I stood around, sipping my coffee, and amusing myself with how little it would take for me to blend in with the students on campus.

Darius had called Miranda St. John the night before. She said she could meet us at the college, and we could walk over to Wayde’s house from there. I offered Darius my service with the optimistic (and baseless) assumption that I would get more than four hours of sleep. But never let it be said that I’m not a woman of my word! I asked Igor if there was a thermos I could borrow and loaded it with enough coffee to wake me up and enough sugar to make it palatable.

“Where can I buy an anarchist T-shirt?” I said.

Darius glanced at me as we walked. “Why?”

“It looks like I shaved my head, so I could probably fit in with them.”

“Until you opened your mouth.”

“Yeah.” I sipped some more coffee.

“I don’t think you can buy anarchist shirts. I thought the whole point of anarchy was the desire to break down the current corrupt system to pave the way for natural law and order. Buying a shirt from a bunch of capitalists would probably defeat the point.”

I raised a finger. “Ah! Not if you do it ironically!”

“How does one go about buying something ironically?”

“In this case it would be something like, ‘Ah ha! Capitalist scum! Enjoy these last few dollars—they only add to the list of sins for which you’ll be overthrown!’”

“Do any theater kids shave their heads? You could fit in with them.”

“They aren’t theater kids, Darius. That’s high school. This is college. They’ve been promoted to theater majors.”

“Of course. Thank you for correcting me.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Since we have a few extra minutes, I thought we’d say hello to the Director of the School of Anthropology, Peter Kiel.”

“Okay. And who’s he?”

“He’s Wayde’s boss.” Darius’s inborn sense of exactness wasn’t going to leave that alone, so he tagged on, “Kind of.”

“What does that mean?”

“Colleges and universities are complicated. Kiel is technically the head of Wayde’s department, but it’s not like he could have fired Wayde.”

“Um—”

“Professor Wayde had tenure. Theoretically, that means that he had a right to due process before being dismissed, but in reality, it meant that almost nothing short of dynamite could have moved him from his position.”

We stepped into the shadow of the building.

“And why are we saying hello to Peter Kiel?” I asked.

Darius reached out for the door handle. I could barely see his eyes, gazing at me through his sunglasses. There was an expression of innocence plastered on his face.

“To be polite,” the vampire said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t want a bunch of strangers he hasn’t met wandering around his corner of the campus.”

And Darius thought I’d make a good theater major?

I pointed at him. “You just want to snoop around and meet him.”

“Emerra, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re accusing me of.”

“I thought our priority was getting our hands on that scroll.”

“Our highest priority is finding out what happened to Wayde’s soul, and our best hope of that involves finding out who murdered him. The scroll is only one lead.”

Darius led us inside, and we made our way up to the office of Director Kiel. The count used his FBI credentials to introduce himself to the young administrative assistant at the desk. He assured her that nothing was wrong, but she still looked scared. When he asked if Kiel had a moment to talk to him, she scurried into the next room.

A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal a tall, thin, severe looking man. The administrative assistant was peeking out from behind him.

“Agent Vasil?” the man said.

Darius nodded.

“I’m Peter Kiel. I understand you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No. I only have a few questions.”

“What about?”

“I’m here on a matter related to Professor Wayde.”

When the administrative assistant heard Wayde’s name, the fear in her face cleared, leaving only a trace of sadness.

Kiel’s face didn’t change at all.

“I see.” He opened the door wider. “Come into my office.”

The administrative assistant dodged around her boss to make room for us. As Kiel closed the door behind us, I saw her sitting at her desk, watching us from the corner of her eye until the door blocked her view.

I had a feeling she’d be reaching for her phone before we even made it to our chairs.

We sat in the chairs across the desk from Kiel. The director put his elbows on the arms of his chair and folded his hands in front of him. He didn’t rock in his chair or fidget, and his mouth barely moved as he spoke.

“Is the FBI investigating Wayde’s murder?” Kiel asked.

Darius smirked. “Ah, well, that’s a difficult question to answer—”

The vampire’s friendly overture was interrupted by Kiel’s one-word command: “Try.”

Vasil’s smile faded, and his demeanor took on some heft. There was an intensity in his eyes that reminded me of how a hawk stares at a mouse the moment before it dives—and since the man was a vampire, the predator-prey dynamic wasn’t some cute metaphor. I had no idea why someone would rather have Darius watching them like that, verses smiling, but Kiel had made his preference clear.

