Academic Magic Read online

  Academic Magic

  Academic Magic Book 1

  Becky R. Jones

  Copyright © 2020 Rebecca R. Jones writing as Becky R. Jones

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  To Mike

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter One

  The squirrels were gathered in a circle at the edge of the quad. All they need is a conference table. I wonder how many meetings they had today. Zoe sighed. Wait. What was going on? The squirrels sat in a circle, and they weren’t scattering as she approached.

  “Okay, so this was a more stressful week than I gave it credit for,” she said out loud. Five meetings in two days was a plague even if today (the day of three meetings) was a nice day for wandering around campus.

  The semester was only a couple of weeks old and already each week was filled with multiple committee meetings each billed as THE most important thing this semester, along with teaching, and its associated preparation and grading. The most annoying thing about so many committee meetings, was that they cut into time that was far better spent on her new research project.

  Continuing toward her office, Zoe organized the weekend ahead. Finish the grading sitting on her desk and then spend at least a few hours on her new research project. Tenure demanded she make some progress with her research. Achieving tenure was simultaneously the bête noire and overarching goal of every new faculty member. The combination of requirements between teaching, committee work or “service”, and publishing enough research articles meant that personal lives were mostly put on hold for six years or more. Summerfield College was not a “publish or perish” type of place, but as an untenured professor she was expected to have a steady stream of publications. Sure. No problem. A friend had once defined it as writing term papers for a living when she described what she did in a typical week.

  Her thoughts shifted away from the stress-inducing contemplation of tenure requirements and toward the far more enjoyable contemplation of her planned trip to Britain and Ireland to collect local fairy tales. She knew her mother would have more to say about that trip. Almost since the beginning of grad school, Zoe’s mother had raised strenuous objections to her choice of research area. It constantly puzzled Zoe, even while she almost equally strenuously deflected her mother’s arguments and suggestions for different research interests. Her daydreaming was rudely interrupted by the reality of the squirrels on the quad. They still hadn’t moved. How weird is that? What the hell?? Is that one WAVING at me? Crap. I must be hallucinating.

  “Nah. Squirrels don’t wave at humans. I’m imagining things,” she muttered, shaking her head and resolutely ignoring the circle of squirrels. She sped up a bit as she walked the final few feet into the building entrance. Once back in her second-floor office, Zoe dismissed thoughts of waving squirrels, packed up her laptop and assorted student essays and headed home.

  A couple days after the squirrel sighting (successfully shoved out of her mind), Zoe sat in her office avoiding grading once again. Mindlessly staring out her window at the quad, she jumped. The squirrels were once again gathered under the same tree. Sitting. In. A. Circle.

  What the hell? This is really weird. I must be SUPER stressed!

  The squirrels looked up at her window. “God help me. That one’s waving at me,” she said out loud.

  Shaking her head, Zoe determinedly turned away from the window and back to her stack of grading. If she finished these in the next hour, she could go home and forget about squirrels having meetings and waving at her. Again. Animals acting like humans existed in the fairy tales and mythology she studied. Not in real life. She was just about to give up on the grading when her phone rang. Glancing at the screen she saw her mother’s number. How the hell did she always manage to call at just the right (or perhaps wrong) time? Zoe sighed. The last thing she wanted to do right now was argue with her mother. She tapped the answer icon.

  “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “Hi, sweetie. I was just thinking about you and wanted to hear your voice.”

  Yeah, sure. What really prompted this call? “Aw, thanks, Mom. I’m good. What are you up to?”

  “Oh, not much. I was just watching a documentary about British history and was reminded of you. Are you still planning on taking that trip this summer?” Ah ha! I knew it! How the hell did she know I was just thinking about that?

  “Yes, I am, Mom. You know that. I haven’t changed my mind. I need to go so I can get primary source information for my research. I’ve already explained this to you about a million times.” Sometimes Zoe felt like she was thirteen-years old again and arguing with her mother about what she was and was not allowed to do. Sheesh. Will she ever let me grow up?

  “I know, I know. But…are you sure? I just think it sounds risky. I mean…fairy tales…”

  “Mom. How is collecting fairy tales risky? You always say that, but you never explain it. What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. I am just worrying in advance about you traveling alone in a strange country. And, as for fairy tales…well…sometimes there’s a grain of truth at the bottom of them…” her voice trailed off.

  “Mom, I appreciate that you worry about me. I love you, too. But, even if there’s a grain of truth at the bottom of a fairy tale, whoever did it is long dead by now. I’ll be fine. But I have to get back to my grading now. I want to get through this pile so I don’t have to bring it home with me.”

  “Okay. I love you. Just please be careful when you hunt down fairy tales. Promise me?”

