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Emmy howled. “Exactly that! And I don’t mean your tits. Your fuckingaura, Ariatne Morrow. It’s a good one.” She winked again and Atta half fell in love with her. She’d never had a female friend that was a woman’s woman. A supporter, not an insecure girl always lurking in the shadows waiting for an opportunity to make your life a living hell out of jealousy.

“You’re wise for your years, Emmaline.”

She preened, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them, batting her eyelashes. “Now, show me your sexiest librarian look.”

After three glasses of wine, too many outfit changes, and a sore stomach from laughing, Atta beamed, looking at herself in the wardrobe mirror.

She wore a chocolate brown pleated skirt just short enough to show off her shapely legs, paired with a deep cut, tulip-collared blouse under a woven sleeveless pullover. She’d added her favourite forest green wool blazer and her (slightly) heeled lace-up Oxfords with patterned Argyle socks. Atta did not for one moment believe anyone would find her outfitsexy, but she felt unstoppable.

“I think this is it.”

“Completely agree,” Emmy said emphatically. “I’d salivate over you if you were my librarian.Lads!” she called, and Dony and Gibbs shuffled in, half asleep. “What do we think of Atta’s outfit?”

“Oh– Well, it—” Gibbs stammered perking up as soon as his attention landed on Atta, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“It’s. . . You look—” Dohmnall’s face went beet red. “Incredible. . .”

“All right, that’s enough. Get out.” Emmy shooed them away. “Exhibit A: A woman’s confidence makes putty of lesser lads and commands the respect of men.”

Atta didfeelincredible. But that might have been the wine.

Atta

Nursing a hangover on the day she was meant to begin her new assistant position for the severe Professor of Morbid Anatomy was not ideal.

A hangover always made the migraines worse, too.

Atta knew better than to drink whiskey and Guinness at the rate of college kids, let alone chase it with three glasses of wine and little sleep. The night had been fun though, far more fun than Atta had expected it could be. She was actually looking forward to sharing a suite with Gibbs, Domhnall, and Emmy. Especially now that she knew the scales weren’t tipped too far to her side concerning maturity, and she felt bolstered by Emmy rather than the competitivegirl worldmost women lived in that Atta found disturbing.

There were clouds rolling in, but for the time being, the sun was shining over campus, the breeze was crisp, and the walk to the Medical Building from Brieseis House was short but beautiful.

The coolness of the building’s interior sent a chill up Atta’s arms, and she wondered idly when the college would switch on the heat. The corridor leading to where Mrs O’Sullivan said Murdoch’s office was located was significantly warmer, and she discovered upon reaching said office that it was because he had a lovely fireplace there.

She knocked politely on the open door just as she had on the open door of his lecture hall when they first met a few days earlier. He was standing with his back to her, one hand in his pocket, the other holding an open book. Again, she was struck by the familiarity of his stance, and again, she couldn’t grasp where that familiarity came from. It was a distant thing, far off and fuzzy. It was going to drive her mad until she figured it out.

“Come in,” he said more to his book than to Atta. He didn’t seem to often look at people when they entered, and it irked her.

“I know I’m a little early,” she said as she came in. “Mrs O’Sullivan said I could find you here before class and I thought we should discuss what it is you’d like for me to do today.”

“One moment,” he murmured, again more to his book than to her.

He was completely engrossed in what he was reading, and Atta couldn’t help but wonder what it was. Finally, he slid that hand out of his pocket and flipped the page reverently. It almost felt like she was intruding on a private moment, something special and intimate. Or was she captivated by seeing this surly man be so gentle with the book, that page-turn almost romantic. . .

Murdoch clapped the book shut and Atta jumped at the sound, her romanticism dissipating like faerie dust.

“Have a seat, Miss Morrow.” He turned and gestured toward one of two fine leather chairs opposite his desk.

She dropped her satchel to the floor and stacked all her textbooks on an end table. Sitting in the left chair, she smoothed out her pleated skirt that was frankly too short for sitting without the cover of a desk. “This is a lovely office, Professor.”

As a rule, Atta did not hand out empty compliments. Murdoch’s office truly was stunning. Dozens of anatomical sketches, skeletal renderings of various creatures, and one large Doctor of Philosophy diploma hung in simple frames between two glass-enclosed bookcases taking up the entire charcoal grey wall behind Murdoch’s mahogany desk. To Atta’s left there was an antique sideboard with a beautiful glass decanter of what was most likely expensive whiskey and an old globe, the sepia-toned kind that bore depictions of the old world. Across the room was a small hearth, a fire steadily burning and casting the space in a warm glow.

Despite the perfect order of everything else in the room, particularly the bookshelves, Murdoch’s desk was a flurry of chaos. It was mostly papers and pens, a gaslamp, and a few scattered books, but there were also three coffee mugs—not the paper takeaway kind—and an expensive-looking pipe on display. Ah, that was it, the scent lingering along with the parchment and leather aroma of books and stale coffee: pipe tobacco. A smoky, sweet scent, like old books, spices, and deep woods.

Professor Murdoch did not respond to Atta’s compliment, he merely sat in his chair across the desk and watched her until she nearly squirmed. She hated that he made her feel like she could come out of her skin.

“I thought we could discuss what it is you’ll need me to do today and going forward,” she repeated her earlier statement when his gaze became too much. He certainly didn’t have trouble keeping his eyes on her whilenotspeaking.

Murdoch laced his fingers together and set his hands loosely on the mess of papers in front of him, like a ribcage splayed on parchment. “For the next few weeks, I’d like for you to simply observe.”