The professors were now down on the street before the front door to identify the entrance and greet those arriving at the conference. Theo had brought customized cherry-red Tshirts for himself and Hron: Theo’s had “Evil” emblazoned across his chest and Hron’s read, “Monsters.”
Magdalena sat behind the registration desk on the second floor landing, ready to greet the arriving academics and register their attendance. She had the sign-in sheets before her, the pages of columns filled with names and check marks indicating whose account was paid in full and whose still needed to be settled before admission to the conference sessions. Magdalena sat up, shoulders back, hands folded before her on the tabletop. She was smiling and excited.
She had always watched Lida handle the conference registrations before, peeking out at Lida from behind the office door, which was carefully left ajar, as Lida was eager to both impress those left in the office and give them some meager glimpse of the world outside in the halls of academe. Now that Magdalena found herself in the seat behind the registration desk and caught a glimpse of Lida peeking out into the hallway and down towards the landing, Magdalena felt as if she had finally arrived in the world of the grown-ups and important people.
Magdalena was excited not simply to have usurped Lida’s usual role of registering and welcoming the visiting academics, but to have established herself as the responsible local person to whom they could turn with any question regarding the conference, their accommodations, the best places to eat, or the tourist sites she would recommend to those visiting with limited time and what they considered limited financial resources—as they thought of themselves as poorly paid academics—though they nevertheless came with hard, Western currency in their pockets. Magdalena was also excited to greet the conference arrivals because the two she had summoned months ago in her garden when she had conjured Flauros and Halphas would be among them. She was not sure how she would know them when they appeared, but she was certain that they would be identifiable.
The first arrivals came up the stairs. Two men and a woman. They were both well dressed, though the older of the two men was the more rumpled of the two. They seemed impressed with the marble and wood and velvet drapes of the building, looking about them in every direction as they climbed the stairs. The woman pointed to the frescoes on the ceiling. Magdalena enjoyed watching them gawk.
They arrived at the registration desk. Magdalena shook their hands in turn as she introduced herself. The three seemed grateful to have arrived in what was clearly the right place.
“Wilcox Hammond,” the older, more rumpled gentleman introduced himself. An American accent. His face, that of a stereotypical professor, sported large jowls and glasses low on his bulbous nose. His thinning hair was delicately combed over a large bald spot. A significant but not excessive paunch hung over his belt. “We’re both here for the Conference on Evil and Human Wickedness.” He answered Magdalena’s question before she had a chance to say the words.
Magdalena found his name on the registration sign-in sheet, noted that his account was paid in full, and handed him his thin blue plastic portfolio containing the program and other papers.
“Peter Thomlinson,” the other man said, shaking Magdalena’s hand. A British-sounding accent, but Magdalena was unable to say from which region. Though matching Wilcox in age, he was in much better physical shape and wearing a much less wrinkled suit, complete with watch chain stretched from one vest pocket to another across his flat stomach. Auburn waves swept across his forehead. Magdalena noticed a whiff of expensive cologne. Checking his account, Magdalena retrieved his portfolio from the box behind her. He looked through the papers quickly, pulling out the program booklet. She also noticed that, despite their differing accents, they had both come from the state university in Braşov, Romania. But their names were certainly not Romanian. Perhaps they were guest lecturers or shared faculty appointments among more than one university. Magdalena was fascinated by the possibilities.
“Do you recall when we are scheduled to present?” Thomlinson asked, turning to Wilcox.
Even as she was struggling to recall details from the visions inspired by the spirits that might identify either of these first two registrants as those she had summoned, Magdalena turned her attention to the woman next to them. A line was forming behind the three and Magdalena realized she would need to start moving the registrants along more quickly.
“Elizabeth Muirruhgach O’Cailleach.” She insisted on giving her full name, whereas the paperwork had simply indicated the middle initial “M.” The Irish lilt was musical. The additional syllables of her name sounded like the stanzas of a poem. Magdalena caught her breath. The woman, who Magdalena guessed was about her own age, smiled happily. Luxurious red hair cascaded in waves down about her shoulders, framing her alabaster skin. Her green eyes and deep red lips were especially striking. A handful of freckles drifted across her cheeks. She wore a stylish tweed suit and silk blouse that revealed a body whose proportions and curves were as striking as the other aspects of her appearance. Magdalena thought her beautiful. Stunning. Not the usual image of an academic at all.
“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” Magdalena shook her hand and felt thrilled to be accepted as a peer of this beautiful woman in a way that would never happen in a bar or party. “Are you here for the conference on monsters or the conference on evil?”
“Isn’t it wonderful that both conferences are being held simultaneously?” Elizabeth seemed to shiver with excitement. “I am here to present at the conference on monsters but may slip over into sessions of the evil conference.” Checking off Elizabeth’s arrival, Magdalena found the welcome portfolios slightly out of alphabetical order in the box behind her and, after a moment, handed the correct one over to Elizabeth.
As far as Magdalena could recall, neither of the spirits had indicated in any way that they would be sending someone from Ireland.
“Thank you so much,” Elizabeth beamed, shaking Magdalena’s hand again before stepping aside to allow the older woman behind her to step up to Magdalena’s table.
