Page 68 of Strange Familiars
Pen pulls a tissue from a lace-covered tissue box and mops at their sweat-sheened forehead. “Jesus, I’m bad at this. I only used that pic because I’ve only just joined and I thought it would be helpful to other members to know who I am because otherwise they’d not accept my follow requests, you know? It’s all so hush-hush and I just really want to be involved…”
My insides give a leap, as though I’ve swallowed a live fish. “So it’s true? Youhavejoined the MLO?”
Pen doesn’t answer for the longest time. They just stand there, their face mottled red, twisting the tissue in their hands. “Y-you’re not going to report me, are you?”
“No! Of course not. We’re just—”
“I know you think I’m not the type.” Pen cuts me off, and continues rambling, all in run-on sentences, as they try to explain. “I just…I’ve never agreed with the way the corporates restrict the supply of magic. It disproportionately affects marginalized folk, like you two, and Conall, and Alice, and Danny…and me, of course. And I don’t want to go through life justacceptingthat, you know?” Pen’s making short work of the tissue; it’s almost disintegrated to pieces. “Since I’ve been book blogging I’ve discovered how powerful it is to have a platform and now we’re so close to graduating I figure I should leverage that platform, it’s almost my responsibility, I mean I want to be a good vet, of course, and all I wanna do is work with cats, but also I feel really strongly that—”
“It’s okay, Pen.” I hold up a hand to stop their panicked monologue. “We understand. Trust me, we’re not looking for any trouble. We just want to go to the next meeting.”
Their expression immediately brightens. “Oh! You want to join?”
Heli says “Yes” at exactly the same time as I say “No.” I grunt as Heli elbows me painfully in the gut.
“We’re thinking about it,” Heli says, giving me a pointed look.
Pen’s shoulders drop in relief, and they crush the tissue in their fist before tossing it into the bin. “Oh. Well. I can definitely help with that.”
They cross to their desk and start scribbling something down on a piece of paper. As Heloise and I both wait, my mind turns over everything that Pen just said.
I’d always thought of the MLO as being radical extremists; apart from the occasional news story, I’d never had much reason to think about them. But lately, all I’m hearing about is the MLO. The MLO this, the MLO that, and—considering what I suspect theymightbe doing with human tethers, it’s honestly surprising that someone so, well,nice—like Pen—would think to associate themself with them.
My thoughts are interrupted when Pen thrusts the piece of paper into my hand. “I won’t be going to this,” they mumble. “I’m too behind on study. But I’ve written down the address—it’s a place called the Galloping Gytrash. It’s tonight, at eight…You’ll find them in the back room. The password to enter is ‘codswallop.’ Just…don’t tell anyone it was me who said, okay? I’m giving this to you because I trust you, but the others don’t know you, and…”
Heloise raises her eyebrows as she scans the address on the paper. “I know the Gytrash. I’ve been there before.” She lifts her head and looks at Pen. “And don’t worry, we won’t say anything.”
Heli and I both stand to leave.
“Thanks, you two.” Pen turns their attention to their strap, unlocking it with shaking fingers. “I guess I should change my profile pic. And maybe delete the cat memes.”
Good idea, Percy mutters. He’s been listening in on the entire conversation.Those memes are horrible, slanderous, blasphemous things, full of lies and untruths and…
Percy doesn’t stop ranting until I’m back in our room and he realizes I’m about to feed him. He tucks in immediately, eating and purring, all thoughts of cat memes instantly forgotten.
It’s been a long week, and I really don’t want to run into Harrisford Briggs. It’s easy enough to avoid him during classes, since he’s myth.creat and I’m staunchly mag.fam, but the common areas are a different story. Today, apart from the dean’s lecture, I’d seen him exactly one other time, while Heli and I were crossing the courtyard. Panicking, I’d yanked her behind a pillar in an effort to hide from him, but he’d seen us both crouching there, much to my chagrin. Luckily, he’d made no effort to approach me, or even make eye contact, and had just kept on walking until he was well out of sight.
Now it’s teatime, and I really don’t want to risk running into him in the Heywood Hall dining rooms. And since I have a few hours to kill before the MLO meeting starts, I decide to take a plateful of food and wander down to the paddocks—to eat and check on the qílín foal. Earlier, I’d seen the gangly little creature capering about his mother, looking none the worse for his ordeal. But I want to take a closer look, make sure his vitals are okay.
The grounds staff have modified the main paddock to accommodate the qílíns—since they refuse to walk on grass, tarpaulins have been laid all around the perimeter with only a small patch of green exposed at the center. The air is muggy, hanging heavy on my skin like a wet blanket, and the evening sun sprinkles the grass with gold.
As I approach the qílín and her foal, though, I realize there’s someone else there, someone who is also seemingly avoiding the dining rooms at Heywood Hall.
It’s Harrisford, of course.
He’s inside the paddock, sitting on one of the tarpaulins, his back propped against the reinforced wooden fence. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and he has a plate balanced on his knees. In his hand is a half-eaten apple; as I watch, he takes a final bite and then holds it out to the qílín, who is nuzzling at him hopefully, letting out little whoofs of air that blow his golden hair about. The qílín snatches the apple core off him and crunches it noisily, and Harrisford laughs.
I scowl at the scene. Harrisford was right. The idea that qílíns are only drawn tonicepeople is grossly misrepresented.
Hastily, I try to retreat—but too late. He’s spotted me. Raising his head, he stares as the qílín continues to nose into the crook of his neck, as though he might be hiding more sweet treats there.
I don’t want to go over, I really don’t. But equally I don’t want himto get the wrong impression and think that I am afraid. After he’d left me, bereft, at the gala, I’d worked hard to convince myself that I trulydid not care. That, in my quest to untangle the mystery of Magecorp’s saboteur, it means nothing to me whether Harrisford comes along for the ride. If I run away again, after he’s spotted me, then it’ll negate the laissez-faire attitude I’ve been carefully cultivating for days. It had irked me all afternoon that he’d got the better of me in the courtyard.
Hiding hadn’t felt like a victory. It had felt like defeat.
So I steel myself. Raising my chin, I grip my plate, straighten my shoulders, and approach.
“Chan,” he says when I’m near enough to hear, and his voice has become all lofty again, like it always used to be when speaking to me. “What’s a mag.fam student like you doing here?”
