A student walked around the corner of the library into view, and I instinctively sat back upright, realizing the insanity of the situation. This was a man I did not know at all, a stranger in the snow, and I was ready to fall into his arms as quickly and easily as if I had known him all my life. I stood up from the bench, scared by the intensity of my attraction to him, unlike anything I had felt before.
“I have to go,” I said. “My study group.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, still sitting. He did not seem anxious at all to see me go, but as I moved past him his hand shot out to stop me, catching me by the elbow.
“May I ask your name?” he said.
I hesitated for only a split second. “Valentina,” I replied. “Valentina Alastair.”
“My name is Eliot. Thank you for the coffee, Valentina,” the man said. He let go of my arm and I walked quickly toward the library, forcing myself to only look ahead. I thought that if I turned to look at him, I would not be able to leave him. But at the library door, I gave into curiosity and let myself glance back at him.
There was nobody there. He had vanished, like a snowflake that falls onto your cheek and melts into water before you feel it touch your skin. Above the bench there was a wisp of white breath that curled into itself, fading, until it dissipated into the air. Under the bench no footprints left any indication to where he had disappeared. The sheets of snow whipped along the sidewalk and brushed away any trace of the man who held my hands in his so possessively.
The snow continued to fall and I blinked once, hard, then went inside.
CHAPTER TWO
“Dr. Herceg! Dr. Herceg! Wait!”
Eliot turned to see the department chair fairly skipping to catch up to him.
“Eliot, please,” he said, shaking Patterson’s hand in greeting.
“Eliot. Yes. Excellent. I’m so glad I could catch you,” he said.
“What can I help you with?” Eliot asked, faintly irritated. With gray hair and spectacles resting on his thin nose, the department chair resembled just about every other mathematician Eliot had ever known. Dr. Patterson had been running the department for as long as Eliot could remember, although he tried to avoid the man as a rule. Patterson preferred conversation about office politics to those of mathematics, and Eliot’s disdain for the academic rat race had not endeared him to the man. Eliot’s position as a fellow had been granted as a special exemption so that he could remain in America to study, and he knew Patterson resented the way Eliot isolated himself.
“I wanted to talk to you about your internship prize. And your work in general.”
“Of course.” Eliot paused, then realized the man didn’t want to speak in public. “Your office?”
“Yes, please, this way. Crazy weather we’ve been having, isn’t it?”
Eliot murmured his assent as the gray-haired man led the way down the hall and into his office.
“As you probably know, there have been rumblings about the internship program. Please, sit.” The department chair sat behind his desk. Eliot scanned it quickly. On the desk were a number of official-looking papers: grant proposals, staff recommendations. A picture of a slim, blonde wife and two children. A half-empty glass of water. A gilded clock on a marble base. A framed plaque of commendation from a mathematical society. He had no mathematics on his desk save a pile of student homework papers.
Eliot eased himself into the leather chair in front of the desk. His frame was too long, his elbows jutting out over both armrests.
“Rumblings?” he said.
“On the email lists for the math department.” Patterson raised his eyebrows meaningfully, but Eliot didn’t get the meaning.
“I don’t read them.”
“Ah, hmm.” Patterson shifted in his chair. “But of course you’ve talked with the other professors in the department about your work.”
“No.”
“Well,” Patterson said. He tapped a pen on his desk. “Well.”
Eliot stared ahead calmly. The clock on the desk filled the room with its ticking.
“It’s just that…” the department chair began. He coughed.
“Just that what, Dr. Patterson?”
The man coughed again into his hand, evidently not wanting to bring up the subject. Eliot leaned over and pushed the half-empty glass of water toward him.
“For your cough.”
The gray-haired professor looked startled, his eyes glinting with suspicion. Eliot met his gaze coolly. Patterson set the glass aside without taking a drink and leaned forward over his desk.
“It’s been some time since you’ve last published anything, Dr. Herceg—”