“You look nothing like her,” he says, his voice flat.
I shrug. “She’s Asian, I’m Asian…”
He squints at the small photo on the staff ID. “You still look nothing alike.”
It’s Saturday, and I’m standing in the place where I’d least like to be on a Saturday: Harrisford’s dorm room. Well, it’s where I’d least like to be any day of the week, really.
I’ve spent a good half hour trying to do my hair like Hani Nguyen, the Magecorp employee who’s pictured on the card. And I’m wearing the business attire that Harrisford pilfered from his mother’s closet.
I had always known that Mrs.Theodora Briggs had died, but I’d never considered how or when. Now, I’m still too hesitant to ask about it—and Harrisford doesn’t seem keen to elaborate. But I hadn’t missed the lifeless expression that had settled across his features when I walked in wearing his dead mum’s clothes.
Moving closer, I snatch Hani Nguyen’s ID from him and shove it into my pocket. “Trust me, Briggs,” I say. “I’ve been mistaken for other Asian women often enough. Literally no one is going to notice.”
He frowns, still skeptical. “Surely not.”
I let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. Why won’t he just believe me? “I promise you, it happens. I had one client recently thatsworeI’d treated her Dogue de Bordeaux with an entire six-month course of chemotherapy.”
“And let me guess—it wasn’t you?”
Shaking my head, I sigh again. “No. It was Marika Yamata, who graduated last year.”
The vein on Harrisford’s temple dilates, and he splutters, “But that—it’s ridiculous—she’s not even Chinese!”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you really think that matters?” I rub at my face and blow out a breath. “It’s not just clients, either. Professor Bartell still gets mixed up between me and Alice Chu…”
“Then he’s a fool,” Harrisford mutters, crossing his big arms. “An ignorant fool.”
“Yes,” I say. “So many people are. I guess you’re just lucky you don’t have to notice it.”
He tugs at his lower lip, his blue and brown eyes boring into mine. Then, after a long silence, he says, “Regardless. I think we should think of another way. It’s too dangerous.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “There is no other way, Briggs. You know that as well as I do.”
We’ve been over it a hundred times. Maybe more. We’d even discussed using a glamour, but I had to admit that I’ve never cast one and don’t actually know how. Harrisford does, but he refuses to use them for reasons he can’t—or won’t—explain.
So here we are. I’m banking on the fact that Hani Nguyen’s staff ID will still be functional. Since Darghan Briggs is seemingly trying to obfuscate what’s happened—as evidenced by the IDs he’s keeping locked inside his study and the fact that it’s somehow been kept out of the mainstream news—there’s a chance he hasn’t yet deactivated Hani from the system.
Still, this is risky. Very risky. We’re entering the workplace of someone who may or may not be a murderer, to steal some top-secret information that is kept I-don’t-know-where. Added to that, I have no idea how close Hani was to her colleagues—all it would take is for one to not recognize me, and the entire farce would all be over.
But I know I at least have to try.
Harrisford swallows, his Adam’s apple rippling beneath the skin of his throat. I guess he’s so nervous because he’s about to defy his diabolical father. “Just—be careful, all right?” he says quietly. “And stick to the plan.”
I nod, straightening the hem of the late Mrs.Briggs’s pencil skirt.It’s a tweed skirt suit with shoulder pads and an alarmingly nipped-in waist.
Before we leave, I decide to head back to my dorm and stock Percy up with food. I’m hoping we’ll be in and out in the span of an afternoon, but if something goes awry…
I push open the door to my room. Percy’s curled up in a tight ball on my bed. The entire room is spattered in scorch marks, including my shabby old quilt. I sigh. Another victim of Percy’s magiphilia. At some point I’ll need to rustle up some extra magic, and the spare time, to repair it.
For a minuscule moment, I canalmostempathize with Mrs.Mason-Price’s frustration…but then I look at Percy’s adorable little sleeping face and I’m rapidly past that feeling.
I don’t want to interrupt the twenty-three hours of sleep he seems to need each day, so I tiptoe over to his puzzle feeder and start doling out scoops of food.
There’s a little squeaking noise as Percy wakes, yawns, and rolls onto his back, both of his back legs stretched out. Then he curls his upper body toward me and looks at me upside down.You look…nice.
“These clothes aren’t mine,” I say, distracted. I’ve lost count of how many cups of kibble I’ve scooped.
Ah, Percy says, righting himself. His voice sounds bored inside my head.That makes sense, then.
