Chapter Five #2
Walking in the same general direction she had seen Mr. Young go, Kalila found herself distracted by the art that adorned the hallways of the university. Portrait after portrait of scientists and inventors had been hung in a neat row.
All men.
Her attention remained fixed to the paintings, her brow furrowed in irritation. She continued to walk down the hallway, not even thinking of room 107, until she ran straight into a wall.
A warm, breathing wall.
She looked up, an apology on her lips, and realized that she had run into her first spot of bad luck.
Well, second.
“Caught in a daydream, Rafiq?” Oliver Booth asked with a smirk.
He did look even better up close, just as Amelia had said. Not that it mattered. That Oliver Booth was handsome and smelled pleasantly herbal was nothing but a scientific observation, especially now that she had a job to do.
An observation that sent her heart right into her throat.
No,” she said, knowing she was being a bit rude, “I am headed to 107.”
“So am I,” Oliver said. “And yet we find ourselves in front of 115.”
A plaque on a nearby door said he was right. She turned to Mr. Booth, who was studying her with an air of seriousness.
No, no, no.
She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything to distract him from his thoughts. She couldn’t be discovered so soon and especially not by the likes of Oliver Booth.
He spoke first, his eyes crinkling as a charming smile graced his face. “Well. Shall we?”
And, just like that, his study of her was over. Relief washed over her as she followed him down the way she came. He hadn’t noticed that she was not, in fact, the Dameer Rafiq he had met two days prior.
When they entered 107, Kalila felt as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
It was a lab. A real lab.
Rows of benches were neatly arranged, each one sporting two beautiful brass microscopes that glowed in the light that poured into the room from a row of large windows on the leftmost wall.
At the back sat a long table that held what appeared to be an enclosure of some kind.
Laurence Comerford sat at the front scribbling on the chalkboard while Mr. Young and three other men milled around the benches.
“Welcome to the Society of Microscopic Biology,” Oliver said from behind her. “Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
“Yes,” Kalila breathed, forgetting for a moment who she was supposed to be. She squared her shoulders and repeated, “Yes.”
“Really?” The corner of Oliver’s mouth hitched up. “You, with your wild proposals, could only imagine a boring, stuffy room full of microscopes? You really must get out more, Rafiq.”
Kalila’s gaze snapped to his and she almost let out a retort before Comerford spoke.
“Take your seats, gentlemen,” he boomed. They all obeyed. Much to her irritation, Mr. Booth chose the seat next to hers. Kalila looked at the chalkboard, where the words NO FAIRIES had been printed in block letters.
Oliver groaned. “For God’s sake.”
“Welcome to the Society of Microscopic Biology,” Comerford said, his voice echoing around the small room.
“In this lecture series, we will be studying the latest histological and observational techniques. But before we begin, I must need remind you that I will not entertain any talk of fantastical creatures.”
Kalila exchanged a confused glance with Mr. Young, who shrugged.
“Some of our contemporaries,” Comerford continued, “enjoy taking samples of pond water, looking at them under microscopes, and identifying fairies, sprites, and all manner of non-existent beings. In this Society, we conduct ourselves as distinguished men of science. No fairies.”
All of the men nodded in unison.
“Now, before I give you your first assignment, I must also draw attention to the glass tank at the back of the room.”
Everyone turned their heads like clockwork.
“That snake belongs to the Zoological Society,” Comerford said. “You are not to disturb it.”
“What is it doing here?” a bright-eyed young man asked.
“Basking in the sun, of course,” Comerford replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Room 107 boasts the largest number of windows, and Virginia requires warmth.” He paused in contemplation. “Or so I’ve been told by the Zoological Society.”
“Virginia?” Oliver repeated, voice cracking in delight.
“Comments to yourself, Booth,” Comerford said, indicating to Kalila that he had the particular talent of keeping Oliver Booth quiet.
“Now. Under your microscopes, you will see slides boasting skin from the ear of a cat. I want you to identify as many unique features as possible. We will reconvene in thirty minutes.”
Kalila pulled a microscope toward her, almost vibrating in excitement. As she looked through the eyepiece, she shivered at the sensation of being watched. She turned her head, eyes meeting Oliver Booth’s.
“Is there a problem?” she asked. A woman would be scolded for asking such a rude question. A man, however, was doing no more than being assertive.
“Not at all.” Oliver scooted closer to his microscope. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone dive in with such energy.”
Kalila didn’t respond. It didn’t matter what observations Mr. Booth made as long as they remained innocuous.
The thirty minutes seemed to go by in a snap, and soon Comerford’s voice interrupted her deep focus.
The men rattled off different features until they had exhausted the very topic of cat skin.
Comerford propped his huge form on a rickety stool and regarded them with impenetrable seriousness.
“Who wrote the Cell Doctrine?” he asked.
The men shifted in discomfort.
Kalila’s hand shot up in the air. “Schwann and Schlieden.”
“Very good, Rafiq. And what does it state?”
“That plants and animals are made up of many cells,” she replied, her blood buzzing with the pleasure of being right.
“Indeed. Our current microscopes can only show us so much,” Comerford said, as if he were reporting a terrible crime. “What could we be missing? Jennings?”
A spindly man with bright-red hair stood to attention. “Small structures, sir.”
“Sir,” Oliver repeated to Kalila, his voice low. “Transparent know-nothing.”
“Good,” Comerford said. “What else?”
Kalila brightened, ignoring Mr. Booth’s grousing. “New cells,” she said. “Stronger microscopes—perhaps ones that use something other than incident light—could reveal new structures to us. Ones that could confirm novel theories.”
“Or disprove them,” Oliver put in. Kalila, unable to control herself, glared at him.
He winked at her in response.
“It’s not just microscopes,” Kalila continued, choosing to ignore him. “Our histological sections are thick. Thinner cuts could reveal hidden structures.”
“Excellent,” Comerford said, and Kalila could swear that he sounded impressed. His next question was directed to a man with wavy brown hair. “Now, Dunn. How might we improve our colored dyes?”
*
Oliver had never been more delighted in his thirty-three years of living and, yes, he was including that one wild night six months ago.
This was not the Dameer Rafiq he had met two days prior.
The person he had met two days ago was a young man with blond curls and round, brown eyes.
This Dameer Rafiq, however, was not that man.
He had noticed almost immediately that something wasn’t quite right.
The Dameer Rafiq who had run into him in the hallway was shorter, had lighter, larger eyes, a slanted nose, a small dent in the skin that covered the left side of that nose, and was quite obviously wearing a wig.
This Dameer Rafiq was the dark-haired woman that had opened the door of the townhouse. The woman Rafiq had called his cousin. It was like a Shakespearean comedy come to life.
He watched her now, exuding excitement as she argued with Timothy Dunn while Comerford watched in approval. What was she doing here? Why was she impersonating her cousin? What was happening?
“We’ll break here, men,” Comerford said, pulling Oliver out of his reverie. “We will resume in fifteen minutes.”
A low murmur broke out as the men talked to one another. Oliver lingered by the bench until Rafiq was finished speaking with Young.
“You’re enjoying yourself,” Oliver said. Rafiq turned to him, hazel eyes guarded. Could she really have expected him to forget those eyes? “Is this your first time attending something like this?”
She responded with a short, uneasy, “Yes.”
Oliver pulled his stool right up next to her, took a seat, and leaned forward. “About those comments—”
“We’ve no need to discuss them.”
“Indeed. I only ask that you satisfy my curiosity about one thing.”
He had to know.
“Very well,” she said, leaning away from him.