Page 12

I t didn’t take long to unpack all of her belongings. Within just a couple of hours, had the room situated exactly the way she wanted it. In the organisational compartments of the well-worn desk, she’d staggered her grandfather’s gold microscope, her hand lenses, and rolls of wax paper tied up in twine, her instruments right where she could admire them. Amongst those, she’d placed a few of her favourite bundles of dried flowers and bottles of pins, matches, and annotation tabs. Her collection of the few fiction books she’d brought with her to Dublin was sandwiched between a Venus Italica statue and a bust of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, their vintage leather and gold spines complimented by her grandfather’s old clock and her grandmother’s golden candelabra.

Feeling lighter than she had in weeks, slid her plethora of Botany, Folklore, and Religious Studies books onto the shelves next to her bed, one by one, relishing the shush of each and the immense pleasure of spines perfectly aligned.

In the middle of each row of books, she situated her specimen display boards. One of moths, their wings pinned to black velvet, one of bees, their wings pinned to taupe velvet, and one of dragonflies pinned to olive velvet. ran her finger gently over a wing of the Seabhcaí an Fhómhair . Really, the insects and blossoms in her room were all the organic matter she had with her of Galway, and they brought her comfort.

All that was left to put away after her precious books and research materials was her limited wardrobe of tweed, plaid, wool, and corduroy, all in neutral colours. Those she stowed away in the small wardrobe, and her books had only filled up a third of the shelves, so she ended up using the bottom row for her shoes and another row for her woven jumpers and waistcoats.

Intermingled here and there, she set out the rest of her oddities. A bust of Marie Curie, a few extra candlesticks for if the power ever got fussy, a skull she’d managed to rescue—or was it steal?—from her parents’ morgue when they’d been called to pick up remains unearthed at a building site, and her first botanical research journal she’d compiled with the help of her grandfather.

Once she had her dark floral sheets on the bed and her grandmother’s old lamp situated on the desk, stepped back and admired the room with a small smile.

Maybe this would all work out after all. She supposed she would find out in the morning when she actually began assisting Professor Murdoch.

Thoughts of him and autopsy reminded her of the lungflower tucked away in her desk drawer, and she ventured to pull it out. This time, as soon as she folded back the wax paper, her nose burned, and a sticky sweet scent like honey filled her senses a second before the pain seared through her, her brain feeling as if it was being cleaved in two. Splotches of black dotted her vision before everything went white, then lush green, then filled with the screams of a dying man.

dropped the flower to her desk and stepped back, the pain and hallucination receding. She tried to catch her breath, not let it get to her.

What would happen if she tried to look at it with her lens? She had to find out. Nodding resolutely to herself, took her most powerful lens and poised it above the flora, careful not to let her skin come into contact with it.

Beneath the powerful Hastings lens, the flower looked nearly like Hemlock, only each tiny petal had markings, almost like a thousand box tree moth wings, black at the tip, bleeding out into tan until it came to a crimson dot. The effect made the flower, at a distance, appear to be a moody garnett shade.

Chewing on her lip, pulled out her research journal for all things Plague-oriented and jotted down her notes. Using the wax paper and tweezers so as not to touch anything, taped the flora into her journal for preservation. With everything safely stowed away at the back of her desk, she glanced down at her watch and jumped. She was due across campus at class in twenty minutes.

Snatching her satchel, her duster coat, and the two textbooks she would need for Fundamentals of Ecology, she rushed from the suite, barely remembering to lock her new front door.

* * *

After class, headed straight for the library to study. By the time she left, the sun was behind the horizon and Gibbs met her at the door of their suite.

“Dony and Emmy are already at the pub,” he explained in one long breath. “Let’s go!”

Gibbs’s enthusiasm for life was infectious and couldn’t help but feel lighter around him.

It turned out the group’s usual pub was one of ’s old favourites from undergrad—Mulligan’s, just off campus. It was a brisk but lovely walk there chatting with Gibbs, and they were greeted enthusiastically by two individuals already there and nursing drinks.

“A girl !” the young, vibrant woman said, jumping up and hugging . “Thank Christ! It’s always smelly lads in our place.” She scrunched up her nose and took an instant liking to her, just as she had with Gibbs. The stunning woman stuck out her hand, glossy red hair swaying and crystal-blue eyes glittering. “Emmaline Quinn, at your service.”

chuckled and shook her hand. “Ariatne Morrow, but call me .”

“Then call me Emmy.” Her spray of freckles accentuated her smile.

