Skye
Dr. Scarlett, also known as Alex, moves into the crowd, but that doesn’t stop me from unintentionally catching his tall, imposing figure in my peripheral vision. He’s taller than everyone here, and his hair is, in fact, so black it’s nearly blue–absorbing every fractal of light in the room like a black hole.
Dr. Gerralde turns to me, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a short, sharp chuckle. “Whenever I think the physics department is full of antisocial weirdos, I am reminded that the biology department might actually be worse off than we are in that regard.”
“He’s far too young to be a department head,” I rush out, but then quickly reel myself back in and clear my throat.
“Not a department head–yet. Although, I know the university president has him pegged as the future dean of the biology department as long as he doesn’t go into industry. He’s a professor, and he has been for a few years now. He is leading his own lab, though.”
I’m not sure why I want to know, but I ask, “What kind of biologist is he?”
“Paleomicrobiology is his specialty.”
I think of the ice labs buried deep under our feet. There’re dozens of them now, all connected by tunnels of gleaming blue ice, all being used for research into the medical sciences and history, mostly. Biologists and researchers are easy to spot around campus because they proudly wear their neon yellow thermals under whatever regular clothes they have on hand after leaving their labs and returning to the surface. I’ve turned entire loads of laundry yellow by accidentally washing Abby’s thermals with my clothes.
Dr. Gerralde steps closer, leaning in to say, “I wanted the two of you to meet. I was going to put together a little meeting, but like I said, he’s impossible. I’m shocked he’s here tonight.”
An impossible asshole? Abby would say so, seeing as this is the same man who torments her and calls her research garbage. I keep those thoughts to myself, for now. “Why would I need to meet with Dr. Scarlett? We’re in different departments.”
“He has been doing some impressive research in those ice labs. He got a grant three years ago from the Alpha King of Celestoria, enough to fund his labs for the next decade if he’s frugal.”
A decade? Impossible. “Seriously? What kind of research–”
“He’s looking for what the biologists call the Goddess Particle.” He arches a brow and gives me a knowing smirk.
“Oh, good grief.”
“My sentiments exactly. But we are theoretical physicists, you and I. I know how you feel about such a particle, and I can take a guess and say you know how I feel about it, as well.”
“It doesn’t exist. We’ve proven that time and time again in our own lab.” My throat thickens around the admission. I’m not proud of my failures there. Everyone in the sciences here is looking for the same thing–the answer to everything. The powers, the magic, the one missing puzzle piece that the private benefactors who fund our search need to know–for their own gain, I suppose.
Everyone wants a piece of the magic my family has naturally.
I’d like to find that puzzle piece, if only to keep it hidden a little longer.
Not in a selfish way. At least, I’ve been telling myself that for years. I just know firsthand what it’s like to have unfathomable magic at my fingertips, and it’s so dangerous. So life-altering. So wrong, honestly.
But these days, research into what is popularly called the Goddess Particle is about more than greed.
“Tell that to Dr. Scarlett, who, by the way, has been looking for a physicist to help with his research, and you are the lucky victim.”
“Do not sacrifice me for the good of the department, I beg you!”
Dr. Gerralde laughs at my dramatics and claps me on the shoulder, but I’m not laughing. I’m looking right at Alex, who’s looking right at me, his icy blue stare sucking the warmth right out of the room.
I do my best to keep my expression painfully neutral. I can play nice with other departments. I understand the politics on campus and the undercurrent of disdain between the sciences, of course. Biologists don’t like physicists like me, especially. I’m a theorist. It’s literally my job to question everything I see, and my theories then get turned into experiments carried out by more experimental physicists.
Not biologists. They’re the warriors of the sciences, especially those who work in the ice labs. It’s a dangerous job.
I’ve never been beneath the surface of the ice. My lecture halls and office are always a balmy sixty-five degrees. This man? He’s hardened. Vicious. The amount of funding it takes to keep those ice labs running is exceedingly expensive, and I know, based on Abby’s constant complaining, more of their experiments go wrong than any other department, but their research is crucial.
It’s a well-known fact across the Allied Kingdoms that once, decades ago, there was a cure for everything. Every ailment. Any injury. Anything that hurt could be resolved.
Because of my great-great-great-grandmother’s tears.
My great-aunt Misty’s healing gifts can’t touch what Isla’s could. Her children never carried the gifts… not as much as their mother and great-grandmother, anyway.
And my dad? He doesn’t heal. We don’t heal. We change the Goddess’s own will. Our powers are… a sleight of hand.
Cheating death when it’s not our call to make.
While witches have the ability to create healing potions, and some have healing powers, it’s not enough. Not enough to mass-produce, at least. So that’s what those insane biologists are looking for in those labs–remnants of ancient magic from a time when gods and goddesses supposedly walked among us–more so than they do now.
I would know, seeing as I’m one of them.
