by Clea Simon
her email. Only the thought that her time here in the Mildon might be limited kept her going, working away at the tantalizing manuscript.
Partly, she realized, she was distracted by her own reaction. Why had she defended Josh when he had so clearly been in the wrong?
As she sat there, eyes closed, the draft seemed to brush her face once more. It was a pleasant feeling, soft and a little warm. Welcome on a November day. Friendly. That was it: Dulcie felt friendly toward Josh. Despite her suspicions – and those of Rogovoy and, apparently, Emily – she had warm feelings toward him.
That was dangerous, as she well knew. ‘Be wary of whom you gift your Trust.’The stranger, that mysterious green-eyed fellow traveler, might as well be speaking to her. Besides, Dulcie knew, the worst psychopaths were the ones who seemed unassuming, even downright nice. But somehow she didn’t see Josh as an abuser. He was so open, and really seemed to care about Mina. Could she really have been misled? Or was Josh being set up somehow, the perfect fall guy for someone else who wanted Mina out of the way? And if so, what was her responsibility here – to trust her instincts, or to listen to the concerns of others? If she listened to all the portents around her – the text, even that stray draft of air – maybe she would know. Then again, maybe she’d end up just like Lucy, looking for signs and symbols in a world that really wasn’t that into her.
No, she was a scholar, not a psychic. No matter what kind of adventures her favorite fiction might describe she had to rely on what she could prove to be true. Shaking her head free of such fancies, she got back to work.
‘Fate may ask the impossible of you, and Friends, as well as Foes will decide upon your future – as you will decide upon theirs.’
Well, that was enigmatic enough. And as Dulcie copied this last bit out, her soft pencil worn down to a stub, she noticed the hour. It was time for fate to play its part, or, at least, to serve up lunch.
FORTY-TWO
Emily didn’t look good. She did, however, look like she would benefit from a solid meal, and Dulcie realized how happy she was that they had decided to meet here, at Lala’s. As she waved to the wan young woman, Dulcie was already ordering in her mind. Unless Lala herself came over to dictate their lunch, Dulcie would get lentil soup for them both, and then a burger. Maybe they could even split an order of fries.
‘Emily! Hi!’ Dulcie stood so Emily would see her, and watched in dismay as the younger woman hobbled over, leaning heavily on her cane. ‘How are you? Your leg … it’s worse?’
Emily seemed to shrug as she sat, but that could have been the awkwardness of negotiating herself into the seat. Dulcie kicked herself for not thinking about access when she had grabbed the quiet table away from the counter.
‘It’s about the same.’ Emily said as Dulcie handed her a menu.
When she didn’t open it, Dulcie took the lead. ‘Why don’t we start with soup? Then we can have the house special. It’s a vegetarian burger with this great, spicy sauce.’
Emily was shaking her head. ‘That’s too much.’
‘My treat.’ Dulcie couldn’t afford to take all her students out, but this girl needed some pampering.
‘I’ll have the soup.’ Emily looked up at the server, handing him her menu. Turning to Dulcie with a strained smile, she explained. ‘I just don’t have any appetite these days.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Dulcie didn’t know how to ask. ‘Is it your leg? Or … Mina?’
The nod could have covered both. ‘I can’t believe everything has gotten so screwed up,’ she said. ‘Mina, that professor.’
This was Dulcie’s opening. The lead in to what she really wanted to ask. It seemed selfish to rush right in, though. ‘Any word on Mina?’
‘They’ve told me I shouldn’t even try to visit any more.’ Her voice was soft, but the tone was harsh. ‘I mean, I’m only her best friend.’
‘Why?’ Dulcie asked, fearing the worst.
‘I don’t know.’ Emily shook her head. ‘I guess I was in the way.’
Dulcie bit her lip. She’d seen how awkward the younger woman was, navigating between the tables. Still, it seemed harsh, if not discriminatory, to bar her.
‘Are they letting in other visitors?’
‘I thought I saw her ex there.’ Emily leaned in. ‘Josh.’
‘Josh? I didn’t know they’d broken up?’
Emily tossed her hair. ‘They were going to. That’s what happened. He took advantage of her.’
