But Elisa wasn’t in when I got up to our room. Not in an ominous oh no, she’s missing sort of way, but in the usual she’s probably out with friends or rehearsing way. So I wrote her a note saying where and when the pizza would be and left it on her pillow, alongside a tiny pink stegosaurus and a chocolate bar (dark, of course).
I sighed and sat down on my bed. As usual, there were a dozen things I could be doing right now, most of them involving homework. That was the one thing about this school I loved as much as I hated—the work never stopped. Ever. No rest for the wicked. And no time to mourn.
That’s when I remembered Jonathan’s note in my pocket. Another sigh. I should probably go see him. I knew that if I waited too long, he’d send Helen after me. Not that I really wanted to defend my thesis to someone right now—especially someone not even in the arts department—but he was my adviser and had the final say in my career here. Hell, he could probably prevent me from graduating if he wanted to. Not that I thought he would do something like that, but it was a possibility. So I slipped back into my boots and rebuttoned my coat and headed back out into the cold.
Dealing with this was not something I wanted to be doing. But I wanted to be dealing with my inner demons even less.
Even though it was only three, the sky was darkening with storms. Seriously, was it ever going to stop snowing?
I was halfway to the academics concourse when I saw him, bouncing his way down the path toward me. Chris.
He caught sight of me and paused. Thankfully, he didn’t do the awkward thing of turning around. He halted for a second and then kept walking. So I did the same.
“Hey,” he said with a lackluster wave.
“Hey,” I replied.
“Where you off to?”
“Jonathan’s office. He wants to talk. About my thesis.”
“Ah.” He looked at his feet. “I saw your work. It’s impressive.”
“Thanks,” I replied. I couldn’t think of any way this conversation could feel more awkward.
“About yesterday.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you feeling any better?”
It wasn’t the question I expected.
“Sort of. Went off campus with Ethan for a bit. It helped.”
“Good. I was worried about you. Never seen you that angry.”
Well, you barely know me, I wanted to say.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” I said instead. “I didn’t mean to direct that at you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He gave me a sad grin. “Can we still be friends?”
I nodded. He held out his hand. I hesitated for a second, then took it. No vision, but I did hear a crow caw in the background.
“Still friends,” I said. “Anyway, better be off. Don’t want Jonathan to think I’m avoiding him.” Which I had been doing, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Sure. See you at dinner?”
Damnit.
“Actually, doing pizza with the boys. You can join if you want. Five p.m., Writers’ House.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course. C’ya then.”
And it was then I realized we were still holding hands. I let go quickly and hurried the rest of the way to the concourse—just slow enough to not look like I was running—and didn’t look back.
? ? ?
“Kaira, come in,” Jonathan said.
I hovered in the door for a second, glancing around his office. I’d been in here many times, and in many ways it was the office I’d like to have if I ever had a job that, you know, actually required me to have an office. The walls were covered in posters of old woodcut paintings from mythic texts—the Bhagavad Gita, Beowulf, the Norse Eddas, even Tolkien. Books were piled in the corners against concrete statues of fauns and gods, the tiny space brimming with history and strangeness.
“Hey Jonathan,” I said. I stepped in and settled myself on the chair across from his desk. The offices weren’t luxurious by any stretch of the imagination—the chair and desk looked like they were from some fifties Ikea—but he’d made the place a little more homey. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did, yeah.” He was even more casual than I was used to seeing him—jeans and a T-shirt—which meant his tattoos were all bared. I couldn’t take my eyes off his sleeve—gods and mortals battled it out, all surrounded by a great, twining serpent. “I thought you might want to talk about your thesis.”
“I’m not depressed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, no.” He held up his hands. “Not that at all. The arts were developed to help mortals peer into the shadows. I don’t think there’s anything wrong or unsettling with your project.”
“So why did you want to see me? I just kind of thought it had to do with Jane’s . . .” I couldn’t say the word “death” or “suicide.” It lodged in my throat, and all I could picture was Ethan suffocating himself with tears in his eyes. I shook the image away.
He sighed and seemed to choose his next words carefully.
“I suppose it has to do with that, somewhat. I am your adviser, and that means I’m also here if you need any emotional support. I wanted you to drop by today so we could talk. If you need or want to, that is.”