Instead of the ice, I like to look up for the answers to the questions that have been plaguing me since girlhood, however.
Dr. Gerralde is swept into another conversation. Eventually, there’s a blended margarita in my hand. Eventually, I finish half of it and decide there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in my own apartment, but when I sneak out of the party, I can still feel Dr. Scarlett’s gaze on the back of my neck, tingling.
When I get home, Abby’s thermals are drying out over the radiator, and she’s sitting on the couch in nothing but a sports bra and her underwear.
“Back so soon?”
I flex my jaw, chuckling in disbelief as I shrug out of my coat and drape it over the kitchen island. “I met Dr. Scarlett.”
“I bet he was a joy to talk to.” She grits her teeth and shakes her head like I’ve ruined her night just by mentioning his name.
“We didn’t really talk.” Just stared at each other, and he was so… frustratingly familiar.
I sit on the couch with Abby while she goes on and on about Dr. Scarlett and how much she loathes the man, but my mind slips into the recesses, my powers, while muted by the bracelet, guiding me into a darkness of my own making.
I used to come here so often. When I was a child, this place–the observatory–took up so many of my dreams. I had a friend here. I never knew his name, but he was little like me. Childish and playful, like I used to be. We’d play checkers on a board that randomly appeared one day, and I’d tell him everything about myself.
Now, the vision in my mind is tainted by crackling ice and the smell of blood.
I haven’t seen that little boy for many years.
I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I’ve thought about him over the years. We never really had a chance to say goodbye before the heavens plucked the thread that bound our dreams together.
“Skye?”
I groggily open my eyes to see Abby standing in front of me, dressed in her thermals again. “Sorry, I fell asleep. You’re going back to the lab? It’s midnight.”
She shrugs. “Speaking of Dr. Scarlett… that bastard never sleeps, which means the lab is open all the Goddess-damned time… and I have some work to do.” She pulls a beanie over her head and slips a pair of gray sweatpants over her thermals. “Did you find out if you’re getting a new place? Don’t all professors get their own condo or something?”
“The Pillars?” I smooth my hand down my face. When did I fall asleep? Sometimes, I don’t even notice the pull of my powers until it’s too late. I make a mental note to reach out to Posey for a new charm–or two… or three. “I haven’t heard, but I’m sure I will.” I think of The Pillars, which is a neighborhood on the outskirts of campus that was built in a semicircle atop glass columns jutting out of the ice. It’s like a moon that hugs the campus with a view of Aurorium, the closest big city to LU.
“Well, I really hope you don’t. I don’t want a new roommate.” She winks at me and leaves me alone in the chilly silence, and after a moment, I go to my room to sleep for a few hours.
The rest of the week is simple and easy–nearly laid back. I finalize my syllabi. I make my new office mine with pictures of my family and a few plants that can’t live without the purple UV lights that turn the gray glass box into what Abby calls a rave, but I digress. I spend time in the physics lab and the observatory, working on my search and mapping the far off galaxy I’ve made my life’s work. I fall into what I hope is a new routine, and it feels great. Like everything is going exactly how it should be, which is just the way I like it.
* * *
It’s a frigid Friday afternoon, three days before the official start of the semester, when Abby and I walk through the skybridges to the commissary because we’re out of cereal when I run into Maisie, the physics department’s administrator. I’ve successfully avoided her for the past several days and dodged several emails related to department social functions, but my good luck can only last so long.
Abby tosses two boxes of cereal into our basket while Maisie goes on and on, apologizing profusely about her lack of haste in rehoming me, essentially.
“It’s a two-bedroom, one bath, pretty standard,” she explains with a self-deprecating sigh. “Seeing as you're single, I figured it would be enough space?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s plenty, but–”
“She’ll take it,” Abby cuts in, rolling her eyes and snatching a third box from the shelf.
“Great! I’ll have the keys sent to your office once the cleaning crew is done.”
Maisie disappears into the crowd of students returning from summer break and shopping to fill their mini-refrigerator. I throw a sharp look at Abby.
“What? You’re a professor now, Skye! And leading a lab. You’re entitled to this. It’s part of the job! Plus, I’ll have a new cool place to hang out. I heard each condo in The Pillars has its own washer and dryer units. No more digging for coins in our coat pockets and couch cushions!”
I scoff, pivoting to face her. “You’re using me for your own convenience.”
“This is a promotion for both of us. I’m your best friend, Skye. What’s mine is yours, and I have very little. You’re about to have an actual house.”
“I’m fine with our apartment!”
“You’re not a postdoc anymore!”
“It shouldn’t matter! You just told me you didn’t want me to move out–”
A shadow falls over us as two men brush past–one being Dr. Scarlett, who doesn’t even glance down at me until Toby pulls him to a rough stop.
Dr. Scarlett looks just as surprised to see me as I am to see him.