Page 9 of Lessons with the Mothman (Monster Smash Agency)

CHAPTER 9

Victoria

"There's not much to support a thesis here."

I frowned, squinting over his right shoulder into the glare of sunlight from the window. "Of course not. I'm only a couple weeks in."

Phillip shrugged and held his hands up. "I'm just saying, as I've said before, you have too broad a scope."

"You're only looking at the anecdotal evidence of these interviews, which yes, I understand that this is only a handful of people?—"

"Species."

"—but the larger survey is being distributed now, with your approved controls and variables. That's the greater evidence. This is meant as support and a means of enriching my research goals."

I caught my breath as Phillip sat back in his chair—a brown leather wheeled desk chair that was a little too familiar to me. I blinked and exhaled slowly, relieved to find that the tension in the room was my anger, not arousal.

"Do you really doubt I'm getting work done outside of these interviews?" I asked.

Phillip waved a hand. "No. The surveys were thorough. I know those took time. And they'll take time for results. But I worry that by the time you have those results, it will be too late for you to narrow your focus."

"And if I narrow it now and the evidence comes back in my original theory's favor, I'll have wasted weeks of opportunities," I countered. "It's a risk either way. I'd rather risk ambitiously."

Phillip's eyebrows bounced. "Would you, really?"

I bristled at the question, glancing at the clock once more. The first half of the meeting had gone smoothly, covering everything I'd done over the month, but I'd been itching for escape for fifteen minutes now.

"Forgive me," he said, sitting up. "It's just…you're different than you were. Which isn't relevant to your work. Very well. Consider a possible pivot, make an alternative plan, just as insurance."

I opened my mouth to object, but finding thinner threads in the pile I was working through wouldn't take that much extra effort to outline, not when everything was go so well already.

"I can do that," I said, reaching for my things. We still had ten minutes, but Phillip only watched me pack up rather than object to my rush.

"The freelance assistant is still working out for you?"

I bent over, hoping I wasn't blushing as I thought of Elias. "They are."

"Is he absent during interviews? I noticed there doesn't seem to be?—"

"He doesn't interfere. And it just depends on what the subject is comfortable with. I don't think he's ever had cause to interrupt," I answered, lifting my bag strap over my head to rest it across my body.

Phillip nodded. "Your interviews are incredibly thorough. You never drop a detail. I look forward to seeing you in action."

A hint, but not a demanding one.

"Thank you for the meeting, Professor Stanton."

"I'll see you in class on Thursday."

I nodded as I turned for the door, trying not to be so obvious with my sigh of relief as I opened it. Phillip had a decent-sized office, not quite the narrow closet of some I'd been in, but it was filled with books and stacks of papers, crowding around me and making it hard to move. The scent, the light from the window, and of course the man himself were all oppressively familiar, tugging me back to the year when I'd stood with a match in one hand and a stick of dynamite in the other, just waiting to light the fuse on the order of my life.

I wove my way through the network of cubicles in the faculty offices, flicking fragments of an older version of me out of my thoughts. The sound of a giggle, a little shy and a bit forced. The nervous tic of twisting a lock of hair through my fingers. The memory of a warm hand brushing and retreating from my bare knee. The guiding pressure at the small of my back as I walked down the sidewalk of my old Chicago neighborhood.

There was no touch now. I didn't always know who I was now that I wasn't the Dempsey's eldest daughter, or Brett McAllister's girlfriend, or the nice redhead who kept her hand down in class and her skirt up in the professor's office, but I knew where the edges of my body were. I knew that every piece of me someone saw as they passed me in the hall, I had chosen that morning in the mirror. Intentionally or absently, I hadn't thought of anyone else.

I was myself, for myself.

Miss Dempsey,

This email may come as a surprise, but rest assured, I'm writing out of concern. Your recent work has been subpar and is taking a toll on your average. I know you take your studies seriously and am reaching out to offer you an opportunity to recover some of your slipping grades.

If you are interested in earning extra credit, please meet me at the N. Hoyne Ave address, second floor, right hall, last door on the left.

With respect,

Professor E.

"Shit, Vic, are you all right?" Lyle asked, slapping me firmly on my back.

I brushed his arm away, covering my cough with my elbow, eyes watering and head shaking as my phone clattered to the table, thankfully face down. The last thing I needed was Lyle asking who Professor E. was, or why I was being offered the opportunity to earn extra credit at a private address.

At least my sudden choking spell—on an inconveniently timed gulp of water—would cover the reason for my face being so red.

Elias wanted to role-play ?!

And of all the scenarios he could've chosen… Did fae read minds? For a moment, Lyle's voice faded under a ringing siren in my head as I tried to remember what I'd told Elias that night at the diner. I'd mentioned the affair, but…no, no, I was confident I hadn't said it was with my professor. This was a coincidence. A ridiculous one, but still, not intentional. Just as the dream of "lessons" I'd had afterwards had been a coincidence.

Hopefully.

"I'm fine," I rasped, shaking my head. "Swallowed wrong."

"Ugh, I hate when that happens. Everyone stares like you're dying, and it's the…" Lyle trailed off as I searched the taqueria, but it was late for lunch and early for dinner, and the only alarmed glances I received were from the staff behind the counter. "Sorry. I'll leave you to breathe," Lyle offered with a grin.

Teacher student, Elias? Really?

It was like a scenario out of a cheesy porno, the kind where a simpering girl in a too short skirt and too few shirt buttons—and dear god, pigtails —whines and pleads she'll do anything to raise her grade while a smirking?—

I shuddered and closed my eyes, sadly put off my appetite for my nachos. I would have to email Elias back my disinterest, and maybe it would be an easier way of explaining I'd changed my mind altogether. Did he really think I was the type who would?—

He doesn't. That's the point.

I paused, my hand covering my phone, staring into the swirling wood grain pattern on the table in front of me.

I'd told Elias we had to be different people in any situation we might have sex together. I'd been thinking of some basic compartmentalization, but this was creative. My lips twitched. Crude, and silly, and out of character.

A little filthy.

The shock of the offer, the resemblance to my fling with Stanton and the strange dream, was jarring, but I'd certainly never gone crawling to Phillip asking for extra credit.

And crawling toward Elias… A warm curl of interest brushed through me, stroking between my thighs.

It had an appeal. I wasn't sure I could simper, but I knew how to be demure. My mother had taught me that. I knew how to play a role.

My mouth watered at the thought of how I might be asked to earn the extra credit. It would be for him , just as I had asked. I would have to please him, gain his approval. "For my grades."

I snorted, and Lyle glanced at me.

"Better?" he asked, head tipped in curiosity.

Damn. I'd forgotten again about his sixth sense.

"Still breathing," I answered, sliding my phone into my pocket and reaching for my plate of nachos.

Professor E.

Thank you for this offer. I'll do whatever it takes.

Miss Dempsey