Darius said, “I’ve contacted Detective Moran, the man in charge of Wayde’s murder investigation. He knows I’m here, and we’ve agreed to help each other should our investigations overlap. However, at this time, we have no reason to suspect that they do. My own investigation centers around artifact smuggling.”

Poor Kiel. His face wasn’t nearly stony enough, and it’s so much easier to see the subtle reactions when most of the time there are none.

He scowled. As brief and small as it was, I had seen it. So had Darius. I could tell by how the vampire paused and cocked his head.

“Professor Kiel, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No.”

“Your reaction?”

“I wasn’t aware of my reaction, but if I had one, I’m sure you can understand. I’m the head of a respected college of anthropology—it would be natural for me to be upset by the idea that one of my professors was involved in that kind of a scandal.”

“Did you like Professor Wayde?” Darius asked.

“No.”

I let out a low whistle, then cursed myself. Why hadn’t I thought to check my watch!

Oh, right. I didn’t have one.

If I was going to time myself to see how long I could go without blurting something out, I would probably have to get one of those.

Anyway, Kiel was glaring at me now.

“Dang, dude,” I said. “A man gets murdered, an FBI agent is sitting across from you, and you just up and ‘no’ when asked if you liked him? Impressive.”

The flinty glare mellowed and Kiel looked away. “I’ve always found that the bare truth simplifies everything. I didn’t like Wayde. To say anything else would be a lie.”

“Did other people like Wayde?” Darius asked.

“I’m sure some did.”

“His students seemed to like him.”

“He was a charismatic teacher, but I would advise against judging a man’s character by that.”

“Can you tell us why you don’t like him?”

“Do my personal feelings about Wayde have anything to do with whether or not he was smuggling artifacts?”

“I never said he was smuggling artifacts.” The vampire’s voice was cold.

Kiel frowned. “I thought—”

“You assumed. Probably because of your negative bias.”

So this was the not-nice Darius. I shivered.

After a moment, the director said, “Why do you want to know what I think of Wayde?”

“Because I never had the chance to meet him. I’m trying to get a measure on him.”

Kiel fixed his eyes on a point of space near the ceiling. “Wayde liked people, and he could be charming, but he was also flippant. He had a tendency to tease people, and he was unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Darius said.

“In his conduct toward the students.”

I thought about Wayde’s popularity and tried to imagine what he might have looked like when he was alive. He had probably been fairly handsome. Especially for his age.

“Was there trouble with any female students?” I asked.

At first Kiel seemed confused, but then his mouth twisted with contempt.

“You’re asking if he ever dated a student? No. We’ve never had any reason to believe that was a problem.”

“Then what was the problem?” Darius asked.

“A man can ignore the concept of professional distance without going so far as sexual harassment.”

I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice: “Your objection to him was that he was too friendly?”

“You asked for my opinion on Professor Wayde—I don’t have to justify it. If you don’t see the value in it, you can ignore what I’ve said, and maybe, next time, don’t ask.”

I shut my mouth while wishing I had put that effort in a few seconds earlier. Judging by how Kiel’s jaw was clenched, Darius probably wasn’t going to get much more out of him.

The count didn’t even get the chance to try. The phone on Kiel’s desk started vibrating. Kiel flipped it over so he could see the screen, then lifted it to his head while holding up a finger to request our silence.

“This is Kiel. Yes. Thank you for returning my call. Unfortunately, I have company at the moment. May I put you on hold?…It should take no longer than a minute.” He lowered the phone and tapped the screen. “Agent Vasil, I’m afraid this is rather important business.”

“That’s fine. If I have any other questions, can I set an appointment with your assistant?”

Kiel frowned, but he also nodded.

Vasil added, “You may be seeing me around the building for a while—”

“You’re welcome in the building, but I want you to make it clear to everyone you talk to that you don’t have a warrant and they don’t have to talk to you.”

“I understand.”

Darius and I got to our feet and left, closing the door as we went.

When I turned around, the vampire was looking at his watch.

“It’s time for us to go to Wayde’s office,” he said. “That’s where Miss St. John said she’d meet us.”

“Do you know where his office is?” I asked.

“I can take you,” someone said.

