Page 25
Story: The Exorcism of Faeries
“B loody bastard .”
It had been her mantra for the last three days. She’d hardly slept, hardly eaten, and even bit off Emmy’s head when she tried to make her leave her room to go to Mulligan’s with her and the lads. She’d spent every free second she wasn’t in class or at work studying the mushroom and mycelium sample she’d stolen off Gold Stitch and compiling all of her research over the last six years into something resembling a proper scientific journal.
It had begun as a compilation for Sonder—what he’d asked her to do that day in the library—but it had quickly become an obsession. An obsession not only to understand the Plague but to make sense of what was happening to her. Why she was seeing visions and hallucinations. Why she had seen something that truly happened after the fact.
Despite having asked for the report, Sonder hadn’t mentioned it again and had been oddly formal and distant since she’d last seen him. In fact, she was adding him to the Bloody Bastard column too, because he’d sent her to fetch coffee. Something he hadn’t done since the day they bonded—or so she thought—over the autopsy of the murdered woman. When she’d proven she was no man’s vapid waitstaff.
Just for being a fucker these last few days, she was going to get him a paper cup. He hated takeaway cups—said they turned too flimsy and had no class about them.
She stomped the rest of the way to the teachers’ room, surprised to see Emmy and Marguerite Vasilios there.
“!” Emmy said cheerily. “She lives! Frankenstein’s monster lives!”
Professor Vasilios laughed without looking up from her newspaper and cracked a tight smile. “Clever,” the professor murmured, looking as flawless and exotic as ever.
“What are you two doing way over here in this building?” asked, ignoring the jab.
Emmy tapped a pen to a pad of paper in front of her. “Marguerite has been invited to try out her group therapy on Dr Frankenstein’s students like we talked about.”
ground her teeth together. Sonder had failed to mention that to her.
“Emmaline,” Vasilios censured lightly, looking at them over her open newspaper for the first time, “you really must stop calling Professor Murdoch that.”
found the oldest paper cup of the bunch, the one already wonky at the lip, that had been touched by who knew how many hands, and filled it with the stalest, sludgiest coffee. “Well, I’ll be seeing you,” she said snippily and left the lounge, Emmy looking at her like she’d lost her mind.
Sonder was highlighting a passage in a book when she stormed in, and she noted that he covered the pages with a file folder when he saw her.
“Ah, coffee.”
She slammed the cup down, some of the hot liquid sloshing out of the lid’s spout. “Here.”
She turned to leave, but he was around the desk in a flash. “, wait.”
Crossing her arms, she stared up at him. “What?”
“You seem perturbed with me.”
Was she? Angry at him ? Or was this all residual anger at Gold Stitch?
“No,” she said finally. “It’s been a rough few days. That’s all.”
“Are you having headaches?” he pressed, his brows knitted together in the middle with concern.
’s arms dropped to her sides. “Why do you keep asking about headaches? How do you even know I get them?”
She swore there was a flash of panic in his eyes before he smoothed out his features. “Gibbs mentioned it.”
“ Gibbs ?” There was a dull ringing in her ears. She wasn’t even aware Gibbs knew about her migraines. They must be affecting her more than she thought. “As in my roommate, Bernard Fitzgibbon?”
“Yes. He mentioned you suffer from migraines and I’ve seen you, I don’t know, wince on occasion, like you’re overcome by one.”
Liar, liar, liar, a voice in her head sang. The one that sang to her of Wills-o’-the-wisp and hawthorn trees. Liars we hate, the liars we ate, under the hawthorn tree.
shook off the voice. “I didn’t realise you knew Gibbs well enough to gossip with him,” she said mechanically, crossing her arms.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “It wasn’t gossip, Miss Morrow. He’s assistant to my colleague,” Sonder clarified, a challenge in his voice. A razor-thin something dancing between them.
“I know that.” She toed the line.
They stared at one another for a moment before cleared her throat. “Well, as it turns out, I am having a bit of a migraine coming on, and I work at the morgue tonight, so I’d like to rest this afternoon, if that’s all right. I heard Professor Vasilios is taking over your lecture today, anyway.”
“You work at the morgue tonight?”
She cocked her head to the side. “I do. . .” she answered slowly, eyes narrowed.
“I’ll see you Friday, then.”
left, headed for her dorm, for her research, one thought on repeat in her mind like a skipping record: Sonder didn’t have any classes on Fridays.
Table of Contents
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- Page 25 (Reading here)
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