Grey Dawn

by Clea Simon

  As for the rest? Well, Dulcie knew that her mother was a reader. She’d gotten her own love of books from her, along with a slightly battered copy of the Riverside Shakespeare. It was just that Lucy tended to read everything, indiscriminately. Especially if it dealt with mysticism or the occult.

  Therefore, Dulcie told herself as she crossed a side street, Lucy’s knowledge of anything in particular was suspect. Good intentions aside, she wasn’t to be trusted. It wasn’t as if—

  The squeal of car brakes, and Dulcie jumped back. The car – a beat-up Honda – hadn’t been bearing down on her, however. In the middle of the street, Dulcie saw a squirrel, surely a different animal, frozen, staring at the monstrous machine that had paused only centimeters away.

  ‘Squirrel!’ Dulcie called. It was better than yelling, ‘Mr Grey.’ And after all, this was only a dumb rodent, probably a little crazed by the blustery weather. The small creature turned toward her, its black eyes unblinking, before darting off down that side street.

  No, Dulcie turned back toward the police station, it wasn’t the same. Just as her mother’s preoccupation with psychic phenomena was nothing at all like her own preoccupation with a certain author, or an unfinished book. Not to mention a mysterious manuscript …

  The wind was really picking up. She pulled her sweater tighter around her as grey clouds whipped overhead. No wonder that squirrel was in a frenzy. This was going to be a night to stay in, for sure. It would be cozy to be home with Esmé, even if Chris couldn’t spare another night off work. Besides, the little cat clearly had been feeling neglected, and they’d both benefit from the time together. She probably should be happy for Thorpe that he might have that same kind of homey warmth. If only she could shed those last few fears.

  It was the weather, as much as anything. A leaf came flying by, scratching at her face with its dry edge. This wind was whipping everything up. It would be a pleasure to stay in and work. And soon she wouldn’t have to worry any more about anything but her work. Even as her curls blew across her face, she could see the blue light up ahead. The emergency call box on the corner meant she’d reached police headquarters. She’d tell Rogovoy everything – everything about Emily, that is. She’d already tried to explain the Thorpe situation and that had gone nowhere. Besides, no matter what Lucy had said, it seemed unlikely that even if her worst fears were true …

  Thinking of that squirrel, Dulcie looked both ways before crossing. Everybody was on edge today. Maybe they’d even get snow. It was early in the season, but a wind like this could herald a few flurries or the kind of icy rain that made her long for the more moderate West Coast mists. If only Lucy weren’t quite so nutty. She couldn’t be right about werewolves, could she? Everyone knew that they needed the full moon to transform.

  Except that two of the attacks had happened before the full moon. If that had been Thorpe, that is. If he had indeed become one of – how had her author put it? – ‘Those fiendish things, the Beasts of the Night.’

  No, it wasn’t possible. Besides, she was almost there. Half a block – she stepped from the curb. And came up coughing. Something about this wind and the cross streets combined to toss more grit in the air. Another sharp-edged leaf, oak, dry and brittle, whipped by, clawing at her face and tangling in her hair. Dulcie batted at it, squinting into the wind. It had gotten tangled in her curls, more brown than her own reddish highlights, and she looked up to pull it free. Funny how sharp the leaf’s points could be, once it had dried. At least the wind had cleared the clouds; the sky, with that wild irregularity for which New England weather was known, suddenly shone a bright and vivid blue. The clouds that seemed so threatening only moments before were stretched out, horse tails streaming toward the horizon. And there, white against the endless blue, was the moon. Slightly worn, not quite symmetrical, but clear and glowing in the bright afternoon sky.

  Dulcie rubbed her cheek where the leaf had scratched in. Blinked away the last of the grit. She was maybe fifty feet from the entrance to the police station. Rogovoy would probably want her to fill out forms. She could be in there for an hour, maybe more, especially if he brought in other detectives to hear her story. The moon was clear above the trees, bright as a new nickel as the last of the clouds dispersed. What if Lucy were right?

