They shook hands again and Ev left the two lovers alone. He still didn't approve of faculty-student affairs, even when there was no academic relationship, but he had to admit that Rafe Losmara's attitude toward learning indicated that he had the makings of a fine scholar.

"You're auditing Ev's lectures?" Lisl said after she'd closed her office door.

Rafe smiled. "Know thine enemy."

"Ev's not an enemy."

"You wouldn't think someone as prissy and ineffective as he could pose a threat, but don't be surprised when he gets tenure and you're left out in the cold."

"He won't if my paper's as good as I think it is—as you say it is."

"The relative quality of your papers is irrelevant. In the end the only thing that will matter is sex."

"Sex?"

"Yes. He's a male. You're a female. He'll get the post because of his ' Y' chromosome, because of what hangs between his legs."

"Bull, Rafe."

He'd alluded to this before but Lisl refused to buy it. Still wouldn't.

Rafe shrugged. "Suit yourself. Stick your head in the sand and hope for the best. That's the way Primes always get cheated out of what they deserve—they let the leeches snatch it from under their noses."

"Ev's not a leech. He's one of us."

"Ev?" He barked a laugh. "Everett Sanders? A Prime? You've got to be kidding!"

"He's got a brilliant mind, Rafe. One of the cleverest mathematicians I've ever met. He stands alone, he doesn't need the approval of the crowd—an island if there ever was one. All the things you say distinguish a Prime."

"He's a nonentity, a misfit, little more than an actor," Rafe said. His voice dripped with scorn. "He plays at being a whiz but he's nothing more than an accomplished poseur."

When Rafe got like this—sniping at her opinions, goading her—she could almost hate him.

"You're not qualified to judge his work!" Lisl snapped.

The remark had the desired effect. Rafe turned to her with raised eyebrows, a smile playing about his lips.

"But I'm not judging his work, Lisl. I'm judging the man. I say he's one of them, and with a little help from you, I can prove it."

Lisl took a deep breath. She was almost afraid to hear this.

"What sort of help?"

"His keys. Get me his keys for half an hour and I'll have what I need."

"How can I—?"

"Make up a story. You lost your key to the front door of the building or something. Charm him, but get those keys."

"And what are you going to do with them?"

"Never mind." His half smile broadened into a grin. "You'll know soon enough. Do you accept the challenge?"

Without replying, Lisl walked past him, through the door, and down the hall. She knocked on Ev's open door.

"Ev?" she said as he looked up from his desk. "I left my storeroom key home. Can I borrow yours?"

"Of course, Lisl."

He went to his suit coat that was neatly hung on a hanger behind the door, reached into a side pocket, and produced a jangle of keys. He picked out one and held it up for her as he handed her the entire ring.

"This one's for the storeroom," he said.

"I'll get these right back to you," she said.

"No hurry, Lisl," he said with a smile. "I trust you."

Damn, she thought as she thanked him. Why'd you have to say that?

Lisl's pace was slower as she headed back to her office. She had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sudden urge to run back and wrap the key ring in Ev's bony fingers and tell him never, never, never to let her get near them again. But she couldn't give into that sort of groundless feeling. What would Rafe think?

There were times—and this was one of them—when she wondered if she let what Rafe thought matter too much to her. But she couldn't help it. It did matter. Rafe mattered. And she was so afraid he would find her out, afraid she'd do something to give herself away. Because she was convinced she wasn't really a Prime. Sure, Rafe called her one and didn't seem to have any doubts about it, but Lisl was riddled with them. She felt like a fake. She'd read where a lot of accomplished people—neu-rosurgeons, judges, statesmen—felt the same way… felt deep inside that their lives were shams, that their success had been a combination of luck and cleverness and that they were nothing at all like the brilliant individuals people perceived them to be, that they lived in fear of the misstep that would reveal their true nothing selves.

Lisl had experienced vaguely similar feelings all through college and her post-graduate training. The work had been a breeze, her professors had told her time and again what a brilliant mind she had as they'd raved about her papers, yet deep inside she'd never believed them. Rafe, she was sure, would lay the blame for all her insecurities on the way her parents had treated her, but finger pointing wouldn't help Lisl get past the idea that all her academic accomplishments were nothing more than a bubble that one day would burst and allow the world to see the naked, frightened, inadequate little girl inside.

Lisl was sure Brian had peeked inside the bubble. That had to be why he'd left her. She wasn't going to let Rafe find out. She'd go on acting like one of his Primes as long as she could get away with it. It was mostly an attitude, of dividing up the world into people who mattered and people who didn't, the few worth knowing and the great many not worth thinking about. She'd been practicing. It didn't come naturally but she was getting the hang of it. And maybe if she acted like a Prime long enough, she'd actually become one.

So she'd let Rafe have the keys, but she wasn't going to let him pull any of his tricks on Ev. Ev was too nice a man.

She returned to her office and dropped the key ring in his outstretched palm.

"Here they are," she said. "But I hope you're not planning any nastiness."

Rafe shrugged. "Dirty tricks? They're fun, but we've pulled enough of them on Brian during the last month to carry us the rest of the year, don't you think?"

Lisl had to smile. Yes, they had indeed. They'd purchased subscriptions to The Advocate and other homosexual publications for his office waiting room; Rafe had applied for membership in NAMBLA—the North American Man-Boy Love Association—in Brian's name; and on a couple of occasions they'd sat in his waiting room and slipped samples of hardcore gay pornography between the pages of People and Time and Good Housekeeping. Dr. Brian Callahan's sexual orientation was now seriously in question among his peers at the medical center.

The piece de resistance had been the sign they had taped to the passenger side of Brian's black Porsche one night shortly before he'd driven it home from the hospital. In fluorescent orange letters on black paper it had read: BACK OFF! THIS CAR KILLS NIGGERS

WHO TOUCH IT!

It had been dark in the parking lot and Brian had approached on the driver side. He had no inkling of the sign's existence until he pulled to a stop at a light in the downtown black section and a group of infuriated youths attacked the car. Lisl and Rafe had been following a few car lengths behind. They watched the kids pound on his windows, break off his radio and car phone antennae, and kick dents in his doors and fenders. Lisl was shocked when she caught herself avidly hoping they'd get a door open and vent some of their rage on Brian himself. The idea that she could hunger for something like that sickened her. Everyone had a dark side, but hers seemed so close to the surface now. That worried her.

But Brian roared away before they could touch him. Before he got away, the kids tore off the sign and shredded it, so no doubt he still was baffled as to what had precipitated the attack on his car.

But she'd/noticed him taking a longer, more circuitous route home these days.