Odin's Murder

by Angel Lawson

  Faye is already gone when I get out of the shower. A note on the desk says she is at the library and will meet me at the study room. I’d faked sleep when she’d come in last night, all glowing smiles and dancing in her boots. She’d reached for her phone twice, changed her mind and set it down. I’d almost ‘woken up’ to ask her if the performing arts cutie with the gingery hair was the one to walk her home.

  I lace up my most outrageous sandals, tug down the hem of my shortest skirt, and smooth a flyaway wisp of hair into my ponytail before walking out the door, five dollar bill in my hand for the fanciest coffee I can buy. Extra caramel, too, please.

  Faye and I aren’t the only ones up and out this early. Zoe and Danielle sit near the fountain. Closer to the dining hall, Ethan’s got his camera out. More than once, his lens focuses in my direction. I pretend not to notice. “How was Julian this morning?” I ask him when he slides into the line behind me at the coffee kiosk. “Still pissed off?”

  “No idea.” He packs his camera away. I’m glad. I’ve forgotten my sunglasses and I don’t want any photographic evidence of my bloodshot eyes. “He was already gone when I woke up. He had some kind of idea rolling around in his head last night, about Anders’ book.” He sips from his own cup. There’s no lid; he drinks it black. “He probably went to the library the second someone unlocked the door.”

  “Faye was going there, too.” We enter the dining hall, heading straight for the donuts. “Something was eating his brain last night. Probably why he was such a jerk. I hope he doesn’t make her cry again.”

  He laughs. “I think they’ll be okay.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Faye’s not you, wrapped up in vanity.”

  “So now I’m a slut and vain, too.”

  “I never called you a slut. Trust me. I like the look.” His eyes roam my body, head to toe. “I appreciate you wanting to look that hot.”

  Over his perverted shoulder I see Jeremy waving at me from a table. I fight a sigh, force a smile on my face and wave. Ethan looks over his shoulder and scowls.

  “See you in group,” I say, powdered sugar-sweet. That’s what he gets for calling me vain. Even if he did say I was hot.

  *

  “I texted him twice,” I tell Faye, with a shrug, though I’m not surprised that Julian hasn’t texted back. My messages weren’t particularly nice. My brother never showed up to study group, which was fine by me. I didn’t even forge his name on Zoe’s sign in sheet; he could come up with his own excuses. I check the time on my phone again. Professor A. is usually late, but my brother never is, and class starts in one minute. “Did either of you see him at lunch?”

  Ethan shakes his head.

  Faye says, “I saw him in the reference section this morning. He was pretty caught up in what he was looking up. I left the library before he did.”

  “He goes on knowledge binges sometimes,” I tell her. “Like he gets all manic about it. Practically inhaling information. You should have seen him the week before we took the SAT’s.”

  “Good afternoon, class.” Professor Anders drops a stack of papers and books on his desk. I swing around so I’m facing forward, and the rest of the class does the same. Julian’s empty seat next to me has me drumming my fingernails on my desk, but if he gets in trouble for being absent, that’s his problem. “Sorry I’m late.” Dr. A waves a bandaged hand in the air. “The bookshelf in my office collapsed this morning, but all is well. No books were harmed.”

  The class laughs politely as he writes the words ‘Oral History’ on the whiteboard with a green marker.

  Someone behind me snorts. “See that, Memory?” he whispers. “He’s talking about you!”

  I turn around and glare at Marcus. “Grow up, asshole."

  “Today we will discuss how folklore comes about,” Dr A. continues. “How a seed of truth grows into an accepted mythology.”

  “Like an urban legend?” Danielle asks.

  “In modern terms, yes, exactly. Anyone have an example of one?”

  “I’m not sure if this counts but my mother always told me if I swim after eating I would get a cramp and drown,” a boy in the back says.

  The class laughs but most of us nod.

  “Perfect example. That’s what we call a ‘wives tale’.”

  “I heard that if you take LSD more than seven times you can be declared mentally insane.”

  We all glance at the girl who says this. Given her colorful appearance, I suspect she’s asking for personal reasons.

