Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(85)

“Pia de’ Tolomei wasn’t one of Dante’s mistresses. There were rumors of mistresses and illegitimate children, so you weren’t completely wrong.

But I’m sorry Julia, Emerson is right — no one believes that Pia was Dante’s mistress. No one.”

Julia chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “But he wouldn’t let me explain. And I just kind of…snapped.”

“You snapped, all right. If it were anyone else, I’d be cheering you on thinking that he got what was coming to him. The uptight prick. But in your case, I knew he’d overreact.” Paul shook his head. “Let me talk to him.”

“You’re writing your dissertation with him, you can’t have him angry with you. If it’s too much, I’ll leave. And I’ll file a harassment complaint.”

Paul gazed down at her with a very worried expression. “I don’t feel right about this. He’s furious.”

“What can he do? He’s the big bad Professor, I’m the little grad student.

He has all the power.”

“Power does funny things to people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paul stuck his head outside the door of the seminar room in order to check the hallway.

“Emerson is a twisted f**k. He was involved with Professor Singer and that means that he…” Paul stopped suddenly and shook his head.

“That means that he — what?”

“If he has been harassing you, or trying to get you to do things, let me know and I’ll help you. We can file a complaint.”

Julia gazed at him blankly. “There’s nothing sinister going on here. He’s just a crusty Professor who doesn’t like to be contradicted. I’m going to eat humble pie in his office, and hopefully, he won’t make me drop his class.”

“I hope you’re right. He’s always been professional with his students.

But with you, things are different.”

Paul walked Julia to The Professor’s office and without warning, knocked on the door.

Professor Emerson opened the door quickly, his eyes still an angry, sparking lapis. “What do you want?” he spat, shooting daggers at Julia.

“Just a minute of your time,” said Paul mildly.

“Not now. Tomorrow.”

“But Professor, I…”

“Tomorrow, Mr. Norris. Don’t push me.”

Paul gave Julia a very worried look and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

The Professor waited until Paul had disappeared around the corner before stepping aside to let Julia in. He closed the door behind her and walked over to the window.

Abandon hope all ye who enter here…

The Professor’s office was dark, illuminated only by his desk lamp. He’d drawn the blinds and was now leaning as far away from her as possible and rubbing his eyes with his inky fingers.

Julia moved her knapsack in front of her like a shield, clasping it with two hands. When he didn’t speak, she busied herself by glancing around the room. Her eyes alighted on a chair — the very uncomfortable Ikea chair that she sat on back in September during her first ill-fated meeting with The Professor. The chair had been smashed to bits and was lying in small, bent pieces that were scattered across the Persian carpet.

Julia’s eyes slowly moved from the pieces to The Professor and back again. He smashed a chair. He smashed a  metal  chair.

His eyes opened, and she saw a strange and dangerous calmness in their blue depths. Here was the dragon in his den. And she was unarmed.

“If you were anyone else I’d have you expelled.”

Julia shook as soon as she heard the tone of his voice. It was decep-tively calm and soft, like silk brushing across bare skin. But the undertone was steel and ice.

“That was the most disgusting display of infantile behavior I have ever witnessed. Your disrespectful attitude is absolutely unacceptable. On top of that, I can’t even begin to express the anger I have over what you said about Paulina. You are never to speak about her again. Do I make myself clear?”

Julia swallowed hard but was too upset to answer.

“I said do I make myself clear?”  he growled.

“Yes.”

“My self-control is tenuous at best. You would do well not to push it.

And I expect you to fight your own battles and not manipulate Paul into rescuing you from your own stupidity. He has his own problems.”

Julia looked at the carpet, avoiding his eyes, which seemed to glow in the darkness.

“I think you wanted me to lose my temper. I think you wanted me to get angry and make a scene, so you’d be justified in running away. You wanted me to behave like every other abusive ass**le that has knocked you around. Well, I’m not an abusive ass**le, and I’m not going to do that.”

She glanced over at the twisted wreckage of the chair — (a nice, Swedish chair that had done nothing in its short life to hurt anyone) — and looked back at The Professor. But she didn’t argue.

His tongue darted out, and he licked his lips. “Is this a game to you?

Hmmmm? Playing us off each other like something out of Prokofiev? He’s Peter; I’m the Wolf. What does that make you — the duck?”

Julia shook her head.

“What happened in my seminar today will never happen again. Do you understand?”