The Autumn Prince

1. Uncommon Ground

She wrangled my wandering thoughts with an icy stare. "I'm beginning to think I need to revoke your boyfriend status."

"You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I opted into the premium deal when I signed up. You can't cancel it for another six months, at least." One of her friends—Gloria, if I remembered right—giggled.

"I'll be counting the days," Katherine sighed. "Did you need something? We have a study group to get to." Her voice went flat and dry as she said it. She apparently lacked enthusiasm for studying on a Sunday.

"I want to call you Kitty, but I'll settle for you telling me where Stewart Hall is."

She nodded over my left shoulder. "It's right there."

"Where?" I looked around, still missing it, and feeling stupid.

"There, behind you. The little blue one in the middle that looks like an office boutique." She pointed and I followed her finger. When had she started wearing red nail polish?

"New color?" I interrupted. Managing my focus was easier if I allowed the occasional distraction to wander forward rather than constantly fight them. Katherine was an expert at tracking my thoughts and steering them back on track.

"It's Rachel's, I ran out of pink. Why do you need to go to Stewart? It's been closed since last year."

"I have a meeting out front in just a few minutes."

"A rendezvous? Should I be jealous?"

"I'll let you know when the meeting's over. Are you sure that's part of the campus?" It was small compared to the other buildings, a narrow, three-story edifice almost hidden from where we stood. She nodded and a strand of hair fell in front of her face. She blew at it, then brushed it back over her ear.

"The bookstore used to be in there, but it was moved when the new admin building went up a couple years ago. I heard they're planning to tear it down."

"Not in the next ten minutes, I hope. Thanks, Katherine. Don't be late for your group."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. I knew she was forcing herself to go, likely to help the others prepare for an upcoming exam. She was still an undergrad, but she was in her last year and one of the top psychology students at BAU—possibly one of the top students period.

I stopped myself as I turned to leave. "Wait! Are you free tonight?" I asked, perhaps too hopefully.

"Depends on who's asking."

"I don't have any tests for another two weeks, so I can take back a little study time. I thought you might like to catch up on some T.V."

"You? Free time?"

"It happens occasionally."

"That sounds really good but I'll have to think about it, not all of us can just coast through school. You could help, you know." She wasn't really asking, because she already knew my answer.

"You're still building profiles on medieval writers? Hard pass."

"Come on, Thomas, you're a freaking brain surgeon!" she complained, "This stupid psych junk should be easy for you!" My master's was actually in pharmacology with emphases on neurology and psychopharmacology, but 'brain surgeon' was easier to slip into conversation.

"Sorry, Kath, I think you're on your own, but give me a call if you suspect any of them were taking methamphetamines."

She sighed dramatically. "I think they all were. I thought you were in a hurry."