“I have. So did your parents. I have taken this past year to observe you, and while I am still willing to work with you, I must set rigorous conditions. I will expect hard work, no excuses. Under my guidance, I will introduce you to the finest minds in your area.”

“Thank you.”

He approached her chair, laid an affectionate hand on her shoulder. “Leave everything to me. You have a good mind, Analise, I’m sure you know. But perhaps you’ve spent too much time studying only language. You are too close.” Carefully, Nathan swept the shredded pages into the wastebasket by his feet, secure in the knowledge that the original was safely on his hard drive. A few tweaks, he thought, and it would be ready for publication. Another triumph for Dr. Nathan Rhodes. He easily smiled at her then. “I think it would be best if you selected another major, and chose linguistics as your minor. Keep your options open.”

“I’m already a junior,” she protested, a spark of resistance flaring. “It’s too late to change my major. And I’m good at it.” Years spent traveling to universities to be tested and studied had demonstrated that, at least. “I want to be a linguist.”

Smiling beneficently, Nathan nodded and lied. “It may not be your forte. Your parlor tricks with words might amaze the pedestrian crowds who watched you when you were a child, but this is college. This is serious.”

Analise flushed miserably. Images of late-night talk shows, where she’d stunned the audience with obscure lexicon drawn from dead languages, of game shows where adults bowed in defeat, suddenly embarrassed her. She had once reveled in being different, but now, she wanted something else. Though she’d fought her parents, part of her welcomed the stability of college. She’d come to Callenwolde to become a scholar, no longer a rara avis, a freak show for the college crowd. “I want to study linguistics. I want to be taken seriously.”

“We set others’ opinions of us early. You chose to exploit your talents for profit and fame. It will take more than a shallow analysis like that”—he gestured to the discarded scraps—“to compel anyone to take you seriously.”

“This is what I know.”

“Form cannot prevail over substance in the academy.” His capped teeth snapped together into a condescending smile. “You’d do well to think of other options, my dear. Eggs and baskets. You know the saying.”

Hearing dismissal, Analise grew afraid. Fear, unfamiliar and oily, smeared her voice. She couldn’t go back onto the circuit, an object of curiosity for the public. He had to let her stay. “If I change my major, I can remain in the program?” She threaded icy fingers together in her lap.

“Yes.” Gratified that she’d followed his lead so quickly, he pounced. “What would you study?”