“It’s beautiful here,” I said, sitting down beside her. “So green and peaceful. I see why you like it.”
“I’ve traveled a bit, spent a year bumming about Europe, and another year working in a bookstore in London, but I haven’t found anywhere I’d rather live. It is a bit sparse as far as nightlife, and there is a dearth of eligible bachelors, but anytime I get lonely for city life, I can drive into Pittsburgh for the weekend.”
Kelly then took me to a charming bistro overlooking the river where we had dinner and a couple of glasses of wine. Afterward, we went to a grocery store that looked like any other modern American grocery on the outside, but most of the produce and meat was organic and locally-sourced.
“Not all the witches live in town,” Kelly said. “A lot of the farms around here are owned by the descendants of the original settlers, who were all witches. The other farmers tend to follow the same practices, as that’s what people buy.”
When I got back to my apartment, I opened the front door and felt around for a light switch. Not finding one, I fished in my purse and found the small flashlight I always carried. Looking around the foyer, I still couldn’t find a switch, but then I shone the light on the ceiling, and realized why. There was a magelight attached to the ceiling, but no electric light as far as I could see.
I spoke a Word, and the light came on. I continued into the sitting room, and the flashlight revealed several more magelights attached to the walls. The situation was the same in the kitchen, bedroom, and the bathroom.
The stove and oven were gas. Then I discovered the refrigerator was plugged in, as was the clothes washer. Each had a single socket connected to conduit attached to the wall. With no automatic dishwasher, obviously I would be doing my dishes in the sink with its drainboard next to it. The full import of living in a hundred-and-fifty-year-old building crashed down on me, and I had to laugh.
There wasn’t any electricity in the bathroom or bedroom, so I might as well not have packed my blow dryer. Then I panicked as I wondered how I was supposed to charge my phone and computer. Unplug the fridge?
Some frantic searching led to the discovery of four sockets and a wi-fi router hidden away under the desk in the sitting room. I plugged in my laptop and phone, and my near-hysteria dissolved when the computer asked me for a password to connect to the college wi-fi network. I half expected the landline phone on the desk to have a rotary dial, but it was push-button.
As I made myself an omelet and cut up some fresh fruit, I mused about my evening with Kelly. It turned out the young woman was somewhat more than the ‘college librarian.’ Her official title was Archivist and Director of Library Services, with employees in the library, plus student aides, and more full-time employees in the small college museum. She evidently also managed the bookstore and academic computer services. Impressive for a thirty-one-year-old woman in a staid environment such as Wicklow College.
Sitting with my tea after breakfast, I suddenly realized I’d been woolgathering and had only an hour before my appointment with Dr. Carver. I jumped up from my chair at the kitchen table, quickly washed the breakfast dishes, took a quick shower, and pulled a business suit from the closet.
I hurried out, locked the door, and walked through the breezeway between the two halves of the building. On each side, there were ten sets of two doors. Emerging from under the arch at the far end, I stood admiring the wide, open expanse of lawn surrounded by stately three- and four-story buildings that was Howard Quadrangle.
Glancing at the map Kelly had given me, I noted the names of the buildings. John Howard had been an Oxford man, and he envisioned his college in light of what he was familiar with. Of course, what I was looking at was originally the entire college, but it had grown since.
Across from me, about fifty yards away, was another arch like the one I stood under. I followed a sidewalk through the green space, through the arch, and into the next quadrangle, and then to the Administration Building.
Dr. Jerome Carver was a small, thin man in his fifties with a potbelly. Wire-rimmed glasses sat on a slightly bulbous nose, and his shiny bald head was ringed with light brown hair. He wore the same herringbone-tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows as when I met him in San Francisco.
He stood when I came into his office but didn’t extend his hand. I wondered if it was because he was old-fashioned or because we were witches. Many witches avoided touching other people.
“Dr. Robinson, so good of you to come. Please, sit down. I trust that your accommodations are satisfactory?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.”
“Well, I have a few things to go over with you, and then I’ll give you a tour, if that’s all right.”
He handed me a stack of papers, with a map and a small blue booklet, the cover of which said, “Wicklow College, Faculty Handbook.” I opened it and saw that it was handwritten in an archaic cursive script, and had been photocopied, then stapled together.
“If you have any questions after you’ve read it, please ask me,” he said. “I’ll just hit a couple of specific things. It’s probably not necessary, but I think it’s important to emphasize that intimate relations with students are completely prohibited, and it’s a terminating event. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a beer with a student who is of age, or have a promising student or students to your apartment for a meal, but please, maintain a professional relationship.”
I smiled and swallowed my reaction. “I’m not attracted to men twenty years younger than I am, Dr. Carver, but I understand the need to emphasize the point.”
He nodded and seemed to relax a little. “Also, although relations between faculty, and with staff, are not prohibited, we do ask that while on campus, and in public, we expect discretion and a professional demeanor, especially anywhere students might be present.”
