Page 6 of Alchemy of Secrets

For the past year, all Holland’s graduate classes had been in the evening. It felt different to walk around campus now, when it was still light out.

Everything smelled like freshly cut grass and looked like the glossy cover of an admissions brochure.

The late October sun was shining on students riding bikes and playing frisbee.

Trees shaded a couple who were laughing in between sips of iced coffee, while a portable speaker played a familiar song on repeat.

It was a little unnerving to hear the song over and over as she walked, but perhaps that was the point?

It was the day before Halloween.

The music faded as Holland stepped inside the building that housed the Folklore department. Her cork heels softly tapped against the tile as she made her way toward the stairs. Holland had always loved the sound. But every time she wore high heels, she remembered why she never liked to wear them.

Unfortunately, the cork heels were the closest thing she had to anything professional.

The Coffee Lab didn’t have a dress code, so Holland usually just wore flowy skirts until the weather got too cold.

She was wearing one now, a knee-length white one, paired with a pale pink cropped blouse that barely skimmed the waist of her skirt.

A leather messenger bag hung from her shoulder.

January had bought it for her the first time she’d gone to Italy for work, and Holland took it everywhere.

The sound of Holland’s heels disappeared as she reached the second floor, which was covered in unfortunate green carpet that didn’t allow for clicking. The hallway was decorated with a few plastic pumpkins and lined with closed doors bearing dull bronze name plaques.

Adam Bishop’s door was at the far end, and it was already cracked.

“Hello!” Holland knocked. The door stretched open wider, welcoming her into an empty office. The air conditioner must have been broken, because it was warmer here than it was outside. It felt like a summer day that had been left behind.

There were no Halloween decorations in here. There wasn’t much of anything. The walls were white and bare, save for a trio of diplomas from very posh and impressive schools.

“Either this new professor hasn’t finished unpacking, or all he wants people to know about him are the overpriced schools he attended,” muttered Holland.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said a soft voice from behind her.

Holland spun around.

In the doorway stood another grad student, in ripped jeans and a plaid shirt.

He looked about her age—and, for lack of a better word, he was hot .

Unfairly hot. Even for LA standards, where everyone was some level of attractive.

He must have been from a different department, because she definitely would have remembered seeing him before.

He had tousled golden hair, tan skin, and nice arms—the kind of arms that said he worked out, he cared, but not too much.

Not that she should have been looking at his arms.

But he appeared to be checking her out as well. His eyes were on the necklace dangling just above the neckline of her top. She started to follow his gaze, but then she stopped herself.

Holland was dating Jake. Although, even as she thought it, their brief relationship already felt as if it had ended a long time ago. She remembered him the way she remembered the people she’d met when she’d first moved back to LA, the ones who had only spent a few chapters in her life.

“So which one do you think it is?” the grad student asked, motioning toward the black lacquered frames.

Holland’s gut said that only hanging these diplomas was an intentional choice. But she felt the stupid urge to impress this guy, so she opted for the kinder response. “I’m going to guess Professor Bishop hasn’t finished unpacking.”

“Then you’d be wrong. He’s a pretentious bastard.” The grad student said it like a statement, not a guess.

Holland was surprised. So far she’d only heard positive things about Professor Adam Bishop. “Why don’t you like him?”

“I didn’t say I don’t like him.”

“You called him a pretentious asshole.”

The grad student quirked a brow. “I actually think I called him a bastard.”

“No, you—” She swore he’d said the word asshole , but now as she replayed the last few seconds, she heard him saying, You’d be wrong.

He’s a pretentious bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

Asshole. Bastard. Asshole. The words skipped through her head like a broken track of music.

Until she felt something that wasn’t in her head.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Holland lifted her fingers to catch the blood falling from her nose. Red drops landed on her palm before staining her white skirt.

“Here, use this—” The grad student pulled a red handkerchief from his back pocket. Because of course he would have a handkerchief. It was perfectly normal to have a handkerchief— sixty years ago .

Holland might have thought the handkerchief was part of his Halloween costume. But Halloween wasn’t until tomorrow, and the rest of him appeared normal.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He flashed an absolutely perfect grin. “I’m Adam Bishop.”

