Grey Howl

by Clea Simon

  No, it was more basic. Dulcie looked down at her sweater, at the bag she held. Stella Roebuck was glamorous, from that blue-black hair to the high-heeled boots that seemed particularly inappropriate for a New England winter. Kelly was slim, too, but this woman made the dark-haired media tech look positively masculine by comparison. Stella Roebuck was a star, made for the big hall, just as Dulcie might forever be relegated to the small seminar room down the hall.

  ‘Now I’m being silly,’ Dulcie muttered to herself, and looked around. This would be a good time for Mr Grey to show up with some encouraging words about how they were all different, and how the most beautiful trait in any person was compassion.

  ‘Stella, darling!’ A voice called out, but it belonged to a human male. A door on the other side of the auditorium swung open and a tall man strode in. ‘You ran off so quickly …’ He trotted down toward the stage, as if to illustrate.

  ‘Some of us have appointments.’ From her place on the stage, it was natural for her to look down on the newcomer. Dulcie sensed that she liked it that way.

  ‘Ms Roebuck?’ Somehow Kelly had gotten overlooked with all the entrances. She was standing there, holding a clip-on mic. ‘Did you want to try this out?’

  ‘Why would I want that?’ Another flap of the hands, dismissing the dark-haired tech.

  ‘I was told you had some concerns about our set-up here.’ Kelly was holding her own, and Dulcie wished she could support her. ‘That you might not want to use the podium.’

  ‘Not the best way for me to make a presentation. Is it, darling?’ She strode across the stage, assured and leggy in those boots. ‘But I didn’t come by to try out your little gadgets.’

  ‘Ms Roebuck …’ Poor Kelly, she was trying.

  ‘No, what concerns me is the security in this hall.’ The stylish academic stopped short, peering into the darkness. Dulcie shrank back, hoping for invisibility. ‘The fact that I could walk in means little. But that he could …’ Another outflung hand, this time dramatically pointing to the man who had reached the stage. He looked familiar, the stage light reflecting off the silver in his hair.

  ‘I’m going to be making a very important announcement here tonight. Groundbreaking, if I may say so. And I don’t want to risk anything happening – anything or anyone getting into my system.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry—’ Kelly didn’t get to finish her sentence.

  ‘Of course I have to worry.’ Stella Roebuck cut her off, as she strode to the edge of the stage. ‘I have enemies here. Enemies and, worse, former lovers. But you would know about that. Wouldn’t you, Paul?’

  That last bit was directed at the man at her feet. The man who had greeted her so affectionately, and who had come to stand, like a supplicant, beneath her. The man, Dulcie realized with a sinking feeling, she now recognized as her savior, the great Paul Barnes.

  NINE

  This not only didn’t concern her, she might as well be invisible. Dulcie stood frozen for another few moments, as the great professor pleaded with the woman above him to be reasonable, and Dulcie remembered Nancy’s words. Was it Paul Barnes and Stella Roebuck who couldn’t be roomed near each other? It sounded like Stella had another lover, or more, in the wings, and for all Dulcie knew the entire conference was a hotbed, so to speak, of exes and currents, all seeking to hook up or dodge the others. She shook her head in disbelief. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she decided on a life in academia. Thank the goddess that Chris was not only not in her department, but also a sane and faithful type.

  Meanwhile, Kelly was standing by, looking increasingly impatient. If Dulcie could have rescued her, she would have – pulling the tech backstage by pretending to worry about wiring or room assignments. She certainly shouldn’t be kept waiting, like a lesser serving person. But to announce herself now just seemed like it would make more trouble than it was worth, and so, garbage in hand, Dulcie made her way to the back of the auditorium and carefully, quietly, out to the lobby.

  Only to run into Renée Showalter. ‘Professor!’ It was a happy surprise. ‘I was hoping we could talk before tomorrow.’

  ‘Dulcie?’ The professor sounded startled. ‘Did you …?’ She looked over at the lecture hall door.

