Page 7 of Ulune's Daughter

I thank Luca again and excuse myself, walking briskly across the campus to Old Chapel. The front building is, in fact, the college’s original chapel and retains its marble steps and columns. The rear of the building has been extended and modernized into faculty offices and seminar rooms. It’s not the first time I’ve entered the building as a teacher rather than a student.

But it is the first time I’ve had my name on the door of my own office.

My office is two doors down from Jane’s, with a small storeroom between us. Carrie’s office is on the far side of Jane’s. Convenient for visiting, although Carrie’s not around during the day. While Jane’s comfortable in daylight, Carrie is nocturnal. She teaches morning classes before she goes to sleep, and holds her office hours late at night, to accommodate her snake’s nature.

I’m glad I’m not as tied to my preternatural biology. Four generations back, my ancestor trapped acyhyraethand got a child on her. Fae blood can run so true that I could have been drawn to some ancient, noble family to spend my days wailing whenever one of them passed through the Veil. Happily, my fae blood’s diluted. I still have some of the infrasound powers my fae ancestors are famed and feared for, but I haven’t felt any urges to gather up shrouds and wash them in the closest stream. I’m perfectly content to study them as part of the archeological record.

My office, which is a Spartan cube with a desk, several filing cabinets, bookshelves and two guest chairs, is stuffed full of boxes. I maneuver between the stacks to my desk. I haven’t decorated beyond a slender, carved crystal knife from Isla Cedros that I use as a letter opener. The knife’s enchanted and moves around whatever surface I place it on. Today, it’s near my school-issued laptop, balanced on its point. It looks like a diamond exclamation mark, hanging in the Air. I know from experience the knife’s position means I have important emails.

I set my phone on a charging pad and fire up my laptop. In the ninety minutes of class and thirty minutes of coffee with Luca, I’ve somehow gotten thirty-five emails. I roll my eyes. Field work definitely has its perks. I barely got an email a day when I was on Isla Cedros.

I work through them and find two that are very important. The first is a meeting request with Dean Quinn and the tenure committee next week. I take a deep breath and accept the meeting request. It will just be an introductory meeting to discuss the possibility of tenure track, I have no doubt. But any step down that path feels like a big step indeed.

The second is from Teddy’s husband, Gabe, inviting me to a family dinner. I accept that invitation with a smile. I haven’t seen Teddy and her family in too long and that’s all on me. I put packing up the excavation ahead of everything for the last few months. I’ve been terribly antisocial. Even though I have a lot to do with the exhibit, I have time now to reconnect with my friends, the people who have been there for me just as much as Jane and Carrie.

When I look up from my emails, the crystal knife is lying flat on the desk, on top of two pens. I take that to mean I’ve dealt with everything important.

Time to do the drudge work.

Since I have at least the prospect of an assistant, I could leave this task for him. It might take his cockiness down a notch or two to spend a few hours doing mindless alphabetization. But it seems mean-spirited.

With a sigh, I move over to the bookcases, open the first box, and take out the academic books I’ve been toting around with me since my first year at Bevvy. Some of my friends call me a hoarder. I’m not. I just don’t like to get rid of books. I like everything about them. I like the way they feel and smell. I like the weight of them in my hand and mind. I like the sense of connection with a shared history. I buy books like a competitive sport and rarely sell or give them away.

I have a lot of books.

I unpack and shelve them until the afternoon light is gone and my arms are aching, even though I’ve used skeins of Air to shelve and shuffle many of the books. With all of the bookcases full and only two-thirds of the boxes unpacked, I’m defeated until I order more bookcases. I tuck a twine-wrapped bundle of box cardboard under each arm as I leave my office and head toward the back of the building where the recycling bins are.

As I open the door out onto the loading dock, I hear a scream.

Chapter3

Furphies

LAW

My twin bangs into the den, pushing aside the curtains that keep out the annoying daylight and tossing his backpack onto his desk.

“You felt it?”

I nod. I’ve jacked off three times while he was drooling over our mate.

He slumps into his desk chair and spins around, tipping his head back and running his fingers through his hair. He’s changed his eyes back to normal, at least, so I’m looking into a mirror instead of an undead version of myself.

“I’m going tonight,” I tell him.

He sits up. “You can’t. She says she won’t cross the line as long as we’re her students.”

“You’re her student,” I point out. “I’m not. I have no intention of ever being her student.”

I’ll leave the Necromantic weirdness to Luca. Although I have some affinity for the dead, I’ve never had the slightest interest. Our mate enjoys studying dead things. They can talk about it to their heart’s content while I fill her with our kits.

“I have enough credits that I could graduate tomorrow,” I continue. “You asked me to wait until you met her. I waited. You’ve met her. She’s my mate; I want her now.”

Luca growls at me. “No.”

I chuff at him. No one tells me no. I’ll tolerate the word from my twin, but I won’t heed it. We’ve been in the same town as our mate for over a week. I’ve shown a ridiculous amount of restraint. I’m not waiting any longer.

“Don’t be an asshole. Give me some time to get to know her my way. She’s our mate, too.”

---