A Thief In The Night

The Moldy Professor Routine

Bill

The nights I spend in my office grading papers were not something I relished. Nights at home weren't any more interesting either. There was only so much Netflix and ice cream one could indulge in before a demon looked more like Golgotha.

My current persona was a six-foot male, with light tan skin that held undertones similar to Oklahoma clay dirt, black hair, full beard, and hazel eyes. I'd taken on the visage some years ago to gain employment. Currently I was employed as a history professor at Texas University. As some say, a devil can come in many forms.

A friend and colleague of mine, Professor Shelby, set me up with a speed-dating thing, and I groaned the minute she darkened my office doorway to remind me again.

"Tennesson, you're going with me to Hielo and that's final. You need to break out of your routine, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until you have talked to at least five people and had one drink. You and Nathan broke up almost a year ago. Time to get out of the stacks and back into circulation, Bill."

"Shelby, your concern for my welfare is charming, however..."

"No, 'however,' Bill. I've watched you mold away in this office for over a year now. As a fellow History professor, I consider it my duty, nay my mission, to make sure you don't become part of the furniture. Now, grab your coat, and let's go," Shelby said.

Regina Shelby's a little bit more than a History professor. She's a Watcher. She literally recorded history as it happened. Watchers have territories, and her specialty was Texas. Watchers are a kind of witch with a living memory of the places around them. It made her perfect for the job. It also meant that she knew what I was when no one else did.

I followed her six-foot-two frame of curves, long brown hair, brown eyes, and dusky rose gold skin out of my office and down the hall to catch a cab to the club on Sixth street where the event would take place.

For the umpteenth time, I wished Shelby liked men too. Though, even if she did, we were probably better off as friends, and I had very few of those that actually knew what I was and didn't look at me like I was going to steal their soul.

I don't steal souls; I give people the desire to steal. Temptation demon. Commandment demon, whatever you want to call me. I'm a patron demon of thieves, so to speak. I'm not worshiped, but whenever you take office supplies, you're thinking of me. I appreciate it. It's what keeps me going.

When we arrived at the club, Shelby set us up with name tags, and we found our perspective spaces based on orientation. I planned to find someone interesting enough to leave with even if it was only to chat outside of the club to explain my predicament and gain help with fooling my well-meaning friend. Hopefully, the ruse would help Shelby to lay off of her "moldy professor" rant.

I stood at a table in the omni-demi-bi-pan section of the dating sphere, while Shelby went for the women's only section. She was married, but the speed dates had no stipulations. Besides, she saw it as a chance to make friends. I saw it as her chance to hound me into this somewhat ridiculous idea.

On a personal note, I was glad I didn't have to sit then stand every five minutes to move to the next table. Walking around was definitely better, and if you wanted out, you walked away. It was considerate of preferences as well. I preferred just about anything I found handsome, charming, beautiful, and/or intelligent. Whatever an individual had for genitals really didn't matter much.

I was bored and ready to give up until my fifth "date" crossed my path. Her eyes were black ink, and so was her wavy long hair. It was pinned back in a tasteful mess that begged to be undone and played with. She was likely in her late twenties or early thirties and reminded me of some of my older students that always looked hungry for knowledge instead of hungover. Of course, I was way older than I looked, but that was beside the point.

She was ash pale with blue undertones in her skin, and for a minute, I thought she might be a vampire. Except when I shook her hand, there was an obvious pulse. As I held it for a bit longer, her soul sang to mine.

She was a thief. She instantly drew me in by that alone. I wanted more than anything to talk with her in a more private place and hear about her exploits, the items she took, what she found fascinating about theft.

"Hi, I'm Bill."

"Hi, Bill. I'm Jennifer."

No, you're not, I thought, amused at the fake name. There was no way her name was Jennifer. If it was, I'd bite my tongue. I could have read her mind to confirm it, but where was the fun in that?

In our quick conversation, I learned that she wasn't a student, thankfully. She worked with imports and exports of textiles and general goods. Right. I was too busy staring into her dark jewels for eyes before I realized that she had asked me what I did for a living.

"I'm a history professor."

"Oh? That sounds interesting."

"It's not. It's old and dusty. Very dry stuff. Practically falling apart at the seams."

She laughed. It had a rich, sultry tone to it that I definitely wanted to hear again. The bell rang for us to switch to our next "dates." She and I looked at each other. She offered her hand again and I took it. At that, we walked off the floor together. I pulled out my phone and texted Shelby one word. 'Jackpot'.

'Jennifer' and I went for a short walk to find a vehicle rental area. We made small talk, and then ended up at my very professor-like, sparse apartment with books everywhere, and notes on the walls.

"I like your place. The layout is nice. I imagine the light would be spectacular in the morning from the bedroom," Jennifer-not-Jennifer said.

"Oh, it's adequate," I mused.

"Care to show me?"

"Care to tell me your real name?"

I hadn't expected her to want to jump straight to the bedroom. I wanted to pick her brain, not necessarily her body, but I was willing if only as a reason to spend more time with her.

She paused in her saunter toward me when she realized I was somewhat calling her bluff. The polite smile grew to a grin. "You're clever, professor. It's Izabella."

I reached for her hand and kissed it. "Welcome to my home, Izabella." I held her hand as I led her to my bedroom. I was going to need to send Shelby a very large thank you come tomorrow.