Page 15

“U h oh.” Emmy caught in the common room on Third of Briseis House, staring into the fireplace. “Today didn’t go so well?” she ventured, sitting down next to on the sofa.

“He’s a bastard.”

Emmy rubbed a small circle on her back. “We tried to tell ya’, hun.”

“I can’t be kicked out of Trinity,” said quietly. Emmy’s hand disappeared and then her presence after it as she went to the common fridge and pulled out a half-drunk naggin of whiskey.

She handed it to . “Sip, then spill.”

Immensely grateful for Emmy’s calming presence, she twisted off the lid and considered a sip of the cheap liquor straight from the bottle, but then remembered the Plague and the body she’d dropped off to feckin’ Gold Stitch after her miserable shift at Gallaghers’. “Cup?”

Emmy laughed her deep, husky chuckle and left, returning with a fancy champagne flute.

filled it to the brim, lying to herself that the germs were only on the lip of the bottle, not in the liquor because of the alcohol content. She took a gulp, and Emmy snatched the flute, doing the same.

“There we are. Now, spill.”

“Murdoch said I have to just sit in his classes and observe before I can even make copies or fetch him coffee.”

“ Prick ,” Emmy interjected supportively, taking it upon herself to drink half the flute of whiskey.

“And then I called him a bastard and stormed out.”

Emmy gaped at her. “You did not.”

“I did.”

“I don’t know if I should be really fucking proud or horrified.”

melted into the sofa, palms up on her knees. “I think both.”

“Definitely both.”

“What am I going to do, Emmy? I can’t lose this tuition.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her desperation show, but it was too late to pull the words back in.

“And I can’t lose my only female roommate.” Emmy bumped her shoulder with her own. “It’ll work out.”

They sat in silence for a long time, draining the whiskey and moving on to cider and Tayto’s. Dony showed up with a group of guys smelling of sweat and the rugby pitch, taking over the sofas with no regard for the women already there.

“Gross,” Emmy muttered, hauling up. “You know,” she said as they headed for their suite, “he’s a fantastic lecturer.”

“Who?” asked, too tipsy to put much together.

“The bastard.” Emmy opened their door.

“Murdoch?”

Emmy locked them in and proceeded to put a kettle on. Thankfully, it was just the two of them since Gibbs was off doing whatever it was he did in the evenings.

“Yes, Dr Frankenstein. Loads of students flock to his open lectures.” She pulled out a pot of something that smelled delicious as it began to heat on the stove. “I went to his seminar on Greek Tragedies, and it was—” She broke off, shaking her head, copper braid swaying. “He had this whole monologue about Achilles and his tortured relationship with Patroclus, the way he so savagely mourned Patroclus’s death and wanted his bones mixed with his after he, too, perished.” Emmy paused and pressed a palm to her chest. “It was moving. Otherworldly.”

Emmy brought a cup of tea leaves, and she wrapped her fingers around it, though it didn’t yet have any hot water.

“His take on the tragedies through the lens of morbid anatomy was profound as well,” Emmy finished, stirring the pot and flicking off the heat for the kettle.

“Why doesn’t he like to be called ‘ doctor ’?” asked as Emmy poured steaming water over their tea leaves. “My old roommate told me that.”

“No one knows exactly. All I’ve heard is that on the first day of class, he declares to all his students that his patients are dead, so don’t call him Dr Murdoch.”

stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea, watching the crystals dissolve and contemplating what would cause Murdoch to take such a stance on his hard-won title. There had to be some reason and she surmised it was likely tragic.

They passed the rest of the evening and late into the night speaking of other things besides Murdoch and college, drinking tea and dozing in between conversations on Emmy’s bed.

Eventually, startled awake from a dream of jagged, sharp teeth and the screams of a man she felt she knew.

Sweaty, hungover—again—and disconcerted, made her way to her room, but it only made the nightmares worse.