook from his desk, taking out a pair of dark-framed glasses from his shirt pocket, slipping them on. The movement reveals a tattoo peeking beneath the edges of his sleeves, something like black feathers. My heart leaps.

“Glasses and tattoos,” Lauren whispers as she nudges my arm, as if I’m not already blatantly staring at him. “No sign of a wedding ring either.” She pauses and lowers her voice even more. “Not that I would ever condone sleeping with the professor.”

I glance at her, and she gives me a playful wink. Jealousy unravels inside of me like a viper, sharp-fanged and completely unexpected. As if I have any claim to him just because I had that dream. Besides, I have been down this road before, and it only brought me shame and pain, and not the good kind.

Kincaid clears his throat, eyes down as he thumbs through the pages. “You’re all here at the Madrona Foundation because you offer something of value—advancement in neurobiological research. While most of you are focused on mycology and lichenology, some of you are here from the marine sciences angle, but the outcome is the same. You are here to eitherdiscover new properties in species already classified, whether it be in the average oyster mushroom or strand of bull kelp, or to discover new species in a world that is nearly untapped.”

He glances up at us. “How many of you applied for the program because of our advances in Alzheimer’s research?”

I put up my hand, along with most of the students.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “It’s hard not to hear of the progress that we’ve been making here and not want to be a part of it. But the advancement was a happy accident, like most things are in science. We already knew that hyphae and mycelia showed decision-making capabilities. We knew that mycelia exhibited spatial recognition, learning, and short-term memory. And we knew thatHericium erinaceus,or lion’s mane, had shown promise in neurological studies, enough so that it’s been popping up in supplements that promise to make you smarter. Among its active compounds, only erinacine A had confirmed pharmacological actions in the central nervous system. Admit it, you’ve all tried that sludge they market as mushroom coffee. It works, but it’s fucking awful. I’ll stick to my espresso, thank you.”

Kincaid gives us a wan smile and allows a few titters and murmurs in the room. “But despite the advances, we had yet to isolate the fungi’s own intelligence from its compounds,” he goes on. “Until one day, we did.” He pauses, glancing down at his textbook and adjusting his glasses. His eyes close for a moment, frowning as if lost in thought. Then he opens them. “As you all know, to the detriment of your student loans, mycology is underfunded across the board. Most scientists are scrambling for breakthroughs, never able to raise enough funds for research. When Madrona discoveredAmanita excandesco, the funds needed to properly study it became available. The Johnstones took a huge gamble in diverting their capital and interests away from an ecological observatory to one wheremycology and other taxonomy could be used in pharmaceutical studies. It’s more than paid off. The research being done in that building over there”—he nods in the direction of the lab—“is close to changing the world. Cures for Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer’s disease, stroke, and even neurodevelopmental disorders such as ADHD and OCD, are at our fingertips. With what we’ve learned studyingAmanita excandesco, we can now apply the research to many other organisms, and that’s where you come in.”

“But who says people with ADHD need a cure?” I blurt out.

His attention snaps to me, a strange look burning in his eyes. “I take it you have ADHD,” he says calmly. He doesn’t wait for me to confirm it. “Many take medication for it. Many would like to function as a neurotypical. This would be no different than taking prescribed stimulants, except, in theory, you would be able to take it once, and you’d be forever changed.”

“Sounds good to me,” a girl called Noor says. “I can barely remember to take my meds as it is.”

But what if you lose the essence of who you are?I think, but I manage to keep it to myself because I’m sure the last thing Kincaid wants is for his speech to be derailed. I know it can be dangerous to think of ADHD as a superpower when so many people are clearly disabled by it, and the neurodivergent community is not a monolith, but even so, the idea of having it wiped away—for good—makes me pause.

“You said that Madrona discovered the fungus,” Munawar says to him. “It was on your property here, was it not?”

He nods. “It was. Dr. Everly Johnstone discovered it while foraging.”

“How did you know then that it possessed the same attributes as lion’s mane?”

Kincaid shrugs. “A hunch, I suppose.” Then he turns his focus back to his book. “Now, I’d like to list the types of fungiyou’ll likely find while you’re here. I’m sure you’ve all seenChlorociboria aeruginascenes, or blue stain fungus, painting the sides of the cedars out here,” he begins and then launches into a very long list of all the fungi we’ll encounter.

I write it all down on the tablet, doing my best to focus on my notes and not on Kincaid, though I have a hard time not trying to figure out what his tattoo is of, if he has any others hidden on his body, what he looks like naked. In my dream, I only had an impression of his form, and like most dreams, the details have completely washed away.

When class finally ends, I know I should leave the room along with Lauren and everyone else, but I linger behind. I feel pulled to Kincaid in ways I can’t explain (okay, he’s smart, and he’s fucking hot, and maybe that’s enough).

I stop by his desk, where he’s gathering a few textbooks in his hands.

“Kincaid,” I say.

He glances up at me and takes off his glasses, slipping them back into his pocket, his posture straightening. “Ms. Denik. I hope you didn’t take offense to what I was saying.” His voice is strained, and though he’s staring into my eyes, he’s unreadable.

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