‘You still think he did it?’ Josh had mentioned a disability, a vulnerability of some sort. Some men could sense them, would seek out weak women like, well, like a wolf hunted its prey. Dulcie hadn’t seen this trait in Josh. Then again, she had never seen him with Mina.
‘Don’t you?’ Luckily, Emily didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He was just trouble from the start, trying to split us up.’
‘It’s funny.’ Dulcie didn’t know why she wanted to defend Josh, but she did. ‘He doesn’t seem like the type.’
‘They never do.’ The waiter came with their soups. Dulcie dug in – and stopped as she saw Emily listlessly drag her spoon through the olive-green potage. ‘Mina was fooled at first, but then she realized the truth. He wanted to separate her from everyone. To have her for himself.’
‘But he said she was very social.’ Dulcie motioned with her spoon, urging Emily to eat. ‘That she was in all these political groups.’
‘Support groups.’ Emily sipped the soup. ‘Because of him.’ She put her spoon down and sat back. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this. I really miss her.’
Dulcie was afraid she was going to leave – and not only because the junior hadn’t answered her questions. ‘Please, I’m sorry. We won’t talk about it any more.’ She watched the girl. ‘Please eat. We won’t talk about him,’ she added.
Emily nodded, as if she’d reached a decision. ‘Thanks, it’s hard for people to understand.’
Dulcie wanted to commiserate. To jump in and tell this young girl about her friendship with Suze. They’d both moved in with their boyfriends over the past year, and their friendship had changed. But Suze was still her closest friend. Though, come to think of it, Dulcie couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spent any real time together. Maybe it was just as well not to mention Suze.
At any rate, Emily was eating, if a bit slowly. And Dulcie had other questions for her.
‘Emily, I wanted to follow up on your email.’ Emily looked up as she took another spoon. ‘About Professor Showalter? You said she had faked it – did you mean, she faked being attacked?’
‘What?’ Emily dropped her spoon. ‘Oh, no. I didn’t – I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief.’ Dulcie heard herself. ‘I mean, not a reliefrelief, but, well, I’m glad to know she’s not a liar.’
‘But she is.’ Emily looked down at her bowl.
‘What?’ Dulcie had almost forgotten her own lunch. ‘Emily, what do you mean?’
‘Her research.’ The junior took another sip. ‘So-called. The paper she’s working on?’
‘No, I don’t know about it.’ Dulcie shook her head. ‘She didn’t get to give her talk, and then—’
‘I know.’ Emily cut in. ‘But I thought she spoke to you.’
‘She didn’t have time,’ Dulcie said sadly. ‘We were going to talk. It turns out, we’re both doing research on the same author, and I’ve found something in the Mildon.’ Her regret gave way to a warm glow of pride, and she leaned in. ‘Something really amazing, actually. A primary source.’
Emily shrugged. ‘Sounds impressive.’
‘It is – to me anyway.’ Dulcie remembered the girl’s prejudice and decided to backtrack a bit. ‘I don’t know what Professor Showalter had, if she had anything. But, Emily, I’m pretty sure I have the real deal.’
‘Huh.’ Emily looked up, a grudging respect in her eyes. ‘And you found this – these papers – at the Mildon?’
Dulcie nodded. ‘I’ve been transcribing them into my lapt
op, trying to piece everything together. But what I’ve found is incomplete, at least, so far. That’s why I was hoping … Emily, what do you think Professor Showalter faked?’
‘Well, maybe “faked” is too strong a word.’ Emily put her spoon down, leaving half the bowl. ‘And, as I’ve said, this isn’t really my area of expertise. But from what Mina has taught me, well, I just think she’s wrong about some things.’
‘Wrong about what?’ The lack of specifics was making Dulcie dizzy.
Emily waved the question away. ‘You see, this is where I get in trouble. Like I said, I really don’t know this stuff. Just something she said, something about some imagery – no, it was about a creature. Like, a werewolf or something, in one of those novels? Only, I know that Mina reads those like anything – and this lady was saying that there’s no connection between werewolves and the moon. Or something. It just sounded totally wrong.’
It was the longest speech Dulcie had heard Emily give, and she stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
‘I guess “fake” was the wrong word.’ She chuckled a little. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well, and this whole thing with Mina, with Josh.’ She looked around as if the answer was on one of the other tables. ‘I’m just angry with the world, I guess.’
