Page 6 of A Winding Wave of Magic
Applause broke through my thoughts. Dr. Cardy stepped down with a bright smile as I took her place and bent awkwardly over the microphone to conclude the talk at last.
“We’ll take a few brief questions,” I informed the audience. “And afterward, the department will welcome Dr. Cardy to a reception at the faculty club, which is open to members and their guests.”
Hands all over the room flew up. But while Dr. Cardy fielded questions, someone else in the back caught my interest. A man with gingery blond hair and light green eyes leaned against the wall beside the portrait of Thomas J. Stack, the sixth president of BC who served for less than a month before falling ill and dying just after his thirty-second birthday.
This man, however, looked fully alive. And about my age, too, though he stood with the bearing of a senior faculty member—self-assured with an arrogant, unwavering gaze. And that something. That sharp, striking presence onlywehad.
He was fae. I was sure of it. And judging from the cold, gruff control radiating from across the room, I didn’t need to touch him to know he was a sorcerer.
Spellhunters, some called them. Pirates, said others.
But it wasn’t the fact that he was a wizard that piqued my interest. What made the man stand out was that, instead of clapping or even glancing at Dr. Cardy speaking to her adoring fans, he had his large green eyes fixed squarely on me.And they did not move once.
The wooingof Rachel Cardy continued until the crowd followed her to the faculty club while I cleaned up the room at Gasson. By myself. Where I could breathe. Alone.
Well, not quite.
“I enjoyed your talk.”
The voice was distinctly British with a tinge of something else I couldn’t quite place. A lilt he was trying to hide, maybe.
Despite the compliment, the deceptively sharp tone caught me by enough surprise that I dropped the last of the stackablechairs on my toe with a grunt. Kiwi-colored eyes peered down at me with an expression that managed to be both cold and intent.
Kiwi-colored eyes.
Blinking through the dark.
I shivered.
“Would you like some help?”
After I had caught the man staring at me earlier, I stared back until he looked away. Dr. Cardy wasn’t alone when she said it felt like a seer could see right through her. Other fae believed wecouldin fact do such a thing (we couldn’t). It tended to make them uncomfortable when we looked for too long. I had thoroughly enjoyed that when I looked again a few minutes later, the man had disappeared.
Until now.
“No, thank you. I got it.” I set the chair on the final stack a bit more firmly than necessary.
“Cold?”
One gingery eyebrow quirked as the stranger nodded at my gloved hands. I fought the urge to hide them behind my back. Fae or not, he wouldn’t understand why I needed them. And I had no interest in presenting myself to such an imperious fellow as a defective seer.
“Winter in Boston,” I mumbled.
I had to crane my neck to look up at him, which meant the stranger was well over six feet tall next to my lanky five feet, nine inches. Up close, he looked a bit older than I initially thought, if the threads of silver at his temples were any indicator. He was also admittedly handsome, with pale skin and neatly trimmed ginger hair shadowed ashy black at the roots, as if his naturally darker color was bleached from too much time outdoors. A slim torso with broad shoulders was dressed in standard academic garb: an inoffensive brown corduroy blazer patched tidily at the elbows, an olive-green shirt ironed within an inch of its life, anda gray cashmere scarf knotted around his neck without a speck of lint.
His lichenesque eyes were the only colorful things about him—sharp, feline, and rimmed with lashes so dark it almost looked like he was wearing liner. The rest of his features were chiseled without seeming harsh. A crooked nose and straight jawline were softened by neatly groomed stubble.
As he noticed the way I noticed him, those green eyes rolled. Then he produced a semi-polite smile, lips pressed together. Forced. Irritable. Knowing.
I frowned. He was legitimately handsome—okay, fine, he was very attractive. But arrogance was not a quality I enjoyed in anyone.
“The reception for faculty is in McElroy,” I said curtly, turning to locate my coat and bag. “Students aren’t allowed, but they’ll probably make exceptions for non-member faculty. Just walk toward Beacon, and you’ll run into it.”
“Oh, I’ll call Rachel later. I wanted to compliment your stewardship of the event. Your comments were much more insightful than the average moderator’s.”
I paused, unsure of what to make of this odd, stiff compliment. “It was just an introduction. I welcomed a scholar and set up some chairs. Are you in Irish Studies too, or do you know Dr. Cardy via the Classics or Archaeology departments?”
“Archae—gods, no.” His face wrinkled with distaste. “I’m a scientist, not a bloody humanist.”
