Page 66 of Strange Familiars
“Shit,” I say. “More?”
Her eyes are glued on her screen. “Three in the past two days. This is gettingbad, G.” Her fingers fly across the touchpad as she scrolls, squinting at the social media profiles she’s pulled up on the screen.
“Got ’em.” She stops scrolling and swivels the computer to face me. She’s enlarged pictures of three different people: two women and a man.
“Who are they?” I ask her, staring at their grim expressions. Clearly, they are mug shots.
“These three,” Heli says, tapping the edge of the screen with one finger, “are all allegedly connected with the MLO in some way.”
I lean forward to squint at the screen. In some ways, the Magical Liberation Organization would be the simplest explanation. Their stated purpose was always to help magic reach the masses. To distribute it equally and increase its accessibility. It’s very plausible that they’d make a concerted effort to sabotage Magecorp. For the MLO to rip open multiple portals that increase the flow of magic into our world would be consistent with their cause.
Never mind that they staunchly deny any involvement. Never mind the fact that at least three of their own have been actually killed. History has shown us that they’re A-OK with sacrificing themselves—and members of the public—in order to achieve their ends.
Yes. It could definitely be the MLO. Sometimes I need to remember that a stone is just a stone, a horse just a horse. One of the first things you ever learn at vet school is not to make things more complex than they outwardly seem.When you hear the sound of hooves, one of our first-year lecturers had said,assume it is a horse, not a Pegasus. It means: Always go for the simplest explanation first—the most common. Horses are common. Even unicorns are. But, being both shy and extremely rare, Pegasuses are almost never seen, even by the most experienced myth.creat vets in the world.
This looks like the MLO. It smells like the MLO. Logically, it probablyisthe MLO.
“I suppose that’s our next step, then,” I say, gripping the stem of my wineglass.
I have no idea how, and no idea when, but we’re going to have to sneak into one of the MLO’s super-top-secret meetings.
28
Gwendolynne
Unfortunately, I have no idea where to start looking, and neither does Heloise. Despite the fact that we spend half the night fruitlessly scouring the internet, we cannot find an ounce of information about how to contact the Magical Liberation Organization. I suppose being an underground extremist group requires utmost secrecy at all times.
At the dean’s lecture on Friday morning, Professor Pickering is running things—once again, Professor Kaur is off sick. It’s a little odd, to tell the truth. The dean seemed fine during clinics on Tuesday, and now suddenly she’s ill again?
Usually, she doesn’t get sick so often. In fact, apart from her paid time off, I haveneverknown Professor Kaur to take a day off, ever. It makes me wonder if she’s just avoiding official events like lectures, for some reason.
The vice dean’s speech is so damn long that soon enough most of the student cohort have dozed off. Those who haven’t are shifting in their seats, playing on their straps, or staring off into space, daydreaming. At the end, to a chorus of audible groans and indignant whispers that echo throughout the hall, Professor Pickering informs us that the on-call rota will still apply even during exam week—no exceptions.
He waits for the rabble to die down before he adds an addendum: We should not be viewing on-call weeks as beingdisruptive, he pontificates, but rather anopportunity. “It is, after all,” he says, “your best chance to have full involvement on a wide variety of cases before being unleashed into the wider world.”
Heli and I are only half listening, since we’re using the time to scroll through hundreds of social media profiles of people with alleged links to the MLO.
It’s when Professor Pickering is explaining, to one particularly disgruntled student, that we “shouldn’t expect time off, not even for exams, because animals still need medical treatment” and besides, we “need to get used to working nights and weekends” that Heli suddenly sits bolt upright. She’s wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open, and when she finally glances up, she shuts it.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
Heli doesn’t answer, just tilts her strap screen toward me. It’s a profile picture from a social media account, framed by the glossy black casing of her latest-model strap.
The picture is angled weirdly, the focus is fuzzy, and most of it is out of shot—but it’s still recognizable. Familiar. The account name, though, is strange.
I raise one eyebrow as Heli scrolls through the hundreds—or maybe even thousands—of cat memes on the person’s profile. It’s all very innocuous. But then, why the fake name?
“Burner account?” I murmur, under my breath.
Heli and I both slide glances toward the far side of the hall, where the person in question is sitting—face bored, their head propped on their fist, completely unsuspecting that there are two people sneaking them surreptitious looks.
Pen?I think, shaking my head in disbelief.Pen Ferguson?
Sweet, unassuming Pen…part of the MLO?
I try to ignore the aggravating blond who happens to be sat behind them, slouched in his chair with his arms crossed. But it’s difficult, since the shaft of sunlight that’s streaking across the hall is inconveniently spotlighting him. The light glints off his golden hair, making him look almost…angelic.
I snort. Harrisford, angelic?Ha!What a bloody joke.
