would be possible to kill these creatures, then?" Victoria asked, leaning forward again.
"As much as one is able to, yes," James replied, "although you would need someone highly skilled in such things, especially in your case. This padfoot creature isn't your run-of-the-mill ghost."
Victoria's brow creased in confusion. "Can't you help me?"
"Oh, my word, no," James replied, flustered. He gestured at the mountains of books surrounding them. "As you can see, my interest is primarily scholarly."
"But I thought you said-"
"That I had practical experience in these matters, and so I do." The scholar's face distorted, unable to settle on a look of pride or sheepishness. "First-hand experience, as a matter of fact. While I was in the employ of Lord Alberick Harcourt, I had the opportunity to assist in the vanquishing of a rogue nosferatu, what you might call a king vampire. It was that very encounter that earned me my place at Oxford, if you want to know the truth. The other Occult scholars here felt that having one in their number who had first-hand knowledge of the nosferatu would be invaluable to their studies."
"Could one of them help me, then?"
James took a breath and looked down at the book in his lap. "I'm afraid that is highly unlikely."
"Why?"
The scholar didn't answer for a moment. His fingers toyed with the book's pages. "Frankly, my dear," he finally said, looking up at her, "because you are a woman."
Victoria's cheeks colored. "I don't see what that has to do with it."
James shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes, well, these are traditional sorts of men. Their scholarship is excellent, but their views are very conservative. They were among the opposition when the founding of St. Hugh's College was first proposed, and I daresay they refuse even now to acknowledge it as an institution."
"And because of my sex, they would refuse to assist me?"
"In essence," James said, looking unhappy.
For the second time since she entered the office, Victoria felt tears burning in her eyes. This time, however, they made her want to scream at the man sitting across from her, to take his precious books and throw them into the fireplace, to shatter his ridiculous bottle of cider across his desk. Her revenge was so close, and James Townsend's colleagues could help her realize it, but they wouldn't. Not because she was too young, too stupid, or too poor, but simply because she hadn't been born a man. Her fingers clutched helplessly at the folds of her dress. Was she really to just give up and return to her home, awaiting the day when she would marry some witless buffoon more interested in her estate than in her person? Could she live with herself after that, having failed her parents in the promise made over their bodies?
James was still looking at her.
"I'm sorry," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I appreciate your hospitality and your assistance. That just wasn't the answer I was hoping to hear." James opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. "No, really, it's all right. I will figure out a way to avenge my parents on my own. Your information about spirit mediums will be very useful, I'm sure. There must be someone in this country that isn't opposed to working with a woman."
Standing, she dropped James a perfunctory curtsey and turned to leave. Her hand was on the doorknob when his voice stopped her.
"I may know someone."
She paused, not turning. "Another of your scholars?"
"Quite the opposite, in fact."
Did she hear a hint of laughter in his voice? It was enough to make her turn and look at him. "Who, then?"
Instead of replying, James stood and crossed over to his desk. Refilling his glass from the bottle, he raised a silent toast in the direction of the afternoon sun. The golden liquid disappeared down his throat, and he turned back to her. "Another woman."
THREE
The young girl looked up in confusion. Her mother stood over her, gently shaking her awake. The girl blinked sleep from her eyes. She smiled sleepily, but the hard look on her mother's face did not soften. Her mother's hair fell in black waves over her shoulders, its glossy sheen catching the soft light peeking through the door.
The girl sat up, confused and frightened. Her mother should be smiling. She always smiled in the morning while they were still warm, before they had to go out into the cold. She would always wake the girl with a smile and a piece of corn-meal