Page 21 of The Exorcism of Faeries

“Oh.” He looked down into his drink. “It’s just— She’s really nice and very pretty?—”

“Notan option.” Even Sonder was surprised by the amount of venom in his voice.

Gibbs set down his glass and stood quickly, all the apprehension they’d erased drawn back in thick, jagged lines. “Right. Of course. I’ll be going, then.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Sonder leaned his head back against the top of the chair, loosening his tie. He spent entirely too long contemplating if Ariatne Morrow and her knowledge of the macabre and botanical was going to help him or royally fuck him over.

He supposed he would find out in the morning.

Atta

It didn’t take long to unpack all of her belongings. Within just a couple of hours, Atta had the room situated exactly the way she wanted it. In the organisational compartments of the well-worn desk, she’d staggered her grandfather’s gold microscope, her hand lenses, and rolls of wax paper tied up in twine, her instruments right where she could admire them. Amongst those, she’d placed a few of her favourite bundles of dried flowers and bottles of pins, matches, and annotation tabs. Her collection of the few fiction books she’d brought with her to Dublin was sandwiched between a Venus Italica statue and a bust of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, their vintage leather and gold spines complimented by her grandfather’s old clock and her grandmother’s golden candelabra.

Feeling lighter than she had in weeks, Atta slid her plethora of Botany, Folklore, and Religious Studies books onto the shelves next to her bed, one by one, relishing theshushof each and the immense pleasure of spines perfectly aligned.

In the middle of each row of books, she situated her specimen display boards. One of moths, their wings pinned to black velvet, one of bees, their wings pinned to taupe velvet, and one of dragonflies pinned to olive velvet. Atta ran her finger gently over a wing of theSeabhcaí an Fhómhair. Really, the insects and blossoms in her room were all the organic matter she had with her of Galway, and they brought her comfort.

All that was left to put away after her precious books and research materials was her limited wardrobe of tweed, plaid, wool, and corduroy, all in neutral colours. Those she stowed away in the small wardrobe, and her books had only filled up a third of the shelves, so she ended up using the bottom row for her shoes and another row for her woven jumpers and waistcoats.

Intermingled here and there, she set out the rest of her oddities. A bust of Marie Curie, a few extra candlesticks for if the power ever got fussy, a skull she’d managed to rescue—or was it steal?—from her parents’ morgue when they’d been called to pick up remains unearthed at a building site, and her first botanical research journal she’d compiled with the help of her grandfather.

Once she had her dark floral sheets on the bed and her grandmother’s old lamp situated on the desk, Atta stepped back and admired the room with a small smile.

Maybe this would all work out after all. She supposed she would find out in the morning when she actually began assisting Professor Murdoch.

Thoughts of him and autopsy reminded her of the lungflower tucked away in her desk drawer, and she ventured to pull it out. This time, as soon as she folded back the wax paper, her nose burned, and a sticky sweet scent like honey filled her senses a second before the pain seared through her, her brain feeling as if it was being cleaved in two. Splotches of black dotted her vision before everything went white, then lush green, then filled with the screams of a dying man.

Atta dropped the flower to her desk and stepped back, the pain and hallucination receding. She tried to catch her breath, not let it get to her.

What would happen if she tried to look at it with her lens? She had to find out. Nodding resolutely to herself, Atta took her most powerful lens and poised it above the flora, careful not to let her skin come into contact with it.

Beneath the powerful Hastings lens, the flower looked nearly like Hemlock, only each tiny petal had markings, almost like a thousand box tree moth wings, black at the tip, bleeding out into tan until it came to a crimson dot. The effect made the flower, at a distance, appear to be a moody garnett shade.

Chewing on her lip, Atta pulled out her research journal for all things Plague-oriented and jotted down her notes. Using the wax paper and tweezers so as not to touch anything, Atta taped the flora into her journal for preservation. With everything safely stowed away at the back of her desk, she glanced down at her watch and jumped. She was due across campus at class in twenty minutes.

Snatching her satchel, her duster coat, and the two textbooks she would need for Fundamentals of Ecology, she rushed from the suite, barely remembering to lock her new front door.

* * *

After class, Atta headed straight for the library to study. By the time she left, the sun was behind the horizon and Gibbs met her at the door of their suite.

“Dony and Emmy are already at the pub,” he explained in one long breath. “Let’s go!”

Gibbs’s enthusiasm for life was infectious and Atta couldn’t help but feel lighter around him.

It turned out the group’s usual pub was one of Atta’s old favourites from undergrad—Mulligan’s, just off campus. It was a brisk but lovely walk there chatting with Gibbs, and they were greeted enthusiastically by two individuals already there and nursing drinks.

“Agirl!” the young, vibrant woman said, jumping up and hugging Atta. “Thank Christ! It’s always smelly lads in our place.” She scrunched up her nose and Atta took an instant liking to her, just as she had with Gibbs. The stunning woman stuck out her hand, glossy red hair swaying and crystal-blue eyes glittering. “Emmaline Quinn, at your service.”

Atta chuckled and shook her hand. “Ariatne Morrow, but call me Atta.”

“Then call me Emmy.” Her spray of freckles accentuated her smile.

“Grand to meet you, Atta,” the sporty-looking lad sitting at the table said with a big, welcoming grin. “I’m Dony.”

With the pleasantries out of the way and drinks ordered, the conversation came more easily than Atta expected.

“I thought that other room would stay empty forever,” Dony said between sips of Guinness.

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