Dragons of Drupes - 9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

I hesitated only a second before I twisted the handle and entered Jack’s room.

“Morning!”

I couldn’t see any part of Jack except for his outline underneath the blankets. He didn’t budge. It was a cheeky thing to say, but I couldn’t resist: “Up! It’s eight in the morning.”

The lump twitched a little, and there came a muffled groan.

“Down this. It’ll help.”

The sheets ruffled and Jack’s head emerged. I whistled. “The chicks would be falling over themselves if they could see you now.”

He rubbed his eyes and tossed a pillow at me. It missed by a long shot.

“Nice throw.”

Jack picked up a second pillow to toss it and changed his mind, stuffing it behind him and leaning back instead. His hair was matted on one side and poking out at all angles on the other.

“Christ. What did I drink?”

I handed him the smoothie. “Head spinning some?”

“Some? It’s like a merry-go-round in here.” He rested his head back against his wall and looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t . . . do anything stupid, did I?”

“I stopped you before you decided it’d be a good idea to strip dance.”

I regretted saying it almost as soon as it was out of my mouth. My cheeks felt like they were on fire as I suddenly imagined exactly that scene, Jack ripping off his clothes and showing that hard chest of his. . . .

I knocked back the rest of my smoothie, wincing at the whooping head-throb that came with it.

Peering at me over the edge of the cup, he sipped. He smacked his lips in distaste. “Disgusting.”

“Oh yeah.”

Using his index finger, he circled the rim of the glass. “Get your date with Chrissy?”

I tensed, a knot tightening in my stomach as if I’d done something I shouldn’t have. Which was stupid. I had no reason for feeling weird about my date with Chrissy—that’d been on the books for months. The whole flat knew it was only a matter of time.

“So what if I did?” I snapped.

Jack frowned at my outburst. “Congrats.”

For some reason the congratulations irked me. Maybe it was because I was expecting him to shrug and say he didn’t like Chrissy. Or . . .

I laughed at myself. Jeez, it was like I wanted him to be jealous or something.

“Drake? You okay?”

I stepped away from him. It felt like my stomach was lined with bugs clawing to get out. I really wasn’t liking the thoughts I was having right now. I glanced at the door across the room—my escape!—longing to race over and be outta there, but at the same time, I was rooted to the floor. And I couldn’t blame it on a stupid physiological reaction, I was perfectly in control of my limbs. I wanted to stay.

I sucked in a long breath. Felt myself wobble on the tight rope that was my life right then, hoping like hell I didn’t fall and knowing it was inevitable, beneath me two abysses—two choices. And I wasn’t sure which frightened me more to fall into.

“Have more of this disgusting drink,” Jack said. Seeing mine was finished, he held up his.

His drink? He’d drunk from that. His lips had touched the rim—I stepped forward to take it, wanting my lips where his had been, then lurched back, twisted and escaped the room, ignoring his low “Drake?”

In the bathroom, I splashed my face with water. What I really needed was a smoke. “Agh.” I shook the sides of the basin as if the motion would shake out an explanation of what was going on inside my head. Then I looked up, and my image was thrown back at me in the mirror. My hair was matted and bags puffed the rims under my eyes. I looked wasted.

Wasted. That was it. Obviously I was still drunk. People came up with some weird stuff when they’d had too much to drink.

Deciding it best to focus on our case, I wandered to my room. Grabbed some matches, a cigarette and my portable player and went outside. I wore proper headphones that covered my whole ears.

The player had been recording since I’d dropped the audio chip in Avice’s bag. I turned up the volume.

Come on Avice, what’ve you been up to?

She should’ve been home by now, with her real friends and boyfriend.

Striking a match, I lit a cigarette and puffed away as the first minutes of the recording replayed. Nothing but static so far.

I forwarded a bit and started playing again. After another minute I heard a crackling and then the sound of music. It was unmistakably Mozart’s Serenade No. 13. Okay, it wasn’t quite my type of thing, but most classics were bearable.

