Blink of an Eye by Ted Dekker Page B

reason for the faculty to claim it, Seth thought. Tonight they had come out in droves, paying homage to last year’s recipient of the same award, Dr. Galvastan from Harvard, and the popular caterer. If Seth had not come he might not have been missed. Black gowns and jackets filled the hall, and Seth had decided to conform. He passed on a tuxedo, choosing instead a tailored black suit, and combed his hair back. On a night such as this, it felt good to blend in a little.
    Problem was, as soon as any of the faculty recognized him, they seemed compelled to say something. Anything, no matter how inane.
    â€œSeth! There you are. Lovely to see you.” Grin. “Here’s the official schedule for this evening.”
    â€œWell done, Mr. Border. You’ve made Berkeley proud.”
    â€œCongratulations, young man. We’re so proud of you.”
    â€œYou’ll make a good professor yet. Good job, man.”
    These were invariably followed by a look at his attire and a pointed smile that betrayed self-righteous satisfaction. About time, boy . It took him fifteen minutes to work his way past enough of them to find breathing space in the Great Hall.
    He paused at the entrance to the Kerr Dining Room, poked his head in, and scanned the hall. Round tables covered in white linens dotted the floor, each one candlelit and set with antique silverware. The room simmered with a gentle hubbub, two hundred heads of hot air expanding the significance of their small worlds. It was a wonder there was any oxygen left in the place.
    Seth slipped in through the side entrance and headed for the long table set up at one end for the guest of honor and other notables.
    â€œSeth.”
    He turned to the low voice. It was Dr. Harland, holding a drink.
    â€œGlad you could make it,” Harland said with a twinkle in his eyes.
    â€œEvening, Professor.”
    â€œThey’ve come in force for you, haven’t they? You okay?”
    â€œNever better,” Seth said.
    A faculty member he didn’t recognize walked by, stuck out her hand, and offered her congratulations. Seth took the hand and nodded.
    Harland took a sip from his glass. “I see you dressed the part.”
    â€œI’m here to play ball, right?”
    Someone slid behind him, and he turned to see a woman with hair going every which way but down. Professor of Middle Eastern Studies Hillary Brackenshire. He knew her because of his interest in the region and the single class he’d suffered through under her instruction. She turned to see whom she’d brushed, and her face reddened.
    â€œSeth! Congratulations. You must be very proud!”
    â€œHello, Dr. Brackenshire. Thank you.”
    She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then thought better of it and just smiled. It wasn’t until she turned to leave that Seth saw the young woman standing several feet to her right. Her round, haunting eyes peered into his for a moment, and then she turned with Hillary and walked away. She wore a white dress fitted to her slender frame. Her hair hung below her shoulders, jet black and shiny. Arabic, if he were to guess. Middle Eastern at least.
    â€œI haven’t seen her before,” Harland said, following Seth’s gaze.
    â€œI haven’t seen half these people before.”
    Harland nodded and sipped his drink. “Please tell me you’ve given some thought to our little discussion.”
    â€œYou know me, Professor. I always give whatever you say a little thought. In this case, much thought.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd”—he nodded at a passing professor—“I think you’re right. I should finish my formal education.”
    â€œThey’ve brought the big guns in tonight; tread carefully.”
    Seth had thought about telling Marisa to can the dance—had actually picked up the phone an hour ago to put an end to it.
    But he hadn’t.
    â€œRemember the pigeon that hit your office window?”