Magdalena assisted the dozen or so academics who had collected on the steps to register. Two had the small amounts of cash ready to hand over that the checkin sheet indicated they still owed on their accounts. They were all engaged in small talk or chatter as they waited their turn to collect their registration materials but were happy to interrupt their conversations and introduce themselves to Magdalena. Only one, a younger man with glasses and a dark beard who wore a jacket with patches on the elbows, struck her as gruff. He barked out his name (another one from Ireland—Magdalena noticed both his accent and affiliation with University College, Dublin) and did not offer to shake her hand. He seemed confused by her question, “Which conference are you registering for?” but answered in a tone that implied she should have known the answer simply from his name. “I am presenting a paper at the Conference on Monsters and the Monstrous.”
“Just the sort to be rude if given half a chance,” Magdalena thought. She would be sure to steer him towards Lida if he demanded too much of her attention during the conference. “Must be a new faculty member in his department.” She recognized the sort, too eager to make sure others knew their academic status and likely to make themselves unpopular with the other members of the department. She smiled as she handed him his plastic portfolio.
“He may be one of them the spirits sent,” Magdalena realized as he walked away. “I hope not!”
Magdalena was busy for the rest of the afternoon, registering participants as they came in groups and singly, the line sometimes snaking down the stairs and across the lobby below. The cheerful buzz of conversation filled the air as old friends met again and new colleagues were introduced. A few left the building after registering but most congregated in the broad hall or in the meeting room set up for the introductory session of the conference.
“Hi, Magdalena!” Turning to the next registrant, Magdalena was surprised to see her friend Victoria across from her
.
“Victoria! What are you doing here?” Magdalena angrily whispered across the table, half rising from her seat. “I’m trying to register the conference participants!”
“I know, I know!” Victoria shrugged her shoulders and smiled back at her friend. “I think it’s exciting that you get to register the conference people and are finally in the limelight as Hron’s right-hand person.” She leaned across the table conspiratorially. “You deserve it so much more than that old battleaxe Lida! I’m so happy for you!”
“That’s exactly why you can’t be here!” Magdalena hissed back. “If Lida sees you, don’t you think she will lodge a complaint with Professor Hron that I am more busy socializing than doing my job? She’ll do anything to see me get egg on my face!”
A cloud appeared on Victoria’s face. “Oh, I didn’t think of that,” she confessed. “I didn’t mean to cause you any problems, Magdalena. I just dashed out from the office, since we’re around the corner from each other…” She left the sentence dangling in midair.
Magdalena relented a bit and eased herself back into her seat. “Thank you, Victoria. I appreciate that. I really do. But precisely because this is such a big step, I have to be more careful than usual to make sure Lida has nothing to complain about. You understand, don’t you?”
Victoria stood there a moment, her shoulders slumping in dejection. She had clearly been excited for her friend and was disappointed that Magdalena had not been excited for Victoria to share in her triumph.
“Yes, I understand,” Victoria conceded. She sighed. “Well, good luck this afternoon, Magdalena. I hope Lida doesn’t cause any trouble for you.” She brightened as a thought apparently occurred to her. “Call me tonight and let me know how everything goes, all right?”
“I may not be getting home tonight until late. There are so many things going on to welcome the delegates on the first night. But I’ll call as soon as I get a chance,” Magdalena promised. She looked over Victoria’s shoulder to the man waiting behind her, irritated and shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Victoria glanced over her shoulder and took the hint. “All right, Magdalena. I’ll talk to you later.” Victoria stepped aside and looked up and around at the luxurious building in which her friend worked. Then she made her way back toward the staircase, probably headed back to her own drab office.
The man who had been waiting stepped forward. He was a priest and evidently an American, since he wore a black shirt and collar rather than the more traditional European cassock. Straw-blond hair and surprisingly blue eyes. Square jaw. Six feet tall. Quite handsome, even for an older man. Magdalena guessed that he was in his late 40s or early 50s. Just the sort of man, despite his maturity, to inspire comments from Victoria and Magdalena’s other friends like, “What a waste that he’s a celibate!”
“A movie star playing a priest,” Magdalena thought. “What is it that makes beautiful people become academics interested in monsters and evil? The professors that have always come to conferences before have been so… ordinary!” Aloud, she introduced herself. “My name is Magdalena. Which conference are you registering for?” She extended her hand and the priest enthusiastically shook it. A shiver ran up Magdalena’s spine. She had rarely shaken hands with such a strikingly handsome man.
“Fleischer. Father George Fleischer.” The priest introduced himself. “I’m here for the Conference on Evil and Human Wickedness.” Magdalena found his name on the proper list, checked him off, and gave him the welcome portfolio.
“You are from New York?” she asked him, noting his university affiliation on the registration checklist and thinking quickly how she might extend her opportunity for a conversation with him.
“Yes, I am,” he replied cordially. “I teach at Fordham in the Bronx and live at a parish in Manhattan, where I serve on the weekends.” He paused. “Have you ever been to New York?”