  “Yes, Mom. I promise. I love you. I’ll call you this weekend. Bye.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  Hanging up, Zoe returned to the question that she had never directly asked her mother. What was it about fairy tales that so bothered her? She glanced out at the quad again. But…the squirrels had been sitting in a circle. She had seen it. Twice now. What is going on? Does mom know something? Nah. That was just coincidence. She pushed the thought out of her head and turned back to her stack of essays.

  A couple of hours later, having finally finished the grading by dint of refusing to even glance out of the window, Zoe began packing up so she could go home. Staring into her overstuffed bag, she grimaced. This amount of work would keep her so busy talking squirrels would become a figment of her imagination. She closed the bag, slung it and her purse over her shoulder, pulled her black ponytail out from under the straps, and headed out the door. A small woman, just over five feet tall if she stood up very straight, toting around this much stuff made Zoe feel like an overloaded pack mule.

  She left her building and headed across campus to find Mark Davis. They had become friends two years ago when they met as newly hired faculty surviving the crucible that was new-faculty orientation together. Mark, an assistant professor of political science and his husband David, had become something of a calm harbor for Zoe. The three of them frequently had dinner together and spent weekend time together and Zoe valued that tim
e. She and Mark were able to talk shop and gossip without the danger of anybody overhearing them, and David added the appropriate sympathetic and outraged noises. David, as the non-academic of the three, also played a crucial role in reminding the other two that the world did not really revolve around the politics and events at Summerfield, no matter how earth-shattering those events might appear on campus. Waving squirrels, research stress, and a call from her mother demanded a short chat with a friendly face to clear her head.

  She walked across campus savoring the late afternoon glow of an early autumn day. The trapezoid layout of campus offered multiple paths through the main quad depending on how quickly or slowly one wanted to proceed. Zoe’s stress levels pushed her toward the longer path. Her building, Cooper Hall, was in the northeast corner and Davis Hall, Mark’s building, was in the southwest corner beyond Shelby Hall, the main administration building. The running joke between Mark and Zoe was that Summerfield had no choice in hiring Mark, since he had already donated a building. Reaching an intersection of two pathways around the quad she made a face. One path passed in front of the administration building while the other detoured the long way around Shelby and passed in front of the library. Lately, passing near Shelby made her feel even more stressed. It’s a nice day. I’ll take the long way.

  “Hey, Zo. What’s up? You look a little tense.” Mark peered up from his own stack of grading at her knock on his doorframe.

  “I’ve been in too many meetings, I think,” Zoe replied. “I saw the squirrels having a meeting on the quad.”

  Mark laughed. “Yeah, that would make me feel a bit tense as well!”

  “There’s just so much going on these days, it makes me wonder if reality has shifted,” Zoe grimaced.

  “Well, I just overheard one of the department secretaries saying that with all the new hires and promotions that perhaps the president is creating a coven. That might be why you feel like that.” Mark laughed again.

  She made a face at him. “I like the number of women in positions of power now. But I’ll grant that that is not out of the realm of the possible.”

  Mark grinned. “You’re the expert when it comes to magic and witchcraft. But, remember, just because it’s a medieval belief does not mean it was wrong…” They’d argued about things like this before, usually over beers and David’s delicious dinners. Mark and David always took the side of “just because you haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean magic doesn’t function in the world,” while Zoe argued that there were perfectly reasonable explanations for things that had been labeled as magic. She figured they did it just to push her buttons. But still, she had to defend her research area. Too many beers and she started giving them actual citations.

  Zoe snorted. “Yeah, based on today’s announcement I’m going with President Ammon is starting a coven and Melanie as the provost, is next in command. They’re gonna sacrifice the low GPA students and keep class sizes small.”

  “I think you may be on to something!” Mark laughed.

  Zoe shook her head, smiling. “Seriously though. What do you think of Melanie Porter going from interim provost to the permanent position?”

  Mark shrugged. “I dunno. I know the president likes her a lot. And, it’s easy to promote someone internally. No job search and all of that.”

  “I know. That’s what I was thinking and I’m not sure I like that idea. Melanie seems a bit…power hungry.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “You know, I had that same thought. She sometimes strikes me as a bit obsessive.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t seem like a good quality for a provost.” Zoe grimaced, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug. “I don’t know. I’m going home and having a glass of wine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Enjoy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mark turned back to his grading and Zoe headed out of Mark’s office.

  Driving home, Zoe’s thoughts jumped between Mark’s comments, the squirrels, and the president’s senior staff. She shook her head. The stress was clearly affecting her already. Unusual for this early in the semester, but not unheard of.

  Summerfield College was in one of Philadelphia’s inner ring suburbs and Zoe had taken advantage of the location and moved into one of the older neighborhoods in the city. There was a lot more going on, and it gave her a reverse commute as well. A short drive and a long search for parking later, she finally climbed the steps to her porch and walked in her front door. Pausing just over the threshold she drew a deep breath, exhaled and allowed the house to work its own kind of magic on her. Maybe it had been optimistic to buy a house before getting tenure, but she didn’t care. This was her home. She loved it and liked to think it loved her.

