Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Student papers, as well as research for my upcoming book!”
“Book? What book?” I asked as I used my foot to keep the door open, allowing him to go first.
“My book. I am working on ‘History of the Restoration and Conservation of the Dutch Golden Age.’”
“So, Philippe de Champaigne, Rembrandt, Fabritius, Vermeer, Steen, and Potter?” I asked, walking like a penguin to dump all the work on his desk. “What brought this on? I thought you were swamped with your classes.”
“I am! But Dr. Andreeva is going to publish her fifth work. I found out about it last night, and I’ve been up ever since, bringing out all my old notes and papers.” He moved behind his desk, sorting the stacks quickly. “I can’t let that old bat outdo me this time!”
He was older than her!
“Dr. Lovell.” I leaned over the stack. “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you and your ex-wife should get back together?”
He stared at me with eyes wide in sheer horror. “Why in God’s name would I ever think such a terrifying and bleak thought like that? That woman is crazy!”
They were both crazy! Since I had met them in graduate school, they were always competing with each other, calling each other to gloat or insult one another whenever they had a chance. When they were around one another, they fought like a mad cat and dog. Actually, they both looked like mad cats to me, hissing and circling each other before yelling about correct pigmentations used in the fifteenth-century frescos or whatever the hell else.
“Do you think I should add Saenredam to the book as a little spice, you know, a twist? People always leave out Saenredam,” he asked as he flipped through the heavily highlighted textbook in front of him.
“I mean, it would be a great way to introduce the Dutch Classicism theories of proportion, balance, and symmetry, but in all honesty, his church interiors are boring. That’s why they leave Saenredam out. People want drama, to be impassioned by something. Plain symmetrical works might be great for some people, maybe those that enjoy architecture, but it definitely wouldn’t be spicy.”
“Hmm. Good point.” Dr. Lovell scratched the white stumble on his chin. He looked up as he thought it through, nodded his messy white hair at me, then paused, and when I saw the grin on his face, I stepped back.
“No!” I replied quickly.
“You do not know what I am going to ask!”
“I do! You’re going to ask me if I want to assist you. No. I do not. I have more than enough work.”
“But—”
“Is anyone assisting Dr. Andreeva?” I asked, trying not to laugh when I saw all the fire return to his eyes as he was reenergized to his cause.
“You’re right. I can do this!” He nodded to himself and sat down, only to be hidden behind the stack of paper and the work he had to do.
I snorted gently and turned, moving back to my desk to prepare my work. Not many people could work with Dr. Lovell. He was often like this, excited, disheveled, and just slightly obsessed with art and his ex-wife. But I liked it.
It reminded me that even at his age, he didn’t have all his shit together. He didn’t have to slay vampires, didn’t have to lead a circle of witches, or run at the command of his coven leader, but even still, he was a mess, too. And that was calming.
Sitting down in front of a piece of art away from everyone else, I could clear my mind, just be Druella, and find a little peace.
“Druella, your phone,” Dr. Lovell called out, and it was only then that I noticed it was vibrating.
For some reason, I had a bad feeling.
And the fact that I had a bad feeling made me not want to check it. However, it kept vibrating, buzzing like a bee in my ear.
The moment I saw the number, I knew something was wrong. So much for peace.
“Uncle?”
“Get home, now. We’ve been attacked.”
* * *
I had to promise to help Dr. Lovell with his research in order to leave work early—not even early but before it really even began. I was past the point of claiming there was some family emergency anymore because of how frequently this happened. I didn’t get fired only because I sometimes did my work at night, But still, this happened way too damn often, so often that I was becoming numb to it, which was horrifying. I was more worried about losing my job and more annoyed about my lost moment of peace than I was murder.
And that was what it was.
Murder.
Two witches, killed in their own home.
I stood outside the two-story family house just two streets up from Juniper Avenue, from my house, from the heart of our coven. I stood watching, along with the rest of the neighborhood, in stunned silence from behind yellow police tape, wondering, like them, how it could happen here.