Grey Matters by Clea Simon Page A

novel’s anonymous parentage? Were there any regional phrasings or odd colloquial bits? What about the landscape? Despite the gaudy cover illustration, there were no real mountain peaks in Umbria, no castles secluded on crags. Could they be a clue that perhaps the author had lived in a wilder area? Dulcie put down the book and looked over at the kitten.
    ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it? The author was probably sitting in London the entire time.’ The kitten only blinked and then, suddenly, took off. Dulcie heard a thud and wondered what the feisty little creature had knocked over this time. When no howling followed, she dismissed it. This cat was crazy, and she had work to do.
    A half-hour later, no further crashes had interrupted her and Dulcie had been able to trace the phrase that had popped up in her dream. Although in her sleep, she had placed the ‘emeralds’ in her late cat’s eyes, the word popped up in an entirely different context. Opening the second remnant of The Ravages , it seemed to follow a visitation by a spirit, one of the many ghosts that haunted Hermetria’s ancient home. This one may or may not have been friendly, but Hermetria had faced it down with her usual aplomb:
    Such visitations taxed her not overmuch, drawing as she did upon an inner strength as cool as emeralds, as supple as the sword drawn from its sheath . . .
    No wonder she’d missed it. It was an unusual phrasing: strength was usually described, even then, in terms of metals or of stone, not precious gems. Dulcie made a note of it and started leafing back, looking for other recurrences. The phrase had surfaced in her dream for a reason, and Dulcie wanted to believe that it was more than simply the way it evoked Mr Grey’s eyes. But another hour passed with no further discoveries. The fragments weren’t that big, and at times like this the magnitude of what had been lost was disheartening.
    And so when Chris called to suggest again that she abandon her studies and come join him in the subterranean computer lab, she was tempted. He’d be on duty for several hours yet – as the semester drew to a close, the undergrads grew increasingly desperate – but there were no rules against a quiet visit. Or against the visitor bringing pizza.
    Which was why Dulcie found herself buttoning her coat and detaching the kitten from her scarf – ‘Sorry, baby, I’m going to need this’ – and heading out into the frosty November night.
    ‘My heroine!’ Chris looked up from his terminal with unfeigned happiness. All around him, bleary-eyes looked up and blinked.
    ‘It’s only pepperoni.’ Dulcie blushed. ‘And it’s probably gotten cold.’ But she let herself be properly hugged and kissed before Chris opened the box and started separating the slices. Despite the chill outside, the pizza had retained enough of its warmth to be appetizing, and the company was warmer still. Until, that is, Dulcie started telling Chris about her latest fears.
    ‘I mean, Lucy’s pretty nutty. I’ve told you about her “psychic” dreams, right?’
    Chris nodded and grunted something, his mouth full of cheese.
    ‘But I’ve got to wonder. I mean, could it be a coincidence that right now, I’m looking into the provenance of The Ravages ?’ Dulcie was trying not to take a third slice and kept on talking. ‘And, you know, when Mr Grey came to me again, in Professor Bullock’s home—’
    ‘Mr Grey?’ Chris swallowed hard. ‘You heard Mr Grey’s voice again?’ He knew about her spectral pet. And although she couldn’t tell if he completely believed her, he had always been supportive. And so Dulcie continued.
    ‘I didn’t hear him, not exactly. But I felt him brush against me.’ She closed her eyes to better recall the soft touch of fur. ‘He didn’t head-butt me like the new kitten does – and he certainly doesn’t take off like a crazed thing and wreck the place. But sometimes, when he’d walk by, he’d just brush his tail against my shin.