After the song had ended, a male voice spoke up. ‘Thanks again for the gift, Avice. I just love Mozart. You have no idea how much it excites me that you’re also a fan. We’re just two peas—‘

‘in a pod,’ Avice finished and laughed. ‘Nervous?’

‘Well, hell, I’m nervous. She won’t be able to turn me into a toad if she doesn’t like me, right?’ That had to be Jerry.

‘We’re all nervous,’ a girl said, but it was hard to hear her over a humming in the background. Mary Wallace. They must have been traveling in a car or something.

‘Yes, but I have more reason to worry than you three!’

Avice giggled in the background.

‘Glad I’m not in your shoes!’ [Slap—maybe a high five] Michael Rhoton?

Someone rested a hand on my shoulder and I whirled round.

“Hey man,” Terry said, backing up a step. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

I lowered the volume and slipped the headphones around my neck. “How’s the head?”

“Not so bad. The usual. I’ll wolf down a sandwich and it’ll be fine. . . . How’s the birthday?”

I’d been so preoccupied, somehow the fact it was my birthday had slipped my mind. Was it a good birthday? Couldn’t say it was, really. The party had been well-meant and I appreciated my flatmates for going to the effort, but honesty my seventeenth was sucking pretty bad lemons right now.

Had I just been building this thing with Chrissy up in my head too much? Was that why I was disappointed? Could it just be that’s what if felt like—that there really isn’t anything exhilarating about falling for someone at all? Had Hollywood mind-fucked me into thinking there should be this amazing spark?

Like the tingles you felt around Jack?

I shivered as Terry repeated. “Birthday not so flash then?”

“Mmm . . . no, it’s good. Chrissy and I are going out for a date Saturday.”

“Yay for Drake,” I heard Faye croak behind us. She was sleepy-eyed and moving from foot to foot like a zombie. “Happy Birthday.” She gathered her hair and tied it up into a messy bun, lifting the shadows off her face, and I saw she looked more than tired—she looked like she’d cried the night away. “Terry . . .” she said, raising an eyebrow and subtly inclining her head in my direction. What was that about? More importantly, why the tear-stained face?

“On to it, gorgeous,” Terry said, picking himself off the balcony and squeezing Faye's arm as he went back inside.

Faye took his spot and gave me a hug. “Seventeen: how does it feel?”

I put an arm around her shoulder, wanting to ask her how she felt. But not wanting to push, shrugged. “So much better than sixteen.”

“Really?”

I shook my head. “It feels pretty much the same.” Save all the freaking confused feelings.

I frowned, leaning back against the door frame, sun bleeding through the buildings across from us to lap at my feet. But I couldn’t enjoy the warmth, my mind repeating my last sentence. Feels pretty much the same. The same. And, if I were honest with myself, maybe these confused feelings weren’t all that new, but had been there much, much longer. Maybe always. Just something I’d suppressed, fought down, smothered with will alone. Nothing I’d let myself think long enough about to really realize what they were really about. . . .

I shivered and Faye moved closer and rested her head against my shoulder.

“I hoped it would feel different,” she said. “I’m sick of feeling this way.”

“What way?”

She sighed and her breath was warm through my shirt. “Wish-washy. Like, well, haven’t you noticed? I get so invested in things, but only for a little while. Like this whole online gaming thing—it’s fun and I love it, but it’s nothing that defines me, but I think that’s the way you and Jack see me, sometimes.”

I shook my head. “No, I—”

But she cut me off. “I just want to make myself a better person, better than my parents—sometimes I overcompensate, like becoming a vegetarian or getting all environmental conscious. I mean, I do care about those things, but it’s a little displaced, the passion.” She tried to control a hiccup. “I guess I still feel so young, really young. I—I don’t really know who I am. I want that to change. I wish it were as simple as turning a year older.” Plucking the player from my lap with trembling hands, she asked, “Anything interesting?”

I lifted her chin; her eyes were moist, lip quavering. “Don’t do that. Don’t change the topic like that.” I wanted to give her more comforting words, like it was okay she didn’t know who she was, that she was doing the right thing by trying stuff out. But it felt too preachy somehow, and who was I to speak?—I was also trying to navigate the murky waters of who I was.

