Academic Magic

by Becky R Jones

  She eyed Mark. “Did George say anything to you that might help? The other day when I first told him about Rowantree, he said he was afraid of this and that this is what he got for sticking his head in the sand. What did he mean by that?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark replied. “Whatever he meant it can’t be good.”

  Zoe told him about her encounter with Sarah Riley the previous day. “Sarah mentioned that the provost was crazy busy with some project from the president, but that she had no idea what it was about. And that’s a little odd since Sarah does almost all the grunt work in that office, so you’d think she’d have some idea about whatever was causing the provost so much stress.” She paused. “You do realize that going in there is going to be nasty.”

  Mark nodded. “I know. But I don’t know how else we can figure out what’s going on.” He stared into space, thinking. “Wait. Isn’t the provost having one of her open office hours for faculty tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, at three,” Zoe answered, staring at him. “I feel like Han Solo seeing the Death Star for the first time…I have a bad feeling about this.” The researcher in her came out. “But first-hand documentation is best. Oh, hell.”

  Taking a deep breath, Mark locked eyes with Zoe. “Okay, so, we’re going to the open office hour tomorrow and see what it feels like inside that building. I’ll meet you over there.”

  That problem sort of solved, a multitude of questions formed in her head, and Zoe settled for the first two that surfaced from the chaos. “Can you, will you, tell me more about you and David and mages?”

  Mark nodded. “Of course. Can you come over for dinner this weekend? It will be easier if we’re at our house.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Zoe accepted. “One more question…what do you think we’ll learn from going into Shelby Hall?” Maybe they could figure it out without having to go into that malevolent cloud.

  Mark grimaced. “I’m not sure. But we can at least get an idea about the strength of these dark energies and see for ourselves what it’s like for the staff.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you in Shelby tomorrow. See you later.” Damn. Into the repugnant zone we go. Zoe walked out of Mark’s office. A knot was forming in her stomach. What the hell had she gotten herself into? And, how had this happened? Why had the squirrels decided to talk to her? This was all their fault.

  The following afternoon at three, Zoe reluctantly headed over to Shelby. None of her office neighbors in Cooper Hall were interested in coming with her. It was possible that they all recognized the nastiness emanating from Shelby Hall and were avoiding it at all costs. On the other hand, it was possible that they honestly had too much work to do. It was hard to tell. It will be awkward if only Mark and I show up. Sigh. Oh, well.

  As she approached Shelby Hall, Zoe’s stress levels increased. She caught herself hunching over her crossed arms, adopting the same posture she had a couple of days ago. Ignoring the mildew-y smell she took a deep breath, forced her shoulders back, stood up straight, and looked around. She was almost at the main door of the building. A few more steps brought her to the door; taking another breath, she pulled it open and walked in. The heavy, humid, swamp-like feeling of the air became noticeably worse. She took a deep, steadying breath and tried not to cough. A moldy smell permeated the hall adding to the sensation of walking into a dead, stagnant swamp.

  Zoe stood just inside the door and studied the entryway, orienting herself. She’d only been in Shelby Hall a handful of times in the three years she’d been at Summerfield. It was one of the original buildings on campus and on any other day she would have described it as beautiful. Three stories tall, it had once housed both classrooms and faculty and administrative offices. Now, it was the main administration building, housing the president, provost, and other high-ranking administrative staff. The front door opened into a foyer that faced a wide, curving staircase, with a short hallway towards the rear of the building. Standing in the foyer, she glanced up. Overhead, a large ornate crystal chandelier loomed about five paces inside the door, threatening to fall on those unlucky or unaware enough to stand directly under it. To the left and right, were hallways running the length of the building, with doors leading to offices and conference rooms. She half expected the lights to suddenly go out, just like a bad horror movie. The provost’s and president’s offices were on the second floor she knew, so Zoe started up the stairs fighting a growing feeling of dread.

  The wheezing creak of the front door opening stopped her reluctant ascent to the second floor. She turned around to see Meredith Cruickshank coming into the front hallway. Figures she’d be here. Any chance she can get to suck up.

  “Oh, hi, Zoe!” Meredith chirped. “This is a first!” She didn’t appear to be affected by the swamp-like atmosphere.

  “What do you mean?”

  Meredith caught up with her. “Well, I assume you’re going to the provost’s office hour? I’ve never seen you at one of these before; what brings you today?” From anybody else, the question was perfectly innocent. Coming from Meredith…maybe the atmosphere in the building was contributing to her paranoia, but Zoe reminded herself of Meredith’s reputation and her own previous interactions with Meredith and resolved to treat every comment and question as loaded and highly suspect.

  “I got lucky this week and no students showed up at my own office hours, so I bailed out a little early and thought I’d drop by.” That was a legitimate and innocuous reply from an overwhelmed untenured faculty member. She was getting good at avoiding potentially dangerous questions.

