Summer Sons(91)
“I’ll write it down better than I told it,” he said. “But I’m looking for a book, too, to fill the story out some more. Appalachian Folk Knowledge and History from an E. Gerson, published in the forties.”
“Huh, haven’t read it, but the title sounds familiar. Have you tried the library?” Mark said.
“It’s not there, I’ve looked,” Andrew said.
Silence settled for one beat, dragged into a second and a third. Mark hummed, a bit dismissive, without taking his eyes off of Andrew; the continued attention seemed too intense, paired with his noncommittal response.
Dr. Troth tapped her husband’s ankle again as Andrew sat caught-rabbit still, and he cast a long glance up at her. “Sorry darling, getting tired. I might be done for tonight.”
“I’m sure, dear, I understand. We’ll let you rest,” she replied, gesturing Andrew out.
He waited for her far enough into the hall to avoid eavesdropping on their goodbyes. Troth joined him minutes later, standing in front of one of the photos on the wall: a husband and wife, a pair of young children. Her face crumpled, pinched, as a crimson flush of emotion colored her paper-white skin brighter than her hair.
“Shit,” she said, strained.
Andrew cleared his throat and asked, “Those your kids?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, gathering herself. In her heels, when she turned to look at him, she must’ve topped six feet; he lifted his chin to meet her eyes. “Yes, I believe I mentioned them once before. The oldest is at Cambridge for her doctorate currently; the youngest would’ve been your age.”
Below them, a door creaked, then shut with a snap. Troth frowned in the direction of the noise, chandelier-light catching on the creases of her face—immediately as remote as she’d been before her brief flare of naked feeling.
“That’s the library downstairs,” she said. “I’d rather not have guests spilling wine on the family papers, if you’ll pardon me.”
The nude bumps of her uppermost vertebrae showed above the draped, elegant neckline of her gown as she strode away. On impulse, Andrew slipped his phone out of his pocket and texted Riley: if that’s you leave she noticed. His inbox held two texts from West and seven from Sam. He descended the stairs behind Troth, jogging to catch up to her fast clip. As her heel touched the final step, the imposing door on the far side of the hall opened to divulge Riley.
With a dazzling smile, academic charm at its full wattage, he said, “Andrew, I was looking for you—Sam’s having car trouble and needs a ride. I thought you’d be in there but you weren’t, my mistake. Nice library, Dr. Troth, really impressive.”
“Of course, thank you,” she said coolly and turned to Andrew, laying a hand on his arm. “Will you be going already, then?”
Riley said, “Andrew drove, but if we need to stay longer I can ask Sam to wait.”
His perfect amiable mask didn’t slip an inch. Chameleon, Andrew thought again with admiration. Troth looked between them without a word as Riley waited for a response, not one single bit of unease written on his face.
“Let’s go get him,” Andrew said. “Dr. Troth, I’ll email you the write-up as soon as I finish it. I’m sorry the story wasn’t what your husband was looking for.”
“No, it’s not your fault, it was perfectly intriguing. If you’d spoken to Mark a month ago, before the downturn, his response would’ve been far more enthusiastic. And you’re right, most devil’s bargain stories don’t treat supernatural gifts as hereditary or landed, that’s worth further research,” she said.
Civilized chatter and clinking glasses emanated from the drawing room as the trio stood outside the warming boundaries of its influence. Troth’s premiere hostess guise had firmly reassembled; vanished were the personal agonies Andrew had witnessed five minutes prior.
She offered them both another manicured smile and said, “Thank you for coming.”
On the front steps, the moment the door slammed shut, Riley turned to him with a grimace. He said, “First of all, fuck that creepy-ass house full of only white people, Christ. You caught me before I finished, I only had a second, but her library is chock-full of fucked up occult shit, spook-factor top to bottom.”
“Huh,” Andrew murmured, casting a long glance over his shoulder at the hulk of the house retreating behind them as he strode toward the Supra. “More than you’d expect? I mean, she does research it.”
Riley gave another grim shake of his head. “No, I’m talking super bad vibes, dude. Not real surprised she’s excited about a weird death curse; that library felt like it’d seen a few of its own. Maybe go on and add her to your list.”
25
Does the internet tell me true that your birthday is in two days
Andrew is it about to be your birthday
Andrew
We’re celebrating
Save the fucking date
Also are you coming over tonight
Text me later
sam what the fuck
and yeah that’s my birthday
Andrew scrolled up and down the message thread as he stalked across the quad to the library. He left the thread from West unopened, the first handful of words visible: Did you get my email … Troth hadn’t invited West to the gathering. Her suspicion was another red mark, though the leap from possible plagiarism to straight-up murder was vast. Missing puzzle pieces lodged in Andrew’s throat. The more he uncovered, the less he understood. Before he saw his erstwhile mentor again, he needed an angle of approach.