  “That one is also false.” The teacher smirks. “The literature and legends surrounding drug use is an excellent study in propaganda on both sides, from the counter-culture that encourages use, to the prevention groups that hope to prohibit.”

  The windows in the room open horizontal ly . Three black birds sit on one, peering into the room. They touch beaks on occasion, as if discussing the professor’s lecture amongst themselves. I think back, flip through memories, but spoken words don’t embed like images.

  “Hey, didn’t Faye say she had five—” I whisper over my shoulder, before I remember that Julian’s seat is empty, but two more join the three on the ledge. They are small, with shorter beaks, Southern Crows, native to this area.

  A light wind eddies into the classroom, a premonition of a summer thunderstorm. I hope it lasts long enough to take some of the sweaty heat out of the air. I lift my ponytail off my neck with hands, and my spine pops, muscles still stiff with the lack of sleep last night.

  “Ooh, yeah,” the voice from behind me cuts under the class discussion. “Arch your back like that, just a little more.”

  A crash of noise stops the lecture, the hollow bang of a hand meeting a metal desk top. The entire class turns to look in Ethan’s direction. His hand is in a rigid fist, the tips of his ears red. He’s staring at Marcus with murder in his eyes.

  Dr. Anders turns, frowning, and eyeballs Ethan.

  “Oh, pardon me!” Faye’s voice is bright, artificial. She shifts her chair, a delicate scratch on the floor, nothing like the noise still bouncing around the silent room. “I have a question. About what you said earlier, about phrases and words in common usage?”

  “Yes?” The professor is scanning the room.

  “How long can an idiom or concept survive? Like, passed down?”

  “Can you be specific?” He looks to Marcus, then back to Ethan, whose lips are moving in a silent whisper, like he is praying. Counting, maybe?

  “In The Origins of Appalachian Folktales, Johann Vangarde refers to Odin as the ‘Rune-smith,’ implying that the god made them, not just gained their meaning. There are only two other places that I have seen that particular phrase; one was published six years ago, and seems to rely heavily on Vangarde’s work—”

  Dr. Anders’ eyes narrow at Faye.

  “—and the other is on a stone from the mid-ninth century, excavated in June of last year.”

  “Ah. Well, I doubt that you have managed to read every treatise on Norse runes, Miss Jarvi, but your question is valid. You’re asking how long can a word or idiom stay in common usage?”

  My roommate’s mouth pouts tight, but she nods. I have no idea what she’s babbling about, but it’s working. Ethan’s fingers are uncurling from his fists, and the class and the teacher are no longer eyeing him.

  “Let’s look at Shakespeare,” Dr. A. continues. “In Othello, written over four hundred years ago, Iago says ‘jealousy is a green-eyed monster.’ We still use the phrase ‘green with envy’ today.”

  “But Shakespeare is still in print, and has been performed this whole time. How is that an oral tradition?” Faye counters.

  “Another issue you have to consider is independent re-invention. Take Pascal’s Triangle. Any of you geniuses here good at math, too?”

  Several hands wave.

  “Binomial co-efficients,” Danielle says with a smirk. Know-it-all.

  “In Iran, it’s called Khayyam’s Triangle,” continues our teacher,
‘and was postulated five centuries before Pascal. And in China, Yang Hui’s Triangle. All independent observations of the same principle.”

  “But that’s not—” Faye fidgets in her seat. The crows at the window rustle in agitation.

  “Miss Jarvi, you obviously have an agenda here. And while I am very interested in your question, this is not the place for personal postulations. Come by my office when I’m not in class, I’d love to discuss this more with you.” Dr. Anders smiles at her.

  “It’s not a personal postulation!” She stands. “There are several papers written on the uniqueness of—”

  “Sit down, Faye,” the professor says. He’s not smiling anymore. The rest of the class watches their argument, mesmerized.

  “How can you—”

  “You are disrupting my class, Miss Jarvi. Another word and I’ll ask you to leave.”

  Faye shrinks into her seat, red faced, looking too young and too small to be in this classroom. She says nothing more through the lecture.