We looked up. There was a man sitting across from the administrative assistant. He was slightly smaller than average, and his body was round like an egg. His thinning brown hair was frizzy enough it wanted to stand up, but it had been pressed down into some semblance of order. He had dark brown, down-turned eyes and lots of smile wrinkles. They looked out of place on such a sad face.

He stood up.

“Were you here to meet with Kiel?” Darius asked.

“We were going to meet up for lunch, but it can wait.” The man motioned to the administrative assistant. “We’ve been gossiping while you were in there. I understand you’re FBI?”

“Special Agent Darius Vasil.” Darius held out his hand and the two men shook.

“I’m Ryan Frost. Professor Wayde was my friend.”

He tried to sound matter-of-fact when he said it, but there was a note of grief in his voice.

The friend of the murdered man. Aubert had mentioned him. No wonder he looked sad.

“Come on,” Frost said. “I can take you. This building is a bit of a labyrinth.”

“Thank you. That would be appreciated,” Darius said.

As we walked down the hall, Frost glanced back at us. “May I ask how your case is going, Agent?”

“It’s early in the investigation, so there’s a lot we don’t know, and even if I did know, there’s a limit to how much I can share. May I ask you a few questions?”

Frost slowed until he was walking beside the vampire. “I don’t mind.”

“Before we begin, Director Kiel wanted me to inform you that I have no warrant, and I can’t make you talk to me.”

Frost smiled, and for a moment, all the lines on his face seemed to fit. “That’s Kiel for you. He’s a good man.”

“Are you friends with him as well?”

“I don’t know there. It’s more professional than friendly, but I like Kiel.”

“You’re friendly enough to go to lunch with him.”

Frost waved his hand dismissively. “He goes to lunch with most of the professors under him. It’s a kind of informal meeting where we can talk to him about any problems or concerns we have.”

“He sounds very conscientious.”

“Conscientious? No, he’s brilliant. If we don’t have anything we need to talk about, it’s a chance for us to get to know each other. We have the closest group of professors on the whole campus.”

“And he did that on purpose?”

Frost peered at Darius from the side of his eye. “You know, I think he did.”

“So these lunches must be important to him.”

Frost looked forward again. “It’s all right—like I said, he can wait. Half the time, he’s the one that’s behind schedule.”

Vasil smiled. “That wasn’t exactly where I was going with that.”

“Oh?”

“You said he went to lunch with most of the professors. Who are the exceptions?”

Both my eyebrows jumped. No wonder they gave that blood-sucker a badge. I had totally missed that.

Frost didn’t answer.

Darius said, “Or should I say, who was the exception?”

The professor let out a peculiar laugh. It was the opposite of a gasp—it was a sudden exhalation of air with a shaky “ha!” holding on to the end. “That’s a good guess, Agent. Yes, Wayde was the exception.”

Darius and I shared a glance behind Frost’s back.

“Kiel did mention he wasn’t fond of Wayde…” I said.

What I didn’t say was that hardly seemed like a good enough reason to bar him from a lunch that should have been about business.

“Wayde was like that,” Frost said. “He was a big character, and when you’re big, people either love you or they hate you.” Frost turned his head to look at us. “He was an excellent teacher. Passionate, funny, charismatic—a real showman. The students loved him.”

“What did you think of him?” Darius asked.

“Oh, I’ve always liked him. We went to college together, you know, and I have a sneaky suspicion that he helped me get my job here. He, of course, has always denied that.” Frost turned his head to look at the vampire. “He was always better at interviews than I was.”

“So you’ve known him a long time?”

“Since I was a first-year grad student. I started following Trev around because he was so confident.”

“It must have been all that charisma,” I said.

Frost glanced at me suspiciously, but he relaxed when he saw I was serious. “Exactly. He’d stand up in class and talk back to the professor with all the assurance of a mythic hero. When we’d sit around a cafe, debating, he was this beacon—sitting there, listening. When he spoke, everyone stopped to hear what he’d say.” The professor’s enthusiasm wavered. “Truth is, he was my opposite. He had the draw that I wanted.”

“Director Kiel said that he was flippant,” Darius said.

“Flippant?”

“And that he had a tendency to tease,” I added.

Frost smiled and shook his head. A second later he said, “Director Kiel is a fine man, and I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the director here, but—in case you haven’t already figured it out—he tends to be very serious. Trev wasn’t the serious sort. They were at odds before Kiel even got promoted.”

