Let’s meet Dr. Voss

Tom's mind was racing with possibilities. "Professor, I'd like to meet Dr. Voss. Eleanor Voss. You mentioned she's also a... like you."

Dane tilted his head slightly, considering the request. "That can be arranged. Dr. Voss is currently in her office in the Humanities building. We could walk over now, if you wish."

"Yes," Tom said, his hand instinctively touching the skeleton key pendant beneath his shirt. "I'd like that very much."

"Margaret," Dane said, turning to his constructed wife, "I'm afraid I need to assist Mr. Blossom with his research. Would you mind returning home?"

"Of course not, dear," Margaret replied, her voice melodious and accommodating. She leaned forward and placed a perfect kiss on Dane's cheek, leaving a faint red lipstick mark. "Will you be home for dinner? I was thinking of making that salmon you like."

"That sounds lovely. I'll text you when I'm on my way," Dane responded with practiced domesticity.

Tom watched in amazement as Margaret gathered an imaginary purse, waved goodbye, and simply... dissolved. There was no dramatic effect—one moment she was there, and the next she had faded away like morning mist, leaving no trace of her existence.

"That's... disconcerting," Tom muttered, blinking at the empty space where the blonde had stood seconds before.

"Shall we proceed to Dr. Voss's office?" Dane asked, straightening his jacket as if nothing unusual had occurred.

They left Dane's office, walking across the campus quad toward the Humanities building. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns, and students milled about, completely unaware of the extraordinary nature of what was happening. Tom kept glancing at Dane, still struggling to reconcile the professor's ordinary appearance with what he now knew.

"Dr. Voss specializes in Comparative Literature," Dane explained as they walked. "Her focus is on Eastern European folklore and mythology. She's been with the university for eleven years and has published several well-regarded books in her field."

The Humanities building was older than the History department, with narrow hallways and wooden doors bearing small frosted glass windows. They climbed to the third floor, their footsteps echoing on the worn marble stairs.

"Room 312," Dane announced, stopping before a door with "Dr. Eleanor Voss, Ph.D." stenciled in gold lettering. He knocked three times, sharp and precise.

"Come in," called a melodious voice from within.

Dane opened the door, gesturing for Tom to enter first. The office was smaller than Dane's but more elegantly appointed—bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, a Persian rug covering most of the hardwood floor, and a large oak desk positioned before a window overlooking the campus gardens.

Dr. Eleanor Voss rose from behind her desk as they entered. Tom's breath caught in his throat. She was stunning—tall and curvaceous, with chestnut hair pulled back in a loose bun that allowed several tendrils to frame her face. Her white blouse strained slightly against her ample chest, and her pencil skirt accentuated the curve of her hips. She looked to be in her early forties, with laugh lines around her eyes that only enhanced her beauty.

"Joseph," she greeted Dane with a warm smile, "what a pleasant surprise. And you've brought a student?" Her eyes, a striking hazel, settled on Tom with polite curiosity.

"Dr. Voss, this is Thomas Blossom, one of my most promising students," Dane said, closing the door behind them. "He's working on a... special research project."

Dr. Voss extended a manicured hand toward Tom. "Lovely to meet you, Mr. Blossom. Any student Joseph speaks highly of must be exceptional."

Tom shook her hand, noting how warm and soft it felt. "Thank you, Dr. Voss. I've heard great things about your work on Eastern European folklore."

Dr. Voss smiled, revealing yellowing, slightly crooked teeth that contrasted with her otherwise immaculate appearance.

"Please, have a seat," she gestured to a pair of leather armchairs positioned before her desk. "Joseph rarely brings students to meet me. Your research must be quite fascinating."

As Tom settled into the chair, his eyes wandered around the office, taking in the numerous framed photographs adorning her bookshelves and desk. Unlike Dane's sparse decorations, Dr. Voss's office was filled with personal touches—family portraits showing her with what appeared to be a husband, two teenage children, and a woman who resembled her enough to be a sister. In one photo, they stood before the Eiffel Tower; in another, they posed on a beach at sunset. The elaborate fiction of her life was displayed with meticulous attention to detail.

"My family," Dr. Voss said, noticing Tom's gaze. "My husband Richard is an architect, and those are our children, Emma and Michael. That's my sister Sophia in the skiing photo—she lives in Colorado."

Tom nodded, marveling at the complexity of the constructed identity. "They look lovely," he managed, wondering if Dr. Voss could materialize all of them as Dane had done with Margaret.

"Now, about this research project—" Dr. Voss began, but her words died in her throat as Tom shifted in his seat, causing the pendant to slip out from beneath his shirt collar.

Her demeanor changed instantly. The warm, professional smile vanished, replaced by an expression of intense focus. Her eyes locked onto the skeleton key, and her posture stiffened.

"Joseph," she said, her voice now flat and mechanical, "you've brought a Keybearer."

Dane nodded. "Yes, Eleanor. Thomas inherited the pendant from his grandfather. He's been exploring its capabilities."

Without another word, Dr. Voss rose from her chair and moved to the door. With a swift, practiced motion, she turned the lock, the click echoing in the suddenly silent room. She drew the blinds on the door's window and then those covering the large window overlooking the campus.

"The key will work on me now," she stated, returning to stand before Tom. She turned around and, with one fluid motion, swept her chestnut hair forward over her shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck. "Please proceed."

Tom glanced at Dane, who nodded encouragingly. Rising from his chair, Tom approached Dr. Voss, pendant in hand.