The spinning lazy susan came to rest in front of the black goddess in front of me. Beyonce wished that she could sport curls like this woman, I tell what. Greg had spun the lazy susan, to move the muffin to the front of her chair and he waited for something, anything from her. A reaction perhaps?

“Will there be anything else?”

I shook my head, trying to shoo him off.

“And you swear that by eating this, I am not entering into some pact with you? You give me your honest truth, tell me no lies about this,” Isis said.

Greg gasped, turning and full-on sprinting to the back room. He stopped at the counter before shrinking behind the till.

“Ah. That is better. People used to respect me, but now? I can’t get a straight answer,” she paused to drink her entire piping hot mug of coffee, then set it down with a thump, “and I like it when people respect me, at least a little. Casual indifference, I can handle, but these new children?”

Isis watched as he retreated farther, her calm gaze piercing her soul. Immediately she began a slow nonverbal set of incantations that warded the booth by the front window. She wore dark eye makeup around her eyes and had a steampunk hat with goggles. Underneath that she was dressed as if every day was a steampunk Halloween. I suppose that after a few centuries, one could pick their own sub-flavor of eccentricities. Her lips were blue but I was certain that that wasn’t makeup. She was so dark that the coffee I had seemed to pale in comparison.

“It has been a while,” she said, “Since I’ve met another in three separate centuries.”

“It’s strange for me too! I used to think that this would be strange but, well few people know about me, and since I tend to keep to myself,” I said.

“Once you’re immortal, you tend to push things off farther and farther. I keep saying that I need to write a book and…” she eyed the window.

“And you haven’t?”

“Oh I have written several, but they were in Aramaic, and more recently, Kenyan.”

“I don’t mean to disrespect you, but I think that we should start with business first. A man has been soul killed. Tell me about the man who died.”

I didn’t want any pretense that we were here to become friends. If I was going to solve a soul death, I would need to know about the victim.

Isis sighed, looking at the red leather on the booth seating next to her. Her shadow seemed unnaturally dark in comparison with the table's shadow.

“He was a bad man.” A voice said, but it wasn’t hers. Female, but raspy, as though someone had been spending too much time without water.

“He wasn’t a bad man,” Isis said, turning to her right, away from the window. She looked at the seat where her shadow was.

A tilt of my head made her turn her attention back at me.

“Sorry, she’s a handful sometimes. He was our dark arts professor. I understand that some of the students called him our defense against the dark arts teacher, there was some book that gained in popularity a few years ago. The point being, had anyone else in the faculty died under similar situations, he would have been under investigation for it.”

“Simply because he was a teacher of the dark arts?”

Isis nodded.

“It’s not a curse, but well he’s been there for twenty years almost to the day, and he replaced the old professor who died in a very similar way,” her eyes were downcast.

“That’s something that Dean Thomas should have mentioned. Professor…?”

“Professor Reginald Atkins, or Reggie. He was a sweetheart, but too young for my tastes,” Isis had a dreamy look in her eyes.

“It can’t be easy, having everyone you care about grow old and die,” I said.

“No, it’s something difficult. People are born, live, and die with their hands on the wheels of their destiny, but not many of us can see all of these changes, so many things I’ve seen over the years.”

We both shared a moment.

“What else can you tell me about Reggie? Did he have any friends? Rivals?”

“I think that you can quiz the faculty, but it doesn’t seem like he ever ruffled feathers despite his position being what it is. I’m nearly certain that it wasn't any of the faculty, but perhaps they can point us in the right direction.”

The guttural voice coughed.

“Don’t trust the faculty…” the voice said.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Isis glared at the shadow.

“You can absolutely trust the faculty,” Isis said.

“I’m sorry, but do you have a situation here going on with your… shadow?” I asked.

“It’s fine. We have an understanding,” she said.

I was skeptical of whether that was true or but I made a mental note to check my books on shadows that talked back. One of the other reasons that it might be good to get a professorship would be access to a library and other theories. Everything I learned back in Trinidad years ago, well I’d used a lot of it, but the improvements I made, has really made it worthwhile to write my own grimoires, scrolls, and make my own potion recipes. True it was very expensive, but what’s a Lich to do?

“I know that I wasn’t going to sign anything yet but do you want to do a field trip. A field trip to the school, and perhaps the classroom he used?” I said.

“I’ll give you the grand tour,” she said.

Greg looked over the counter, a look of sheer terror as Isis stood up and began walking to the door.

