Page 7 of Strange Familiars
“Is everything all right?” I venture, when we’re finally checking our cloaks.
“Everything’s fine,” he says, curtly, as he shrugs out of his outerwear and tosses it at the clerk.
A pause. “It’s just…you seem tense.”
He stares at me for several long, uncomfortable moments, before he finally speaks. “You have one job tonight, Harrisford,” he says. His voice has taken on a didactic tone, as though he’s delivering a lecture. “To meet important people. To ingratiate yourself with them and make a good impression. You donotneed to be concerning yourself with anything else—and certainly not sticking your nose where you’re not wanted.”
A flash of anger, white and sharp, knifes through me, and my heartbeat kicks up in my chest. I open my mouth to respond, but my father is already striding off—uninterested, as always, in what I have to say.
I tear off my own cloak and shove it at the clerk. I don’t know why I continue to try, why I continue to attempt reaching across the chasmlike space that divides us.
When I was younger, he was always too busy. Too busy to go anywhere, to play, or to spend any time with me at all. I had half fancied that when I grew older and mature enough to follow his interests, perhaps things would change. But no matter how much I tried—modeling my hobbies after his, reading about current events he seemed invested in, even dressing like him—he never bothered to treat me as anything but an inconvenient waste of space.
Ignore him, Harrisford.The voice in my head interrupts my dour thoughts.This is your night; don’t let him ruin it.Since we’re not technically supposed to bring familiars, I’m hoping no one will notice the reptile-shaped lump talking to me from my chest pocket. It’s lucky that human-familiar communication is conducted mind-to-mind.
I sigh, shove my hands inside my trouser pockets, and stomp in after my father.
As much as I don’t want to be here, I have to admit that tonight, Hintze Hall does look magnificent. The vaulted roof, the ornatearchways, and the illustrated panels on the ceiling are fancy enough at the best of times, but tonight the event planners have gone all out. Thousands of floating magelights hover in midair, like tiny suspended fireflies, and live pine trees sprout right through the tessellated tile floors, festooned with more lights on strings.
Tonight, it’s a Winter Wonderland theme. Stalactites are suspended from the high, domed roof, and waitstaff glide around on ice skates that float a foot above the floor. Snow—presumably enchanted to never melt, considering how warm the room is—lines the balcony railings.
The ceiling too has been enchanted to produce flurries of actual snowflakes. They spin in the air currents, floating gently to the floor before disappearing altogether. The magelights illuminate their icy fronds as they flutter down, light beams scattering into iridescent rainbows that wink and spark through the air. And finally, above us, the hanging blue whale skeleton has been enchanted to move, undulating as though it is actually swimming.
I’m impressed, in spite of myself. To charm something that heavy to move for an extended period would take some considerably advanced magic. I squint up at it, trying to figure out the mechanics. Truly, it’s an extraordinary feat of engineering.
The whole place is glittery, and magical, and utterly pretentious, especially since we’re currently well into summer. That’s Magecorp’s modus operandi, really: doing the most ostentatious thing ever—such as holding a winter-themed ball during one of the hottest months of the year—just to prove that they can. The overpowering smell of too much magic permeates the room.
Father’s nowhere to be seen, which is absolutely fine by me. I grab a drink from a passing tray. The champagne explodes, fizzy on my tongue, tasting like the promise of memory loss and oblivion and an actually enjoyable night.
“Is that alcohol, Harrisford?” someone says from behind me, and I turn to see Samuel Sloane, talk show host and B-list celebrity, gesturing at my drink. His usually tanned skin is matte with white powder, which has collected in the creases, and he’s wearing the corpse of a polar bear as his costume, his face peering out of its wide-open mouth. As he draws closer, the polar bear’s eyes blink at me and it roars. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Magic tricks, of course.
“On a school night, too.” Samuel sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated frown and shakes his head. “Tsk, tsk.”
“I’m twenty-five,” I snap. “And I’m only having one.” Samuel is one of Father’s friends. I’ve been to countless parties with him, and he’s always trying to befriend me.
“Pity.” He winks. “That’s even more disappointing.”
Ugh. He’s looking to get me drunk. Again. I start to nudge my way past him, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Let me go, Samuel.” I try to shrug his hand off me. He doesn’t move, just leans closer and closer until I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Why?” He’s already slurring. “You afraid of getting drunk around me?” His fingers dig harder into my shoulder.
“No, I—” Then I stop, for I’ve noticed something about Samuel’s polar bear hat.
It’s sparking. Not just sparking, but thin plumes of smoke are spiraling up from both its eyes. And the boozy smell of Samuel’s breath is being replaced by something far more sinister…The acrid tang of singed fur.
“Get off me,” I bellow, shoving Samuel away from me. “You—you’re on fire. Take that thing off!”
“On fire?” His unfocused eyes fix on me, his forehead creasing. “Whatever do you mean, Harrisford—”
I point. “Your hat. Take it off. Unless you want—”
I never get the chance to finish my sentence, because the next moment Samuel’s entire polar bear hat has gone up in flames. Spontaneously combusted. Conflagrated. He screams, trying to bat at his head, then screams again when he burns his hands in the process.
Without thinking I toss my drink over his head before diving for a pitcher of water on one of the nearby tables. And it’s immediately after I’ve dumped its entire contents over Samuel’s head that I notice: The entire room is starting to shake. The magelights are quivering. The branches of the pine trees rustle, even though there is no wind. And the blue whale skeleton hanging suspended from the ceiling trembles, the bones clacking together.
“GET DOWN!” I shout as I dive to the floor and cover my head with my hands…
