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“I’m only saying you could do with some cheer. Your students think you’re The Dullahan.”

Sonder snorted. “I might, on occasion, remove other people’s heads for scientific purposes, but I do not remove my own.” He took a sip of the bitter coffee and made a face, discarding the cup on the side table. No self-respecting man should use apapercup. “Besides, carrying my own head around with me would be a hassle, and the last time I rode a horse was as a child.”

Mariana sighed through her nose and he just noticed a file in her hands. “What’s that?” He gestured toward it, already regretting sitting down with her.

She laid it flat on her lap all squeezed up tight in her pencil skirt and rested a hand on it, her wedding band glinting in the firelight. “This is the file for a student I think should be your assistant.”

She’d shocked him, he’d grant her that. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Just listen?—”

“I don’t need a TA.”

“She’s a grad student, not in the medical college, but she’s truly a gifted mind?—”

Sonder stood abruptly. “Fuck’s sake, Mariana. Why would I want a TA that isn’t even in my area of academic expertise?” He turned, his back to the fire. “Has she ever even taken any of my classes?”

Mariana squirmed and he knew the answer. “No, but she is well-versed in postmortem sciences.”

Sonder arched an eyebrow. “Whatisher area of study, then?”

“Botany.”

Sonder barked a laugh, and Mariana grimaced. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. She is a gifted young woman. Ariatne Morrow is her name.” She tossed the file on the side table near Sonder’s discarded coffee. “Have a look. She was raised in a mortuary her parents own and has worked there full-time for the past six years, after undergrad.”

Sonder squinted at the closed file, then back at Mariana. The student was a bit older than most, at least. “I don’t need any assistance.”

Mariana tilted her head to one side. “Just let the girl make your copies and bring you coffee. Then, she gets the tuition she needs, and you can do some good.”

Sonder glared at her.

“She even works at a morgue here in Dublin now to offset her expenses.”

Now that was intriguing. . . He tried to keep his features even, but judging by Mariana’s wobbly expression, he assumed she was becoming borderline scared of him like everyone else. “A botanist with a background in postmortem sciences.”

Mariana gave a terse nod, her hands folded together in her lap.

Sonder turned from her to face the fire, one hand on the mantle, and a thought struck him. He spun slowly back to face Mariana. “You know, Mrs O’Sullivan, I think we can work something out.”

She beamed at him. “Wonderful!”

An Old Irish Poem

It is said they are but lore.

It is said they are but demons.

This is but a plague.

Wayward spirits.

Ghosts.

Spectres.

Ghouls.