I lean back against the stable wall, the foal’s head resting on my lap, feeding him via syringe.
The qílín, exhausted from both the surge and her difficult, extended labor, had sunk onto the floor, all four legs folded beneath her. Knowing that the foal needed colostrum, I’d gently milked some from the qílín’s teat and was now busy administering it to the baby.
“Can I have a go at that?” Gwendolynne is sitting against the opposite wall, cross-legged, staring wistfully at the foal. Her coveralls are splashed with muck, her hair is all messy and sticking out in odd directions, and she…
She looks more beautiful than ever.
I never thought I’d live to see Gwendolynne Chan with her arm up a mythical beast’s back end. Or witness her pulling a qílín foal with nothing but her hands. And perhaps I’m odd, perhaps it’s a strange sort of thing to find attractive…but honestly, she was incredible.
The truth is, in that moment, I’dwantedher to succeed. I wanted to share inhervictory. For the first time in seven years, I hadn’t cared about my marks, or her marks, or which of us was besting the other.I’d thought of nothing else in that moment except the foal’s welfare, Gwendolynne’s safety, and my urge to give her the win.
Perhaps I just have a competency kink.
Regardless, I feel like something has shifted between the two of us. So I immediately hand her the syringe and relinquish my hold on the foal. “Sure. Go ahead. You delivered him.”
She crawls closer, sliding in beside me, until I can feel the fierce heat of her body. Something twists deep inside me at the memory of it pinned beneath mine. She takes the foal’s little head, beaming as she squeezes drops of colostrum onto its tongue. My eyes trace her features, lingering on the curve of her lips.
She did so well, Pudding says from her perch on the fence.So did you.
I allow myself a smile.We did, didn’t we?
A peaceful sort of quiet blankets the four of us: Gwendolynne, me, the qílín, and the foal. For a few minutes, the only sounds are the lapping of the foal’s quick little pink tongue, the occasional gust of wind that creaks through cracks in the walls, and the soft snorts and pawing hooves of unicorns in adjacent stalls. The foal, a little boy qílín, is entirely red, and I wonder if qílíns fade as they age and he will end up colored like his mother.
I’m mighty glad that Marcus didn’t listen to me when I told him to send Gwendolynne home. I’d seen her face when I’d said it; she looked like she wanted to sodding kill me. And I don’t blame her, really. She probably thought I was trying to get rid of her because of the rivalry we have—she as much as said so—as well as the animosity that had arisen after our fight earlier in the drug cupboard. But in truth, I was just livid that Marcus fuckingthought it was a good ideato drag Gwendolynne out of bed just because her parents come from China. She was born in Manchester, for god’s sake! And there was no reason she—a proper mag.fam student—should have beenable to pull a malpresented foal under pressure just because of some new grad’s fucked-up ideas about race.
Though I’m not about to explain all this to her, of course. I was incensed at the time, but now that things have calmed down and I’m thinking logically again, I understand it isn’t my place to comment. It’s bleeding obvious to me now that a man like me, who has privileges I’ve never even had to consider, has no business making decisions for a woman like Gwendolynne Chan.
I drag my thoughts back from the darkness and turn my attention back to the foal. Watching Gwendolynne handling him so gently makes my breath catch in my throat. After everything that happened with my mother, every maternal sight I see makes me tear up like a baby. It’s honestly kind of pathetic.
Though, to be fair, most humans are…so at least I’m not alone.
You’re being too hard on yourself, Harrisford, Pudding says.
Internally, I sigh. Maybe I am.
Still, I don’t need Gwendolynne knowing the full extent of my wretchedness. I don’t want her to be a witness to my weakness. So I try to distract myself. Try to steer my thoughts away from the nausea-inducing sight.
“I take it you haven’t gone to the police?” I hope not—because if whoever is behind the surges finds out, it would definitely put Gwendolynne at risk. The image of her lying motionless under the rubble on the roof of Magecorp HQ flashes through my mind; it feels like my legs are giving out all over again.
Her smile immediately dissipates, melting into an irritated scowl. “I haven’t,” she says, her voice curt. “Your precious dad is safe for now.”
“But you will, won’t you?” I can’t help but dig my claws in further. “Now that there’s been another surge, I’m assuming you’ll run straight to them and tattle?”
She actually flings the syringe down until it lands nestled in the straw. “No! As a matter of fact I’ve figured out that—” She stops abruptly, her lips pressing thin, and I know she’s shared too much. More than she wanted to share with me. And for some reason, that realization weighs heavily in my gut.
“Figured out what, Chan?” I press her. Then, when she doesn’t answer, I repeat, louder this time. “Figured outwhat?”
Picking up the syringe, she begins carefully feeding the foal again. I can tell she’s trying to decide how much to actually tell me.
I swallow, my nausea intensifying. Somehow, between breaking into Magecorp and now, I’ve lost her trust and I…don’t actually know how to get it back.
It’s because I never really needed to try before. Gaining people’s trust was never an issue for me. I was born a cherubic, blond-haired baby, who grew into an angelic-looking child. Coupled with the fact that I’m rich and clever, and I never had to work hard to make friends. I guess that’s why Gwendolynne frustrated me so. No matter what I did, whether it was playing nice or teasing her or even being downright mean, she would keep me at a distance. Treat me with disdain. Push me away.
It was as though she always knew my true nature: that I’m extremely, irredeemably fucked up. That the smooth confidence I project is just a front to hide the absolute mess, the turmoil, below.
Finally, she speaks, without looking at me. “I showed Conall Peters the photos of the blueprints. They explain how Magecorp opens the portals.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “To the Void?”
