2. On My Way
On My Way
Liam
Heavy knocking on the door of my office startled me from the paper I was staring at, yet not really seeing. It was almost midnight, and I was scrambling to finish prepping my lessons for the professor who would take over during my sabbatical.
“Come in,” I groaned, running a hand through my unruly hair.
The heavy wooden door opened and my colleague and best friend, Coen, stood at the threshold, arms crossed, frowning at me.
Typical.
“Why are you still here? Don’t you leave tomorrow morning?” he asked.
I pushed my wire-rimmed glasses up my nose and glared at him. “Yes, but I wasn’t informed I was going on this expedition until today. Apparently, one of the other beastologists got sick and I’m the replacement.”
Coen chuckled, his hazel eyes full of mirth. “Do they even know what they’ve gotten themselves into, adding you to the bunch?”
“Kindly fuck off, dear friend.”
Looking down at my desk, he tut-tutted in disapproval at the disarray as he approached. Papers were strung everywhere, my bag lay open on the floor with its contents spilling out. Several dirty teacups sat piled in the corner, and I couldn’t find a damned pencil to save my life.
My bookshelves were no better. Though I tried to keep them organized, the books seemed to jump to random places as if they were taunting me. Or perhaps I just forgot to put them back where they belonged in my rush to get to class on time.
A breeze entered my open window, blowing the papers about in even more chaos. I supposed that’s what I got for attempting to air out the stale space.
“Dammit,” I muttered, scrambling to close the window and gather what had fallen to the ground.
“Liam.” Coen looked at me pointedly. “Go home and pack. I’m taking over your courses while you’re gone. I don’t need any of this stuff. I know what I’m doing.”
“You? You hate teaching. And beastology isn’t even your field of expertise.”
He took a seat across from me, his wide frame almost comical in the small chair. “I know enough to get your students through your absence. It will be good for them to learn more botany anyway, seeing as you don’t know shit about it.”
I waved a hand. “Plants bore me. So, how did Rosenshield convince you to take over?”
“Something about me spending too much time in the lab and not interacting with the students and faculty enough…” he muttered.
I held back a smile. “My poor students are going to be terrified of you.”
“Good.”
I leaned forward. “Be easy on them.”
“No. That won’t help them in the real world.” He gestured to my desk. “Hurry home to pack. You don’t have much time.”
I gathered my bag, shoving papers and books into it and fruitlessly attempted to close the latch but it was too full. I stood and made my way to the door as Coen walked beside me.
“So, who’s on the team?” he asked.
“Let’s see…” I tried to remember the names on the letter I’d received this morning as we walked down the dark hallways of our university, Lone Oak Magic Academy.
“Two beastologists, including myself. A cataloger….uh…Lovelace, I think? Doctor Rosenshield is the botanist and leader. Then we have two graduate students and a guide.”
“Have fun with Rosenshield,” Coen said.
I laughed. The dean of botany, and technically Coen’s boss, Rosenshield was odd. A stout older man with a penchant for spiritweed—something he smoked almost obsessively when he was stressed—he was brilliant, yet eccentric, and would make for a peculiar leader.
“Who’s the other beastologist?” Coen asked.
I gave my friend a flat look. “Thornheart.”
“Cerise Thornheart?”
“That’s the one.”
Coen grimaced. “Good luck with that. I’ve heard she never quits working. Trying to follow in her mother’s footsteps it seems. Have you ever met her?”
“Not officially. But I attended a conference where she was the keynote speaker several years ago. And you’re right, she’s intense.”
Intense was an understatement. Cerise was brilliant, yet ruthless.
Her mother was a world-renowned beastologist, famous for being the youngest witch to ever hold the title of headmaster in the entire country.
Her research on a rare frog was unparalleled.
If Cerise was anything like her, I would be in for a world of frustration on this trip.
Despite my pedantic partner, I looked forward to getting away from the stuffy confines of teaching.
I enjoyed my students and their enthusiasm, but I loathed the paperwork and other duties that came along with it, much preferring to be in the field.
The last time I’d had the opportunity was when I was twenty six, five years ago.
“Well”—Coen clapped his hand on my shoulder as we stepped outside—“I’ll see you when you return. Enjoy yourself and don’t cause too much trouble for poor old Rosenshield.”
“As long as you promise not to torment my students!” I shouted after him as he walked away.
He ignored me.
I jerked awake at the sound of my phone ringing. Scrambling to untangle myself from the sheets, I leaped out of bed, tripping over a random shoe, and ran to the hallway.
“Yeah?” I answered, breathless.
“Doctor Pendragon. We expected you fifteen minutes ago. You are coming, yes?” the voice of Dr. Rosenshield spoke on the other end of the line.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Of course. I was just about to walk out the door. I got held up but I’ll be there quickly,” I lied, not wanting to admit I overslept.
“We shall wait. Please be swift.”
He hung up before I had a chance to respond.
I frantically changed into a thick pair of dark green trousers, a tan button-up that would breathe easily in the heat of the jungle, and laced up my tall leather boots.
Fastening my belt, I finger combed my hair, cursing under my breath at my disheveled appearance in the mirror.
It would have to do.
I put on my glasses and gathered my luggage, hoisting the large backpack over my shoulders, and rushed down the stairs.
The home I had inherited from my parents was large and three stories high.
With a steeply pitched roof and half-timbered walls, it was crammed full of knick-knacks and keepsakes.
Little seashells from a trip to the ocean; feathers shed from tropical birds in the jungle; beautiful stones that caught my eye.
Honestly, I didn’t care for the large space.
It reminded me too much of my childhood.
The loud parties where my parents would schmooze with the other wealthy in town, everyone trying to one-up each other with their most recent extravagant vacations or purchases.
It was where I grew up before my parents made even more money and bought a ridiculously pretentious estate, leaving this house to me.
I didn’t give a shit about money or notoriety. It was why I became a professor. I reveled in shaping young minds, the enthusiasm of my students, and spending time outside, much to my parents’ chagrin.
With one last look around the mess of a living room, I walked out the front door and locked it behind me, heading to wave down a carriage to meet the members of my party.
I smiled to myself as I realized I wouldn’t have to do any paperwork for months.