“Figures,” Gwendolynne mutters beneath her breath. “Anyway, Dr.Chapman was so happy her daughter was showing an interest in human medicine that she was happy to give Heli all this information. I think she’s hoping that Heloise might transfer to medicine—”
“Why?” I cut her off, genuinely shocked. “Why would one transfer when humans are—”
“—disgusting.” Gwendolynne gives a delicate wrinkle of her nose. “I know, right?”
She lapses into silence, and I take her cue, lowering my reading glasses from where they’re perched on my head and turning my attention back to my book. It’s maddening. I’ve trawled through dozens of history books already, and have found nothing about magical surges in any of them.
Is it because it’s never happened before? Or because…the records have been wiped?
We continue researching for ages, only exchanging a couple of words here and there. About an hour into our session, she slips her feet out of her shoes. Ten minutes after that, she draws her feet beneath her, tucking them under her backside.
I catch myself watching her more often than is strictly necessary: at the way she chews her lower lip absent-mindedly when she’s concentrating. At the way she periodically rolls her head and rubs at the back of her neck. At the way she tugs at her braid as she reads, until strands of smooth straight hair come loose and fall haphazardly around her shoulders.
I force myself to look away. I’m stiff, sore, and agitated; something is uncomfortably hard and it’s not just my chair.
Abruptly, I stand, my chair scraping against the floor. Gwendolynne glances up, a distracted expression on her face. She seems utterly unaffected by the fact that she’s been sitting for hours, doing nothing but perusing scrolls.
I flatten my lips in disapproval. She really is an incurable swot.
“Where are you going?” Since she’s barely spoken a word since her arrival, her voice is a little husky, and it’s doing something to my nether regions that I’d rather not analyze too closely.
“To get a drink,” I say, jamming my glasses into the chest pocket of my shirt.
I wait at the library café on the ground floor, wondering howmuch longer I can do this. Sit in close proximity to Gwendolynne while she reads scrolls and bites her lower lip. I wonder what’s going on in her head, what she’s thinking, whether she’s been studying so much that she’ll actually beat me and win that coveted top spot.
You seem troubled, Harrisford.Pudding’s tone is full of worry.
I sigh. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with. I’m just tired. Hopefully coffee will help.”
By the time I return with both of our drinks, Gwendolynne is gripping a scroll so hard it’s almost shaking, and simultaneously staring at her strap screen.
“Briggs,” she breathes. She looks up at me, brown eyes wide, excitement wrought plain on her face. Something twists inside me to see her looking so goddamned…happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on her face before. “I think I’ve found something!”
I set her drink in front of her. It’s still steaming since I have, very considerately, put a keep-warm spell on it. Then I flop down into my own chair and take a swig of my coffee, hoping the caffeine buzz will hit soon. “What is it, then?”
She pushes the scroll she’s holding toward me. It’s covered in pencil marks from where she’s crossed off each date. I frown at it. “And what am I looking at, exactly?”
Drawing the scroll back to her, she shows me her strap screen. It’s so small that I have to squint to see anything, even with my glasses on.
“It’s the Witches Truths Society web page,” she jabbers, excited. “All the big news sites have been completely silent on the magical surges, but WTS have reported on every single one.”
“WTS?” I scoff. “Come, now, Chan. Be serious. Everyone knows that they’re deranged conspiracy theorists. Everything they print is rubbish.”
Her face flushes red and she glares at me. “No it’s not, you twat!Look”—she jabs a finger at the marked-up scroll—“every single date Nora Chapman gave us matches up.”
I snatch the page off her and stare at it, double-checking Gwendolynne’s assertion against the WTS’s list. Fucking hell, she’s actually right. Even the mini power surge we’d had at the Briggs family breakfast table is listed on the WTS website.
As I read, Gwendolynne picks up her drink and takes a sip. “Oh!” she gasps. “It’s tea.”
I’m so absorbed in cross-checking the lists that I don’t look up at her. I just mumble, preoccupied, “Yes. Earl Grey with one sugar and soy milk, right?”
She doesn’t respond, but I feel her eyes on me, so eventually I raise my head and frown at her. “That’s your usual, is it not? Or did I get it wrong?”
She has a curious sort of look in her eyes. She keeps staring at me for several seconds, then blinks and looks away. “Uh, no, you didn’t get it wrong. I…um…thanks.”
The back of my neck burns, and I duck my head again, pretending I’m perusing the scroll. I suddenly understand why she’s acting so flabbergasted. I’d gone and ordered her favorite drink without even fucking realizing it. And it occurs to me that, embarrassingly, the reason—theonlyreason—I know it by heart is because I’m more aware of her than I’d care to admit.
It’s just because you need to beat her, my mind insists obstinately. And it’s true—I’ve been watching her for years, attempting to sniff out her weaknesses, trying to figure out her methods and why she’s so smart and how I can one-up her in each exam. She’s my ultimate rival, the only witch who has ever unseated me from top place.
