Chapter 2
Gwendolynne
It’s after closing time, which is lucky, because everyone’s already gone home.
Technically, Jenna Rutherford should have hung around until I left, since she’s my supervisor and all.
But only a few weeks into term, she had me pegged.
She saw how responsible I was. And since we final-year students are considered close enough to being qualified to work with minimal supervision, soon after that she just…
took it to the next level. She started leaving bang on closing time, waving to me cheerily as she got on her motorbike, her tattooed arms wrapped around her girlfriend’s waist.
“I trust you,” she’d say with a wink. And “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
I admire Jenna, I really do. The way she’s effortlessly cool, blasé without being reckless, enthusiastically willing to break rules. I admire all of it, especially the rule-breaking bit—something that doesn’t come naturally to me at all.
Not that anyone would know it right now.
Percy’s a wriggling lump beneath my clothing, and by the time I reach my bike I swear he’s already gouged me with his claws upward of a dozen times.
I’m sure he doesn’t much like being swaddled in my scratchy brown cardigan, a vintage charity shop find that looks more expensive than it actually was.
Neither do I, for that matter, but needs must.
My bike isn’t locked up; I don’t really need to secure it since it’s too shabby to steal.
And now, after being subjected to Mrs. Mason-Price’s dramatic car park exit, it’s even muddier than before.
Percy continues squirming, but I somehow manage to keep him contained with one hand while awkwardly steering my bike with the other.
I check my strap and sigh. It’s already after seven p.m. I still need to read up about magiphilia and replenish my magic stores.
Without more magic, I can’t do my job, which is not only bad for the animals but also bad for me.
I can’t risk losing more marks, especially since my instincts were right: I was docked a mark for forgetting Mrs. Mason-Price’s name.
I sigh again; after processing the payment, she must have picked the frowning face on her post-consultation survey.
Luckily I’m still top of the class, though only just. Harrisford Briggs trails me by only two points.
Twilight is falling as we walk along, the rhythmic clicking of my bike wheels chittering into the night.
There’s sweetness in the air, which is suffused with mellow pink light, and the distant laughs of students playing Flaugball float by on the breeze.
Eventually, Percy stops struggling and goes still, as though calmed by the soothing hum of magic and the soft sounds of dusk.
It should be calming me, too. Usually dusk is my favorite time of day.
It’s when I can finally leave behind the stresses of Saint Gertrude’s, Seamere’s magical familiars hospital.
When I can drag my weary feet toward my dorm room, eat a bowl of cereal for dinner, and scroll mindlessly on my strap for an hour before settling in for my nightly study.
But tonight I’m feeling jittery. I’ve flagrantly broken the rules—it’s possibly the first time in my twenty-four years of life that I’ve done so.
And while I’m content in the knowledge that I did what I felt was right, I still have to deal with the ten pounds of scruffy fluff concealed beneath my clothes.
At least Percy’s fluctuating magiphilia seems to have eased a little. By the time we reach one of the campus vending machines, his magic is an almost-pleasant tingle against my skin, rather than outright incineration.
The machine is a shiny black monstrosity, emblazoned with the Magecorp logo. My lips flatten. Of course it had to be this machine, didn’t it?
Magecorp, Mrs. Mason-Price’s husband’s company, is one of the two major suppliers of magic. The other supplier is Linksphere, but their vending machine is located across the paddocks at the opposite end of campus, and I really don’t have time for a detour.
Gripping Percy, I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself. My gut feels hollow, and not just because I missed out on eating lunch. Seeing the Magecorp logo is dredging up all of tonight’s memories. Everything that has happened is playing on a loop inside my mind.
Suddenly, I have the urge to call my parents and confess everything.
About the cat I’ve rescued. About my run-in with his owner.
I need to tell someone, or it feels like I might explode.
And since my mum and dad live in Manchester, with zero connections to the vet world—apart from me—it should be safe to tell them my secret. Right?
Fishing around in my jeans pocket, I locate my magecredit card. At the same time, in an effort to multitask, I switch my strap to speaker mode and dial my parents’ number.