I kissed the top of her forehead and tucked her into the crook of my arm. “It’s okay. If you ever need to talk, I’m here to listen, okay?”

She nodded, blinking rapidly. “I know. And Terry’s there too.” She gave a small laugh. “I’d be lost without him.”

“We are all there for you, Faye. We might be annoying asses at time, and say or do the wrong thing, but at the heart of it, we care.”

“Thank you.”

We looked out onto the mist-clung blades of grass, water droplets sending miniature rainbows in all directions.

“God,” she said with a yawn, “I’m hardly ever up this early. It’s so pretty to see London in the morning fog.”

“Yeah, it is.”

We sat in silence until we heard Terry’s footsteps on the stairs. “You ready, Jack?” he called.

“Ugh . . . ” I heard the sound of the toilet flushing. “Sec.” Then a retch.

Faye and I exchanged a grinning shake of the head.

“Okay man. Happy birthday breakfast.” I turned to see a cake, plastered in pink icing with seventeen glowing blue candles sticking out.

“Pink?”

“Hey, you wanted raspberry coconut.”

“Make a wish,” Faye said. I thought about it a moment, thought of everything Faye and I had just shared, and blew out the candles in one puff.

“Cut it, let’s have a piece,” Terry said.

“Here,” Jack said from the hall. He sounded like he needed to sleep another eight hours. At least. I could hardly make him out in the dim hall, but even what I saw wasn’t pretty.

Terry went to Jack inside, and I heard them rummaging about. “Makes more sense if you do that first,” I heard Jack whisper. Followed by: “I think I’m gonna chuck again.” A door slammed.

Five minutes later, both guys emerged, carrying a large cardboard box. “Part one,” Terry said. “Something Faye and I assembled.” He handed it to me.

I ripped off the ribbon and pulled the flaps down to get a look inside. I gulped. “Guys, that’s . . . I can’t say how awesome this is.”

“Has a solar power option, if you can find a spot in your room where the sun would hit it during the day.”

Carefully, I lifted the record player from the box. Wow.

Jack popped his head round the edge of the doorframe, a tiny smudge of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. “Part two.” He handed me a thin, square parcel. A record, for sure. But what?

I tore it open. Then my mouth went slack. “But, I thought—”

“We couldn’t afford to buy you anything, but we wanted to give you something. So we decided as your gift you didn’t have to sell anything for the flat.”

I gripped either side of my signed copy of Refused’s The Shape of Punk to Come and held it close. Thanks, I mouthed at Jack, who smiled briefly, before he frowned and rubbed his stomach.

“Should be charged enough for you to use it right now,” Terry said, checking the player.

I didn’t need telling twice.

As New Noise filled the air around us, I felt more at home than ever. I shuffled back, leaned against the side of our house, and enjoyed a slice of cake. Once I was stuffed, I shut my eyes.

Maybe the rest of my birthday was looking up. This moment was perfect. Nothing could change this.

With a start, I opened them again. I wanted nothing to change this. But that wasn’t the case. German authorities were planning to tear our home apart. Cold fingered its way down my spine until goose-bumps covered my body.

I jumped up. “Guys, we need to get back to the investigation. It’s time to meet Beatrice Wymer and Walter Ballard-Cardon.” Terry’s fist clenched as I said the last name.

“Uhh . . . ”

I looked at Jack. He’d made an effort to brush his hair, but his face was still pale. “I don’t feel so great,” he said.

Terry chuckled. “Hey when did you go to bed last night? One moment you were there, then the next, gone.”

“Early,” Jack said, not looking at me. “Like, two a.m. British time.”

“Quarter to, actually,” I said.

He scowled. Ah, there’s the Jack I knew.

I laughed but stopped when I caught Faye giving Terry a look. What was she smirking about? But I shrugged it off, checking the time.

“Anyway, let’s get cracking,” I said.

“Arse into Gear,” Terry said.

“Hit the road.”

‘Get rolling.”