“Grand to meet you, ,” the sporty-looking lad sitting at the table said with a big, welcoming grin. “I’m Dony.”

With the pleasantries out of the way and drinks ordered, the conversation came more easily than expected.

“I thought that other room would stay empty forever,” Dony said between sips of Guinness.

“I have to agree,” Emmy put in, popping a couple of peanuts into her mouth. “I never thought Dr Frankenstein would hire a TA.” She looked at apologetically. “No offence or anything.”

“Oh, none taken.” ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “He’s sullen and has a reputation, but I think it’ll be all right.”

“He’s a prick,” Dony put in uselessly.

“He’s not all bad,” Gibbs jumped to Murdoch’s defence to everyone’s apparent surprise, and Gibbs looked down at the scarred table. “I mean, he’s not the greatest, but give the man a chance.”

Dony snorted something, his speech already fairly slurred. Emmy flipped her hair over one shoulder and bustled off to order another round, ignoring Gibbs.

“Do you all know the professors fairly well, then?” asked when she returned.

“I wouldn’t say we know them much at all,” Emmy offered, smiling her thanks to the lad behind the bar who made their drinks. “We know about them, sort of as caricatures, I guess.”

“We know they like to drive us into the ground,” Dony groused into his glass.

Gibbs frowned at Dony and turned to . “We are their assistants and we do our jobs. Lynch is Faculty Dean of Health Sciences, so I stay rather busy in that department, but he’s also Professor of Applied Social Research which is my college.”

“Dr Marguerite Vasilios,” Emmy announced regally, “is Professor of Psychology and Mental Health.” She pressed her fist against her chest to stifle a burp. “Oops, sorry about that. Dony?” she prompted and all of their attention swivelled to him.

“You’re really pretty, ,” he slurred and Emmy punched him in the arm.

“He’s a dick when he’s had one too many,” Gibbs explained apologetically. “He TAs for Professor Kelleher, Pharmaceutical Sciences.”

nodded along, feeling a little out of place.

“How old are you?” Emmy asked at random, though there was no malice or judgment in her tone. “I took a few years off,” she explained before could answer. “So everyone is younger than me. You seem about my age.” She smiled, her cupid’s bow lips flushed with drink. “I’m twenty-six.”

A tinge of relief flooded , to room with someone not only kind and welcoming but closer to her age than all the other students. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“I knew it!” Emmy smashed her glass against ’s creating a tidal wave of Guinness and whiskey. “This is going to be nice, having you around.”

They spent the next couple of hours drinking and getting to know one another before Gibbs responsibly ordered everyone food and coffee to sober them up, and they walked back to Briseis House together.

Gibbs and Dohmnall claimed they were going to play some video games out in the common room while Emmy followed into her room, looking at all her books and oddities.

“You are an intriguing woman, .” She smiled at her over her shoulder as she inspected the moth display. “I hope you know that’s a high compliment.”

“I appreciate it. I never really fit in anywhere, so I tend to stick to myself.”

Emmy plopped down on ’s bed, leaning against the pillows. “Fitting in is all a masquerade, anyway. Quality over quantity is my motto. I tend to stick to myself, too. You seem all right, though.”

laughed, sitting down in her desk chair. “You seem all right, too.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

shrugged. “I don’t know what to expect, but I’m sure it will be fine.”

Emmy nodded thoughtfully. “Just be sure to wear something sexy.”

screwed up her face at her new roommate. “I want to command respect.”

With a snap of her fingers, Emmy pointed at her and winked. “Exactly.”

“So,” explained slowly, “coming off as sexy is not my aim.”

Emmy rolled her eyes and sat up on the bed. “I didn’t say slutty or that you have to fuck him. It has very little to do with who the man is, anyway. It’s about her, the woman in the scenario. When a woman feels sexy, she feels confident and in control. It puts a spell on men. It has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with power. It’s just another tool in a woman’s arsenal.” She laid back, resting on her elbows. “You clearly have the brains. Make people see you.”

considered Emmy’s point for a moment, understanding her new friend wasn’t insinuating she should degrade herself to gain a man’s respect at all. “Show them where to look without saying a word,” she mused.

Emmy howled. “Exactly that! And I don’t mean your tits. Your fucking aura , Ariatne Morrow. It’s a good one.” She winked again and 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, 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. did not for one moment believe anyone would find her outfit sexy , 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 ’s outfit?”

“Oh– Well, it—” Gibbs stammered perking up as soon as his attention landed on , 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.”

did feel incredible. But that might have been the wine.