Page 5 of In the Dark

“Ma’am, I don’t know how you got in here, but I have to ask you to leave right now.” The demand was halfhearted.

He took her in, took in a face dreams were made of. He would know; he’d produced the dreams of mankind since his birth. Perhaps this was the universe throwing him a bone in the form of a welcome distraction from grading papers? A delicious, svelte, and wholly angry distraction?

It was too much.

She had pale skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Eyes too large for her fair face, cheeks as full and sweet as a ripe plum. Based on the coloring of hair and skin tone, Morgan placed her heritage somewhere in eastern Europe.

The woman thumped what was left of the door closed behind her and flicked on the light switch, instantly blinding him.

Morgan took his glasses off and squinted at her. “Slamming things is not going to make me want to let you stay,” he muttered.

“I’m going to presume you told me yes, you are Gauthier, and then invited me to have a seat. I’ll help myself.” Karsia crossed the floor and sat in a chair, crossing her legs. Staring at him. Dangerous from her seated position. “Seems chivalry died out sometime in the last decade.”

She assessed the man, opening her mind to her other senses. There was a raging river beneath his still surface, she thought. More to him than his exterior hinted at, this man with his steel-gray eyes and aquiline nose. Those eyes met hers with intelligence lurking in their depths, cool and calculating. His blank face was a mask. A carefully crafted image giving nothing away.

She appreciated the effort.

The look on his face directly contrasted with the three-button cardigan and pressed blue long-sleeve shirt. He looked like he’d raided the local thrift store and put together whatever he could find there without thought.

When he kept silent, Karsia pressed forward into his subconscious, the slightest intrusion. She saw empty spaces there—a yawning breadth of isolation and loneliness, coupled with great power. The power of a god.

More shocking, he pushed back.

Karsia blinked and extracted herself from his mind. Tried to distance herself on a cellular level. She would not pry deeper into him without a reason. A damn good reason. She threw off the feeling and continued to stare at him.

Close-cut chestnut hair melded down in a hint of a widow’s peak that completed his angled face. A long, refined nose and slightly bushy eyebrows lent him a distinguished appearance. The sort of man people listened to with ease.

She shook her head. “If we’re finished sizing each other up, let’s get down to business.”

Morgan took his time polishing the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. He exhaled and examined the glass for any lingering spots. “I suppose we must, since you’ve taken it upon yourself to break onto college grounds, find my office, and weasel your way inside. It’s not every day I have a witch seated across from my desk. By rights, I should call campus security and have them escort you from the premises. But I doubt they’d make it far with you in tow.”

“You can try, if you think you have the guts.”

That brought the tiniest smile, which he quickly hid. “For some reason, I have the feeling that the threat of police intervention means nothing to you.” He voiced the thought in a sarcastic tone. “Although if you turned violent, I could handle it myself. You seem pretty small for the fury you keep locked away. You’re quivering with it.”

Karsia quirked an eyebrow before speaking. “I hear you’re the man in charge of the mythology department. Specifically, a stone tablet from the Dark Ages. Found near the Baltic Sea?”

She puffed up her chest, a woman used to being obeyed and who refused to be intimidated. At the sight of her, Morgan pushed down the brief spark of laughter itching to get out. This was a person who took what she wanted. Like a tiny kitten puffing up and hissing at a play toy. He’d come across thousands of men and women like her in his existence. He knew what to say to appease them, what to do to antagonize.

On this occasion, he preferred to go with the latter.

“The man in charge, eh?” Morgan pushed his newly polished lenses back on his face and blinked. “I like the sound of that. Although I’m not sure it’s particularly true in this instance.”

“I read an article of yours detailing an obscure script from the Dark Ages. War and chaos and—dare I say—magic.”

“Did you? And I suppose you enjoyed it?” Morgan studied her. “No, perhaps not. Not the type of woman to sit down and discuss a carefully crafted research paper. You should be out with friends somewhere, dressing skimpily and enticing unsuspecting college seniors into buying you a shot.”

“For your information, I have no friends and I rarely dress skimpily. Are you done being snide?” Karsia asked. “Because I don’t have a lot of time to waste. There’s an eclipse coming, and I’m not sure if you know it, but it heralds the final tearing of a thinning veil keeping this world and the world of ancient magicks separated.”

“I wonder—”

She snapped her fingers. “Keep up, big boy. I need to know more about the script. Was there anything else on the stone pertaining to a veil?” She drummed her nails on the arm of the chair and regarded him with the zeal of a woman who meant business. “A wall or barrier of any kind?”

“Anything else?” he asked slowly. To torment her.

“Any mention of a reversal?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, springs creaking under the transferred weight. Oh yes, definitely an interesting distraction. Better than any he would have conjured for himself.

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