Page 17 of Strange Familiars
Harrisford paces away from the treatment table, raking both hands through his hair. Then he strides back to me, his eyes wild. He leans over the table, his fingers gripping the edges, his knuckles white. “That’s what happened at the gala, too.”
I’m speechless for a moment. “The explosions were because of a magical surge?” I say finally.
He stares, hard, down at the stainless steel surface. In it, his face is reflected, his mirrored features all dull and blurry. “I think so,” he says, enunciating the words carefully, as though he’s thinking things through. “I’d put Pudding in my pocket to conceal her. Normally, she’s pretty good there. She knows the drill and she’ll stay quiet. But she suddenly started thrashing about, and got really hot. That’s…That’s probably when she got burned. And then Samuel Sloane’s hat exploded.” He pushes off the table and swipes his hair off his forehead, clasping his hand against his head.
I stare at him, my heart drumming double time in my chest. “Doyou think it’s connected?” I whisper. “I heard on the news they’re questioning MLO members…”
Harrisford doesn’t answer immediately. He watches his familiar as she begins to twitch and recover. I glance at Percy. He’s now lying in the corner, flopped onto his side, staring at us, unblinking.
Finally, Harrisford’s icy gaze slides back to me, and he stares at me with cold determination. “You know what, Chan,” he says, slowly. “I think it is.”
8
Gwendolynne
Harrisford insists on walking me back to my dorm room, though I know it’s only because he’s worried I’ll run off and snitch about the lizard he snuck into the gala.
As we walk, he tells me about how his father has been acting weird for the past few months. Which is, coincidentally, precisely when Harrisford noticed the first magical power surge—at home.
“It was just a small one,” he explains, cradling Pudding with both arms. “We were having breakfast when all the lights went out, even the chandelier.”
I squint sideways at him. “You eat breakfast beneath a chandelier?” He just shrugs, and doesn’t respond.
My magic levels started rising a few months ago too, Percy says, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.
Hugging the cat tightly, I consider this new information. “Percy was the first, I think. His magiphilia started at around that time, too. And at some point since then, it started in the other familiars.” I purse my lips, thinking hard. “I suspect they’ve all been channeling slightly higher levels of magic for a while now, else the surge tonight would’ve killed them.”
Harrisford nods. “That’s probably why Samuel’s polar bear blewup. I’m sure he bought it new and only enchanted it for the night. It hadn’t had a chance to acclimatize.”
My mouth pulls down in a frown. “But what does it all mean?”
Harrisford’s expression mirrors mine. “I don’t know,” he says. “But given my father has been acting so peculiar, I wonder if he—or Magecorp—is involved?”
I throw him a look. “You think it’s Magecorp, and not the MLO?” Glancing at the scorch marks that flare up the corridor walls, I involuntarily give a shudder. If itwasthe MLO, then it means that somehow they’ve infiltrated us here, at Seamere.
Harrisford pauses for a moment. “I rather think it could be either, at this stage.”
We’ve arrived in front of my room. I’m suddenly hyperaware of how shabby our surroundings are. How messy things are inside. I mean, if we were to open the door we’d see a rank, open tin of tuna, torn-up bits of beef jerky, and pieces of dried-out cheese strewn across the worn, stained carpet.
“Well,” I say, falsely jovial. “This is me.” When Harrisford doesn’t move but just continues staring at me, I add, “Good night, then.”
Adjusting my grip on Percy, I reach my free hand out and turn the doorknob. But Harrisford’s own hand whips out and clamps around my wrist. His touch is hot, almost burning. We both jerk our heads down to look at where he’s grabbed me, and for a moment I sense we’re both holding our breaths. But by the time that detail registers, he’s already let me go.
It might just be the light, but his pupils are blown so wide his eyes—even the blue one—look almost black. “Wait,” he says, his voice low and slightly hoarse.
I start to panic, my heart pounding. What does he want? Not to come in, hopefully? Ireallydon’t want him to see the inside of my room. “Why?”
The faintest line has appeared between the graceful curves of his eyebrows, and he runs a hand across his chin. “Don’t you think we ought to…you know…investigatethings?”
I let out a most undignified, and skeptical, snort. “You don’t mean together, Briggs? Surely!” I’d already been pondering the magical surges, of course, but Harrisford is the last person I want to ponder them with.
Somehow, the expression in his eyes morphs from liquid to steel in less than a single heartbeat. “I don’t fancy the idea much either. But don’t forget: We both have a stake in this.”
“No, we don’t,” I clap back. “It’syourfather involved. Your father, your father’s company, possibly the MLO. It’s got nothing to do with me.” Huffing, I push open the door, which is slightly ajar, trying to slip inside.
Harrisford, displaying impressive reflexes, catches the door handle so that it stops swinging. I smack face-first into the cheap painted wood. My nose throbs and I cry out, more from shock than pain.
“Let go!” I shriek, not caring whether anyone—like Bridie or Pen—might hear me. But Harrisford gives me a look of grim determination and continues holding the door.
