by D. R. Perry
“Phillips!” I couldn’t clap to wake the sleeping Kelpie, so instead I balled up a fist and clanged it against the stainless steel jug/mug hybrid in my other hand. Under my breath, I mumbled, “ Why do I always have to get the sleepy ones?”
“Say wha—” A long snort and a short jolt interrupted her words. “Watkins! I mean, what? I mean, Professor, sir.” She sat up, flinging dank hair out of her face in a completely futile effort to make herself presentable.
Nox failed miserably at that, of course. She’d drooled over half her chin, and her coat had left an impression like a line of stitches on her cheek. Her eyes were so bloodshot I could barely discern her iris color, and she had a puffiness about her visage that hadn’t been there during Fall semester. The Kelpie was not okay.
“Listen, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, Phillips.” I tapped my wingtip-clad toe in her general direction. “I’ve got students waiting for me across the hall, so scram.”
“Oh.” Nox pulled the lapels of her coat closer together, then hoisted an unusually large rucksack up to her right shoulder. “Uh, okay.” She blinked, and her lower lip trembled.
I didn’t have time for this. But Miss Phillips looked like she’d been sleeping in lecture halls instead of wherever she was supposed to. Even worse, she looked like she was about to cry over it. I’m harsh and stodgy and like it that way, but I’m not heartless. Kids at the College should never be left without options. As far as I’m concerned, the only person who had any right to limit a student’s choices was said individual.
“Listen, you’re Unseelie. The Nocturnal Lounge is technically open twenty-four seven. Nobody bothers going there in the daytime except the ghosts on the skeleton crew and their hippie Medium, though.” I pushed the door to the lecture hall open with one hand. “Now skedaddle already.”
“Um.” The lanky kid somehow managed to duck under my outstretched arm. “’Kay. Thanks.” Phillips scuttled along the corridor, reminding me for all the world of one of those water-walking bugs.
Crossing the corridor, I made a mental note to have a chat with Jeannie La Montaigne, the Resident Assistant. She’d be able to figure out Nox Phillips’ damage way better than a crusty old professor like me.
When I put my hand on the latch to open the door, I yawned again. Glancing down at my watch, I wondered how four of the five gnome-stolen minutes had gone by already. Was my brain old enough to perceptually warp time? What had I just been thinking of doing? Could it be Alzheimer’s, like poor Mr. Meyer?
“Ahem.” The Gnome peered up at me, showing off their steel smile. I realized that the makeshift teeth looked a bit crooked, which meant it was about time the Faerie replaced them. I wondered what, or potentially who, the Gnome’s empty gums waited for.
“Er—” I wanted to ask. One more question would be safe. But there wasn’t time. I walked inside the other lecture hall and strode down to the front, fully prepared to begin class but grouchier than usual about it.
That entire year was turning out to be one of my worst in so many ways. Temporal obligations were only the beginning of my troubles.
Of Wolf and Peace
The series continues with Of Wolf and Peace coming April 29, 2021.
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