“Yes, I have, as a matter of fact.” Magdalena blushed and looked at the papers on the table before her, suddenly embarrassed of her schoolgirl-like efforts to prolong a conversation with a popular, handsome boy. “I was there for a week last spring.”
“Thank you for coming,” the priest told her. “Not everyone would have been so brave as to come so soon after what happened in September…” He left the sentence hanging unfinished.
“Oh, I loved it. It had been a dream of mine for years to see New York,” Magdalena hastened to tell him. “It was like a gift. The cheap airfares and everything, I guess to encourage tourists to visit.” Realizing how that might sound to someone from New York, however, she added quickly, “Though I am sorry about what happened in September.”
“Thank you. It has been difficult, these last few months. What with the anniversary coming up in six weeks or so, a lot of people’s nerves are on edge. I’m very glad you enjoyed your visit.”
Now that he was the focus of her attention rather than Victoria, the priest smiled at her, seemingly oblivious to the reaction his appearance provoked in her. He looked around the landing. “Which way do I go now?” he asked, a mock anguish playing across his face. He winked.
Magdalena giggled and pointed down the hallway. “The two conferences are having a joint opening session in the large meeting room there. After that, the Evil conference will continue to use the large meeting room and the Monsters conference will use the room immediately to its left,” she explained.
“Thank you so very much,” the priest responded. With the welcome portfolio tucked under one arm, he set off towards the large meeting room, his shoulder bag swinging behind him. Magdalena watched until he stepped into the room and was no longer visible from her registration desk.
“The spirits indicated they would be sending someone from Manhattan.” Magdalena recalled the city skyline in the second vision of that evening in her garden. “But a priest? Hardly! Even though…” She thought again. One of the visions had seemed to indicate the man from New York might be clergy of some sort. “But what would a priest know about magic? Why would he care about a woman burned unfairly for witchcraft? Priests probably always led the attack against women like Fen’ka!” Magdalena decided that George was certainly not one of the people she was waiting to meet.
Startled by a cough, she turned back to register the next conference delegate. Several more registered after him. They seemed to come in groups, sometimes for the Monsters conference, though most were for the Evil conference. There was a pause and she ducked into the office to get herself a cup of coffee. Lida glared at her. Magdalena returned to her post on the landing.
A short, rather beefy man in a cassock style she had never seen before—it was buttoned along the side of the neck and sashed, not belted, at the waist—was walking up the steps, holding hands with a much taller, stylishly dressed woman. Magdalena’s eyebrow arched in surprise before she could stop herself. “Holding hands in public?” she thought to herself. That detail caught her attention more than the strange cut of his cassock or anything else about the couple’s appearance.
A three-barred silver cross hung from the thick chain about his neck and he carried an attaché case in his free hand. His bushy salt-and-pepper beard reached nearly to the cross and his face, though not grim, seemed uneasy. The woman, who struck Magdalena as somewhat younger, though her ice-blonde hair made it difficult to tell, seemed even more awestruck by the staircase than most of the other arrivals. She clutched the hand of her priestly companion and only dropped it when he set the attaché case on the registration table and opened it to retrieve his copy of the conference paperwork. The woman continued to drink in the details of the building, craning her neck to see the frescoes on the ceiling.
The priest handed Magdalena printouts of all his e-mail concerning the conference. “Excuse me,” he began, “but I am looking to register for the Conference on Evil and Human Wickedness?” His voice, a scratchy but probably serviceable bass, turned up at the end of the sentence, changing his statement into a question.
Magdalena consulted her che
ckin sheets and found another name with the clerical prefix, “Rev.” He was Dmitri Bulatov. She checked off his arrival.
To be polite, she took the stack of e-mails and scanned them quickly. He seemed to be both a faculty member and chaplain of a college in the United States, given the two e-mail addresses that appeared atop each page. She recalled noticing the unusual use of two e-mail addresses when sending out the various notices and reminders of conference deadlines. She smiled and handed back the papers.
“You’re in the right place, Reverend Bulatov,” Magdalena reassured him. “My name is Magdalena and I am here to assist you in any way during the course of the conference. Let me give you your registration packet.” She turned, ran her fingertips along the remaining welcome portfolios, and found his. She noticed the one behind it bore the same surname. She plucked that one out of the box as well and turned back to the priest and his companion.
He seemed unsure whom she was addressing. Then his expression cleared and he smiled. A warm and winning smile. A completely different side of him revealed itself. Caring and compassionate. Pastoral. He reached for the portfolio she was handing him.
“Reverend Bulatov?” he repeated. “Oh, no. Father Dmitri. Please, call me Father Dmitri. I am the Eastern Orthodox chaplain at Hamilton College in Knoxville, Tennessee and we Orthodox priests are always Father-First-Name, not Reverend-Last-Name. Please. Father Dmitri.” He took the portfolio and glanced at it. Magdalena knew it was labeled “Reverend Dmitri Bulatov.” He sighed.
Magdalena turned to his companion. “This must be…” She quickly glanced at the remaining “Bulatov” portfolio in her hand. “Sophia.” She looked up and smiled at the woman and reached out to shake her hand.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 27