  After class I gather my things and follow Ethan and Danielle into the hallway. We wait by the staircase for Faye, but she rushes down the stairs, her chin jutted out in anger.

  “What’s her problem?” Danielle asks. “She acts like she’s never gotten the smack-down by a teacher before.”

  “Probably hasn’t,” I say. “Home-schooled.”

  “That explains a lot,” she says. “So what did your brother want with the dean?” She smiles at my confusion. “I saw him at the library. He was asking at the front desk where the office of the Dean of Arts and Humanities was.”

  Marcus avoids Ethan, walking down the hall, rather than taking the stairs where we’re loitering.

  “What time was this?” I ask Danielle.

  “Maybe eleven? Before lunch.”

  “Great. So he’s interviewing professors without us? And he hasn’t had anything to eat since last night, and the dining hall doesn’t open until five—”

  “You’re not his mother, Memory,” Ethan says when I check my phone again.

  “Shut up.”

  *

  I don’t make it to dinner either. At five-thirty Zoe rushes into my room and says I need to go to Dr. Anders’ office. Immediately. I can tell by the wary look in her eye something is wrong, but when I press she shakes her head, and says Dr. A will tell me.

  “He didn’t tell you anything?” I ask, when she tries to change the subject to her college sorority function.

  “I’m sure everything is okay.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. I hope she’ll leave me at the door but instead she follows me up the stairs to the office. Dr. Anders’ door is open when I arrive, but his back is to us. He’s staring at the books on his shelves. There’s still a void left by the book he loaned me.

  “Sir?” Zoe raps one knuckle on the door frame.

  “Ah, yes.” He turns, makes a hand gesture that waves me in and dismisses his assistant at the same time. “Thank you for coming. I’ve just been informed that Julian has been taken off campus to the hospital. Apparently, he suffered a bee sting and had an allergic reaction.”

  “Did he use his Epi-pen?” I ask. The bird behind the desk chirps and flaps its wings. It’s different from the one the other day. Bigger, with dark amber eyes.

  “Ah, yes, there was mention of that. A very good thing, too. But they’ll need to keep him overnight for observation.”

  I nod. “They usually do. Let me get my bag and someone can drive me over.”

  He smiles but shakes his head. “Things are under control, Miss Erikssen. The school has already contacted your parents and they are aware of the situation.”

  “How did you get a hold of them? They’re on a retreat.”

  “Apparently, it took a while.” He makes a wry face. “All-terrain bicycles were used.”

  “I should be there,” I insist.

  “Your mother actually expressed her wish that you remain on campus.” His eyes search his messy office, looking for something. Nothing much seems new since the last time I was here, except possibly more dust, but he rummages on his desk, finds a light blue sticky note. “Her words were ‘Be his sister, not his parent.’”

  I shake my head, irritated with the familiar phrase. My phone is full of them, texts from Julian, from my mother, from everyone. It’s an easy insult to throw my way when no one else is around to take care of him when he loses his head on a knowledge bender.

  “Call him if you like, or send him a text.” His eyes soften. “It’s only for a day or two.”

  “Will you let me know if anything changes?”

  “Of course, though I’m sure he will tell you himself.”

  Again the bird behind Dr. Anders protests in his cage, batting his wings against the metal bars. “What happened to the other one?” I ask.

  “I never keep them caged very long,” he says. “I lure them in with their own curiosity, watch them for a day or two, and then let them go.”

  “What do you feed them?”

  “They like apples. This one has had two today.”

  “He’s massive!” I stand and move a little closer. The crow is digging at the bottom of his cage, past the paper, marking the metal with frantic scratches. “What’s he doing?”

  “Some innate habit. He’s probably attracted to the shine of the metal. Maybe he’s attempting to make a nest.” Dr. Anders tests the latch on the cage.

  The bird stops its scratching and stares at me with one beady eye, as though accusing me of something. “Guess he doesn’t like being observed,” I say, grinning at it. “I’ve read that a crow can memorize your face just from one encounter. If you’re nice to them, they recognize it, and if you aren’t or they find you threatening in any way they’ll avoid you at all costs.”

