No doubt, it had been like that during our two-week summer break too, but between the hordes of ghosts swarming me at every opportunity and my still-unexplained three-day talk with Sally Cemetery, I hadn’t been in the frame of mind to notice. Now, a part of me almost missed the bustle. Having only one roommate was something I was still getting used to. An entire dorm building to myself was a long fucking way from comfortable.
A single sliver of sun was poking above the western woods as I walked the empty paths between equally empty buildings to Amos’ house. In honor of the occasion, I’d pulled out the fancy, not-so-new suit Jeremiah had given me. The legs were a little short, and the sleeves a little long, but the black went well enough with my too-pale skin, and after a shower and quick shave, I felt mostly presentable.
Not sure who I was trying to impress. Amos didn’t have a daughter that I knew of… and if he did, she’d be over a hundred. Even her hypothetical daughters would be too damn old. Mostly, I think I was just enjoying wearing something other than Academy sweats for once.
Amos’ home was a little cottage on the southeast side of campus, tucked behind the regular students’ dorms, and surrounded by apple trees and a white wooden fence that was at least as old as I was. Warm light poured out through the two windows that flanked the front door, and the door itself was partially open. I smelled real turkey—free of that oily, slightly artificial odor that synth-meat never quite managed to hide—and something that my nose enthusiastically identified as pie.
“I can hear your stomach growling all the way from the door, Banach. Don’t just stand there like some sort of Salt Lake missionary; come on in and lend a hand.”
I followed Amos’ voice into the cottage. The crusty old professor was in his kitchen, a blue and white striped apron over his own slightly worn suit. He picked up a bowl of steaming vegetables and nodded to the stove where a platter of freshly sliced turkey had been set aside. “Grab the bird, if you please. Getting it out of the oven almost did me in.”
“You could’ve just waited for me.”
“And let it burn? For all I knew, you’d fallen asleep on your way over. Or is it just my voice that has that effect on you?” He put the vegetables down on a dining table in the other room, and came back, gesturing imperiously. “Come on, young man! That turkey’s not going to move itself.”
I picked the wooden platter up with a grunt. There had to be twenty pounds of meat. “How many people did you invite tonight anyway?”
“Invite? Half a dozen… but they all had other plans, as usual. It’ll just be us.”
I looked from the large turkey in my hands to the smaller—if equally appetizing—ham on the counter, next to two pies and a basket of fresh rolls. “Amos, how the hell are we going to eat all of this?”
“One fork at a time. Or two forks at a time, if you’ve got the dexterity for it.” He gingerly shook the gnarled fingers of his left hand. “When I was your age, I’d have looked at a meal like this and asked where the rest was!”
“I’m not sure you were ever my age.” I carried the turkey out to the table. A plain white tablecloth sat beneath the dishes the old professor had already carried out, and two candles brightened the small room.
“One-hundred-fifty years old and I still can’t get no respect. Eat your heart out, Dangerfield.”
“Who?”
“Just another guy who died before you were born,” he muttered, placing the rolls on the table, and heading back to the kitchen. “Water or beer?”
I opted for water.
I know; I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking either.
•—•—•
I don’t know how people ate before the Break, but either Amos had been lying or they’d all been as big as King Rex. Two heaping plates of food later, we’d barely managed to make a dent.
I eyed the piles of sliced turkey still on the platter. “I think there’s more now than when we started.”
“It’s possible I overdid it,” he admitted. “But you know what that means? Leftovers all the way to Remembrance Day.”
“It was too much, but it was good.” I looked the old man in his slightly rheumy eyes. “Thanks for going through all the trouble.”
“My pleasure. It gets a little spooky around here during the break. Figured you might appreciate the company as much as me.”
“How’d you even know I would be around?” I shook my head and answered my own question. “Bard.”
“I’ve been a professor almost a century, Banach, and there’s one thing that’s never changed during that time.”
“What’s that?”
“Nobody gossips like teachers. Like it or not, you’re a topic of conversation around these parts.”
“Fantastic.” I eyed the apple pie, and debated having another slice. “Glad to hear I’m keeping everyone entertained.”
“Make no mistake; if it were just about entertainment, there’s plenty to be had from all you first-years. That Mikkazi boy, for instance… Anyway, you’ve got your detractors, sure enough, but a fair number of us are pulling for you.” He made a face. “Now, if you go crazy and start raising Walkers to attack the campus… that’ll change things a bit.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that… the raising Walkers part, anyway.”
“So I’ve heard. Sorry to hear your power’s a bust.” His eyes were almost kind. “So are you still moping about it, or have you started thinking about what’s next?”
“What do you mean?”
“See, moping is when you get bad news and, instead of doing something about it, you sulk like a—”
“I know what moping is,” I interrupted.
“Oh. Well… good. I swear, feels like half the words I use fell out of the vernacular decades ago, only nobody ever bothered to tell me.” He frowned, and