‘Get a groove on.”

I let them take the piss out of me a bit longer. “Come on guys, not quite the point, do you think?”

* * *

 

Beatrice Wymer was not what I’d been expecting. I’d seen her on the video surveillance, but under the cover of what must have been a massively oversized coat. I ran an eye over the not-quite-thirty-year-old standing near the door of her office, shaking Terry’s hand. My god, was he blushing?

She wore a skimpy white, skin tight blouse, emphasizing her well rounded boobs and slim but curvy figure. Her hips poked out as if there wasn’t enough material to cover them. A red and yellow checkered mini skirt covered half her thighs—at a stretch—and she wore brown suede boots with a fringe up to the knee.

My mouth wasn’t the only one that’d dropped. Jack and Faye’s had too. We shared a look that could be summarized as O.M.G. Terry grinned broadly and slurred some of his words.

I blinked and tried to keep my eyes rooted on Beatrice’s face as she waved us into her office, but it was hard not to be distracted elsewhere. And it wasn’t because I was interested. I caught Jack’s eye slip from face to chest more than once, too.

Beatrice didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t care. She was confident, and no matter how much I was aware of the stereotype, I was still surprised at how smart she was. I mean, come on, university lecturer before even turning thirty?

My gaze dipped once more, this time coming with a more important thought: if she looked like this, why the heck would she wear such a large coat to the museum?

Terry held a university prospectus in his hand. We were here under cover as a prospective student group. “I’m particularly fascinated with geology, and it says here,” he tapped the thick booklet, “that you teach these courses.”

“What aspects of the science are you interested in studying?” Beatrice’s voice was firm, but kind. “My specialty involves a large practical area in mineral extraction.”

Jack must have seen Terry hesitate, because he jumped right in. “Well I’m interested in the processes of how different strata are formed and changed. Extraction sounds quite up my alley, too.”

“Well, if you like to work with solids and liquids, not just restricted to Dowrl, then my courses may be right for you.” Beatrice strode over to her desk, Jack and Terry followed. Faye and I split, each checking out her office from our standing points at opposite ends of Beatrice’s desk.

Different colored gems, stones and sand samples were presented on the shelves. A little handwritten tag sat to the side of each. Brilliant purple sugilite, blue lapis lazuli with creamy splotches and blue Lace Agate with wavy white lines lined the length of one shelf. Malachite, Chrysocolla, Hematite, Ruby, Quartz, Amethyst . . . In a hive of color, I searched for red, but I couldn’t see anything resembling Red Eye. Of course, I never really expected it to be just sitting on a shelf.

Behind Beatrice’s desk was a screen where stones were being zoomed in on from all angles. Was there any audio to those shots or were they just there to stare at? How boring. And how was it possible to really stare at anything else in the office besides Beatrice, anyway?

“To make a more informed decision about what course you want to take I’ll send you some sample lessons.”

Terry nodded; it looked like he was having a hard time concentrating. He would have nodded at anything. Faye none-too-subtly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Jack said.

“What school are you from?” Beatrice asked as she looped the Soundimer she wore as a bracelet around her middle finger and, fluffy side up, pressed.

I glanced at Terry, waiting for him to answer and his eyes widened. Jack looked flustered. Crap, we hadn’t been so great working out the details of our con this round.

“Er,” I started, “It’s a great school—we went together.”

In front of each of us appeared a pen and paper. Beatrice snapped the Soundimer back around her wrist. “Which great school is this?”

“Private school just outside of Drupes,” Faye said and below the desk, I saw her frantically typing into her fancy-little computer gizmo thing.

“Kings?”

Faye gave a little sigh. “No, Creek’s college.”

Beatrice smiled, recognition flooding her face. She nodded, approvingly. “Yes, very good school. Had a cousin go there. She’s now in politics. That school really knows how to breed them.”

While she spoke, I jotted down my email address. Half-way through writing, a marked pile of essays on her desk caught my attention. The title read:

A Dissection and Comparison of the Properties of Stones and Gems Found on Earth and Dowrl: The United States of America vs. The Cariema Belts. Geo 376. Lecturer Beatrice Wymer. Student ID number: 202876.