“Professor,” Darius said, “do you know if there was any specific incident that led to their animosity?”

“A specific incident? Nothing comes to mind. They’re just two different people.” Frost stopped. “We’re here.”

The door looked like every other door in the hall, but to the side of it was a sliding nameplate that announced it belonged to Prof. Wayde. Someone had put a cartoon stegosaurus sticker on it.

I realized there was a nonzero chance it had been Wayde.

Frost opened the door, but he hesitated for a moment before passing inside.

“It’s empty,” he said.

This was not strictly true. There was a man and a woman in the room. They both looked up as we came in.

The man was in his mid-twenties. He had shoulder-length, sandy blond hair, a thin but handsome face, and a smirk. The smirk seemed like a permanent feature. He was sitting at a desk facing the door, with a laptop open in front of him.

The woman looked like she was in her mid to late twenties. She was tall, slim, and pretty in a fashionable, nerdy kind of way. She had big glasses and chin length brown-blond hair. She was leaning back on the low bookshelves that lined the far side of the room. She was close to the man, but not close enough to read over his shoulder.

When she heard Frost’s comment, she smiled sadly. “I know. It’s a real ghost town.”

Despite its occupants, the room did have that feeling. It was like the constant presence of a crowd had left an impression on the space. With only a few people there, it felt haunted.

“Where is everyone?” Frost asked.

The man said, “Now that the ringmaster is dead, the only clowns we get in here are the gawkers who want to know more about the murder. When we tell them we don’t know anything, they leave.” His chair squeaked as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why are you here, Frost? Moving in already?”

“Mr. Summer, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. These two”—he motioned to us—“needed a guide to Wayde’s office.” To us, he said, “This is Louis Summer. He’s a Ph.D. student and Wayde’s assistant.”

Summer dragged himself to his feet. The woman stepped back so he could come out from around the desk, then followed him. They came toward us.

While Darius was shaking Summer’s hand, I was able to peer around the room.

It wasn’t a normal office. I might have called it a lab, if I knew that anthropologists had labs. There were three other small desks, aside from the one Summer had been working at. The bookshelves were filled with books, boxes, and files. There were maps along the walls, and even a few artifacts, although it was nowhere near as crowded as Wayde’s personal study. There was a door at the end of the room, and I was willing to bet that behind it there was a room with a larger desk and even more artifacts.

As my eyes roved, I noticed the woman was watching me. Considering the somber atmosphere, I didn’t want to grin or anything, but I tried out a small smile and waved with my fingers. She returned the favor before her attention was called away.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” Frost said to her.

“Rena Drix,” she said.

“Are you an anthropology student?”

“Not here. I came over this summer to do some research.”

“Oh. So I won’t be seeing you in any of my classes?”

She smiled. “That depends on how much I’m procrastinating.”

“Well, you’d be welcome.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

I liked her. She had a kind voice.

Darius said to Summer, “How long have you been Wayde’s assistant?”

“One year and two months” was his instant answer.

“Oh, to have a young man’s memory,” Frost said.

“People tend to remember near death experiences,” Summer said, “and escaping a hundred degree summer with no air conditioning is as close as I’ve come.”

“Where were you?” Darius asked.

Professor Frost closed his eyes. There was a resigned look on his face. Drix smiled ruefully and shook her head.

Summer raised his voice. “Israel, mostly. But I traveled around with my father.”

“Your father?”

“You mean you haven’t heard of Fredrick Summer?” Rena asked. Maybe it was my imagination, but there seemed to be a hint of sarcasm in the question.

I shook my head.

Darius said, “I’m afraid not.”

“Huh.” Louis Summer shrugged. “I guess I’m too used to hanging around here. Most people in this building know who he is.”

“I take it he’s an anthropologist?” I said to Rena.

Frost corrected me: “Archaeologist. One of the old style diggers. He’s rather famous.”

Darius said to Summer, “Why did you come back?”

“Well, the air conditioning was a large part of it, but there was also the matter of finishing my Ph.D.”

“But Professor Wayde wasn’t an archaeologist,” I said. I did a quick mental review to see if I was being stupid. Nope. Everything I remembered said anthropologist, not archaeologist. Not that I had a firm grasp on the difference between the two. “Did you decide to switch fields?”

“You should try being an archaeologist some time. It only took one summer out there to convince me that doing research from behind a computer was a lot more comfortable than working at a dig. The other three years I spent trying to convince my father to send me home.”

