His condescension raises my hackles, and I glare at him and his half-buttoned shirt and his stupid fucking plate. But despite the fact this exchange has made me instantly defensive, it’s also somehow a little…comforting? It’s comforting to know that in spite of everything that’s happened over the past one and a half weeks, we will always default to this dynamic: being each other’s rivals. Enemies. Competitors. Nemeses. That nothing will stop things from going right back to the way they were.
It’s comforting because, on the balance of it, hating Harrisford Briggs is much, much easier—and far less painful—than falling for his empty charms.
“I’m here to check on Chili.” I’d nicknamed the foal Chili because it sounds a bit likeqílín. “What areyoudoing here?”
Confusion flashes across his face, so fleeting it’s barely noticeable, but he quickly smooths his expression back into its usual disdainful mask. “The foal? That’s not even his name.”
I ignore him. “It doesn’t matter that I’m not myth.creat, Briggs.I’m still allowed to come and check on the foal thatIdelivered.” I narrow at my eyes at him, daring him to challenge my statement.
He gives a long, grievous sigh. “Look, there’s plenty of room for us both. I’m quite sure the qílín will be happy for the extra company.”
I glance at the golden creature, who is clearly simping over Harrisford, and frown. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure she likes you better.”
Regardless, I hand Harrisford my plate and awkwardly climb over the stile. When I drop to the ground on the other side, I sit down beside him, my bum on the tarp and my back against the fence.
Harrisford hands me my food, and we sit in silence for a while, eating. I’m surprised to see that his plate is absolutely loaded up with desserts: trifle, bread-and-butter pudding studded with tiny currants, and a generous side helping of custard. How on earth does heeatlike that, and still manage to stay so ripped?
It’s probably all the large-animal work, I conclude. Wrestling with enormous beasts and such.
“Still like pudding, huh?” I pick up a piece of pasta and nibble on one end. I’ve lost my appetite, even though ten minutes ago I was absolutely ravenous.
He glances down at his plate, then gives me a lopsided grin. “I guess you’ve discovered my little secret.”
“That you have a raging sweet tooth?” My voice cracks on the wordsweetand I cringe internally, wanting to kick myself.
His grin widens, until it holds an almost-wicked edge. Leaning in, he murmurs, “Not very macho, is it?”
I hate myself for it, but that smile still makes my heart skip a little, so I tear my gaze away and force myself to watch the qílín. She’s now trotting around the far corner of the paddock, stopping every now and then to let her foal suckle some milk.
“Where is Pudding, anyway?” I’ve become so accustomed to seeing Harrisford with the bearded dragon atop his shoulder, he doesn’t look quite right without her. Briefly, I wonder what it must be like to have a such a close and loving relationship with one’s familiar.
I barely see Percy, really. Every morning I let him out super early, before anyone else is awake to notice, leaving my window ajar so that he can make his way back. Every night he swaggers in, cool as a cat who isn’t scared by randomly placed cucumbers.
Percy’s indignant voice interjects my thoughts from wherever on campus he is:I’m not scared of cucumbers, Hairless One.
Of course you’re not, I think soothingly. He doesn’t reply, just huffs down our telepathic bond.
I don’t know where Percy is currently, but I don’t mind him roaming of a daytime. Being far too lazy, he’s not much of a hunter—plus, he’s always home by tea. I’m quite sure that by the time I go back to my dorm room tonight, he’ll be standing over his empty bowl, yowling.
Harrisford, on the other hand, seems to be particularly averse to being separated from his familiar. I suppose hehashad her since he was four—perhaps she’s his emotional support animal as much as a conduit for magic.
Harrisford frowns. “Pudding? She’s in my room.” He pauses for a moment, the silence pressing, and then gives me a sidelong glance. “She’s lecturing me right now, actually. Telling me I should apologize.”
My mouth goes dry. “Apologize? To who?”
I sense him turning to face me but stay resolutely facing forward. “Why, to you, of course.”
My traitorous body flinches, and I involuntarily turn to face him.We’re uncomfortably close in this position, our knees slightly folded and pointing in toward each other, our shoulders resting against the fence’s wooden posts.
And his face…His face is no longer cold, his look no longer supercilious. There’s a warmth and energy in his eyes that I haven’t seen since the night of the gala.
He rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing the loose locks out of his eyes as though trying to see me better. “Listen, Chan,” he says. “I’m sorry I ran off on you like that. That kiss—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I cut him off, wanting to say it before he does. “I get it. It was nothing. We just…got caught up in the moment.” I look down to hide my flushed face and stab a piece of pasta so violently it splits. Then, trying to affect nonchalance, I say, “Where’d you go, anyway?”
His jaw tightens, and he uses his own fork to shift the food on his plate. “Right. Well, I had to use the lavatory, and then I ran into Nathaniel Price—”
“You spoke to Nathaniel?” Hearing that name sets my pulse hammering; has Harrisford discovered new information that could help us figure out who is targeting Magecorp?