  ‘I’m supposed to run interference, help the speakers get set up. But they don’t need me in there.’ Dulcie explained. ‘You weren’t looking for me, then?’

  ‘No, no.’ The older woman smiled sadly. ‘I’m sorry.’ She turned away to look at the door.

  ‘You can go in,’ Dulcie said, and reached to open it for her. ‘Stella Roebuck is setting up, but I can’t imagine she’ll take long.’

  ‘No, never mind.’ Showalter forced something that looked like a smile on to her face as she looked down at Dulcie. That smile faded as she looked up, beyond her. ‘I should go.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dulcie watched, confused, as the scholar took off. Only as Renée Showalter disappeared around the corner did Dulcie realize that she was hurrying after Paul Barnes, who must have emerged from the auditorium’s other door and been standing there, looking for her. And that she – Dulcie – was missing an opportunity.

  ‘But Professor Showalter, wait!’ she called, and hurried after her. ‘Did you get a chance to look at the paper?’ In her long camel-hair coat, Showalter should have been easy to keep track of, even as she hurried to join the other scholar, but with the crowd in the atrium she lost them both. Dulcie paused, looking at the auditorium’s other door. Maybe Paul Barnes had changed Showalter’s mind and they had ducked back inside. She reached for the door, only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She turned.

  ‘Oh good, Professor—’ Dulcie said.

  And stopped in mid-sentence. The blue-black hair in its artful spikes. The fitted suit with those ridiculously pegged pants. The figure that had stopped her had turned away, but Dulcie wouldn’t forget those particular fashion signifiers. Had Stella followed her out only to sneak up on her?

  ‘Oh, miss, maybe you can help me?’ The slim figure before her spun around, and Dulcie found herself face to face with a man. ‘I’m looking for Lecture Hall A?’

  ‘Right – right behind me.’ Dulcie couldn’t stop staring. The man before her had a square jaw and just the right amount of beard to make him look masculine. In fact, the tightly cut suit and the bedhead hair seemed to play up his male good looks as much as they had Stella’s female ones. ‘You must be—’ She caught herself. Better to ask a question than to make an assumption. ‘Are you looking for Stella Roebuck, perhaps? Because she’s in there now, up at the podium with Kelly.’

  ‘God, no.’ He tossed his head back so the little points of hair bobbed. ‘But thanks for the warning, darling. I guess I’ll have to do my soundcheck later.’ He leaned forward, as if to kiss her. Dulcie held her breath, mesmerized. But all he did was touch her cheek, gently, with one outstretched finger. ‘Pickle,’ he said, and he was gone.

  TEN

  ‘I can tell you, Mr Griddlehaus, because I know you can keep a confidence.’ Dulcie was safe, safe in the bowels of the Mildon Rare Book Collection. ‘Some of our visiting scholars are beyond the pale.’

  ‘Really, Ms Schwartz?’ The wide eyes blinking behind the enormous glasses didn’t look any more curious than usual. They didn’t look disapproving, either. Dulcie had never gossiped with her favorite librarian, but she was too full of news right now to worry about his censure.

  ‘I don’t know if he was her twin or her lover. Or how Paul—’ She stopped herself. Actually naming one of the parties would be going too far. Especially since he was the one she admired. ‘Or how they all ended up at the same conference.’

  ‘Rather like one of those English house parties, isn’t it?’ He was amused, definitely amused. ‘Perhaps we’ll have a—’ He stopped himself. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ The university had had a murder recently. It wasn’t a subject for fun. ‘Would you like to examine Box Five?’

  As if embarrassed by his near slip, the little clerk retreated. D
ulcie let him. She’d been working in his territory long enough to earn some rights, including the freedom to follow him into the archives. Right now, however, they both could use some space.

  ‘Just the first document, if you please,’ she called after him. ‘I’m afraid I have to get back to the – ah – party soon.’

  She really didn’t have more than a half hour. She shouldn’t even be here. Only no matter what Thorpe had said, it was quite clear that nobody needed her at the Science Center. Not yet, anyway.

  ‘Must you?’ Griddlehaus poked his head out. ‘But it’s been days.’