My mother answers after two rings. “Guiying?” she says, using my Chinese name. “Is everything all right?”
She’s clearly worried, since normally I video call my parents on Mondays, when they’re off work. And today is, in fact, a Wednesday.
“Yes, Mā. I…” I pause. My confession teeters right at the tip of my tongue.
At the last minute, though, I balk, and stop myself.
It would only worry her. This close to exams she’d think of a new pet as a distraction. So instead I say, “Everything’s fine. I…just miss you is all.” Absently, I swipe my magecredit card through the slot in the machine.
My mother’s voice softens. “It only a few weeks now, and then you be home with us.”
My heart aches with such longing that my next words come out thick. “Yeah. I know.”
The vending machine beeps, a red error message flashing onscreen. I glance at it, barely registering what it says, since my attention is being commandeered by my phone conversation. Perhaps I swiped too quickly.
So much for multitasking.
“And when you home, we make you your favorite, yes?” my mother is saying. “Stir-fry bean curd in black bean sauce—”
“How is the restaurant?” I cut in, just to change the topic.
My parents’ bean curd has been my favorite thing on their menu since I was a child.
The thought of eating it again sends bittersweet nostalgia spiking through my chest. I swear, if she goes much longer like this then I’m going to end up blubbering right in the middle of Seamere’s courtyard.
I swipe my card again. Again, the vending machine beeps red. Percy gives a wriggle against my chest, and I tense, holding him steady, shifting our positions so he’s more secure.
“It all fine,” my mother says immediately. “No need for you to worry.”
I frown at her response. Sometimes I wish she’d be more open about what’s happening.
But it’s not surprising, really. My parents never discuss their financial woes with me.
They’ve always insisted that it’s not my problem, believing that it’s their job to take complete care of me—at least until I complete my studies.
Then, when they are old, it’ll be my job to take care of them.
I guess they’re hoping they can hold out until then.
The trouble is, I’m not so sure.
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause before my mum’s sharp voice cuts through the silence. “Have you eaten?” To anyone else the tone change might be startling—but not to me. After all, my mother is Asian. Scolding is her love language.
“Not yet,” I say. “I was just about to.” At this, my mother makes a sound of disapproval before launching into a tirade of advice, interspersed with reprimands. The only words I can get in edgewise are the occasional “Yes, Mā” or “No, Mā.”
Finally, I manage to say my goodbye and click off the call. I exhale. Now, at least, I can focus.
For a third time, I swipe my card. Again, the error message flashes up, and this time I can finally concentrate. Invalid credits, it says on the screen.
Shit.
I shove my card into my pocket and press another button to check the cost of today’s magic, which fluctuates from day to day, much like regular car fuel.
Apparently it’s due to market forces, though everyone knows there’s a lot of politicking involved.
Whatever the reason, today’s magic prices are nearly double what they were last night.
Shit. Shit shit shit. My head starts to pound and I suck in a breath, trying to ease the tightness in my chest.
It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll just need to restock my magic another way. A shiver ripples down my spine at the thought. With my free, non-Percy-restraining hand, I massage my right temple, digging the pads of my fingers into the hollow.
I’ve just closed my eyes when someone speaks from behind me. “Trouble with the machine, Chan?” they say. Their voice holds an obvious sneer, their clipped accent the result of privilege, international tutors, and basically being an insufferable twat.
My eyelids spring open. It’s Harrisford, because of course it is. Harrisford Briggs: straight-A student and grade-A git. It’s just like him to want to rub it in.
After letting my breath out slowly, so that it’s more like a pained sigh, I grudgingly turn around. “None of your business, Briggs.”
I edge in front of the machine, obscuring the error message. It’s still flashing, like an extremely irritating alarm clock that’s been set for a six-minute snooze. A prickling heat has started to creep up my neck, but I ignore it, raising my chin to glare at him.
Harrisford makes no effort to hide the fact that he’s trying to see the screen.
“Do you need me to lend you the money?” He pulls his own magecredit card from his pocket and waves it in my direction.
“I could get you a discount, even. You know, mate’s rates and all.
” With a condescending lift of his eyebrow, he smirks.