Chapter 16 #2
I can tell from the escalating pitch of his purring that Percy’s had enough of chin scratches, so I move on to his ears.
“Right.” The memory of Mr. Briggs’s words ricochets around my head.
You’ve got it all wrong. We don’t know why the extra holes are forming.
And his chuckle—the chuckle I can still hear in my marrow every time I close my eyes—is a sound that still reverberates painfully around the caverns of my mind.
I wipe my clammy palms on the bedsheets. “Can we really trust anything your dad says, though? I mean, he lied to us about being in Wales. He…attacked me.”
“But wait.” Harrisford spins in my chair to grab a book from the desk.
I recognize it as the one we’d stolen from his father’s study.
He starts riffling through the pages until he reaches a section of interest, then peers at it.
“I think that in this case, my father might be telling the truth. Because, listen—
“Although the Great Fire of London in 1666 is commonly attributed to a blaze that started in a bakery,” Harrisford reads aloud, “magical experts now believe that the conflagration was triggered by rogue magic. Records of the time indicate that there had been at least a year of magical destabilization, as well as several incidences of surges recorded throughout the city. Many of the earlier deaths were erroneously declared as being due to bubonic plague. However, reports of fatalities due to injuries inflicted by familiars, as well as recorded fluctuations in the levels of atmospheric magic, have led many historians to believe that the fire was a result of a massive power surge.”
“Okay,” I say. “Assuming the London fire was due to a magical surge. What does that have to do with us, now?”
“Hold your unicorns, woman,” Harrisford chides, though his tone is not harsh. “I’m just getting to that.”
He continues reading. “Indeed, analysis of the records from King’s Court Prison documents the incarceration of one Reginald Pius Navum, a well-known heretic of the time.
Navum was imprisoned for opening illegal portals to the Void in an effort to create discord—an act of sabotage that amplified the flow of magic and now is thought to be the cause of the surge. ”
“So are we thinking that maybe someone is…sabotaging Magecorp?” I rub my forehead. “But who?”
Harrisford gazes at me, his expression thoughtful.
“I don’t know. But I do think that my father could be right.
It could be someone on the outside, trying to interfere with Magecorp.
I’ve been reading up on all the previous surges listed in this book”—he holds up the tattered tome—“and virtually all of them have been due to sabotage. The Great Library of Alexandria fire. The fire in Rome back in 64 AD. Even the Black Friday bushfires in Australia last century…They all have evidence that points to magical surges, even though the governments at the time worked hard to cover it up. The authorities have kept a tight control on magic ever since the Dark Ages, Chan, but every time they’ve lost control, it’s because someone has managed to breach their defenses. ”
“So it’s likely someone who wants to bring down Magecorp.
” But that doesn’t really narrow it down.
There are so many people, and groups, who have reason to hate them.
Linksphere, for one, being their single major competitor.
The Magical Liberation Organization too who are anti-capitalist at the best of times.
Or even just disgruntled ex-employees of the corporation.
Any one of them could be the culprit, and we’re no closer to figuring it out.
Lifting Percy off my chest, I swing my legs out of bed. He gives a plaintive yowl, shoots me a loathsome look, and leaps right into Harrisford’s lap. Traitor.
“Chan,” Harrisford says. “What are you doing?” In the ultimate act of betrayal, Harrisford is scratching the spot above Percy’s tail, and he has his bum stuck in the air, his crooked tail vibrating with pleasure.
I reach for my wardrobe and yank the doors open, intending to pull out some jeans. “I’m getting up. We need to report this, Briggs.” But just as I close my fingers around a hanger, a bout of dizziness grips me and I sway, clinging on to the wardrobe for support.
“You’re too unwell,” Harrisford says disapprovingly. After tucking Percy beneath one arm, he stands and guides me back to the bed. “You almost died, remember? You really need to rest.”
I don’t want to rest, but I can’t deny that my body is staging a protest at being upright. So I sink onto the bed with a sigh. It’s then that I notice: I’m no longer wearing the tweed suit.
I stare at my body in dismay. I’m wearing a ratty, oversized old T-shirt that I use for going to sleep.
It has a picture on it: the entire cast of the Twilight saga, terrible wigs and all.
I’d bought it back in my Twihard days and got the last XL because it had sold in all the other sizes.
I hope Harrisford hasn’t seen the state of my arms, or… even worse, my legs.
“Briggs,” I say, my voice shaking with suppressed horror. “Did you…Did you undress me?”
Harrisford’s back to petting Percy. “You were injured.” He gives a maddeningly nonchalant shrug. “Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” But I don’t fail to notice the pink tinge in his cheeks, or the fact that he seems to be refusing eye contact.
“And who”—I swallow, gathering my courage—“who healed me?”
This time, he does look up, his blue and brown eyes meeting mine. “Why, I did. Of course.”
A bubble of madness is expanding in my brain, threatening to explode. I fancy that given long enough, cerebrospinal fluid is going to start leaking right out of my nostrils.
“You healed me?” I hiss. “You can’t do that! What about taking me to the bloody hospital—”
“And risking them finding out we broke into Magecorp?” he sneers, as though it’s the most ludicrous thing anyone has ever suggested. “No, thank you.”
I cross my arms tightly across my middle. Vets have a saying: Real doctors treat more than one species. But that isn’t supposed to include humans. “It’s wrong,” I say, and I’m aware of how holier-than-thou I sound. But I don’t care. “You’ve probably broken dozens of laws—”
“And you’ve probably broken hundreds!” His voice is rising too, and the pink in his face is turning into a deep, angry shade of red. “So where does that leave us, Chan? Are you going to dob me in? Report me? What happened to a simple ‘thanks’?”
“Thanks for what? For drawing me into this stupid circus?”
He lets out a frustrated roar. “For saving your bloody life!”
We stare at each other, chests heaving, neither of us willing to back down. For god’s sake—the moment Harrisford starts to finally seem human, and then he comes out with this? What a fucking bastard.
He did save you, you know. Percy’s imperious voice rings loud and clear down our bond. He rescued you from that ruined rooftop, brought you here, and used his own magic to heal you…
Oh, shut it, Percy. Even in my mind, my voice sounds choked with tears. You’re just on his side because he’s currently scratching your bum.
Percy half closes his eyes. He’s a very good bum scratcher, to be fair. Perhaps you ought to try it.
I grimace. I am not letting him scratch my bum!
But aloud, I finally concede. “Thank you,” I mutter, crossing my arms even tighter.
“You’re welcome,” Harrisford says, his tone equally acerbic.
By the time Harrisford convinces me to lie down again, I’m feeling weak and shivery. Our quarrel has depleted the last of my energy, and I roll onto my side, my head pillowed against my hands.
“You should go to sleep now,” Harrisford says. He’s still annoyed with me; he doesn’t look at me, instead just stares at his book.
“I’m not tired.” I try, unsuccessfully, to stifle my yawn. “Keep reading. I want to know if there’s anything else that’ll help us.”
Harrisford raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure? It’s pretty dry.”
I don’t want to tell him that I need this—that after two days away from study, my brain is craving stimulation. Instead, I just say, “Perhaps your boring voice will send me off to sleep.”
He shakes his head. “Christ, Chan, you really are a callous witch.” But there’s a faint smile playing about his lips. He draws my desk chair closer, its rolling wheels squeaking, then leans back, propping his sock-clad feet on my bed.
I close my eyes as he starts reading, the deep timbre of his words lulling me into calm. And soon enough, I fall asleep…to the sound of my enemy’s voice.