She finished that with a big smile. ‘So, this is really your treat?’
‘Definitely.’ Emily’s answer hadn’t made much sense, but Dulcie had to give her some slack: she’d been through the mill. Besides, now that the girl had eaten a little, Dulcie knew she had to break her own news – to tell Emily that she was going to talk to the cops. But just as Dulcie opened her mouth to speak, she felt it. Sharp and quick – the slap of claws. It was a warning. About what, she couldn’t be sure, and she opened her mouth again – only to feel it once more, a strike of claws so real she reached up to her cheek. There was no blood, none she could see, but she’d gotten the message. Mr Grey was telling her to be quiet, to leave well enough alone. ‘I’ll get the check,’ she said, instead of any of the other comments whirling around her head. At least Emily seemed rejuvenated. The food – half a bowl of Lala’s lentil – had done her some good.
Much more quickly than she’d come in, Emily was gone, a testimony to the healing power of Dulcie’s favorite chef. Dulcie took a little longer to leave. First, she finished her soup, although she couldn’t be said to have tasted it. Then, as she flagged down the waiter, she tried to make sense of what the junior had told her.
Emily didn’t like Josh; that was for sure. She still saw Josh as the probable culprit in the attack on her room-mate. But if that was the case, why didn’t she want to talk about her own assault?
The waiter came with the check just as the answer came to Dulcie. Emily must have confronted him. She had called Josh out, and he had lashed out at her. She probably felt stupid – and she was smart enough to know that if she tried to press charges herself, it would have an effect on Mina’s case. Dulcie could easily imagine Suze’s take on that, and knew it would be important. Whether it would have helped or been ruled prejudicial, Dulcie didn’t know, but she could see why the girl wouldn’t want to muddy the waters.
Emily’s gripes against the professor made even less sense, but maybe that was good. As Dulcie got up and made her own way to the door, she acknowledged that she was clutching at straws, hoping for something new that would help her in her search for the missing manuscript. Emily’s vagueness had renewed that hope. Maybe Showalter did have something, some new information or a document to share, and Emily was simply being a loyal – and misguided – friend.
As it was, Dulcie knew she’d made too much of Emily’s message. That was the problem with email. There was no effect and no sense of the mindset of the person on the other end. Sometimes, she decided, pushing open the door, the other person was just fatigued.
That was a feeling Dulcie could relate to, and the idea of walking up to the university police headquarters only compounded it. Surely, the day hadn’t been this cold and blustery before. A gust of wind roared down Mass. Ave., causing Dulcie and her fellow pedestrians to shrug into their coats and collars. Maybe she should go home. Put a hat on, if not a warmer coat, before trotting all the way past the Common.
But, no. Dulcie didn’t need the claw-like sting of flying grit to remind her that there was no time like the present. If anything, Emily’s erratic behavior underscored her initial instinct: it was time to tell everything to Rogovoy. The junior might get angry, but she wasn’t thinking clearly these days. She’d said as much herself, and Dulcie had an obligation to the community.
As she began to walk, however, she wondered just what she would say. She’d tell Rogovoy about the attack on Emily, that was for sure. But maybe she should also tell him about her chats with Josh. He’d seemed so friendly, so guileless, that she couldn’t see him as a bad guy.
She could, however, imagine the burly detective’s response to that. He’d shake his big head in what she imagined would be a fatherly fashion. He might even reach out and pet her hand with one of those big paws. And then he’d pick up the chubby undergrad for more questioning, if not to charge him.
Was it the right thing to do? Was she misreading her heart – if not the signs from Mr Grey? The blinking red walk sign gave her an excuse to pause. And while she was pondering, she felt the vibration in her bag. For a moment, it didn’t register. Then she realized, it was her phone. Maybe it was Professor Showalter, calling to discuss her work rather than emailing.
She scrambled through her bag and answered before checking to see who was on the line. ‘Hello?’
‘Dulcie! In the nick of time.’ It was Lucy, but Dulcie satisfied herself with rolling her eyes as the light changed and she crossed the street. ‘It’s not dark there, yet. Is it?’
