Ellsbeth
She double- and then triple-checked to be sure that the email to him had actually gone through. It had. Still, nothing back from him even to acknowledge he had received it.
Still, the longer he went without acknowledging her, the more impatient she became. Regardless of what she believed she had achieved, there was only one way to know for certain if she had actually written a ritual capable of obscuration.
The girl did, the higher number bleeping across the electronic screen.
What she had just done wasn’t just wrong; it was illegal, and a violation of all of the most basic human principles of autonomy and decency.
There was a part of her that knew that. And yet she had done it anyway.
She had done it as soon as she was confident she understood the mechanics of the ritual.
She had done it—invaded someone else’s mind—without asking or needing Rawlins to double-check her work.
Ellsbeth had never thought of herself as a bad person before.
An impulsive person, yes. Ambitious to a fault.
But until now, she had never had the tangible evidence that she would, in fact, be willing to do bad things in order to achieve her goals.
No one ever thinks they will, Ellsbeth realized, until they want something enough.
The girl at the coffee shop had been fine, but as Ellsbeth walked away, she forced herself to reckon with the fact that it could have gone horribly wrong.
She could have killed her, or left her brain-dead or permanently in a state of open suggestibility.
She knew she should feel bad. But the truth was, she didn’t.
She had accomplished something extraordinary: a functional obscuration ritual—and on her first try.
She was euphoric with the miracle of it; everything about the day felt bright and shiny.
Every store she passed was filled with delightful wares for her to browse, every restaurant and coffee shop quaint and charming, ready for her to enjoy.
Ellsbeth’s stride became confident and rhythmic as she walked through campus.
Strangers sitting on the Main Green were so beautiful it almost made Ellsbeth want to cry from joy—there they were!
Reading books! Laughing with friends! Curled up under the arms of lovers!
She had done it. It wasn’t perfect, certainly—she would need to modify it for duration and strength, and she would need to figure out a way to achieve more lasting effects before it would be ready to use at the police station—but still, she had done it.
The door had been locked and bolted, and she had been the one to open it a crack, enough to let an inch of light in.
She was drunk on glee, so exhilarated that she pulled out her phone to text Rawlins then and there: Very, very excited to see you tonight xxx
Three dots appeared, indicating that he was typing. And then they disappeared, with no reply.
The restaurant Ellsbeth and Rawlins were meeting at on Saturday was a long walk from Ellsbeth’s apartment, but she was still buoyed by the morning.
And so Ellsbeth trekked across campus and up the small hill, enjoying the feeling of moving her body despite the surprisingly bracing chill that came at an instant when the sun went down.
Her face was flushed when she arrived at Abyssinia, the blast of stale indoor heat and the strong smell of Ethiopian cooking hitting her at once as she walked inside. She unwound her scarf and gave the hostess Rawlins’s name; she led Ellsbeth upstairs without a word.
He was already there even though Ellsbeth was five minutes early, sitting at a corner table with a cup of water in front of him.
He hadn’t replied to her text, and a part of her was almost surprised that he had still come.
But here he was, and Ellsbeth smiled as she approached him, instinctively going for a hug.
But though he rose to greet her, Ellsbeth knew in an instant that something had changed: He was stiff, maintaining a few inches of distance between their bodies during the hug and releasing her a fraction of a second sooner than felt natural.
The glowing pride at what she had accomplished, her eagerness to share it with him, was immediately replaced with shame.
Is it possible that he’s reading my mind?
Does he already know what I’ve done? She balled her hands into fists.
She had washed them a thousand times, scrubbed at the red residue left by the compounding clay, but maybe he had seen the pinkish stain on her skin.
Maybe he knows how careless I’ve been. Maybe he finally understands what sort of person I really am.
Rawlins pulled out her chair for her, but he didn’t make eye contact. The chair was lower to the ground than she had expected and it took Ellsbeth a moment to catch her balance. “I like that you’re always on time,” Ellsbeth said, trying to keep her voice light.
“One of those habits I find difficult to break.”
