Page 63 of Strange Familiars
If Harrisford reports my misdemeanor, then Percy will almost certainly be confiscated. And, despite the fact that Percy is mean to me ninety-five percent of the time, I’m growing irrationally fond of him. I will not—cannot—put him at risk.
It’s tough love, Hairless One, Percy murmurs sleepily.Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind.
I roll my eyes; he yawns, audibly, and then goes silent. It’s probably my tiredness he’s feeling, since from what I’ve read familiars channel their owners’ emotions, and I’m quite surehe—unlike me—has been sleeping the entire day.
But there was something else buried, hidden behind his fatigue. Something that sounded almost like…affection?
Heli’s voice cuts into my thoughts, jerking me from my reverie. “What a fucking bastard,” she says, referring to Harrisford.
I am incompleteagreement.
She drives in silence for several minutes, frowning at the car in front of us. “What if we do some background research, then? See if there’s anything connecting the people who’ve died or gone missing.” Her brow creases. “Didn’t you say some of them worked for Magecorp?”
“They did. But I’m not sure those deaths are related. According to Harrisford’s dad, the employees who went missing were trying to figure out who actually was behind the surges.” It makes sense. It would be in Magecorp’s interest to stop the sabotage, because regulating the supply of magic is the basic foundation of the business.
Heloise steers the car onto the motorway and smoothly shifts upa gear. “Do you wanna look into it tonight, Gwen? We could take my mum’s list, crack open a bottle, and see if we can dig anything up?”
“I would, but…” NowI’myawning. The smooth rumble of the car motor is lulling me into fatigue. Being up for so many hours last night is finally catching up to me. “First I need some sleep.”
I wake late the next morning, having overslept, and have to throw on my scrubs and pedal furiously to Saint Gertrude’s. Conall, Heloise, and I are rostered onto procedures today—doing things like dental cleans, stitch-ups, and other small operations that don’t require a sterile surgery theater.
Jenna Rutherford is just finishing up morning rounds when I burst into the prep room, shrugging on my white robes.
“Is everything okay, Chan?” she says, raising one heavily penciled eyebrow.
It’s out of character for me to be late to rounds. In every other part of my life, I’m a disaster—a clumsy, nonpunctual disaster—but when it comes to my work, I’m usually dead on time.
“Just catching up after a call-out the other night,” I mumble, and Jenna gives a curt nod.
“As I was saying,” she says, to the group. “We have a cat here with an abscess. Which normally is due to?”
“Cat bites,” says Heloise promptly. “From fighting.”
“Right,” Jenna says as we crowd around the cat’s cage. It’s a miserable-looking British Blue with a snarl of bloodstained, matted fur on his flank. “But what if I told you this cat is indoors only? And he lives alone?”
“Could he have escaped?” volunteers Conall a little nervously. He darts his gaze to the heavily tattooed Jenna and then back to the cat.
“Good thought, Peters. But the owner swears black and blue that didn’t happen.”
“What about a spider bite?” Heloise shudders; she hates spiders. “Or some other insect?”
Jenna purses her lips. “Could be…But I’ve not seen them look like this before. What else? Think, folks.”
I draw nearer to the bank of cages. The cat is crouching and obviously feeling poorly, but he lifts his chubby little lips and gives me a soft, plaintive meow. He has a magical aura about him, which is usual for a familiar, but his seems rather…extreme.
Plus, now that I’m closer, the dark staining on his fur doesn’t only look like blood. Yes, there’s dried blood there, but some of the markings look more like scorch marks.
“Magiphilia,” I say, more to myself than to Jenna. I raise my head and address the group. “I think it’s magiphilia. Except instead of expelling the excess magic, the cat’s body has just…walled it off.”
Jenna slaps her thigh. “Bingo! His magic levels are off the charts. There are burn marks on his fur. It’s an unusual presentation, but it fits. This cat’s just managed to sequester the magic into one part of his body. Good work, Chan.” She taps her strap.
There’s a ping, and Conall, Heloise, and I all check our own straps. Jenna’s given me an extra mark for diagnosing the British Blue.
After delivering the qílín foal, I’d already drawn ahead of Harrisford by three points, but I note, with some satisfaction, that I’m now ahead of him by four.
Good.The bitter, petty side of me wants to beat him even more, now that he’s shown his true colors and confirmed he’s an actual prick.
“Well, chaps,” Jenna says cheerily. “You get started on the procedures list. I’ll be back to check on your progress after lunch.”
