I believed him. At least, he believed himself. Sometimes denial could be a powerful thing. “Why are you willing to talk to me?”
A flush stole across his skin. “My dad came by last night and told me to leave you alone. He said some bigwig came by and ordered all the wolves to either help you out or get the hell out of your way. His name’s Trent. He works for the big guy.”
“I don’t know anybody named Trent. Why would he care who gets in my way?” I glanced at my watch. This was one mystery that would have to wait. I was going to miss the professor if I didn’t hustle. I pulled out my card and handed it to Darren. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“Okay.” He clutched that card, looking at me like he’d been hoping for more. I regretted leaving him there like that, but false hope wasn’t going to help.
I walked up the steps to the building where Professor Hamilton had his office, feeling Darren’s eyes on me all the while. Who the hell was this Trent guy and why would he think to look out for me? It was possible he knew one of my brothers. I would have to ask them if they had mentioned my problems with the wolf to anyone. It pointed out a major issue I had. I’d been out of this game for a long time. The truth was I’d never really been in it. I didn’t know anyone.
I started climbing the steep stairs to the third floor as my mind whirled.
My father only knew who the alphas of the local packs were in order to hunt them. He certainly didn’t try to work with them the way Jamie did or have supernatural friends like Nathan. Dad might have known the local players names and habits, but I needed to get them to cooperate with me. Jamie had told me Nathan had powerful contacts in this world. It was hard for me to believe. Nate managed a software store. He was slowly working his way through college a class or two a year, but he certainly didn’t scream power player. I would have to talk to Nate and see if he knew who this Trent person was. If he had an inclination to help me, then I would call him and introduce myself.
Peter Hamilton’s office was halfway down a quiet, dim hallway. It was so quiet I wondered if he’d skipped out on his office hours. It was a Friday afternoon and from the lack of students roaming around, I would say most of the building had called it a week. Who kept hours on Friday when the fall air was crisp and the sunshine was practically perfect? I knocked briefly on the professor’s door and was surprised when he called out.
“Come in.”
I pushed the door open and Peter Hamilton was sitting at his neatly appointed desk. It seemed incongruous for a college professor to be so neat and organized. The books on the shelves that lined three of the walls were neatly placed and I was certain he could find any single one of them in a second. There were efficient-looking file cabinets behind his desk and a small refrigerator. His desk was clean, only a sleek laptop marring the perfect lines.
“I don’t believe I know you.” Hamilton was as neat as his office. He wore the uniform of a stately college professor, trousers, white dress shirt and a snazzy sport coat. He was maybe pushing forty and he wasn’t an unattractive man. He was kind of bland.
“My name is Kelsey Atwood.” I introduced myself and he briefly shook my hand. I was surprised by the softness of his skin. It wasn’t that there wasn’t strength in his hands, but they were soft, much softer than mine. He took special care with his hands. “I’m working for Helen Taylor.”
“Ah, yes, Joanne’s mother. I spoke with her briefly. She hasn’t been to class this week, I’m afraid.” His voice was cultured, with a hint of a British accent though I knew he’d been born in Tallahassee. It was a pretentious affectation.
I nodded and he indicated it was all right for me to sit down in the chair across from his desk. “I’m aware of that. I was told she spent a lot of time on your class.”
“We meet twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for an hour and a half per class, but it’s a late afternoon class,” the professor explained. “I’m afraid some of our discussions run long. We get involved in the work. We often move from class to the pub across the street where we argue long into the evening.”
“Sounds like you have some dedicated students.”
A smirk crossed his face as he sat back. “I’m grateful I’ve instilled such loyalty and passion in my students.”
If he were female, I’d have started counting up the cats. I wondered briefly what male spinsters filled their houses with. I was betting a whole lot of well-organized books. His shelves here were full of them. There was the requisite literature by luminaries like Joyce, Forster, and Dickens, but there were other less obvious choices. There was a large volume titled “The Encyclopedia of Vampire.” I was unaware that vamps had started writing reference books, but I was willing to go with it. There was a field guide to identifying demons. I could have saved him the hours reading that one. Demons are the ones who try to eat you. I turned my attention back to the professor. “This is the second class Joanne has taken with you?”