“You’re a student aren’t you?” She said.

“Uh… yes?”

“Have you taken my class yet? Don’t answer that, I already know the answer. I’ll see you when you’re in your third year?” She said.

A low growl from behind her reminded me that I needed to follow her. This time we crossed the street and walked two blocks down to the Sulfide County Adult Learning Annex.

The squat one-story brick building with a large parking lot looked unused and nearly abandoned. We approached it straight down the center pathway, coming to a place with two trees about three paces apart.

“Ah, you have made a gateway, and this connection is through it?”

“More or less. I don’t deal with the upkeep. It’s usually on Dean Thomas to fix everything and coordinate on behalf of the President,” she said, beginning another silent incantation. I could see waves of pure magic wafting off of her as she knocked on a door, finding it ready and willing to open for her.

Behind the portal, an ordinary-looking college campus sprawled out.

“The quatrefoil academy, I presume? And you’re going to give me the grand tour? I’m so lucky,” I said, letting my wry sardonic smile stay on my face.

“Welcome to the best school in the western hemisphere. We’re not that other school, but we have our charm.”

It was fall when we stepped through the portal, but in Quatrefoil, it was a deep summer.

“This is how it is, because of some problems we had in the sixties. The seasons here won't connect back, and it’s always summer. Some of the students stay around over the summer season here during the winter season outside, and we encourage some of them to stay in the house dormitories when they do so. Of course, the faculty themselves have a great setup, which you’re welcome to, however since you’re already a local you probably have a good thing going above the coffee shop,” she said.

Isis led me to a statue of a man in the center of three great brick buildings. The fronts of the buildings showed a brick exterior, but the sides showcased murals of African, Caribbean, and American folklore. I saw one mural of Baba Yaga, and another of a Sangoma woman brewing a potion. Then I saw a painting of Harriet Tubman, one of the more recognizable Americans, and did a double-take.

“I didn’t know that she was a witch,” I said, pointing to the painting of Harriet.

“She wasn’t, but we respect the mundane achievements of our people as well,” Isis said, “Did you know her?”

“We never met, unfortunately, but I heard the stories from the runaway slaves I had met, some of whom she had worked with…” I paused in front of the mural.

“Some women, they make our own achievements seem shallow.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” I said.

I heard a little guttural chuckle, probably coming from her shadow. It was becoming more and more apparent that Isis tuned out her shadow when it was convenient for her.

A lone student sat in the center of the three great buildings, reading some large tome. He was tall, lanky, and looked like he needed to eat. The book was nearly half as tall as he was. He was sitting on a chair next to a three-tiered water fountain. His goatee was the one hair I spied on him, except maybe for his eyebrows.

As we approached, he stood up.

“Professor,” he addressed Isis, nodding in her direction than to me, “Ma’am, I’m Lawrence Peterson and I’ll be helping you out today.”

I nodded back.

“Ada,” I said.

“Follow me,” she said.

The two of us followed her into the building on the right. Affectionately titled the Physical Arts hall, we entered a building that immediately seemed larger on the inside than on the outside.

“Remarkable,” I said, feeling the magic that held the building in place. It didn’t have the feel of old magic, but it did the job suitably well. I would have to take notes for my own projects. More and more I was getting the feeling that they’d picked the area for the school for a reason. Probably the same reason I did.

A quick turn right led us down the hall, and the normal-looking walls went from an American hallway to a medieval dungeon. I smelled potions brewing that I’d recognized but not for years.

“That’s some old country potions, isn’t it,” I asked.

Isis flashed a smile.

“Heh heh,” her shadow said.

We stopped in front of a door.

Isis raised a hand.

“Professor Sangoma wants me to tell you that after the Professor of the Dark arts died, his classroom was sealed off, warded and a guard was placed on it. Because she sent me a message to expect her, I’ve let the guard go so the two of you can go through it,” he said.

I accepted his offer of undoing all of the wards gracefully.

“You didn’t… make him do this, did you?” I asked Isis while the two of us waited for him to finish.

“He is the head provost of the fourth years, and he did volunteer to make the guard roster so, no I didn’t make him do this, but in effect yes.”

“Did you invite him into your apartment?” I asked, leaving the second phrase- and giving him something to eat-unsaid.

“Heavens no, they all learn that trick in the first year,” She replied, adjusting her top hat, “It wouldn’t be sporting of me to do that to a student. However, I perhaps should clean up if you ever deign to pay a visit to my place.”