I nodded, maintaining my smile. “Yes, I understand the need to provide students with proper role models. And you’re not going to see me dancing at a disco in a skirt that doesn’t cover my backside. I do have experience with students and their fantasies, and I prefer to prevent uncomfortable situations.”
To my surprise, that actually got a chuckle from him. I hadn’t guessed that he had a sense of humor.
“Now, with the unpleasant things aside, you’ll find your class schedule in there,” he motioned at the stack of papers. “Normally, you would be assigned two classes, with labs and tutorials, because of your duties with the herb garden and the greenhouse. But I’m afraid that we’re a bit short staffed this term. You’ll have to take a third class, but we will pay you extra.”
“Greenhouse and herb garden? You mean those outside my door?”
“Yes. That’s why we gave you that apartment. You don’t have to tend it all yourself, of course. There are two graduate students and three student aides who do most of the work, but you will have to supervise them.”
“I see. I don’t remember seeing anything about that in my contract.”
Carver looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“And why are you short staffed?” I asked, wondering if he would tell me about Kavanaugh’s murder.
“Mrs. Donnelly, the greenhouse manager, resigned at the end of the spring term. We are recruiting for the position, but at the earliest, we might manage to find someone to start in January.”
He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “As to the faculty shortage, I’m afraid that is my fault. You have an unusual skill set, as did your predecessor. Until he left, we didn’t understand just how unusual. I’ve also applied to add two more faculty positions, one in Alchemy and another in Apothecary Arts. I’m afraid we’ve discovered a problem with having all our eggs in one basket, so to speak.”
“And why did my predecessor leave?” I asked, half holding my breath waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry to say that he died suddenly. It wasn’t anything anyone expected.”
I leaned forward. “Dr. Carver, I know how Dr. Kavanaugh died. Am I safe here? Is this campus
safe?”
He bit his lip and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingertips. “I wish I could say yes, Dr. Robinson. I think so, but since we don’t know who killed Dr. Kavanaugh, or why, I would be lying if I tried to give you some kind of certainty. I can say that there hasn’t been a faculty murder in the past twenty years. As I’m sure you know, there is some element of danger at any institution such as Wicklow. Young, emotional people with untrained, powerful magic are our occupational hazard.”
Nodding, I said, “Yes, that I quite understand. There were a couple of incidents where I was teaching in San Francisco. Thank you for being honest with me.” I did notice the caveats in what he said. No faculty murders. That, of course, raised the question of staff and student murders. And what about the faculty member killed twenty years before?
“However,” I continued, “I’m afraid that taking a full class load as well as a second full-time job running your horticultural operation is out of the question. As I said, it’s not in my contract, and I wouldn’t have agreed to such an arrangement if you had presented it to me. I can, however, provide a suitable candidate. A recently granted doctorate who studied under me in Sausalito. His name’s Steven McCallum. I’ll have him contact you. Dr. Carver, do we understand each other?”
Carver hesitated, then nodded. “Can I at least count on you to supervise the greenhouse staff until we get someone in? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
I took pity on him. “Yes, but just until you hire someone. Soon.”
Carver gave me a weak smile. “Thank you. And now, shall we go explore your new home?”
Chapter 4
Carver led me down the hall from his office. We passed through an arch. On one side, a plaque said Department of Alchemy. A plaque on the other wall read Department of Healing and Apothecary Arts. At the end, he showed me a small office overlooking what my map identified as Scholars’ Quad.
“This is your office. This building is almost deserted at night, but it’s close to the classrooms, and you can meet students here during the day. For your tutorials, you can hold them either in your apartment, in any unused classroom—just book it with my secretary—or in one of the available rooms in the library.”
He handed me an old-fashioned key, and I opened the door. The office was clean, no dust, but there were books on the shelves and a stack of papers on the desk. I checked the desk and found pens, paperclips, and other office supplies. There were files in the bottom left drawer. The bottom right drawer didn’t open, but I didn’t detect any magic. It was just locked, and there wasn’t a key around that I could see.
Carver went over and pulled open the top drawer of a filing cabinet.
“I thought someone had cleaned out this office. I’m so sorry. I’ll send someone immediately.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps Dr. Kavanaugh’s family might like some of the things.” Walking over to the bookshelf, I scanned the titles. “But anything they don’t want, such as these books probably, can stay.”
“He didn’t have any family,” Carver said.
“Oh. Well, if I could just get some boxes, I can sort through all this and box up what I don’t find useful. No sense in having people take the paperclips when I would just have to order more, and some of these books would interest no one but another practitioner.”
Carver stood, wringing his hands and looking around. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m so sorry.” As he walked out into the hall, I could hear him mumbling, “I was sure I told someone to clean that office. It was such a distressing time.”
Glancing out the window, I noticed that the office was at the northeast corner of the Quad. Past the arch in the building on the south would be Howard Quad and my apartment. It was a bit of a hike, but nothing like Sausalito where the Institute’s buildings were scattered all over town.
I took another look at the locked drawer, then followed Carver out, locking the office door and dropping the key in my purse.