Drix said, “If you’re hoping to work a dig, don’t let him talk you out of it. Everyone else I’ve talked to who’s done it says they enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, and where did they work?” Summer asked. “North Carolina?”

I raised a hand. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not a digger.”

Rena smiled again. The hint of sadness was back. “Were you hoping to meet Professor Wayde?”

The metaphorical lightbulb over my head flared. Maybe I was blending in better than I thought.

“Oh, I’m not a prospective student. I’m assisting him.” I jerked my thumb toward the count.

“You’re not a new professor, are you?” Drix asked Darius.

“No,” he said.

Summer chimed in with “Not even Director Kiel could replace Wayde that fast.”

“I’m Special Agent Darius Vasil, with the FBI, this is Miss Emerra Cole—”

“FBI?” Summer’s smirk morphed into a grin. “Then you’re here about his murder?”

“Something like that,” the vampire said.

“How can it be ‘something like that?’”

“My case involves counterfeit artifacts. I wanted to talk to Professor Wayde about them, but that’s impossible thanks to his untimely death. Curious, isn’t it?”

Summer didn’t seem to have an answer.

Professor Frost put his hand on Darius’s arm. “Well, you’re here, safe and sound, so I’ll go find Kiel. I’m sure Miranda won’t be long.”

Before Frost could take a step, Summer said, “Miranda?”

The professor stopped and looked at him. “Yes.”

“She’s coming here?”

“She agreed to meet them here.”

“Ah.”

Summer wasn’t smirking anymore. Since Rena Drix was standing beside him, I saw the flash of emotion cross her face. If I had to guess, I’d call it amusement.

Frost waved goodbye and left. The moment the door clicked shut, Louis Summer was at his desk, shoveling stuff into his bag.

“Leaving already, Louis?” Drix said.

Yes. She was definitely amused.

“Have to,” Summer said. “Classes, appointments—something like that. I’m sure I’m busy.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Miranda?”

Louis paused long enough to glare at Rena. “I try to have as little to do with Miss St. John as possible.”

“You don’t like her?” Vasil asked.

Summer closed his bag. “I’m sorry—which version of her are we talking about?”

“You’re saying she’s two-faced?”

“I’m saying it’s not wise to assume you know her. Goodbye, Agent. Good luck.”

He set a fast pace toward the exit, but he was doomed to lose that race with fate. The door opened as he reached out for the handle. He had to step back or risk getting hit.

Both he and the door stopped.

“Hey, Louis,” a new voice said.

Miranda St. John stepped through the door. She had long, dark hair I would have been jealous of even before I was bald. It was held back in a clip, but a few strands had escaped. The wavy flyaways floated around her face. Her eyes were dark, and freckles speckled her nose and cheekbones. She was pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but cute.

Summer only returned the greeting with “Miranda.” Then he leaned close and whispered something. It couldn’t have been more than a few words, but whatever he said made her pale. When Summer straightened up again, the smirk was back on his face.

He stepped around her and left.

Miranda finished coming into the room and let the door shut behind her. There was a nervous openness in her expression. Either she looked like a teddy bear, or she looked like she needed a teddy bear. Whichever it was, I kind of wanted to hug her.

I leaned toward Rena. “That’s Miranda St. John?” I whispered. “The feminine horror that causes men to flee the room?”

“Yup,” she whispered back.

“What’s her other face supposed to look like? A kitten?”

“Louis asked her out once, and she turned him down flat.”

“That makes her two-faced?”

“Miranda’s a nice girl, and he thinks nice girls shouldn’t do that.”

St. John came toward our group. “Agent Vasil?”

Darius stepped forward. “Yes, Miss St. John.” He held out his hand to shake. “I have my credentials if you’d like to see them, but first, allow me to offer you my condolences.”

Her eyes widened, then she lowered them. “Thank you.”

They let go of each other’s hand. Darius motioned to me.

“This is Miss Emerra Cole. We appreciate the fact that you were willing to help us at such a busy time.”

“It’s hard to tell the FBI no.”

“I appreciate that too.”

She smiled at his joke, but it was only a flicker. “Shall we go?”

“Please.”

I waved to Drix as we left. Miranda led us out of the building without a word. I tagged along behind her and Darius, and tried not to look like I knew where I was going.