Page 18 of The Exorcism of Faeries

“Wait, my books.” She pulled out of Mrs O’Sullivan’s death grip before they got up the gallery stairs and snuck back to retrieve them.

Out in the hall, Atta asked when the next class was.

“Unsure, dear. I’ll look into it and give you a ring.” She produced a key from the pocket of her too-tight blazer. “You will be in Room 4, Third Floor of Briseis House. It is located not far from your current accommodations, so I trust the move won’t be too difficult.” She set a folded paper on top of the key in Atta’s outstretched hand. “That is a map with Briseis circled, but it’s just ‘round the corner. I’ll point you in the right direction.”

Outside, the campus was bustling with students, a hint of the approaching autumn on the wind, stirring the leaves that would soon lose their chlorophyll and show the world how beautiful it is to die.

* * *

Briseis House, in all its stately, Gothic stone didn’t look all that different from her grad suite with Imogen and Colin, but she was still sore over losing the view from her old room.

“Sure you wanna do this?” Imogen dropped the box she’d hauled from Atta’s car unceremoniously at her feet. She should have given her the bags of clothes to carry.

“I don’t have a lot of choice anymore. The ball is already rolling.”

Imogen shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“Encouraging speech, Imogen.”

The girl bent to pick up the box she’d set down, using her back instead of her legs like an amateur. Alas, Imogen only had to worry about how shiny her hair was, not how to carry dead weight.

“Here, let me help you with those.” They turned to find a young man about the same age as Imogen—let’s face it, the same age as every grad student but Atta and the middle-aged man in Geology College. He was a handsome lad with warm brown skin and even warmer brown eyes lined with enviable lashes and black hair shinier than even Imogen’s. He wore thick-framed glasses, and he was fairly gangly, not quite filled out yet despite his age that Atta would peg at about twenty-three. He wore jeans and a Trinity College hoodie, nothing out of the ordinary, but he gave one glance at Imogen, and Atta almost snorted. The lad probably hadn’t realised Atta even existed. She wasn’t blonde, busty, and long-legged, after all. Most young men hadn’t yet realised the appeal of soft curves and more to grip.

To Atta’s immense surprise, Imogen wasn’t an arse to him.

“That’s so thoughtful.” She kicked the box toward him and he scooped it up, struggling only minorly less than Imogen had.

“No problem at all. The name’s Bernard Fitzgibbon. But everyone calls me Gibbs. You moving in here?”

He directed the question at Imogen, but Atta answered. “I am. I just took a TA position. I’m Atta. That’s Imogen.”

Gibbs finally looked at her and the box slipped from his hands, but he caught it at the last second. “Sorry about that,” he laughed awkwardly. “So, you’re the one that took the position for Dr Frankenstein— Em. Sorry. Professor Murdoch.”

Imogen laughed, inspecting her nails. “Told you everyone calls him that.”

“Get the door, Imogen,” Atta gritted out, juggling her box.

In no rush at all to follow directions, Imogen sauntered slowly toward the door and Atta addressed Gibbs. “How did you know it was me that took the position for Murdoch?”

“Oh.” He balanced the box on his knee and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I do some work for him sometimes. Just”—he shrugged, adjusting the box in his grip—“calculations, stuff like that. Word gets around fast here.”

Gibbs let her enter the dorm first, and they stepped into a common room that was far more polished than her previous one, outfitted with a pool table, a kitchenette, and a media corner. Imogen ran off to take a cider from the well-stocked fridge.

“Tell me I didn’t kick you out of a job,” Atta said to Gibbs as they climbed the stairs toward her floor. “I didn’t realise Murdoch had an assistant already. He told me he didn’t need one, but I thought he just didn’t want one.”

“Oh, no, no.” Gibbs shook his head and she worried his glasses might fly off. “It’s nothing like that. Finally, that empty room on our floor will be filled.”

“Wait, ‘our’floor? I’m in your suite?”

“Sure are.” He beamed at her and Atta decided she liked the lad. She could use some of his enthusiasm in her life. At least he hadn’t brought up her age. Though reminding herself she was going to end up a veritable Dorm Mother was a tad depressing.

“The suites work differently here than any of the other dorms,” Gibbs went on, leading the way. “Each suite is an entire floor. Murdoch, Vasilios, Lynch, and Kelleher all stayed on Third when they were postgrad students, and it became a time capsule of sorts because their parents and grands stayed here before them. We’re all TAs here, and the suites are all split around three separate common rooms, one on each floor. Only Second and Third have two bathrooms, so you lucked out only having to share with one of the three of us.”

They walked through another common room that rivalled the setting of a fancy French ski resort. It was more a cosy library and bar than anything else. The hearth logs weren’t lit, but she could easily picture herself snuggled up on one of the comfy couches in front of the bookshelves to study by the fire come winter. Maybe leaving her picturesque view wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“And you are TA for. . .”

“Lynch. Domhnall assists for Kelleher, and Emmy assists for Vasilios. The TA room for Murdoch has always been empty, though.” Gibbs kicked open the door to what must be their suite, and Atta followed him in. “It might be a bit dusty in there.” He dropped the box onto a round coffee table in the middle of the small sitting area and pointed to one of the four doors. Two of the others stood ajar but were empty of students. One had cream walls covered in a chaotic array of band posters and shelves of esoteric knickknacks, films, and records. The other room was a whirl of clothing on the floor and the bed, the only decor a poster of a bikini-clad woman Atta didn’t recognise.

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