Page 5 of Strange Familiars
Harrisford has been my number one rival since the first day of vet school, when he found out I was a scholarship student and singled me out as one of the “smart ones”—and therefore a threat to his supremacy. Back then, we hadn’t yet split into streams, and our entire year took combined classes together: Anatomy of Magical Beings, Paranormal Parasitology, Pharmacology of Potions, and the like. It was during Pharmacology that he stole one of the ingredients that I needed to make an elixir, forcing me to use an inferior substitute, which led to me exploding every single one of my beakers over an entire class of unsuspecting first years. Harrisford himself, of course, had managed to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, and swaggered in just as the rest of us were picking bits of toad guts from our robes. With the teacher occupied, he’d flaunted the shriveled bit of rat cecum he’d pilfered from my stash of rations, tossing it into the air and catching it again, all the while sporting the most rage-inducing, shit-eating grin.
Ever since then we’d been enemies. Competitors. Rivals. Nemeses. He at the top of the myth.creat cohort, and me at the top of the mag.fam cohort. Some years, one of us would come out on top, but more often than not we’d tie for a draw.
I grit my teeth. This year will be different. It has to be. I’ll beat him, once and for all, and knock that smarmy smile right off his face. If I want to save my family from financial ruin, there is, quite literally, no other choice.
Harrisford shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He returns his card to his pocket. His eyes—one icy blue, one brown—drop to the bulge beneath my shirt. “Are you off somewhere?”
I swallow, ripping my gaze away from him. It’s infuriating how well Harrisford’s heterochromia suits him; on anyone else I might find the difference in eye color jarring, but on him…
My cheeks heat and my heart begins thrashing in my chest. I pray that Percy won’t hear it and start struggling again. I’d been so distracted by my hatred for Harrisford—and my stress over the price of magic—that I’d briefly forgotten I was sneaking illegal contraband through the school in full view of everyone.
Not only had I flouted Saint Gertrude’s no-adoption policy and directly disregarded a client’s wishes, I’d also broken one of the most fundamental Seamere rules. It’s categorically prohibited for students to acquire familiars, except for those that were brought from home. A rule that was introduced almost fifty years ago, as a way to stop bleeding-heart vet students from acquiring dozens and dozens of strays.
I know it, and Harrisford knows it. And he also knows my family can’t afford to buy a familiar, even if we obtained an official license. In fact, the first time I ever encountered real-life familiars was once I’d already entered vet school.
Which means if he spots Percy, he’ll realize I’ve stolen a hospital patient. And if he discovers that secret, it’ll all be over. My education. My future career. There is nothing, and I meannothing, Harrisford would delight in more than witnessing my illustrious downfall. I’ve been his number one nemesis, the stick in his side, forcoming on seven years now. And we’re so close to the end, so close to exams and to receiving final grades, that if there was ever a moment to take me out…it’d be now.
My gut is churning and my skin is sweaty—not helped by the fact that Percy has just let off a zapping spark beneath my clothes.I need this more than you do, Briggs, I think. Harrisford is rich. He’ll graduate easily and land a good job whatever grade he gets. He only wants to beat me for the glory of it. Whereas me? Ineedto come top of the class. I need that position. I need all the benefits—the prize money, the well-paying Ministry job—attached to it.
“I’m just going to my dorm,” I say through gritted teeth, tightening my hold on Percy.
“Right.” Harrisford’s eyebrows knit, just a little, and he stares harder at my stomach. I desperately hope he didn’t notice Percy shift slightly. Perhaps he’ll think I’ve accidentally infected myself with some sort of rapidly growing magical parasite, and not that I’m smuggling an illegitimate feline into the residential halls.
I swallow, grasping for conversation, anything to stop Harrisford from staring at medown there. “Where areyougoing?” My question comes out more belligerent than I intended, but whatever—it’s Harrisford, after all—so I decide to run with it. Jutting up my chin, I blurt out, “You look like you’re going to a jiangshi’s funeral.” He’s all dressed up tonight, his usual myth.creat coveralls swapped for an expensive-looking black cloak, his golden blond hair combed back from his face, his cowlick causing a single curl to fall down over his one brown eye. On his feet are shiny patent leather dress shoes with absurdly pointed toes. His bearded dragon familiar is perched atop one of his broad shoulders.
I honestly don’t know how Harrisford manages to look so put together all the time, given he spends his days crawling throughpaddocks covered in mud and filth and unicorn shit. I suppose he must be so rich he can afford to change his clothes every hour. He probably owns hundreds of slouchy linen shirts and unnecessarily tight designer slacks.
His head whips up, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Awhat?”
I forgot he wouldn’t know what a jiangshi is, since they’re native to China and rarely seen here in England. My parents talk about them all the time, but here they’re barely recognized. “Vampire…zombie-type thing,” I mutter. My face heats; he wouldn’t have understood the reference. “They don’t…well, die.”
Harrisford is silent for a moment, regarding me. Then he says, “You know, it’s a little sad when you have to explain the punch line of a joke, Chan.”
“I only explain my jokes,” I retort, in the haughtiest tone I can muster, “to those too stupid to get them.”
His eyes narrow further. “Touché.” Is it just me, or is there a hint of a smile hovering about his lips?
Thankfully, Harrisford has stopped looking at my chest-lump-that-is-Percy. Instead, his attention has slid up to my face, which I’m pretty sure is sheened with sweat. I mean, it’s a warm night, plus I’m being intermittently electrocuted by a magiphilic cat.
Besides, being near Harrisford always invokes an incendiary sort of fury. And when I get angry I get all hot and irritated, like a phoenix about to combust. The knowledge of how horrid I must look compared to him really does pain me.
“As a matter of fact,” Harrisford says, tilting his head to one side. “Iamgoing to a funeral. Someone very close to me, in fact.”
My stomach lurches. I didn’t know. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. As much as I hate Harrisford Briggs, I never mean to intentionally hurt anyone, even if I often inadvertently do. I have two defaultemotional states: extreme awkwardness and wretched guilt. Unfortunately, one often leads to the other, and it’s a ghoul’s guess which one I am at any given time.
Harrisford stares at me for a long while before throwing his head back and letting out a huge guffaw. My mortification hardens inside me, petrifying like an ossified cancer, and my hand twitches, wishing it could slap him.
It takes several long moments before Harrisford’s laughter dies out, until he’s still hiccuping and wiping his eyes with the back of one long-fingered hand. “Good lord, you’re gullible, Chan,” he says, still chuckling. “So worth it, though, to see your face.”
I draw myself up to my full height. “You’re disgusting,” I snap. “Funerals are nothing to joke about—”
His laughter stops abruptly, his voice turning to ice. “So it’s all right when you do it, is it?”
I glare at him and clamp my mouth shut—because he’s right, of course, and I have no comeback.
That’s it. I’m done here. Trying to tamp down my fury, I turn and stride off, the wheels of my bike squeaking. Percy, warm and furry, snuggles against my chest.
There’s no point trying to act civil to Harrisford Briggs.