  Thorpe had the kitten. An innocent little marmalade kitten. Those round eyes, as blue as the sky, had looked at her with such trust. Such faith …

  Dulcie turned on her heel and started running back to the Square.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ‘Raleigh, are you there?’ Dulcie was panicking. If Raleigh had been available to answer, her phone would not have gone to voicemail. ‘Call me? Please?’

  Dulcie was heading to the departmental office. If Martin Thorpe were still there, she could talk to him. Stop him. Force him to surrender the kitten. Unless Raleigh had brought it over to wherever her adviser lived.

  ‘Lloyd, pick up. Pick up!’ Another voicemail, and Dulcie left a second message, asking simply for a call back as soon as possible.

  ‘Hey, Suze.’ Dulcie’s voice was broken by her gasps as she trotted down the brick sidewalk. ‘We keep missing.’ As expected, Dulcie had gotten her former room-mate’s voice mail. At least by now, she had a more coherent message planned. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t just social. You see, I’m in an awkward situation. I may have some information about a crime. Only, well, there may be a really strange twist in the whole thing. Call me?’

  Dulcie went over whom else she could call: Trista? Chris? It was useless. She was on her own. They would care, but she doubted they’d understand this particular dilemma. She’d been dithering too long anyway. It was time to act.

  The walk signal changed and she came to a halt, breathing heavily. The pause made her take stock. What exactly was she going to do?

  Confront Thorpe. That had been her original idea. Confront the acting head of the department and – what? – demand that he turn over his new kitten? As she waited for the light to change, Dulcie realized the absurdity of her situation. How could she separate Thorpe from the kitten? Surely there had to be a way.

  Just then, her phone rang and Dulcie fumbled for it, grateful that one of her friends was checking in.

  ‘Hello?’ She waited to hear Raleigh’s voice. Or Lloyd’s or Suze’s. Instead, she heard a deeper and more lyrical voice, one she only vaguely recognized, asking for ‘Ms Dulcie Schwartz.’

  ‘You’ve reached her. Me, I mean, I.’ The light changed and Dulcie started walking. She’d reached the Common, and it hit her. ‘Professor Showalter?’

  ‘Yes, you had emailed me?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ That email – her thesis – seemed like a concern of a thousand years ago. Still, Dulcie tried to rally. ‘I am sorry to have disturbed you.’ Dulcie couldn’t shake the memory of what she had overheard at the infirmary. ‘I don’t mean to be a pest.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ The voice on the other end sounded warm and encouraging. ‘I’m only sorry it has taken me this long to respond. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know if you remember. When you were first here, at the bar …’ There was nothing to do but ask. ‘You said that you had some information for me. Something that might be of interest? And then we never got to talk.’

  ‘Of course. You’re writing on theauthor of The Ravages.’ Dulcie nodded before realizing that the professor couldn’t see her. But no response was necessary, it seemed, as the professor kept talking. ‘I don’t know if it exactly relates. In fact, it may be a wild goose chase, but recently I’ve come into possession of some papers. A colleague of mine who works at a private collection in Philadelphia came across the most interesting material.’

  ‘Pages from a manuscript?’ Dulcie couldn’t help interrupting. If Showalter had the rest of the manuscript. If she were willing to share … She stopped short, remembering her earlier fears. Well, if the senior scholar had made a discovery, Dulcie would be willing to help her. ‘If you’re looking for a grad student to assist yo
u …’

  ‘No, you’ve misunderstood me.’ Dulcie’s heart sank. The scholar was simply notifying her. ‘That’s not what I meant. These papers are only tangential to my area of interest.’ The professor kept talking. ‘But when I read your article, I thought they could be useful to you.’

  Dulcie stopped short, unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘You mean I can have them?’

  ‘Well, yes, if you’re interested.’ The professor was saying. ‘I believe you may already have seen some of them. My friend, the curator in Philly, says part of this grouping may have already been given to the Mildon, and it sounds like it could be related to the work you’ve been doing. She sent them to me to appraise, as

  the collection is looking to deaccession more of their uncatalogued papers, and I know she would appreciate them going to a working scholar.’

