Page 98 of Strange Familiars
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “All right then, here’s the big one: Team Edward or Team Jacob?”
He takes a sip of his own wine, then purses his lips. “Neither,” he says, after a beat. “Team Jessica.”
My mouth drops open in an expression of mock outrage. “Youanimal! She’s meant to be the bitchy one!”
He shrugs. “The actress who played her was hot.”
I shake my head in dismay. “That’s it. I think we’ll have to stay enemies forever.”
His eyes gleam with something like amusement. “Right, enemies. Of course.”
Something has shifted in the atmosphere, as though a magical surge is happening here, right now, right at this very table, in the small expanse of space that separates us. It’s like the delicate dance we’re doing is bringing us closer and closer, in increasingly tight circles, and I’m finally facing Harrisford as myself, completely vulnerable, laid bare.
I sigh, defeated. I have to know, once and for all, what game Harrisford is playing. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re drinking wine. And soon, we will be eating.”
“No, I mean, what arewedoinghere.” I gesture frantically to the space between us. “Why did you bring me here? What are you playing at, Briggs?”
He takes another sip of wine, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. Then he sets his wineglass down, very carefully, on the table. “Why, I’m wooing you, Chan.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Wooingme?” Immediately, my heart starts to race, and my breath feels far too big for my chest.
“Yes, wooing you. Isn’t that how people do it? Take them to fancy restaurants and ply them with food and drink?”
I stare at him, open-mouthed, still hung up on his archaic speech patterns. “That sounds like something straight out of last century!”
He leans forward, smirking, until our faces are only inches from one another. I realize, too late, that I’d been leaning forward too. “Would you rather I put it differently?” he says, and his voice has dropped so low that it makes me shiver, melting a pool of desire in my lower belly. “Would you rather I say that I’m courting you?”
“That’s even worse. That’s like something…they’d say in a Jane Austen novel.” My words come out so breathless, it’s embarrassing.
He leans even closer, until his breath caresses my lips. “Who would I be, do you think? Darcy, or Mr.Bingley?”
I’m admittedly impressed by his knowledge of Regency-eraliterature, although he’s perhaps just familiar with the BBC TV miniseries. I give him a speculative look, then curve my lips into a wicked smile. “I think you’re most like…Mr.Collins.”
He gives a roar of outrage. “You evil witch! I don’t think thatenemiesis strong enough a word.” But he’s grinning.
The sliver of air between us shivers; there’s that electric charge again. He’s talking as though he wants us to be an item, but everything I’ve heard about Harrisford is that he just sleeps around. How many women has he brought here? How many have come before me and been lured by the magic that he weaves with his words? My stomach has twisted around and around on itself; I take another gulp of wine just to calm my nerves.
The first dish arrives, startling us. We spring apart. Harrisford snatches up his glass and takes a hearty swig of wine.
As each course comes out—I learn somewhere during the third dish that it’s a degustation menu—we skirt around several topics, not quite knowing how to earnestly land on a conversation. I try to discuss the examinations, but he shuts me down. “Not everyone enjoys dissecting everything as much as you do,” he says.
I try to broach the topic of his mother, since the last time we’d spoken he’d revealed that, despite the rumors, she is still alive. But he shuts that down too, only confirming that his middle initial stands for Finlay because it was his mother’s maiden name.
“Shame,” I murmur. “I thought Harrisford-fucking-Briggs had a nice ring to it.”
When he dares to bring up the night we spent in Manchester, it’s me who vetoes the conversation, refusing to discuss it while blushing hot all over.
At one point, Percy cuts in, inside my head.Ask him to scratch you on the bum.I give an indignant shriek, which has Harrisford giving me a funny look.
“Shut up, Percy,” I hiss back at him. “This conversation isprivate!”
Harrisford shakes his head, half amused, half appalled. “You really ought to learn how to shield, Chan.”
It’s all very awkward, full of stilted conversation. But finally, after we’ve polished off course seven, and the wine has loosened me up enough that I’m no longer as tightly strung as a cello, Harrisford finds the topic that we can both freely indulge in: what I know about the Void.
He asks me what I was doing, that time we ran into each other at the hospital. And, with my tongue freed by alcohol and an urgent need to fix things, I tell him. I explain how Heli and I had snuck into the MLO meeting, and how we’d discovered that Professor Kaur was the acting leader. I tell him about the conversation we’d overheard between Nathaniel, the doctor, and Jarvis. I tell him about the horrifying surgery that Heli and I had witnessed: doctors under Magecorp’s thumb implanting bits of Source into the necks of humans so that they can be used as tethers.