  ‘I know.’ She nodded, feeling grim. ‘I’ve been working on my paper. And I did get it to Professor Showalter, but then she bailed on me.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I should be grateful. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t even have this time.’

  ‘She’s not part of that … confusion.’ Griddlehaus’s voice was barely audible over the hum of the climate control system. Still, Dulcie thought the pause was intentional, and discreet. ‘Is she?’

  ‘I hope not.’ Dulcie sat while the mousy clerk returned and carefully placed a folder before her. ‘I assume she knows Paul Barnes. But Stella Roebuck? Oh.’ She blushed, realizing what she’d revealed.

  Griddlehaus had turned away and was at least pretending not to notice. ‘Well, even respected researchers have been known to have their heads turned.’ Dulcie looked over at him. ‘Intellect not being a safeguard against everything.’

  ‘Mr Griddlehaus …’ Dulcie paused, unsure how to proceed. Was the clerk confessing an unwise passion? A foolish affair of the heart? Or was he simply joining in her gossip – and, if so, what did he know about her would-be mentor? ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  ‘No, no.’ He ducked back into the archives. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Mr Griddlehaus?’ Dulcie called after him. ‘If there’s something I should know …’

  ‘Honestly, Ms Schwartz, I suggest you stay out of it.’ His voice sounded stronger now that she couldn’t see him. Echoing slightly and deeper, and for a moment Dulcie wondered who was speaking. ‘Some people bring trouble on themselves.’

  Partly because of her limited time and partly, if she was being honest, because of the strangely feline feel of that last comment, Dulcie didn’t push for any more. Instead, she focused in on the letter fragment before her. Tattered and stained, it had been hidden in a file of unidentified documents until the recent gift to the Mildon Collection of a newly uncovered set of letters had allowed Dulcie to put it into context. That gift, engineered by Professor Showalter from a library in Philadelphia, was only one of the reasons Dulcie adored the professor. The main one was that the older academic trusted Dulcie’s instincts and urged her to do the same, even encouraging her desire to expand her thesis beyond its original scope.

  While Dulcie had originally set out to analyze a little-known Gothic novel, The Ravages of Umbria, her research had led her to attempt so much more. The book, of which only two fragments survived, was all that Dulcie had hoped: a discussion on the roles of women in eighteenth century society, cloaked in an exciting adventure. But the anonymous author had not stopped there. Dulcie had already found several political essays that more clearly outlined the author’s proto-feminist views, and she had been able to link them to the novel through the use of repeated phrases. That alone had brought her a tiny bit of acclaim – as much acclaim as could be expected for articles in academic journals about a lesser-known two-hundred-year-old author. It had also, at least in the eyes of her adviser, threatened to derail her. Five years in, Dulcie should be finishing up her dissertation, Thorpe had said, not pursuing new avenues of research.

  Dulcie was writing; she’d be crazy not to at this point. But every time she thought she was done researching, something like this would turn up. Something that would entice her to read just a little more, and to tweak her focus ever so slightly.

  Glowing with the molten light of embers, deep within the stove, the heavens above gave up their last light, leaving her upon the flagstone, lost in the inky dark as in her own black-hued thoughts.

  What Showalter’s gift had made clear was that this fragment, this bit of paper, was part of the author’s lost second novel. Never mind that Thorpe remained dubious about the book’s very existence, not to mention its being penned by the writer of The Ravages of Umbria; to Dulcie, this was gold.

  The source of her sorrow, the weight that bore down her very soul, she held within her hand. One letter, a missive short, its words unclear, had sunk the barque that was her hope. ‘Beware the one you trust,’ it read. Although the passing light had left the page as blank as the clouded night, the words once read could not now be forgotten. ‘Beware the one who gives you succor, the one upon whom you would lay every Future hope.’