Something about the title nagged at me, but I couldn’t place why. I repeated the title in my head a few times to be sure I remembered, then laid down the pen. As soon as it vanished, it reappeared in Beatrice’s left hand. She immediately typed the address into her computer.

“I’ll get these lessons to you A.S.A.P. Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“No,” Jack said, “but thanks for the information.”

Once we were outside, Terry let out a low whistle. “I’m really starting to like rocks . . . ”

Faye nudged him, then said to Jack, “Thanks for saving us from looking stupid.” She looked pointedly at Terry.

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who figured out what school we’re from.”

Not looking away from Terry, Faye said, “yeah, but you were the only one of us who actually sounded like we knew anything about rocks other than the two in her shirt.”

“Riiight,” I said. “We have a bit of time to kill before we pay Walter a visit, any suggestions?”

“Lunchtime theatre?” Faye suggested, pointing to a poster on a student notice board.

Terry shrugged. “If we have to. Guess anything’s better than freezing our asses off in this cold. Isn’t it supposed to be summer?”

As Terry said ‘freezing’, my mind jumped to the thin layer of clothing Beatrice wore to the overly large winter jacket she’d sported at the museum.

At the museum where it’d been stuffy and hot. The woman was definitely up to something. But what? Was it related to the Red Eye?

“Cinderella Has Syphilis. Set in a mental institution, we learn another, rather dark side of the fairy story characters that used to warm our hearts. Well, I’m curious,’ Faye said. “Playing at Arnold theatre. Got the uni map, Drake?”

“Got it,” I said, glancing at Jack next to me, one hand in his pocket.

An eensy smirk twitched at his lip.

“Glad to see you guys have forgiven each other.” Faye stumbled over a protruding cobblestone and Terry caught her arm.

“Lift your darn feet higher when you walk, girl. The way you shuffle everywhere, I’m surprised you don’t fall over more often.”

“Terry!” Faye looked flabbergasted.

“Just telling you how I see it, gorgeous.”

“Well, I’ll tell you how I see it then, let’s see how you like it.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You’re a . . . a . . .”

He raised a questioning brow. “A . . . ?

Faye looked ready to explode. “Agh, just go away.” She pushed him to the side and Terry feigned physical pain.

Jack and I chuckled and when our eyes met, we both quickly looked away.

“Should be just over the bridge on the other side of the river.” I squinted at the fine print on the map. “The entrance is opposite of the psychology department.”

At some point, Arnold theatre had been a church. And an impressive one at that. A bell tower curved elegantly upwards, tipped with a spire, and hundreds of gargoyles jutted out above large stain-glass windows and doorframes. As I was appreciating the gothic majesty of the place, Jack knocked my leg with the back of his hand.

“Where are the dragons?” he said, pointing to a large smoke-strip, floating like a cloud above the church, advertising for Lunchtime Theatre.

I frowned, sweeping my eyes across the bare slants of the church roof.

And stopped walking.

Oh my god.

“What?” Jack said, followed by Terry and Faye.

“The g-gargoyles,” I stammered.

Their eyes darted to them. Dragons. Hundreds of miniature grey dragons bolted into the church. Now it was obvious what they were and I wondered how I didn’t see it right away. Cold, flat, blinking eyes stared ahead.

“Awful,” Faye said for all of us.

I dragged my head away and, as I did, caught sight of the psychology department. “That’s a contrast.”

Terry was the first to follow my gaze. “Don’t know whether to call it hideous or beautiful.”

It was both.

Hideous in that it was a newly constructed concrete block at least ten stories high, no adornment, no frills—the bulk-bin supply of buildings. No one who loved architecture—or even had an ounce of respect for it—could have designed such a thing. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of a gothic-hive of buildings.

But it was beautiful. Not a single dragon was strapped to it.

I grabbed the prospectus off Terry and flicked through the pages until I came to the psychology department. “That explains it.”

“What?” Jack came closer, peering over my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck.

