Slowly, the puzzle of Gwendolynne’s life is becoming clearer, as though I’m finally piecing it together. “And you need the Ministry job,” I say slowly, mulling over this new information. “Because of the money.” My gaze meets hers, and though her big brown eyes are still sheened with tears, there’s a steely determination in them that is making my heartbeat falter. “Because you want to help them save their business.”
She nods, scrubbing away a stray tear with the heel of her hand. “It’s just…rent has risen so much these past few years. And with more people ordering home deliveries, and fewer people eating out…” She trails off, then continues, her voice even stronger than usual. “They sacrificed so much for me, Briggs. For my education. Foryears, they broke their backs in that place to put me throughschool. Even with the scholarship, there are still significant costs involved. Costs they can’t really afford. And if I get the Ministry position, then—then I can pay them back.” Her eyes lock with mine, now completely bone-dry. “It’ll still only be afractionof what I owe them.”
She lapses into a meditative silence, as do I, and when I reach out to take her hand, she doesn’t pull away.
“Your parents really love you, don’t they?” I murmur. Her hand feels so delicate in mine, which are calloused and covered with scars and burns from years of working with mythical beasts. Her frank and honest confession is forcing me to be candid, too.
“I guess so.” She shrugs. “I mean—they never say it, but they do show it. I know they care.”
I let out a long, slow breath and shake my head. “I don’t really know what that’s like.”
She gives me a curious sort of look, her teeth digging into her lower lip, and goddammit, if I don’t get to bite that lip sometime in the very near future…my fingers flex around hers, just slightly, and her gaze drops—sharp as a blade—to where our hands are intertwined.
“Your father…” She doesn’t make eye contact again. “He’s a bit of an arsehole, isn’t he?”
I let out a snort. “That’s quite the understatement, Chan.” I let my gaze drift away for a second before landing it back on her. “He’s trying to force me into Magecorp.”
“For a job?”
I turn her hand over, faceup, letting it rest on top of mine. “Yes.” With my thumb, I trace the curves and lines of her palm. “They’re starting up a brand-new familiar breeding facility—”
“But that sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”
I give a grim smile. “Not really. You’ve met my father, Chan. Youknow what a tyrant he is. He’s pretty much blackmailed me into joining Magecorp…unlessI win the job at the Ministry.”
She frowns, the delicate arches of her eyebrows drawing down. Neither of us expands on the fact that we both really need that job. “Was he always like that?”
My collar feels too tight, even though I’ve already loosened my tie and undone my top button. “It got…worse after my mother was gone.”
“Your mother,” Gwendolynne murmurs. “She died when you were a kid, right?”
My insides shrivel to ice. Talking about my mother is…painful. But again, I find myself speaking, as though I’m not quite in control of my mouth. “It happened when I was four.”
I should stop here. Should change the topic, segue the conversation into something safer. But there’s something about Gwendolynne Chan that makes me want to lay myself bare; flay my soul open for her frank perusal. I don’t quite understand it—why I’m suddenly ready to divulge my most closely guarded secret—but something is broken between my brain and my lips, and I’m unable to stop myself saying it.
“But she didn’t die,” I say, and take a deep breath. “She…she left.”
35
Gwendolynne
It takes me several seconds to realize I’m staring. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
My mind is reeling. Harrisford’s mother left? I’d never heard that before—the official line is that she died. As far as I know, he’s currently twenty-five. How the hell has he managed to keep this a secret for an entire twenty-one years?
“It’s all right,” he says, though he looks completely miserable. “I did get Pudding in her place.”
Pudding.I knew it. That lizardishis emotional support animal. But then it dawns on me: She isn’t here. Which is unusual. “WhereisPudding?”
“I left her in London.” He shrugs and then adds dryly, “It’s a rather long drive here, Chan.”
I frown at him. “Aren’t you worried about another surge?”
“To be honest, yes. But I couldn’t not come and see you.”
My heart stutters inside my chest, then resumes thumping at a higher pace, and all of a sudden I’mveryaware of the plain fact that Harrisford and I are holding hands. I’m gripped by a sudden urge to tell him everything that Heloise and I found out—about the people Magecorp are using as tethers, about the Source, about the London General Magical Hospital doctors implanting fragments ofVoid-origin rock into the back of people’s necks…I want to tell him that somehow the MLO are involved but it’s possible they’re not the culprits and there’s something—somethingI can’t put my finger on—that I’m missing. And it frustrates me beyond measure that I don’t know what it is.
But overriding all of this is another urge. A more bodily urge, stemming from where the smooth skin of my hand is touching the rough skin of his; from where the bends of our knees—his right one, my left—are just brushing one another as we face each other on the couch; from where his gaze drops down to my lips, lingering there, hungry. And these latter urges—the pining, compounded by all the nights I’ve spent falling asleep to hyper-realistic daydreams of moments such as these—are crowding literally every other thought from my lust-addled mind.