  “A good survival instinct.”

  “Yeah.” The bird looks between the two of us, making clicking noises with its beak. Guilt somersaults in my chest. I’m chatting about crows when my brother is alone at the hospital. “I should probably go call Jules.”

  Dr. Anders smiles. “Good idea. And let me know if you need any assistance, now that you’re momentarily down a group member.”

  “That makes two, now.” I glance away from his eyes as my thoughts stray to Faye’s tantrum in class today. “We’re having a hard time saying whole, aren’t we?”

  His smile has a wry twist, and I know he knows what I’m referring to. “I think you’re all up to the challenge.”

  “Do you know why Sonja didn’t come back this year?”

  “Her mother didn’t say. Have a good afternoon, Miss Erikssen.”

  “Thanks.” I step out of the office, my phone already in my hand.

  *

  I’m on my fifteenth message when Jeremy finds me. I don’t make room for him on the bench I’m using as a phone booth, but he doesn’t take the hint. “Hey,” he says, wedging in next to me until I’m forced to move over. “I heard about Julian. Is everything okay?”

  “Dr. Anders says he’s fine, but I haven’t been able to reach him. It keeps going to voicemail.”

  “I’m sure he’ll call when he can.” His arm wraps around my waist. “His laptop bag was in Dr. A.’s office. I dropped it off in the dorm earlier.” Despite myself I lean into his warmth. “I’m about to head down to the field. Tonight is game night, want to come?”

  I shake my head. “No thanks, I think I’m going to beg out.”

  “You’ll need a pass from Zoe.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.” She’d met me in the hall, and walked with me back to the quad as I’d made my unanswered calls.

  “Want me to come by later? I can probably duck out.” His lips are on my temple and instead of feeling good, I just feel trapped. Julian saw this coming. To be honest, I did too.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah.” I study his face. Handsome. Athletic. Nice. A hint of rebellion with that tattoo on his chest. Everything I should want. But he’s also a little too eager,
and has a bit of that jock attitude I despise, not to mention one eye is a little browner than the other. “Look, Jeremy, I think maybe we should reconsider this.”

  “Reconsider what?” He’s not stupid, which means I’m coming from left field.

  “This thing between us. It’s been fun and everything but I don’t want you to get in trouble and with Julian being in the hospital, and the group being down another person, well, I’m getting a little stressed out. Just seems like maybe we should end this now instead of later.”

  “You were planning on ending this?” More shock. Maybe he is a little obtuse.

  “Well, yeah. I’m not really into the long distance thing and I want to keep my options open as I go into college. Start off with no strings, y’know?”

  “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “It would never work, and you know it. You’re in graduate school. I’ll be a freshman.” I grin at him, and wriggle my shoulders in mock horror. “That’s worse than bringing your cousin to prom.”

  “It is?”

  “Look, let’s just end this on a high note, and go back to how we started. Student and teacher. The way it’s supposed to be.” He doesn’t say anything. I lean over and hug him, kiss his cheek. He doesn’t move. “You’ve been awesome,” I tell him. “I’ll see you around.”

  When I get to the front door of the dorm, I look back. He’s still sitting there. I give him a small wave. He returns it but doesn’t smile.

  17.

  Empathy

  The counselors are talking about Julian in fake whispers at dinner. An allergic reaction to a bug bite, though by the end of the spaghetti with mystery meat sauce, the students are spreading the news that he’s been savaged by a rabid bat. Jeremy slinks out of the hall as soon as he hears the news, off to comfort Memory, I’m sure.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Faye asks, the first time she’s spoken since her blow-up in class. “He was fine when I saw him this morning. Maybe I should have stayed with him?”

  “They said it was a bee sting. Nothing you could have done to prevent that,” Danielle offers. This doesn’t seem to pacify Faye and I’m not surprised when she excuses herself muttering something about herbs for healing. Danielle chuckles as we watch her exit the dining hall. “She’s a little pistol, isn’t she? What was that all about?”