  ‘Wow, could you mail them?’ Dulcie bit her lip. These papers were valuable. ‘I mean, or have them shipped? I’m sure I could cover—’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Of course, these papers were valuable. ‘You see, there are some complications.’

  She knew it. Nothing could be that simple. Even so, these papers could be worth whatever condition the professor put on them.

  ‘There has been some other interest, you see. I had brought some notes with me. They were lost, I’m afraid, when my bag was grabbed. But I still have the pages themselves.’ She paused, as if making a decision, and Dulcie held her breath. ‘You should have a chance to see them. I’ll bring them when I come for the rescheduled Newman,’ Showalter was saying. ‘Oh, and Ms Schwartz? They appear to contain some genealogical material. I think you’ll be intrigued.’

  Well, that was interesting. Dulcie started walking again as soon as she and the professor had signed off. Other interest? Could that have been what Dulcie had overheard at the health services? And what about those notes? A tingle went up Dulcie’s spine, like the brush of soft fur. The professor’s bag had been taken on her way to the lecture. Maybe it hadn’t been a mugging, but a desperate attempt to get her research material. If those pages had been the reason for the attack, then Showalter could be in danger. Dulcie should call her back. Warn her to take extra care.

  Only she did want those papers. Genealogical information wasn’t manuscript pages, but in a way, it could be better. For so long Dulcie had been trying to put a name to the anonymous author, to give her her rightful place in history. Dulcie crossed into the Common, trying to picture what those pages could be. A birth certificate? Not likely. Wherever her author had ended up, odds were that she was born in London. And how common were birth certificates anyway? Odds were it wasn’t something less official. A church registry, perhaps. A notice of a birth or a marriage.

  Except that her author didn’t believe in marriage. Dulcie stopped short. No, she didn’t know that. What she did know was that in her writings – especially the writing Dulcie had found from her later years, in the New World – her author had spoken disparagingly of marriage. She walked on, through the leafless trees. Maybe she had been married to someone she hated. Maybe she’d been happily widowed. Maybe she’d fled—

  Josh. There, ahead of her. Dulcie had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she’d nearly walked into him, and now there he was, waving.

  ‘Dulcie! I was hoping to run into you.’

  ‘Josh?’ Dulcie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Was he stalking her? It couldn’t simply be coincidence, running into him here, in the Common, where Professor Showalter had been attacked. Could he think she had those papers – whatever they were? ‘What – what brings you here?’

  ‘I was up at the Quad.’ He said. It was believable; the Common was on the way. ‘I’ve been doing some reading on this author that Mina’s into. I didn’t realize you were writing your thesis on her.’

  Dulcie blanched. He was stalking her. ‘You know?’

  ‘I read that article. I made a copy, too. It’s not exactly Mina’s area of expertise, but the timing is right. I told you about this woman she’s trying to trace? So I thought it might interest her.’

  It might indeed, especially if the subject of Mina’s study was … No, that was too much of a reach. Besides, the woman she’d been hearing about wouldn’t be interested in the author of The Ravages. Dulcie felt herself relaxing. ‘It’s probably not theoretical enough for Mina,’ she said. He looked at her blankly. ‘Nothing about the semiotics of the assumed gender roles,’ she explained.

  ‘What? No.’ Josh responded, shaking his head. ‘That’s not – Mina’s into connections and relativity when it comes to books and authors. Not that abstract stuff.’

  Dulcie opened her mouth – then shut it. Clearly he saw his girlfriend – ex-girlfriend? – in a different light than her best friend did. At any rate, he had moved on.

  ‘But that’s not the big news. I’m going to visit Mina.’ He was saying. His cheeks were glowing, though with the cold or the excitement, Dulcie couldn’t say. ‘She’s – well, she seems to be waking up.’

  ‘She’s conscious?’ That would solve quite a few problems.

  But Josh was shaking his head. ‘No, she’s sort of talking though. Moving around. It’s like she’s in a dream. The doctors say …’ Now he seemed to have trouble talking. She watched him swallow, twice. ‘The doctors say that maybe this is the best she’ll be. But I know her, and, well, I think she’s trying, Dulcie. I think she’s trying very hard to wake up.’