  They walked the rest of the way up the stairs together and down the hall to the provost’s office. The office was really a suite of three rooms; the first room you entered contained the secretary’s desk and a smaller desk behind it in a corner where Sarah Riley sat. Through a doorway on the left was the provost’s actual office and another doorway on the right led to a small conference room. The secretary, Susan Barker, turned from her computer at the entrance of the two women and produced a small smile. She was a short, rather dumpy woman with wispy brown hair who gave Zoe the impression of a slightly demented grandmother.

  “Hello, professors. You’re the first to arrive; please go on in,” she greeted them, indicating the small conference room.

  “Hey Sarah,” Zoe acknowledged the secretarial assistant.

  Sarah looked up from her computer with a strained smile. “Hi, Zoe, how are you?”

  As they entered the conference room, Meredith turned to Zoe and in a voice that carried back into the secretary’s office, said “Doesn’t it bother you that Sarah doesn’t show any respect for you?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Zoe, genuinely puzzled.

  “Well, she called you by your first name, instead of Dr. O’Brien,” Meredith replied.

  “Oh, come on. We’re all adults, we’re all working together. That’s a bit silly, don’t you think?” Zoe laughed.

  But Meredith appeared to be serious. “No, I mean it. We worked hard for these degrees and these positions, somebody that’s just a secretary should show some respect!” Her voice was rising sharply.

  Taken aback, Zoe stared at Meredith. “Okay, if that works for you. But that’s not how I work,” she said in a dismissive tone and turned towards the provost who was standing at the back of the room next to a credenza holding coffee, water, fruit, and some pastries.

  “Hi, Melanie, how are you?”

  “Hello, Zoe, hello, Meredith. I’m fine, thank you,” came the response. “But, Zoe, you know, Meredith has a point. Respect from subordinates is a necessary part of good leadership.” Melanie Porter was about six feet tall without the three-inch heels she was wearing, with long blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Zoe always thought she resembled a classic painting of a Valkyrie. She was someone very few people, especially untenured faculty, crossed willingly. A provost had veto power over tenure decisions. Zoe had always been slightly intimidated by Melanie and at the same time she knew she needed to make sure that Melanie at least didn
’t dislike her. However, at the look in Melanie’s eyes and the smirk on Meredith’s face, Zoe fought a strong urge to veto her cautionary self and loudly ask them both just who the hell they thought they were.

  The arrival of Mark and George Wardmaster saved Zoe from jeopardizing her career with a response. Judging by the looks on the faces of the other two women, neither man was an especially welcome sight. A wave of relief washed over Zoe. The potent mixture of gloom and stress that blanketed the building lessened slightly and Zoe stood up straight and pushed her shoulders back. Could Earth or Air magic be used as a stress reliever? How would that work?

  “Hi guys,” Zoe said. “How are you?” She kept her tone neutral.

  The provost, quickly smoothing out her expression, greeted the two new arrivals. “Good afternoon, George, Mark. What a nice surprise to see you here.”

  “Hello, Melanie. I know I haven’t frequented these get togethers of yours for a while, but I needed to get out of my office for a bit this afternoon,” George smiled at her.

  Mark also smiled at the provost. “He stopped by my office on his way over here and convinced me that I needed a break too.”

  Zoe continued to mull over the sudden change in atmosphere that had accompanied George and Mark into the provost’s office. Was it something they were doing, or was she just so keyed up that the presence of a friendly face had become almost lifesaving? The mention of her own name startled her and brought her back to the conversation between George and the provost.

  “Well, Melanie, I have made it clear to Zoe and the rest of our department that such a formal form of address is a bit over-the-top among colleagues and co-workers,” Wardmaster was saying. “I prefer that old adage you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  Zoe took the opportunity to drift away from Meredith and over toward Mark. They made small chit-chat and she kept an eye on the door, curious if any other faculty showed up. She didn’t have to wait long. John Gardner came through the door looking distraught; he spotted George talking with the provost and the distressed expression shifted over to surprise.

  “Hi George, hello Melanie,” he recovered from his initial surprise and offered a polite (for him) greeting. He smiled and nodded at Mark and Zoe, glanced at Meredith and nodded quickly. Striding over to George and Melanie, he said, “Melanie, I have a question…”

  Zoe stifled a smile. Melanie exhibited remarkable control and looked only slightly annoyed, while George was mildly amused; John had a reputation for latching on to less-than-useful ideas and solutions to problems that only he saw.

  However, this time he surprised them all. “I heard you were working on a big project for the president. Care to share any details? I think faculty at this college have a right to know what the president is doing, especially if it will impact us.” John’s tone was slightly belligerent.

  “The president will discuss her plans and projects at the next general faculty meeting.” Melanie neatly avoided giving a direct answer to Gardner’s question.

  John persisted. “But can you give us some idea of what it will be about?”

  “I don’t have all the details myself,” Melanie immediately grimaced like she’d take that answer back if she could.

  “You mean, that as the chief academic officer in this college you don’t know what’s going on?” John pounced.

  “That’s not what I meant at all,” Melanie quickly started reversing herself. “I am not at liberty at this moment to discuss the president’s plans.” Her tone was stilted and she sounded like an ambushed politician.

  Meredith jumped in. “Really, John, what are you so paranoid about? I’m sure that whatever the president is working on will be for the overall benefit of the college. Why do you always have to have all the information before anybody else?”

