Page 42 of The Exorcism of Faeries

Atta dipped her chin, feeling overwhelmingly emotional that he’d pieced together her interests, and she couldn’t place why.

Murdoch ran a hand through his hair again, mussing it up even more. He reached for the pocket of his cord blazer and pulled out his glasses. Putting them on, he nodded toward the book. “Will you write down all you know? Put it in a report for me?”

Dumbfounded, Atta blinked at him. He was standing so close to her that she was finding it a little difficult to breathe. “Yeah. I mean, sure. Yes, I can do that.”

His smile, though small, was real and true as it curved his lips. “Thank you, Atta.”

He turned from her, selecting another book from the shelf. It was very near the one he’d removed for her to look at, so she assumed it was similar material, but her mind went elsewhere as he flipped a page.

“Oh my god.” She said it softly, but he turned in alarm, taking one step toward her.

“What is it? Your head?”

She screwed up her face at him. Why did he keep asking her that? “What? No. I know why you’ve looked familiar since I met you.”

Murdoch went still as one of the marble busts lining The Long Room. “Oh?” The word was tight. Forced out through his teeth.

“You would have been going for your doctorate when I was in undergrad, right?”

He bent his head to one side, calculating, then shrugged. “My doctorate was ‘78-’83. I took a gap year to live in Italy before beginning postgrad in ‘78.”

“Yes!” Atta almost shouted, thrilled to finally have figured it out. “I was studying at that table right over there.” She pointed across the gallery to a stall on the other side. “I had my Folklore exam the next day, and you were there”—she pointed toward the end of that stall—“reading.” She looked at Murdoch, smiling, and she thought she saw his gaze drop to her lips before he met her eyes again. “You never did sit down. You just stood there, like you are now. Like you always do when you read. One hand in your pocket until it’s time to flip the page.” She laughed with a fondness she didn’t know she held, and he froze in place again. “It was rather annoying, actually.”

There was something searching about his gaze and she tried not to let her smile fade, but it was difficult the longer it took him to respond to her.

“Professor Murdoch?” she ventured after a moment.

“Sonder.”

“I’m sorry?” Her heart slammed against her ribcage as soon as he said it.

“Please, call me Sonder. I’m not really your professor and I’ve asked you here to help me with something as a peer.”

Her palms were suddenly feeling clammy, so she curled her hands at her sides. “All right, then. Sonder.” She tested his name out on her tongue and he swallowed, his throat bobbing, then he nodded.

“Very well.”

Atta

As soon as the sun set, Atta rushed to Achilles House and banged on the knocker. Gold Stitch answered immediately as if he’d been waiting for her.

“Meet me at the petrol station down the way.”

“Do you realise half of what you say sounds like you’re an axe murderer?”

“It’s good I don’t use an axe but a scalpel then, hm? Less painful.”

Atta snorted.

“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” He closed the door and she was left doing what he said. Again.

On the drive to the petrol station, she considered talking to him about what she and Murdoch had been researching that afternoon.Sonder,she corrected inwardly,suppressing a tingle up her neck. The two of them had to be in contact, at least minutely. Atta wasn’t foolish enough to believe Sonder’s consulting didn’t include information trading with the head of Achilles House. He probably knew who Gold Stitch was and all about the flora found in Stage 3 Infected bodies. She couldn’t very well ask Sonder that, or it would reveal a whole host of her own secrets. Sometimes, she entertained the thought that the two men were in league together, perhaps even one and the same. It made sense for how sullen and bossy they both were.

That train of thought flitted away when she pulled into the station and saw Lauren Kennedy’s roommate leaning against her Volkswagen, smoking a cigarette. She recognised her from the broadcasts and couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of sadness for the girl. Kathryn had been the one to find Lauren like that, dead-eyed and consumed. Atta couldn’t fathom what that was like. Sure, she saw the deceased every day of her life, but she’d never stumbled upon someone she loved that way.

What if Kathryn had been at their dorm and not home visiting her new niece as she’d told the newsreader?

The thought gave Atta a horrible, brilliant idea.

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