  ‘And you’re going back to see her?’ Dulcie didn’t know if that was a good idea. ‘They’re allowing visitors?’

  He shook his head. ‘Well, no, not yet. But I’m going to, Dulcie. They can’t keep me away from her. They have no right.’

  Maybe it was love – or maybe that’s what he told himself. Something about his words, however, chilled Dulcie even more than the wind.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Dulcie wasn’t even sure what she said. Something about ‘good news’ and ‘good luck.’ All she knew was that she had to get away from the red-cheeked junior as quickly as possible. The only saving grace was what Raleigh had told her: no visitors were being allowed in. The further from the Common Dulcie got, the more she relaxed. Josh couldn’t get to the girl. The health services knew she’d been attacked; they’d protect her. And once she had seen Thorpe – and secured the kitten – then she would go back to Rogovoy. She’d call him after hours, if she had to. And then warn Showalter as well. Those papers could be some kind of a time bomb.

  First, however, she had a mission. Turning onto Broadway, she lengthened her stride. If Thorpe wasn’t there, she could ask Nancy for his home address. Nancy would understand that Dulcie needed to talk to her adviser; she wouldn’t have to explain. Although maybe she would tell the kindly secretary about Showalter’s news, about how she had a possible breakthrough for Dulcie. Nancy would understand how excited she was to work with a scholar who understood her enthusiasm for this author.

  Dulcie slowed as she thought it through. No, she couldn’t tell Nancy, not about all of it, anyway. Certainly not about her hunch that Showalter’s notes might have been the real motive of the attack. Nancy might not like Martin Thorpe; Dulcie knew that the acting head was an extremely difficult boss. She was loyal, however. Especially since she now saw Martin Thorpe as needing support.

  It wasn’t like Dulcie was intentionally undermining Thorpe. There would be benefits to her if he kept his job, and for better or worse she had managed to get along with him. Just because she wanted to work with a visiting scholar and had a wild theory as to why that scholar had been attacked. Just because she wanted to take her adviser’s new pet away on the possibility that he was some kind of horrible monster. Like she had thought Josh might be, only moments before.

  Her walk had slowed almost to a stop. She was being as bad as Lucy. Superstitious and illogical. If Josh had attacked Mina and, thus probably, Emily, then Thorpe was innocent. If Josh hadn’t attacked Mina and Emily, and the notes were the reason Showalter had been jumped, then Thorpe
was certainly suspect – but then how had the other two young women been involved? What evidence did she even have linking them?

  None. She started walking again. If it wasn’t Josh, then there was really very little she could do. But if she could get the kitten from Thorpe, just for safe keeping, and talk to Rogovoy, well, then maybe everything would sort itself out. At the very least, Dulcie would know that she had tried.

  If Josh, then Thorpe … the possibilities started playing themselves out like one of Chris’s equations. But if Thorpe, then … No, there were too many variables, including Professor Showalter. If only Mina would wake up and put an end to all the speculation. Dulcie heard herself and laughed: so now she was only hoping for the junior’s recovery in order to put her own mind at ease? Maybe Nancy was right, and she was becoming more selfish. Did Nancy know more than she was letting on? Did Josh?

  So deep in thought was she that when her phone rang again, Dulcie almost didn’t hear it.

  ‘Emily!’ The junior had barely said hello when Dulcie jumped in. ‘I’ve heard the news. That’s so great.’

  ‘Wait, what?’ The voice on the other end was so surprised, Dulcie could have laughed. It was nice to be able to share good news for a change.

  ‘Mina’s responding! That’s what …’ She stopped herself. Whatever Josh’s involvement was, his girlfriend’s room-mate certainly blamed him. ‘That’s what I heard, anyway. She’s not awake, but she’s beginning to respond to stimuli and the doctors are hoping she’ll wake up soon.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great.’ Emily gushed, then got quieter. ‘I wonder why they didn’t tell me that?’

  Dulcie felt for her. ‘Maybe it happened after you left?’

  ‘Maybe.’ The silence felt awkward. Emily must have thought so, too. ‘That is great, though. Thanks for telling me.’