The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,48
eighty odd years there have been several documented happenings.”
“Each occurrence has been recorded by residents and guests alike,” Brice interjected, using the tip of his forefinger to push his ever-sliding glasses back to the bridge of his nose.
The retired professor was nearing his seventies, although he appeared ten years younger. His hair was white and his scalp shown through the nearly military cut. His glasses, Eva mused, gave him a nearly owl like appearance behind the bottle thick lenses. She smiled and ducked her head as the lenses did another slow slide down the large protuberance.
Her thoughts drifted back to Lucien. She stared blankly at the papers she neatly arranged on the table, her pen poised mid-air. She didn’t want to be in Miami, but she didn’t have a choice. The decision had been her boss’s and Eva knew her hands were tied.
“Miss Keegan.” Brice Linton's use of her name caused Eva to leap guiltily, a crimson blush flooding her face. She looked up at him and low titters of laughter filled the conference room.
“If you're caught daydreaming, he’ll banish you to a corner with a dunce cap,” Ethan accused beneath his breath.
“Nah, he can't exact corporal punishment anymore. That's why the old duck retired.” Gilbert Copeland giggled.
“No corporal punishment allowed in school, you fool.” Ethan snarled playfully, tossing a wadded up scrap of paper at his cohort. “Why do you think the boss hired him?”
“Dunno,” Gilbert whispered out the side of his mouth. “Maybe he hired him for the brains, since we ain’t got much.”
“Hell, no, and speak for yourself!” Ethan rolled his eyes. He shoved a well-placed elbow into his Gil’s side, smiling widely as the other man issued a decided oomph. “He hired the professor to beat us when we get out of line, stupid.”
….save me from fools
“I'm so sorry, Brice.” Eva stuttered. All eyes were on her, and the retired professor gave her an understanding nod.
“They make me feel like I was back in school.” Brice granted her a lop-sided grin, his grandfatherly features warm.
“Ditto,” Eva squeaked, placing her pen aside. She looked around the room at the curious faces.
“I didn't mean to expound on the house, in itself.” Brice continued his lips quirking into a self-conscious smile. “I’ve a tendency to go on and on.”
“No,” Eva repeated the denial a few times. “I enjoyed the background information.”
“Brice has that effect on all of us, dear.” The woman at the professor’s side chuckled sympathetically, her tones as soft and warbling as a bird. Deborah sat across from her at the table, her petite and fragile features filled with mild amusement, the palms of her hands resting on the cool veneer of the tabletop. “The first few weeks after we had begun NADGEL, when Brice would update us of each new assignment, a few of us would either wander off in our minds….”
“Or nod off.” The Russian's deep tones were oddly fluent when he interrupted. Eva discovered the heaviness of Nikolai's accent was affected for the benefit of the television program, his English tinged with a distinctly Jersey infliction. “Sorry, man, but it’s the God-given truth. There are times I wonder how you kept the attention of a class at the damned university.”
Accustomed to the good-natured ribbing, Brice squinted myopically and took it all in stride, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses.
“I had the same reaction for nearly twenty-five years.” He cheeks flushed with the admission, placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “You know, the best student I taught wasn't enrolled at the college.”
He strained to see the silent figure at the far end of the room, his separation appearing deliberate. Lucien smiled benignly and inclined his head at the off-handed compliment.
“Ah, all hail our venerated commander-in-chief, Luke.” Gil rose from his seat. He executed a deep waisted bow at his employer. “Mr. Angeles, you're a savior to us all.”
“I'm far from being anyone's saving grace.” He supplied in a monotone. Only Eva was capable of reading more into the words he uttered.
Lucien knew the reporter had been her dogged self, perusing the website of the North American Department of Ghostly Experience League. What she hadn’t discovered about his team members, she found by calling in various favors.
Ethan Benecorte and Gilbert Copeland had been teens on the verge of possible long-term jail time. The duo, currently leveling well-placed jabs at each other, had unimaginable abilities with computer equipment and legal documents. Their various skills defied logical reasoning, and were undeniable. She had