Chapter Text
After 3 months away from Cambridge, stuck in the frigid north of Scotland, I am content to say I am finally back in my offices at Cambridge. I arrived in the early morning; the sun was just starting to peak over the tops of the trees, these leaves yellowed in anticipation of fall. I sighed as I stepped back into my office with shadow at my side. He wasted no time in getting himself comfortable, lumbering past me and tucking himself away on his bed by the fireplace, no doubt wearied from our travels.
I opened the window to air out the office, for I found a thin layer of dust now covers every surface of the room. As my classes were not to commence until the evening, I was contented to ensconce myself within my offices and start on my paper.
Well, I tried to work on my paper. I managed to labour diligently for a few hours before I found that around noon there appeared to be an unceasing stream of noise just beyond my office door. I tried to pay it no mind, for it sounded like the office across from mine was receiving a steady stream of visitors. I would catch fragments of greetings and conversation far too boisterous for a scholarly institution. After a good long while, the racket began to grate on my nerves, so I rose from my desk and endeavoured to politely suggest that the nuisances might kindly take their conversation somewhere more fitting, say, a pub.
Already formulating a combination of words strong enough to usher the guest away, I opened my office door.
In that instant, I stood transfixed as if some unseen force had seized me.
Standing in the office door across from me, talking to Professor Byers, was the most shockingly beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. He struck an elegant figure, stood a head taller than Byers, with hair like spun gold and black eyes of pure coal.
Hearing my entrance, Byers turned to me.
“Ah, Professor Wilde,” he greeted me with a smile.
Shell shocked. I did not reply. Dread settled in my stomach, I reached for the coin in my pocket in an attempt to regain my footing. Losing my composure would not help me right now.
The golden-haired man stood looming. He strode to me, took my free hand, and shook it.
“Professor Wilde,” he flashed me a too-bright smile. “I’ve heard so much about you. I must admit, I expected someone… older.”
He and Professor Byers shared a chuckle.
a comment I would usually bristled at; I’m used to condescension from the older scholars--irritating as they are-- but from someone who looked no older than me, it would have been rather rather grating.
This sentiment, however, was combatted by my senses still reeling from his shocking appearance and especially by his mention of knowing me; for it set something crawling under my skin. His warm hand sending shivers up my arm, his voice melodic, like a dizzying lullaby; I kept my guard up.
“I see-, and you are?” I enquired finally speaking, trying my best to maintain my usual demeanour and not let my unease show.
“Wendell Bambleby,” he replied, releasing my hand and stepping back.
It should be a crime to give a child such a ridiculous name..., I thought in passing
“He’s the new hire; he joined the department yesterday,” Byers informed me. “If you ask me, it’s about time our field got some fresh faces.”
“Thank you;"he purred, turning back to Byres" the department so far has been nothing but lovely. I’ve had many staff and students alike stop by to welcome me.”
thoughts where swimming in my head in a dizzying current: where did this man come from? did he name himself? Why was Byres acting as if this- was normal?I don’t remember receiving such a welcome when I was hired?but I suppose that would explain the bloody racket.
I must have said that last part out loud for the energy in the hall shifted.
Byers shifted his weight awkwardly, but Bambleby seemed unfazed.
“Oh no!”his face twisted into a visage of faux shock. The way his expression shifted was unnatural. “I hear scholars do value their quiet. I fear I might have stirred the dust on your tomes with my racket, do forgive me.”
His impossibly dark eyes flashed with mischief, and his mockery was not lost upon me. Despite myself, I felt annoyance creep up.
Before I knew it, I had already replied:“ I was under the impression that this was a place for study. Perhaps you could take your guest elsewear rather than holding court directly in front of my office and bothering the entire hallway.”
I am aware that this was likely a misstep, for the smile he gave me made a shiver run down my spine.
I my imposition on their conversation had soured the mood. I did not turn to look at Byers, who was no doubt shocked by my rather blunt reply. I no longer felt comfortable, the look he was giving me sapped any security I had so far felt in these offices. Hiding my growing terror I promptly fumbled a less than convincing excuse, turned my heels, and returned to my office. After closing the door, I leaned my back against it.
“I’m afraid some scholars take themselves too seriously, ” I could hear Byers say through the door.
Bambleby replied with some remark about him having to get accustomed to that with his new position, but I was not fully listening. My mind was racing;
I could not believe that a dryadologist as experienced as Byers could not see the obvious.
From the way he talked, looked— hell, even that ridiculous name— it was clear that man was not human. I was almost certain of it….almost. Perhaps I’m being too hasty, or perhaps I must gather more evidence.