“Professor Thomas Quincey works in this department.”

“What an awful view, to look out onto the church.” Jack shuddered and I felt it through my jacket. I stepped away from him.

“Motivating,” Faye said. “That has to be truly motivating.”

“Play’s going to start soon,” I said, glancing up at the dragon-gargoyles once more. At least it was bound to be warm inside.

The largest dragon’s gaze atop the church arched-door followed us as we moved toward the doors. I had to look down, staring at my laces until we passed the threshold. A long nave extended in front of us with a large aisle leading to an altar. Huge columns, twisted like screws, extended in two lines either side of us. Faye said something, but it was as if the high ceilings snatched her voice away to send it immediately to the heavens.

Jack let out a low breath of appreciation. I felt it too, despite my growing disgust, as I eyed the tens of coves skirting each wall, lit with brilliant yellow flames, in each of them the tip of a dragon’s tail.

The air seemed to press against my chest with a heavy weight; similar to how I felt learning the Berlin City Council wanted to destroy our home. I was so small in here, we all were. Insignificant. And it was so big. Powerful. How could we possibly conquer it?

“Drake?” Terry said, slipping an arm over my shoulder and urging me to a side door. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”

We passed a sign directing us to this Lunchtime Theatre: Cinderella Has Syphilis.

Following the directions, we descended a spiral staircase. We snuck silently into the back row (the play had already begun). A short man, wearing a red and white striped hat was in the middle of some kind of tantrum.

You know the last time we spoke

And it was in front of a lot of folk

She with all her au-tho-ri-ty

Rose up to challenge me!

She said that I should grow up

And not to address people by saying Waz-up?

'Nah', I said to her it's what I like to do

Be friendly with those who are colloquial too.

 

Shuffling on the hard stool into a more comfortable position, I brushed my arm against Jack’s. He’d taken off his coat and I could see the goose bumps on his skin.

Dammit. If that didn’t make it harder to concentrate . . .

I stared at the stage, but every now and then I had the prickly feeling I was being watched.

When it happened again, I snapped around in time to catch Jack looking at me. He gave me a small smile. One that said: I know you know I was watching you.

Now it was impossible to follow the play.

Still, I rooted my eyes to the stage.

I did not watch him out the corner of my eye.

Well, not much.

When his hand hit mine on the armrest we shared, I should have moved away. But I didn’t. Instead, I twitched my pinkie against his ever-so-slightly.

It was only when he twitched back that an image of Chrissy popped into my head and my stomach knotted together as it had done in Jack’s room this morning.

Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy. I had a date with Chrissy. I liked Chrissy.

Before long, a loud clapping forced me to refocus toward the stage where the actors stood in a line, bowing. Once they disappeared off stage a chorus of chatter started and people rummaged around while leaving their rows. Faye leaned over Terry, throwing me a big smile. “Didn’t you just love it!”

Terry and Jack hummed some comment or other, then Faye looked at me, waiting for my response.

I was a fan of the smile and nod principle. It’d gotten me out of difficult situations before.

So I did just that: nodded cheerily and smiled.

“You!” A loud voice cut across the room. I turned towards it, as did a number of people. “You.”

I froze when my eyes caught the girl it came from. Terry hurried Faye and Jack out of their seats.

I’d forgotten Avice was still in Drupes.

I hustled Jack to move more quickly.

“Don’t you go anywhere, detective.” Avice was pointing at me. She stomped past an elderly couple and zig-zagged through a few preppy guys, her eyes riveted on me.

When she stood opposite me, her voice turned low and even more lethal (If that were possible). “Not only did you pretend to be my boyfriend and scare my mother out of her wits, and then dare to suck information from me in a cunning, insidious manner. . . But to steal my diary? That crosses every line.”

Jack and Faye gasped behind me, and I flustered trying to find some words, any words. “I’m—”

She cut me off, “I want it back! And if I don’t get it back by the end of the day, I’ll report you.” With that she took off.

I hung my head. She was right, it was stupid of me. I’d known that, why else lie to my flatmates?

