Page 96 of The Arcane Arts
Rawlins cleared his throat. “Knowing all of it then, everything that you went through…Would you do it again?”
“What do you mean?” Ellsbeth asked.
“Would you…do your thesis on writ magic again? When you could’ve chosen something easier. Less painful. Less lonely.”
As Ellsbeth considered the question, she paused—for a beat longer than Brianna hadeverseen her pause during an interview. But rather than leaning back as most people do when deep in thought, Ellsbeth leanedforward,coming a few inches closer to Rawlins, as she contemplated her answer.
“Yes,” Ellsbeth said at last, looking directly into Rawlins’s eyes. “I would have done it a hundred times.”
Rawlins replied under his breath—too quietly for the microphone to pick up, but Brianna was watching with such rapt attention that she could make out the words from the shape of his lips: “Me too.”
After the interview was over, Ellsbeth spent an hour signing hardcover copies of her book for audience members who lined up with their names printed neatly on Post-it notes so that she would spell them correctly. Brianna stayed at her side, helping briskly move the queue along.
When they were finished, Ellsbeth flexed her fingers and stood up from the table. “You,” Brianna said, “are officially done promoting your book. Time to celebrate! I know a place nearby where we can get drinks, and Meredith Brauer, from Harvard? She couldn’t come to the event but she wants to come meet you.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m exhausted,” Ellsbeth said. “I think I’ll head back to the hotel.”
“Come on,one drink,” said Brianna. “Meredith mentioned she’s actively looking to fill a new research chair. It’s an incredible position, and there’s real money attached.”
“I just can’t tonight,” Ellsbeth said. “But please, give her my regards. I’d love to meet her another time.”
Ellsbeth slouched her expensive peacoat onto her shoulders and passed through the stage door, heading out to the street, and Brianna sighed. She exited the opposite way, passing through the auditorium to bid good night to the house manager before leaving.
The lobby was an airy space with windows facing three directions, dark now that the audience had left. As Brianna prepared to leave, she paused; through one of the east-facing arched windows, she saw the lanky figure of T. M. Rawlins, his collar pulled up against the night chill. Waiting.
Then Ellsbeth arrived, circling around from the back of the building to meet him. For a moment, Brianna felt mildly offended that Ellsbeth had clearly declined her invitation to instead meet with Rawlins. She could’ve invited him to come, too, if she wanted to see him so badly. But from the way they regarded each other, standing a few feet apart, it was clear that Ellsbeth did not want anyone else around.
Then Rawlins said something, inaudible from the other side of the glass, and Ellsbeth smiled. Brianna had known Ellsbeth for a few months, and traveled with her extensively; during that time, Ellsbeth had been unreservedly praised and applauded every night. Brianna had been with Ellsbeth when she got the call that she had won the Plaschke Prize, which included a two-hundred-thousand-dollar grant. She had watched, quite literally in the front row, as Ellsbeth’s dreams came true. But she had not, in all that time, seen a smile like the one she gave Rawlins. It was a smile Brianna had not imagined her brilliant but emotionally reserved client was capable of. A smile of such naked, unreserved joy that there could be only one possible explanation for it. Rawlins cocked his elbow playfully, and Ellsbeth slipped her arm into his and leaned into him with unmistakable warmth and the two walked off, vanishing together into the night.