Tracing our steps back down the hall to the stairway, we went down to the ground floor, and then through an outside door at the back of the building. Carver stopped at the bottom. In front of us stood the large Classical Greek building that I recognized as the library from my previous visits. Possibly the largest arcane library in North America, although it held far more books than just those dealing with magic and other arcane subjects.
“John Howard Library,” Carver said. “And there, the Howard Museum of Arcane Arts.” He motioned with his left hand toward a set of steps leading to another doorway. They exactly matched the steps and the doorway into the library on my right.
Carver took me into the library and introduced me to Kelly. As he did so, we exchanged glances, and she winked at me. She had a sparkle in her eye and a slight grin. Neither of us mentioned that we had met before.
Next, he took me around and showed me the classroom buildings, including the three rooms where I would be teaching that term. From there, we trekked over to John Howard’s original mansion. That was where the college president lived and entertained, and the building also held the conference center and a theater.
He pointed out a building containing laboratories for physical sciences and magic, and the campus recreational center past the Howard House, but thankfully, didn’t make me trek over there.
The last places Carver wanted to show me were my laboratory, the herb garden, and the greenhouse. I was wearing flats, and by the time we had marched all the way back to his office, I was glad of that.
The labs were in a two-story concrete building between my apartment and the greenhouse. There was an outside door to the building facing the student dormitories, and one opened from the herb garden directly into my lab.
“All the biological labs are in this building,” Carver said. “Medical labs are upstairs. Labs for physical and elemental magic are in the building north of the museum. As you can imagine, it is heavily warded. We wouldn’t want any accidents getting out of hand.”
I fought to hide a smile. He said it so matter-of-factly, as though students and untrained magicians throughout history hadn’t left steaming craters, massive forest fires, and demolished buildings as testaments to their mistakes.
When we reached the herb garden, Dr. Carver said, “Dr. Kavanaugh supervised the greenhouse staff, including the students.
The laboratory and the workshop were about what I expected as far as equipment and tools. The first room next to the herb garden looked like a normal gardener’s workshop. Pots, bins with potting soil, other planting media, fertilizer, and wooden workbenches.
In one of the rooms, we discovered a woman busy packing things into a box. We evidently startled her, and she whirled around.
I judged her to be in her fifties, her past-shoulder-length dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray. She had piercing blue eyes and a hawk’s beak nose jutted over thin lips. Her clothes were sixties counterculture—a blue shirt with bloused sleeves, multiple necklaces and earrings, and a brown ankle-length skirt of a soft fabric, possibly velvet.
“Oh, you startled me,” she said. “I was just clearing some of my personal things.”
“Agnes,” Carver said, “This is Dr. Robinson, the new apothecary professor.” He turned toward me. “Agnes Bishop also teaches some of our Apothecary Arts courses. She’s part-time.”
I stepped forward and held out my hand. “Call me Savanna. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Agnes shot a glance at the offered hand and took a step back, tucking her own hands behind her back. “Welcome aboard. I was just clearing my stuff out.”
“That’s all right,” I said, looking around. “You don’t have to. I’m sure there’s plenty of room for both of us.”
Agnes fidgeted, her gaze darting around the room. “No, I have my own place. I like things a certain way. I’ll be out of here today.”
“Are any of the girls about today?” Carver asked.
Agnes turned away to continue boxing her tools. “Emma’s in the greenhouse.”
Since he obvi
ously felt the conversation was at an end, Carver moved on to the next room, and I followed him. That room was an alchemist’s lab with white walls, floor and ceiling, stainless steel workbenches, and far more sophisticated equipment.
“Agnes is a bit eccentric,” Carver said, “and I guess I should warn you that she wasn’t happy that we hired you instead of promoting her. But she’s basically an herbalist, and her only academic credentials are a bachelor’s degree in English. She owns an apothecary shop in town, selling herbs and touristy witchcraft items. She worked part-time here in the greenhouse and taught a class each trimester. Two classes this trimester.”
“Was the apartment hers?” I asked.
“Oh, no. She lives in town. That apartment has been empty for the past twelve years.”
We passed back through the rooms to the herb garden and walked down the path to the greenhouse. It turned out to be far larger than I expected, and was divided inside into three different climate zones. The laboratory building and the faculty apartments shielded its north side.
“Is the greenhouse manager expected to maintain the facility itself?” I asked out of curiosity. “All the heaters, the water system, the air conditioning?” I knew the programming alone was a major task. Seeing the size of the place, I was even more convinced that I was smart to put my foot down and not take on the additional work. The greenhouse was commercial size, as large as the student dormitory buildings.
Carver answered, “Oh, no. Of course not. We have a contract with a company in Pittsburgh. They have a full-time maintenance engineer stationed here in Wicklow. You can get a copy of the contract from my secretary, if you wish.”
In the second section, we found a slender young woman with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, tending to the plants.
The Gambler Grimoire: An Urban Fantasy Mystery (Wicklow College of Arcane Arts Book 1) Page 2
