Page 56 of Strange Familiars
According to the heavily embossed and gold-foiled invite, tonight’s theme is Magical Masquerade, so Harrisford reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gleaming mask. It’s silver, embroidered with a complicated brocade pattern, and is flanked by two feathered wings. When I pluck it out of his hand, the wings actually flap, showing off the tiny diamonds woven through them. I feel Percy’s interest prick up through our bond. I suppose heisa cat, and any feathery flapping thing is bound to catch his attention.
Harrisford helps me tie my mask on, then dons his—also silver, but wrought from metal, the body and head of a roaring dragon wrapping around the periphery.
As we enter Hintze Hall, where the function is being held, I have to stifle a gasp. The space is vast, the roof an enormous paneled arch above our heads. There’s a skeleton of some sort—a dinosaur, perhaps?—hanging from the ceiling, and stone arches line both sides of the room. At the opposite end there’s a sweeping staircase, cathedral-like windows set into the far wall. Instead of magelights, real-life faeries flutter about, each one holding a tiny lantern. And dozens of roving magicians perform magic tricks. Every now and then a huge flame goes up, followed by whoops and cheers.
“It’s…beautiful,” I manage to choke out. Glancing up at Harrisford, I add, “I’ve never been here before.”
Immediately, his entire demeanor changes. Up until now, he’s been tense, brooding—but now he seems to brighten, as though my innocuous words have instantly lifted his mood.
“Well, then,” he says. He flashes me a quick smile. “Allow me to give you a tour, Miss Chan.”
After grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handing me one, Harrisford proffers his elbow. I take it, my fingers curling around the well-defined muscles of his forearm. Something jolts inside me at the contact, but I ignore it. “Why, thank you, Mr.Briggs,” I say, in my fakest, poshest accent, as he steers us past several small clusters of people.
I’m buzzing at the atmosphere as Harrisford leads me to the first display, an enormous fossil skeleton. My scientific curiosity is instantly triggered—I let Harrisford’s arm go and press up against the glass. I study the large, curved tusks; the thick skull; the unusual, cone-shaped molars, which are like nothing I’ve seen before. It’s a little bit like an elephant, but also…not.
I squint at it through the glass. “Is this…a mammoth?” I could read the card, of course, but I’m loath to tear my eyes away.
Harrisford comes up beside me. “No. It’s a mastodon.Mammut americanum.It’s sort of like…a distant relation.”
I turn to look at him. “Do you have to study these? In myth.creat? Even though they’re all extinct?”
“No.” He stares at the skeleton, thoughtful for a moment, then takes a swig of his drink. “I just spent a lot of time here as a kid.”
We move on to the next exhibit, which Harrisford tells me is aMantellisaurus atherfieldensisskeleton, and once again my love for anatomy kicks in. I analyze the way its digits articulate; the disparity between its front and hind limbs; the sharp thumb claws located where dog and cat dewclaws should be. I’m so busy looking at the dinosaur that I don’t notice Harrisford watching me. When I glance up, I go red because his gaze is so intense.
He swallows, then says, “Come, Chan, we need to hurry. The official program will be starting soon.”
I nod, chagrined. We’re still in the pre-drinks reception, and most of the guests have crowded into one of the two adjacent galleries, leaving Harrisford and me among the few couples wandering around the main hall. And I want to soak up as much of this glorious science as possible before more people start streaming in.
We continue down one side, seeing fossilized tree trunks; an ancient, colorful rock; even a sparkling meteorite. At some point, Harrisford’s hand strays to my lower back—so hot, it’s like his fingers are searing right through the thin silk. The offhand way he’s touching me makes my breath catch; has he even noticed he’s doing it, or is it just reflex for him, since he dates so many women? Perhaps he’s just playing the part since we’re pretending to be a couple.
Yes, that’s it, I’m sure of it. It’s all just part of tonight’s elaborate act.
But as I bend to read the meteorite’s plaque, his hand drifts up, his thumb stroking—just once—across the bare skin of my shoulder. It feels like…more. And it makes me shiver.
His touch feels electric, sparks tingling across my skin. I straighten, and we’re close—so close—standing chest-to-chest. He looks down at me, his lips slightly parted, the faerie lights glinting off the burnished gold of his hair.
“Did you feel anything?” I ask finally, slightly breathless.
His breath quickens, his pupils dilate, and he somehow manages to move even closer. “Feel what?”
And I’m looking at him…everywhere, at the broadness of his shoulders, at how his hair curls around his ears, at the way his eyes look so dark in here—a deep and fathomless sea. He’s traded his normal loosely buttoned linen for a dress shirt and bow tie, and my mouth goes dry as I trace the way it hugs his neck. This close, I can smell his cologne: something crisp and woodsy, like cold winter air before it snows.
Oh god, I am in trouble. The gala hasn’t even properly started, and I’m already fantasizing about ripping off Harrisford’s fancy shirt and bow tie.No, I tell myself.Remember, he’s nothing more than an arsehole. A stupid, sexy arsehole.
I inhale slowly and force myself to focus. “Did you feel any magic from those objects that would suggest they may be tethers?”
He’s still staring at me. Studying me. Finally, he tilts his head slightly, his eyes glittering behind his mask. “No. I didn’t. Did you?”
I shake my head, then bite my lip. “We’ve only looked at half the hall, though. We should take a look at the other side.”
“We should.” He rips his gaze away, and this time, he doesn’t do the gentlemanly thing of offering me his arm. Instead, he rests his hand on the small of my back.
We drift back out to the main hall, aiming for the opposite side. But the hall has got far more crowded in just the past few minutes. Harrisford shakes his sleeve back and checks his strap. It’s eight p.m., and the gala is about to start.
Right on cue, a chamber orchestra in the corner begins to play. The strains of elegant classical music echo around Hintze Hall, amplified by magical speakers placed strategically around the room. Half of the crowd cram into the center dance floor, in the middle of the linen-lined tables, and start to partner up.
“The opening dance,” Harrisford murmurs, taking our drinks and depositing them on a table. He slants a look at me. “Shall we?”