  John turned and regarded Meredith. “With all due respect, Meredith, information is power, and the president has been withholding information from the faculty and the entire college community for a few months now. Are you not the least bit curious?”

  “Not really,” Meredith smirked. “I’m sure we’ll hear all the details in due time. I’m not worried.”

  “Ah.” John’s tone conveyed contempt and pity for Meredith’s apparent lack of curiosity. Catching it, Meredith scowled at him.

  Zoe exchanged quick glances with Mark and George. John oozed suspicion with every comment about the president’s plans. Given the strong feelings of dread and anxiety Zoe was feeling just standing in Shelby Hall, such suspicions did not seem out of place.

  “John, I’m sure that Melanie is simply holding the president’s confidence and that Morgan will give us all the details at the faculty meeting next week. Right, Melanie?” George’s tone was calming, and he turned his best grandfatherly smile on the provost.

  “Yes, exactly. Thank you, George, for your understanding,” Melanie’s eyes held a puzzled look, but she smiled at Wardmaster.

  “John, if you’re so interested in university projects, feel free to stop by my office any time. I’m always happy to talk with faculty about issues facing the college,” another woman’s voice joined the conversation.

  There was a ripple of movement as heads turned toward the source of the new voice. The air stopped moving and Zoe’s heart rate went up a notch. Morgan Ammon, president of Summerfield College entered the room and the conversation.

  Like Melanie, Morgan was a tall woman. But where the provost was blonde and fair-skinned, the president had dark hair, dark eyes, and olive-toned skin. George was the first to recover from the minor shock of the president’s somewhat dramatic entry and comment.

  “Good afternoon, Morgan,” he said pleasantly, smiling at the president. Zoe noticed that his smile did not reached his eyes.

  The president, her attention focused on John, looked slightly taken aback on spotting George, but recovered quickly.

  “Good afternoon, George. How are you? I hope the semester is going well,” she responded blandly. Her gaze moved around the room landing on Mark. Her eyes narrowed again, and she gave a small smile and nodded at him.

  “Mark. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Mark responded without smiling.

  What the hell is going on here? Zoe caught herself staring back and forth between George and Mark and the president.

  The president nodded to Zoe without saying anything, moved further into the conference room and poured herself a cup of coffee. Turning to Melanie, she smiled. “It appears you were right about this open office hour concept, Melanie. It’s good to see faculty from different disciplines getting together outside of faculty or committee meetings.” Her smile did not quite convey warm friendliness.

  The tension in the room became a living thing. All conversation had stopped and Meredith, quite shockingly, had her eyes cast down staring at the carpet. Zoe made a note to herself to pay more attention to who Meredith was hanging out with and what she was saying about other faculty members. And students and staff, Zoe reminded herself, recalling Meredith’s derogatory comments regarding Sarah Riley.

  Zoe stared around at the small group. This was worse than the most awkward social situation she’d ever experienced (and that had been the definition of awkward!) Seriously, what in the hell was going on? Just then a student rushed into the small conference room nearly colliding with Mark who was standing closest to the door. The student appeared as startled to discover a room full of people as those in the room were at seeing him in the doorway. This is starting to feel like a soap opera! Zoe stifled a giggle and looked at the student as he recovered his balance after the near collision with Mark. She recognized the boy but couldn’t quite place him. Susan Barker appeared behind him, unphased by the clearly hostile atmosphere between the faculty members standing in the conference room.

  “I’m so sorry, Dr. Ammon, Dr. Porter. He misunderstood what I asked him to do.”

  She put a hand on the kid’s shoulder to turn him around and Zoe saw him wince.

  “Come on, Declan,
I’ll show you where those files are,” Susan pushed him out of the conference room. The kid’s eyes went wide, and his hands shook, but he left the room without a word.

  Declan – that was it. Declan Jin was in her introductory level history class. The unusual combination of names had struck her on the first day. Her musings were interrupted by Meredith.

  “That kid. He never pays attention. He’s my advisee and you wouldn’t believe the problems he gives me. Can’t ever get his schedule right, never prepared, wastes my time.” Meredith’s tone was sneering and condescending.

  George gave Meredith a mild smile. “Well, there are always those who need a little extra help early on. I’m sure he’s no worse than the average freshman or sophomore.” Meredith frowned at the implied rebuke in his voice and words but didn’t say anything more.

  A strained silence again fell over the group. This time John broke it.

  “Okay, George,” he said, returning to the interrupted conversation. “You’re right, I can wait until the faculty meeting for the details of this project.” He gave Melanie a sideways glance.

  Nodding to the president, he added, “I’m assuming you are going to discuss this secretive project at the next faculty meeting.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, John, I will. Thank you so much for your patience.” Morgan Ammon’s tone was tinged with sarcasm. She produced a small smile and returned John’s perfunctory nod.

  John scowled and headed out the door. “Have a good weekend, all.”

  After he left, George turned to smile at Morgan. “I must be going as well. There’s always more work to finish!” He smiled at Zoe and Mark.