  Something hard knocked against her leg breaking into her mini-reverie. She looked down and smiled.

  “Hi guys. Yes, I’m home,” she said to the two cats rubbing her shins.

  Dropping her bags just inside the front door and kicking off her shoes, she wandered from the living room through the dining room and into the kitchen at the back of the house. The cats purred loudly and entwined themselves around her ankles creating a furry tripping hazard. Grabbing the wine bottle from the counter and a glass from the cupboard, she poured herself the promised drink. The head-butting at her shins grew more insistent.

  “In a minute, guys. I really need at least a sip of wine.” The cats continued their rubbing and head-butting. She pulled open the refrigerator door. Was there anything in here that could pass for dinner? Ooh. Leftovers. That works. A determined shove against the back of her leg reminded her there were starving animals in the house. Better go find the cat food.

  The meows increased in frequency and volume. “I swear, sometimes it sounds like you guys can actually talk!” Zoe laughed, and pulled out the promised food.

  Having postponed imminent feline death by starvation one more time, she grabbed the wine glass and her own food, and padded into the living room. Sighing, she sank down onto the loveseat in the front window.

  Mark’s last comment echoed in her head. “Just because it’s a medieval belief does not mean it was wrong…” When she placed that comment next to the one about a coven something at the back of her brain sat up and took notice. Covens were only something that Wiccans did, and they were harmless. Why did Mark keep hammering at the idea that magic might just be possible? She grimaced and dug into her warmed-up leftovers. At times being trained as an historian and a researcher was a pain in the neck; she could formulate a million questions in the blink of an eye. Answers were an entirely different matter. Food would help slow that down. She focused her efforts there.

  She wasted as much time as possible cleaning up and washing dishes. There was no avoiding it now, the rest of the evening would be spent grading bad freshman essays. But she couldn’t celebrate finishing them if she never started. Grabbing her bag, she pulled out the dreaded essays. At least something would be accomplished tonight.

  Chapter Two

  The next day Zoe drove to campus through bright light of a brilliant fall morning. Buoyed by a surprisingly good night’s sleep, the concerns of the previous day had mostly disappeared. She convinced herself that Mark was just messing with her as he often did during their dinner conversations. Of course, witches and magic were artifacts of a less enlightened, less educated age. Superstition and illiteracy were a bad combination. She had tried using this argument on her mother to no avail. Well, at least Mom’s not a journal editor or reviewer.

  All her hard work at reaching comforting conclusions was shattered as soon as she approached the main door of her building. Two squirrels were sitting at the edge of the quad, just left of the main door into Cooper Hall. Oh, geez.

  They’re baa-ack. Now what?

  One of them raised a paw (hand?) and made a beckoning gesture. Zoe scanned the quad. There was nobody else in sight. Still scanning the quad, she moved over to the two squirrels.

  Feeling rather foolish, she looked down at the larger squirrel. Was he the leader? Did squirrels have lea
ders? What was going on?

  “Um. Hi. Did you need me?” she asked, not knowing what she expected in response.

  “Yes, Dr. O’Brien. We need to speak with you,” the squirrel answered.

  Oh. My. God. Oh, crap. Double crap. A squirrel just spoke to her. Squirrels absolutely, positively DO NOT talk.

  “Um.” Her brain stuttered. Now I know how a deer in the headlights feels. Crap.

  The squirrel nodded briskly. “Excellent. We will meet you in your office.”

  “Ummm…okay.” What else could she say? The morning was not going as planned. God forbid, any students or, even worse, a colleague saw her talking with squirrels. That would be a tenure-killer for sure. Tenure was awarded to people in the expectation that they would make great long-term colleagues. Nobody wanted to spend two or more decades in the office next to the crazy woman who talked to squirrels. Scanning the quad one last time, Zoe turned into the building. The squirrels scrambled up a nearby tree.

  She made it up to her office, passing an empty (thank God) second-floor lounge. The squirrels must be climbing up the building. She closed the door, dropped her bags and peered out the window overlooking the quad. Nothing yet. Cooper was an older building with windows that actually opened. She was lucky. Untenured faculty, sitting as they did at the bottom of the faculty hierarchy, did not often get windows in their offices, never mind windows that opened. She opened the window and spotted the two squirrels on the little roof over the building entry. Once she opened the window, they darted up the roof and jumped onto the sill. Zoe lifted the screen and stepped back, letting the squirrels into her office.

  The squirrels jumped onto her desk, and sat there facing her chair, waiting expectantly. Zoe slowly sat down and stared at them, forcing the back corners of her brain to stop gibbering.

  The squirrel who spoke outside, inclined his head politely.

  “Dr. O’Brien, good morning. We are here to ask for your assistance.” His high-pitched voice conveyed a gravity that dispelled any comparison with Alvin the Chipmunk.