‘Hi, Lucy. How are you? And, no, it’s not even one thirty.’ Dulcie tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Lucy would never master the three-hour time difference.
‘Good, because if there’s moonlight, watch out.’ Another gust of wind had Dulcie ducking her head, and she missed her mother’s next words.
‘What was that, Lucy?’ Dulcie considered pleading work, but she had a good ten-minute walk ahead of her. It was as good a time as ever to humor her mother.
‘Wolves, Dulcie. Beware of the wolves.’ Clearly, Dulcie had missed a reference to a dream or some kind of vision.
‘We don’t have wolves in Cambridge.’ Dulcie said. It wouldn’t do to tell her mother about the eerie howl she had heard the other night. Lucy didn’t need any encouragement.
‘That’s funny.’ Lucy sounded confused, and for a moment, Dulcie’s heart went out to her. Lucy was her mother, even if she had a wild case of empty-nest syndrome. ‘I was sure I saw you, out in the dark. Maybe on a road somewhere, with wolves.’
‘I must have told you about what I’m working on.’ Dulcie didn’t remember doing so, but she must have. The alternative – that her mother truly was psychic – was not worth considering. ‘I’m piecing together a bit of an old manuscript. It looks like another Gothic,
a horror story. There’s a woman fleeing some kind of danger, and a coach picks her up. There are wolves howling outside, and I think there’s something strange about them. Maybe they’re werewolves. I don’t think there are any references to the moon, however.’ She paused. ‘Maybe those got lost.’
‘Maybe it was only peeking through the clouds.’ Lucy sounded back on solid footing now, and Dulcie regretted encouraging her.
‘C’mon, Mom. Everyone knows you need a full moon for a werewolf to come out, and that was last night.’
‘Dulcinea Schwartz, do you believe everything you read?’ For a moment, her mother was the formidable woman she must have once been: a Philadelphia Main Line matron with all the force of society behind her.
Dulcie laughed, a short, startled laugh. ‘Lucy, I think I know the conventions of the Gothic novel.’
‘You may understand fiction, young lady. But you know next to nothing about
supernatural fact.’ Dulcie tried to think of a response. Before she could, Lucy was talking again. ‘Full moon, indeed. What balderdash,’ she was saying. ‘What kind of animal only needs to feed once a month? Granted, alpha predators don’t need to feed that often. That’s why they sleep so much.’
Dulcie thought of Esmé and let her mother ramble. It could do no harm.
‘But when they wake, they feed. They hunt and feed. It’s in their nature, whether they are in the alpha predator form willingly, or not. And it’s moonlight that wakes them, Dulcie. Any hint of moonlight, full or crescent. That’s why I asked you about moonrise, Dulcie. The month after the harvest moon is always a dangerous time, and that vision, Dulcie? It wasn’t some random heroine I saw. It was you.’
FORTY-THREE
‘My mother is nuts.’ Dulcie said more or less to the air around her – and only a little to the grey squirrel that had paused halfway down a tree trunk to stare at her. ‘She is just not a rational human being.’
The squirrel didn’t comment, only scampered up the tree, and Dulcie was forced to confront the absurdity of her position. Yes, her mother had lectured her on werewolves. But here she was, a doctoral candidate, seeking a second opinion from a rodent.
‘I was hoping to hear from you, Mr Grey,’ she added. To consult with a feline specter, after all, was a different story entirely. ‘I mean, what was that warning about? Were you telling me to leave the restaurant so I could take Lucy’s call?’ She paused. It was conceivable. Still, it wasn’t the consult she’d have wanted.
Nor was it strictly necessary. Dulcie knew Lucy’s quirks. For starters, she could probably discount anything that her mother credited to a dream or, as she’d put it, a vision. Lucy didn’t take quite as many psychoactive substances these days as she had in her – or Dulcie’s – youth. But Dulcie had spent enough time talking her mother down to know that sometimes the Great Earth Spider was really just a daddy long-legs on the outhouse wall. Likewise, although Dulcie appreciated the sentiment behind the warning, she knew that her mother’s premonitions were just that – a manifestation of a maternal instinct, frustrated by a daughter’s independence and the width of the continent that separated them.