Crap, what a birthday to remember.

“You did what!” Faye cried, once we’d left the theatre. “Why?”

“Evidence. I wanted to be thorough, make sure we didn’t miss any possible motivations . . .”

“I get that, man,” Terry said and I was glad to have someone on my side. Even if I knew I didn’t deserve it.

“I’m with Faye,” Jack said, furious. Why was I surprised? “You don’t just go taking people’s diaries. That’s private.” He’d paled and his jaw twitched. It was almost worried, and I had the distinct feeling, he wasn’t really talking about Avice’s diary at all. After a drawn breath, he said. “Weren’t you going to tell us about it?”

I bit my bottom lip and looked away.

Then his paleness disappeared as he calculated, well, me I guess. He started laughing. “Oh-ohhh!”

“Going to fill the rest of us in?” Faye asked, still frowning.

“I was right!” Jack said. “Avice and Jerry meeting the first time. It involved animals, didn’t it? You owe me two weeks of dishes.”

Jack was so thrilled he slapped my back and kept it there a second.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Say what?”

“Yes, okay, yes!” At least now that the cat was out the bag I could ask. “How’d you know anyway?”

“Was a hunch. Terry’s allergic to fur and he kept sneezing at Josina’s, so I guessed she had cats or something. But when she made us a cup of tea, I was amazed at how clean everything was. Not a single thread out of place. I couldn’t imagine animals living there, and didn’t see any. So I guessed Avice had been hanging round something with fur and left traces . . . As I said, a hunch.”

“Ah, well . . . I—” I was speechless. Faye and Terry weren’t saying anything either so I guessed they were, too. “—I’m surprised we still have a case on our hands with you in the group,” I eventually said.

Jack gave a small nod, like it was no big deal and stepped to my side, but before he was close, Terry threw an arm around me and him, and we started moving in the direction of the bridge. “Let’s crack this baby. And soon.”

“Actually, guys,” I called out, “we still have a bit of time to kill. Think we could check out the history of Professor Quincey’s building? Must be historical.”

Terry let us go. “Beats wandering in the cold.”

Faye followed, but sulkily. I could tell she was still upset about taking Avice’s diary. I tried to give her an I’m sorry smile, but she looked away.

The building was just as ugly on the inside. Terry’s head was close to touching the ceiling, the lino floors squeaked under our shoes and the walls were a mint green color that reminded me of hospital gowns.

“Where now?”

“Let’s ask reception.” I scanned the board. “Level one. This way.”

A couple of students bounded down the stairs, laughing hysterically; they were trying to talk to each other but it all sounded like high squeaks to me, ending in more bouts of giggles.

The first floor was more active. People were walking about, talking, lining up outside offices, and a soothing chatter filled the air.

“Hi,” I said, flashing the secretary a grin. “We’re interested in the history of the building. Where would we get more information on that?”

“Oh right,” she said, like it was a run-of-the-mill request. “There’s a small bit on the psychology department’s brochure, but the most info you’ll find on a pin board outside Professor Quincey’s office. Third floor, second door on your right.” She gave us a smile, then focused her attention on the person behind us.

Jack was puffing once we’d reached the pin board. “Man, alcohol sucks it out of you. Never again.”

Terry and I laughed.

“Sure. Sure,” Terry said.

“It’s a love-hate relationship.” I said. “You might hate it now, but the love will come back.” Then I did something stupid: I winked. “The love always comes back.”

A tiny little indent cracked between Jack’s eyebrows and he gave me a funny look, like he was unsure how quite to respond to that. For a second, I thought he might say something, but instead he looked at the floor, a tiny smile quirking his lips.

The smile had my stomach fluttering. I twisted from view, cursing myself for the wink. Was my body on auto-drive?

It didn’t mean anything. Really.

And I didn’t like that smile.

Not at all.

Thank god Faye drew our attention to the board. “This is Professor Quincey’s first success. It was after all dragons were removed from this building he was nominated to be spokesperson for the Dragon Slavery Abolition Movement.”