“Me too. A symptom of perennial impatience. I hate waiting and so I never make anyone wait for me. Except, I guess, you in this case, since you got here even earlier than I did. But really, that’s on you. I was also early.”
She could feel herself talking too much, trying to fill in the space he was leaving, where just days before there was none.
She told herself to pull back and say less.
The upstairs area of the restaurant was empty, but she could make out the hum of chatter and clinking glasses downstairs.
There had been music playing when she walked in, but there wasn’t any up here.
“So,” he said finally, “how was your week of classes?”
She had skipped the research-and-methods lecture that was required for all first-year graduate students that entire week to continue focusing on her obscuration ritual, barely eating and thinking of almost nothing else.
“Well,” Ellsbeth said, “to be honest, I’ve spent most of my time focusing on the obscuration ritual.
” She waited for him to say something. He didn’t.
“Did you get my email? I sent it to you.”
Rawlins adjusted slightly in his seat. He was wearing a brown tweed blazer that was a little too warm for the aggressive heating system of the restaurant, but he didn’t take it off. “I did. It was—” He paused. “—interesting.”
“Just interesting?” Ellsbeth noticed the way Rawlins’s brows pressed together slightly. He had sat up straighter, pulling farther away from her. They were still alone in the upstairs section of the restaurant, but he was acting like someone was watching them.
“It was a good start. I can tell a lot of thought went into it.”
Ellsbeth wanted to laugh in his face. “You actually read it, right?”
Rawlins leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped. “Ellsbeth,” he said, and then he sighed.
“What?”
Rawlins lolled his head around and brought his attention to the napkin he was fidgeting with in his lap. He scratched his graying beard with a curled hand. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re having dinner,” Ellsbeth said, leaning closer into the table and trying to hold his eyes, forcing herself to smile. “We were supposed to see if I could impress you.” Her flirting felt oddly off-key, as if she were reciting lines that someone else had written.
“No,” Rawlins said, looking at his napkin. “I meant here. You and me.”
“What do you mean?” Ellsbeth was careful to keep her voice calm and level.
She felt something that might be the start of hot tears in the base of her throat and swallowed it away.
The music in the restaurant was too quiet, a murmur that she could barely make out, a prickling at the back of her brain.
“I’m twice your age. I’m your adviser. There’s…There’s no future here.”
Was it a speech he had prepared? Had he walked from his front door to the restaurant rehearsing the words he would say in his head? A breakup speech before they had even properly gotten together?
“Well, you’re not twice my age. You’re—” She did the quick addition in her head.
“—twenty-one years older than me, which isn’t ideal but isn’t enough to get people really scandalized these days.
And you are my adviser, but I’m a graduate student.
It’s not like I’m some teenage undergrad.
I checked the Newlyn rules, and there’s actually nothing against what we’re doing, technically.
I’m sure it would be frowned upon, but—” She stopped talking when she saw that he was still looking at the napkin in his lap.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to talk you into dating me. I’m not that pathetic.”
“Ellsbeth.” He finally looked at her then. “The last thing in the world you are is pathetic. I’m just—” Just then, the server returned and asked if they were ready to order.
Ellsbeth hadn’t looked at the menu, and so she deferred to Rawlins, who ordered them a gomen and a doro wot to be shared on the spongy, sour injera.
If he had planned on breaking up with her this entire time, they had chosen the wrong restaurant—this was a place where they would be using their fingers to scoop up their entrées from a shared flatbread.
It was only a degree less intimate than practicing writ magic together. “And a green salad,” Rawlins added.
When the server had left, Rawlins cleared his throat and continued speaking. “It’s kind of a miracle I haven’t been fired already, given everything we’ve done.”
“I thought being tenured meant you never had to worry about things like that.”
He smiled a little at that, but he didn’t show his teeth.
The heating in the restaurant had caused Ellsbeth’s underarms to become sticky with sweat. She gripped the small water glass and felt the condensation cool her palm. Rawlins was still talking, had gone into professorial mode and continued his lecture on why the two of them couldn’t be together.