Stone's Thirst

Chapter 5: Sublime Domain

Sitting in Professor's Stone class the following morning, I was reminded why I had been so eager to work with her. Her lecture, delivered to a packed classroom in one of the low, wood-paneled classrooms in the oldest part of the college, was all about consideration of the Sublime: the sense of beauty and completeness and connectedness that the Romantics sought to capture in their work.

The class sat as enraptured as I was. There was no need to tell anybody to put down their phones. I'd heard this lecture before, two years ago, but it lost none of its beauty. I stood at the end of class, barely remembering to pick up the attendance sheet. Hesitantly, I began to make my way up toward the front of the classroom.

“Hey?" said a cautious voice from beside me.

While all the rest of the class was shuffling out, one young man—barely a sophomore, probably—stood trying to get my attention. He was exceptionally well-dressed, with the kind of haircut that cost more than my car p*****t. And he looked absolutely freaked out to be talking to me. Me. What the hell?

“Hey," I replied uncertainly. “Can I help you? Did you forget to put your name down for attendance?"

“N-No," he stuttered then seemed to compose himself. “Sorry. I'm Jake. I'm a new recruit at Epsilon Delta. I, ah, was wondering if you wanted to come to our party this Friday? It's the big end of the year blow-out. It's gonna be wicked lit."

I smiled. This was one of those prep school kids who had been around Boston too long.

“It's not really my type of scene," I said apologetically. “Sorry."

“I mean, think about it? Right? It's awesome. Like, one of the best parties of the year for sure."

“Thanks for the invite. I don't think I can make it." I was trying to be gentle, but this kid clearly did not expect or accept no for an answer. This was the kind of frat bro I specifically steered away from. Why on earth was this one talking to me? “Sorry, I have to hand in the attendance. Excuse me."

I stepped around him, leaving him clearly flabbergasted, and walked up to Professor Stone. I realized she'd been watching our interaction with her lips tight.

She was looking better today if that were possible: fresh feeding agreed with her. Her skin had a healthy, bright look and her eyes looked far more energetic and less exhausted than they had. I tried very hard to keep the image of feeding out of my head. The professor's lovely mouth dribbling with life-bright blood…

Well, so much for that.

Now her mouth was a tight line, observing the blond frat brother leaving her classroom.

“What did Mr. Hamilton want?" she asked, folding her laptop away into her designer black leather briefcase.

“Oh," I said, realizing I hadn't actually known his name. “I'm not sure. He asked me to go to a party. But I think someone may have put him up to it as a prank."

The possibility occurred to me as I said it aloud, and I felt my shoulders slump and my cheeks flush. Of course that was what that had been. What other possibility was there? And to make matters worse, I'd just admitted that embarrassing prank directly to this woman who I so desperately wanted to take me seriously.

But Professor Stone did not even raise her eyes to look at me, focusing on the straps of her bag. “I expect my teaching assistants to remain entirely appropriate and professional in their relationships with students. That means no fraternizing."

“Yes, yes, of course. I wasn't going to go!" I laughed weakly. Why was I such a helpless i***t around her? Usually, I could be eloquent when I wanted to be—one of the perks of training in literature seminar courses. But my tongue seemed to turn entirely to lead around Professor Stone.

Professor Stone's mouth tightened, and I could almost see her making the decision to say something that she'd really intended not to let slip. “There is…a certain degree of tension between me and the Delta Epsilon coven. I draw clear boundaries between working with mortals and exploiting them—a distinction that Mr. Talbot and his Epsilon brothers seem not to share. They do not care for me, in short, and I do not care for them. I would advise you to keep a safe distance from them."

I stared at her, at a loss. Was she worried about me? Protecting me?

“Are you free prior to the department holiday party tomorrow evening?" she asked smoothly, with no delay between subjects.

“Ah, yes. I think so."

“I am looking for a yes or a no answer."

“Yes."

“Wonderful. Please come by my house around 3pm and we will begin the organizational work of your research assistantship, and I will determine if you are suitable to the task."

A lump lodged in my throat. I hadn't realized I was still on probation. In my mind, I already had the job locked down. The fact that it could all still slip away introduced a cold needle of terror into my stomach. All I could do was nod.

The next night, Janis watched me agonize over which black jeans to wear under my chunky, very unsexy cable-knit sweater.

“You look incredibly academic," she said, not unkindly, from her desk, where she was typing out a final paper, something to do about video game representation of bodies and movement.

“That's the idea," I grumbled. “Is it that bad?"

“Are you dressing for the party? Or for the professor?"

Why did I always blush so damn easily? “Both, ideally."

“Can I be honest?"

“Please!" I spun on her, desperate.

“Just wear what you're wearing and add some fun earrings. That way you can pretend you're just being festive and not trying too hard. And babe, you are definitely trying too hard. Take a deep breath."

“I wish you were going to this department thing. It's always so weirdly formal, even though I see these people all the time."

“The perks of a prestigious college," Janis shrugged. “Sometimes people actually want to flaunt it, to remind all you little English majors why you all try so hard on those pointless final papers."

“You're one to talk! What are you doing over there?"

“A pointless final paper my professor will probably skim over while focusing on his fourth glass of wine."

I shook my head, stifling a laugh. “You're incredible."

“I know, I know," Janis waved a hand with exaggerated regal disdain over her shoulder. “Hold your applause."

The sun was already beginning to set as I walked toward the Stones' Gothic cottage. The campus' rolling hills and broad, still lake was beautiful in the amber autumn sunlight, like a vision plucked out of some impossibly detailed painting. The golden sunlight slanted through red and yellow leaves, casting shifting jewel-bright patterns against the clear sky. The air was dry and sweet. I could almost forget how nervous I was about the next few hours: what standards exactly was Professor Stone expecting? And how could I possibly focus on whatever she put in front of me when I had that fresh image of her slender hand sliding under the waistband of the girl's slacks, making its quick, urgent movements as the girl's hips rose and spasmed…

Oh god. What if she really had seen me at the keyhole? And why was I letting the eager, messy desire pumping in my blood override my usual common sense?

I'd ruined everything and I hadn't even begun.