There were pictures of the dragons being unchained. Before and after shots of the building.

Then I recognized Professor Quincey’s voice, coming from down the hall. I followed the trail, around the corner to his open office door.

“There is a reason we use student ID numbers. You don’t want others to have an unfair advantage, do you? My sister’s in this class, you know. And I make an effort not to be biased. That’s why it would be a good idea to resubmit your essay. Just change the cover page and footer to your ID number. Thank you.”

A boy came out the room with what an essay in hand. At the same time Jack approached me from the side.

“Next,” Professor Quincey called out.

I looked about, but there wasn’t anyone else.

“You coming in or not?” Professor Quincey said.

“Er, yeah.” I motioned to Jack and we slipped in.

“How can I help?” he said and then looked up. “Now, where do I recognize you from? Are you in one of my postgrad classes?”

“No,” I said, “we, er, bumped into each other on the street the other day.”

“Right. Right.” He tapped his head as if to acknowledge he was losing his mind.

“You invited us to a demonstration,” I added.

“That’s right. Will you be there?”

Jack nodded.

“So what brings you here?”

“Actually, we were wondering about the history of the building. And how come it doesn’t have dragon heating.”

A large smile lit up Professor Quincey’s face. “I lobbied for years before I finally won. In the end I convinced the majority of the humanities board that this was the right move, that we had to start with the abolition somewhere. I got the most support from the Philosophy and History departments, as well as Psychology, of course.”

A flash of someone walking past Professor Quincey’s door caught my eye. Now that there were others waiting for their turn with him, we’d better hurry.

I motioned Jack to wrap things up, but either he misunderstood or ignored me. “What do you teach?”

“I run both theoretical as well as practical courses with a focus on fears and ways to get over them.”

“Drake, here, is freaked out by birds.” Jack said with a smirk. “Is that normal?”

My eyes widened. He didn’t just say that!

Professor Quincey smiled, but answered sincerely. “Fear is an internal response to the threat of danger and everyone has it”—he looked at me—“Do you consider it an irrational fear?”

I so didn’t want to be psycho-analyzed right now, or ever for that matter. I scowled at Jack.

He would pay for this.

I faced Professor Quincey again and nodded.

“How long have you had it?”

I shrugged. “A while.”

“Then it’s probably an anxiety disorder. Usually the result of outside influences and biological predispositions. Did you experience anything traumatic as a kid?”

I wanted to laugh, up until two years ago my life was one big traumatic experience. I swallowed. “Does watching The Birds at age six count?”

Jack was so gonna pay.

“Probably. Here’s some info and books you can read on it, if you like.” Professor Quincey did the signature loop of the Soundimer around his middle finger and pressed the ball, fluffy side up. Within a few short moments I had a list of reading materials in my hand.

“Err . . . thanks.” I really wanted to leave now. “Guess, we’ll see you Sunday then.”

I headed out the door as he murmured something back. A woman with her back to me was leaning on Professor Quincey’s door. I was only glad that she didn’t turn around. She would’ve heard everything, and I was embarrassed enough. I tugged on Jack’s arm, dragging him behind me.

“What the hell, man?” I hissed, once we’d turned the corner.

He looked into my eyes and shrugged. Before he could say anything, Faye called out. “Drake. Jack. There you guys are. I just checked my notes, Walter plays bridge at 2.30, not 3.30. We have to hurry if we want to steal into his place.”

“Terry? Would you be okay if just you and Faye checked his place out?” I asked, a plan formulating in my head.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “I was the one who taught you how to break in, sure we can handle this.”

“Yeah, I gotta get back to the house to pick up the diary and return it to Avice.” But that wasn’t all . . .

I wanted to grin at my plan, but forced myself to keep a straight face.

“You could do that on your own, Drake,” Jack said, suspicious. And rightly so.

“No. I might need you. You’re coming with me.”

“Meet you guys back at the house later?” Faye said. “We really have to go now.” With that, Terry and Faye disappeared out the door.

Slowly, I turned to Jack a cruel smile pulling at my lips. Now you’re all mine.