Page 4 of Strange Familiars
At the last minute, though, I balk, and stop myself.
It would only worry her. This close to exams she’d think of a new pet as a distraction. So instead I say, “Everything’s fine. I…just miss you is all.” Absently, I swipe my magecredit card through the slot in the machine.
My mother’s voice softens. “It only a few weeks now, and then you be home with us.”
My heart aches with such longing that my next words come out thick. “Yeah. I know.”
The vending machine beeps, a red error message flashing onscreen. I glance at it, barely registering what it says, since my attention is being commandeered by my phone conversation. Perhaps I swiped too quickly.
So much for multitasking.
“And when you home, we make you your favorite, yes?” my mother is saying. “Stir-fry bean curd in black bean sauce—”
“Howisthe restaurant?” I cut in, just to change the topic. My parents’ bean curd has been my favorite thing on their menu since I was a child. The thought of eating it again sends bittersweet nostalgia spiking through my chest. I swear, if she goes much longer like this then I’m going to end up blubbering right in the middle of Seamere’s courtyard.
I swipe my card again. Again, the vending machine beeps red. Percy gives a wriggle against my chest, and I tense, holding him steady, shifting our positions so he’s more secure.
“It all fine,” my mother says immediately. “No need for you to worry.”
I frown at her response. Sometimes I wish she’d be more open about what’s happening. But it’s not surprising, really. My parentsnever discuss their financial woes with me. They’ve always insisted that it’s not my problem, believing that it’s their job to take complete care of me—at least until I complete my studies. Then, when they are old, it’ll be my job to take care of them.
I guess they’re hoping they can hold out until then.
The trouble is, I’m not so sure.
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause before my mum’s sharp voice cuts through the silence. “Have you eaten?” To anyone else the tone change might be startling—but not to me. After all, my mother is Asian. Scolding is her love language.
“Not yet,” I say. “I was just about to.” At this, my mother makes a sound of disapproval before launching into a tirade of advice, interspersed with reprimands. The only words I can get in edgewise are the occasional “Yes, Ma” or “No, Ma.”
Finally, I manage to say my goodbye and click off the call. I exhale. Now, at least, I can focus.
For a third time, I swipe my card. Again, the error message flashes up, and this time I can finally concentrate.Invalid credits, it says on the screen.
Shit.
I shove my card into my pocket and press another button to check the cost of today’s magic, which fluctuates from day to day, much like regular car fuel. Apparently it’s due to market forces, though everyone knows there’s a lot of politicking involved. Whatever the reason,today’smagic prices are nearly double what they were last night.
Shit. Shit shit shit. My head starts to pound and I suck in a breath, trying to ease the tightness in my chest.
It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll just need to restock my magic another way.A shiver ripples down my spine at the thought. With my free,non-Percy-restraining hand, I massage my right temple, digging the pads of my fingers into the hollow.
I’ve just closed my eyes when someone speaks from behind me. “Trouble with the machine, Chan?” they say. Their voice holds an obvious sneer, their clipped accent the result of privilege, international tutors, and basically being an insufferable twat.
My eyelids spring open. It’s Harrisford, because of course it is. Harrisford Briggs: straight-A student and grade-A git. It’s just like him to want to rub it in.
After letting my breath out slowly, so that it’s more like a pained sigh, I grudgingly turn around. “None of your business, Briggs.”
I edge in front of the machine, obscuring the error message. It’s still flashing, like an extremely irritating alarm clock that’s been set for a six-minute snooze. A prickling heat has started to creep up my neck, but I ignore it, raising my chin to glare at him.
Harrisford makes no effort to hide the fact that he’s trying to see the screen. “Do you need me to lend you the money?” He pulls his own magecredit card from his pocket and waves it in my direction. “I could get you a discount, even. You know, mate’s rates and all.” With a condescending lift of his eyebrow, he smirks.
“No, thank you,” I say abruptly. I’m positive he’s just using this as an excuse to flaunt his wealth. Harrisford’s father—Darghan Briggs—is one of the top executives at Magecorp. Mr.Briggs works closely with Nathaniel Price, the ex-owner of theFelis catuscurrently stashed under my shirt.
They’re like one big, happy, nepotistic family.
Harrisford himself is the top student in the Mythological Creatures stream, the rival academic stream at Seamere. While the students in my cohort, the Magical Familiars stream, are considered the refined intellectuals of veterinary medicine, those in theMythological Creatures stream are like the renegades, the cowboys, the ones who get a rush from lassoing a dragon, pinning it to the ground, and performing some hacksaw surgery with nothing but local anesthesia. They do most of their work in the field—in paddocks and stables and crushes—unlike us magical familiars folk who work inside the hospital, likecivilizedpeople.
It’s a bona fide boys’ club, with Harrisford at the helm. Sure, there are women, genderfluid folk, and enbys who pursue that stream too, but they’re considered the exceptions. And all the myth.creat students sneer at those of us who pursue magical familiars training, calling us “city folk” and teasing us for being “soft.”