  It was a plot twist that Dulcie hadn’t expected. True, she hadn’t read that much of this book. There had been some kind of crime, some violence that had caused the heroine to flee, alone, through a storm. She had been helped by a stranger, a Frenchman, who may or may not have had some supernatural qualities, this being a Gothic novel, after all. And at some point later, a young lord – handsome, but possibly evil – had been killed. Dulcie did not know for sure whether that lord was the abuser, but she believed he might be. Nor did she know if her protagonist had killed him, possibly in self-defense. That, she was a little leery of finding out. Could a woman justify murder in self-defense back in those days? For that matter, how easy would she find it now?

  And now this, another plot twist. Clearly, the heroine had thrown herself on the mercy of a friend or relative. Someone who, perhaps, could not be trusted. It was a good development, one that promised to add more intrigue to the book. Only right now, it made her a bit uneasy.

  Pre-conference nerves, Dulcie decided. Just because Stella Roebuck seemed to be juggling hearts didn’t mean that anyone Dulcie knew would ever be so cavalier, or so careless. Still … now that the pixie-like scholar had invaded her train of thought, Dulcie realized her ability to concentrate on her own work was gone. ‘I think I’d better get back,’ she called out. Griddlehaus’s oversized lenses accentuated his look of surprise.

  ‘So soon?’

  She nodded. ‘I can’t really concentrate anyway. Not while the known world is descending on us.’ Taking the prerogative of a long-time scholar, she began ever so gently to return the document to its protective case. ‘You’re probably going to be besieged, down here.’

  The Mildon had one of the country’s largest collections of rare manuscripts, and Dulcie could easily imagine the clamor as the visiting scholars descended to read its folios, codices, and more.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Griddlehaus looked more than a little perturbed as she closed up the folder, and she was sorry she’d brought it up.

  ‘Will you need help?’ Dulcie wasn’t sure what she could offer, besides the acid-free case she now handed over. She wasn’t going to leave the little clerk in the lurch, however. ‘You can always limit how many people can come in at once.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s the opposite.’ Griddlehaus took the box from her with both hands, holding it level as he carried it over to a cart. ‘In fact, we’ve had a drop off in the number of requests from visiting scholars over the next few days.’

  ‘What?’ She watched his back; he slowly shook his head. ‘Maybe the conference attendees don’t know the protocol,’ she said. Members of the university were permitted access to the collection, provided they signed in and showed an appropriate ID. Visiting scholars, however, were supposed to apply in advance for permission to use the archives. The collection was too big, and its staff too small, to function otherwise.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Griddlehaus turned toward her, but the furrow in his brow belied his confident assertion. ‘Perhaps that’s it. Though, considering our collection of eighteenth century documents, you would think … well, never mind. Now, you had a bag, am I correct?’

  Dulcie followed him to the front desk, where her bag and
laptop had been locked into a cabinet. Her friend seemed to be fussing a little more than usual with the paperwork, his head down over the old-fashioned ledger that recorded comings and goings.

  ‘I’m certainly going to try and sneak away again,’ she said. Something was going on that she couldn’t decipher. For some reason, Griddlehaus seemed to believe he – or the Mildon – was going to be abandoned.

  ‘I’m sure you will, Ms Schwartz.’ He looked up, blinking. Dulcie didn’t think his myopia was to blame.

  ELEVEN

  ‘Mr Grey, do you know what’s going on?’ Dulcie addressed the air as she walked. For a moment, she thought she would get a response: a fat, grey squirrel had stopped in the middle of her path, frozen in place. ‘Is something happening with the Mildon?’

  It seemed unlikely that the collection would be in any danger. It had an international reputation, and in terms of upkeep was probably less expensive to maintain than any of those fancy new projects Chris was always talking about.

  ‘Mr Grey?’ She stopped, too, staring at the squirrel. But just at that moment, a shadow appeared. A hawk, perhaps, or maybe a cloud. And the little creature turned on its fat bottom and scampered up a tree.

  ‘Well, so much for spectral intervention.’ She pulled out her phone to see two messages: one from Lucy, and one from an unknown number with a 415 area code. A new worry grabbed her. She shouldn’t have played hooky. Someone had been trying to reach her. She skipped over her mother and went directly to the unknown number.