Holland laughed. “Oh really.” She had a quick thought that being hot and funny was a fantastic combination. But he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was nodding, unnervingly serious. And she felt a sudden, painful flash of embarrassment.

“Maybe you should take a seat,” he said. And now he sounded serious, too. There were no more smiles or grins, and she felt ridiculous for thinking he’d maybe been flirting with her. Except…

This was not how she had pictured Adam Bishop. Ripped jeans, plaid shirt, sexy smirk. Strike that. He was a professor. He didn’t have a sexy smirk. Except he absolutely did, even if he was no longer wearing it.

She tried not to stare at his mouth. But then she made the mistake of looking up, at the dash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. And then there were his eyes. Hazel, with lots of green, flecks of gold, and a dark circle of blue, and she was definitely staring now.

“I really think you should take a seat,” he said. “You’re looking a little flushed.”

“I’m not flushed. Just surprised.” But she was definitely flushed. She could feel it, and she knew he could see it.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. A gesture clearly meant to show he was closing himself off to her because she’d definitely misread the situation.

Then he took an intentional step back toward the desk.

“Let’s start over. I’m Adam and I asked to meet because I’m going to be your new thesis adviser. ”

“I’m sorry. What?” she blurted.

“I’m going to be your new thesis adviser,” he repeated.

“But I already have an adviser.”

“That’s why I said I was going to be your new one.”

“You can’t be.”

“Why?” he asked innocently, but then she saw it again. A new smirk that briefly seemed to ask, Is this because you find me attractive?

“I think there’s been a mistake,” she managed calmly. “Professor Kim has been my adviser since I started the program.”

Adam frowned at the mention of the Professor. “That’s why I asked you to come here in person. I’ve been told the two of you were close.”

“What do you mean were ?” Holland asked nervously. “Did something happen to her?”

Holland thought back to the last time she’d seen the Professor. It was near the beginning of the month. Holland remembered the Professor being unusually excited that it was finally October. She hadn’t seen her in person since then, but earlier that day she’d received a package from her.

“Far as I know she’s fine,” Adam said.

“Then why are you replacing her?”

“You really have no idea?” He suddenly looked sorry for Holland, and for a second he didn’t say anything, as if he wasn’t sure how to phrase whatever he needed to say next.

“Has the Professor been fired?” Holland asked.

“No,” he said carefully. “I’m not at liberty to say anything else about it, but she can’t be your adviser anymore.”

“Wait—why?” Holland interrupted. “The Professor is one of the most beloved faculty members in this department.”

“But her classes are full of lies,” Adam cut in.

Holland flinched at the sudden sharpness in his tone.

“I’m sorry to say this,” he said more softly. “I know you look up to her, but you really shouldn’t. That woman is a liar and a fraud.”

He said something else along the lines of not being allowed to answer any more questions on the subject, but Holland was having a difficult time focusing. She needed to get a hold of the Professor and find out exactly what was going on.

Holland knew there were some faculty members who didn’t take the Professor seriously. But most of those people considered her classes harmless fun. And they didn’t usually call her a liar.

“Well, thank you for this information. It was nice to meet you,” she lied.

“Wait,” Adam said. “We still need to talk about your thesis.”

“I’m good.” Holland was already backing away. If she stayed, she was either going to get into a fight with him or burst into tears, neither of which she wanted to do.

“This isn’t an optional conversation,” he said. He reached behind him and grabbed a manila folder from the desk. It was blank, save for Holland’s name in one corner, written in severe capital letters.

Holland had the sudden impression that she was in trouble now, too. And this time she didn’t need to ask why.

Her palms started sweating and her fingers started toying with the chain around her neck as she watched Adam open the folder.

Holland was extremely proud of what she’d written, but her thesis was supposed to be between her and the Professor. She’d shared pieces of it with January, which actually hadn’t gone very well, and she had a feeling things wouldn’t go much better with Adam Bishop.

After opening the folder, Adam looked inside for what felt like an eternity, then finally said, “What you’ve written is good.”

“Really?” Holland asked, relieved.