Chapter 45
Gwendolynne
The next morning, Harrisford is gone.
The painful pang that jolts through my body transforms into a warm, fuzzy feeling when I spot the note he’d left: Gone for a run. Be back soon. H xx. His writing is so messy it’s almost illegible; I guess it’s appropriate since soon he’ll graduate as a doctor of sorts.
While I’m waiting for him, I take another shower—uninterrupted this time—making use of all the upmarket toiletries. I dry my hair to smooth silk with the fancy hotel hair dryer. I wrap myself in a fluffy robe, brush my teeth, then settle down in front of the enormous TV to wait for Harrisford.
By ten a.m., my stomach is growling, so I order room service. I order twice as much as I would usually, because I assume Harrisford will be back soon. He doesn’t show up, so I eat too much, feeling faintly sick by the time housekeeping shows up at noon.
“He must be training for a fucking marathon or something,” I grumble, and Percy sends an Ugh! down our bond. Ugh, indeed, since why would anyone want to run that far? Though at least I finally understand how he keeps himself so fit.
By two p.m., Harrisford still hasn’t returned, and I’m picking at the cold remains of my breakfast. It barely fills the hollow ache gnawing at my stomach—an ache that’s there not because of hunger, but because I’m now coming to the cold, stark conclusion: Harrisford isn’t coming back.
He’s fucking left me. Again.
Even after we’d had mind-blowing sex. Even after he’d whispered the sweetest things, deep in the dark of night. Even after he’d caressed my face, kissed me oh-so-tenderly, looked at me as though I was the center of his entire universe.
He’s lied to me. Again. And again. And I fell for it. Again. I should have gone with my gut instinct: that this was all part of his strategy, his scheme…to triumph. To achieve one final victory.
My chest feels like it’s all caved in. My heart is thumping pitifully fast. The hotel is surrounded by high-rises that block out the afternoon sun. I shiver, my teeth chattering in the darkening room, once again feeling like the world’s biggest fool.
At three p.m., I finally get dressed, gather my things, and exit the hotel, too angry to even cry.
The next day, after seven grueling years of training, the senior cohort of the Seamere College of Magical Veterinary Sciences finally graduates.
It’s a short timeline; since we’re all assessed by magical means, they can calculate the results almost immediately. It means they can also kick us out faster, I guess.
It’s a bittersweet feeling; I’m happy to be moving on, of course, but I’m also frightened, apprehensive, sad. Plus there’s the fact that, only two nights ago, I’d pictured myself celebrating graduation alongside Harrisford, and now—after he abandoned me in the hotel room—I won’t be.
The afternoon is warm, not hot. The other students buzz with excitement.
Everything is swathed in the unmistakable aura of magic.
I’ve no idea why, but there have been no more surges for the past twenty-four hours—the elevated atmospheric magic seems to have eased to its normal low-level hum.
At least the brief respite gives me, Heli, and Conall a bit more time to figure out how to enter the Void.
The ceremony is outside, so that both familiars and mythical creatures can attend: The qílín and her foal stick their muzzles through a fence; Arkany flies lazy circles overhead; I even spy a dark-haired centaur swigging from a suspicious-looking flask. Percy snoozes, curled on my lap.
My neck is sweaty beneath my gown, and my hat makes my head all itchy. Although I’m terrified of seeing Harrisford, when I take my seat in front of the stage, my gaze involuntarily drifts to his chair.
It’s empty.
My stomach twists itself into knots. He’s probably rolling out of some other woman’s bed in a sort of postcoital daze, and will arrive at the last minute looking impeccable, as usual. I clench my hands into fists and force myself to swallow the scream that’s lodged inside my throat.
Don’t think about him, Gwendolynne. I grit my teeth. He means nothing. Nothing.
Professor Kaur is still suspended, so that awful man, Thomas Pickering, is presenting the degrees today. He gets up to speak, droning on about the honor of Seamere and the next generation of bright young veterinarians.
But I’m not listening, because I’m wondering: Where the fuck is Harrisford? The ceremony has started, and he still hasn’t shown up. I try to keep myself from repeatedly checking his empty chair but fail miserably.
His absence is just so…odd. Today, we’ll find out our final scores. We’ll find out who is being proclaimed top of Seamere. And I know Harrisford. I know he wouldn’t usually miss an opportunity to gloat if—by some cruel trick of fate—he manages to beat me.
The vice dean is nearing the end of his speech. I sit up straighter, trying to focus, pushing Harrisford to the back of my mind, as Professor Pickering clears his throat and unfolds the parchment that holds the thread of my entire future.
“And this year the top student of Seamere College, who won by one single point, is…”
The audience waits with bated breath. “Dr. Gwendolynne Chang!”
“Chan,” Heloise, who is next to me, mutters indignantly. But I barely register her. I hardly notice the way the crowd ruptures into applause as I stand and edge my way along the row of seats, wondering the whole time where on earth my biggest rival is.
Afterward, when Heloise spots me, she rushes at me and gives me an enormous hug.
“Congratulations, Dr. Chan,” she says, beaming all over her face. She takes a step back and gives me an illustrious bow, with a flourish. “The greatest, the most fantastic, the hottest-ever top graduate of Seamere.”
“Thanks, Heli,” I mumble quickly, and then I grab her forearm and pull her close. “Listen, you haven’t seen Harrisford around anywhere, have you?”
“Harrisford? No, why?”
My eyes scan the crowd, checking one last time for his distinctive golden head. “He didn’t show up to the ceremony.”
Heli’s eyes widen. “Really?”
My cheeks flush. The fact that she didn’t notice is a little embarrassing. No one else seems as observant about Harrisford’s movements as I am.
I ignore that thought. “Yeah. He missed the entire thing. Heli, you don’t think—”
I stop short. I haven’t yet told Heli about what Harrisford and I did two nights ago.
Or how I’ve fallen hard for him, even though he doesn’t feel the same way back.
I haven’t had the chance to tell her how he’d fucked right off the morning after we’d had the most incredible sex—twice—and I’d seen him in all his perfect, naked glory.
I freeze. My brain has snagged on something, and my mind is churning, sifting through my recollections as though I’m perusing books inside the library. At the hotel, I’d been so delirious with desire that I hadn’t noticed, hadn’t registered what I was feeling.
I press my fingers to my lips, recalling some deeply buried body memory of the way his skin had felt beneath my hands.
After our second time, he’d fallen asleep before me, snoozing on his stomach, and I’d taken the opportunity to spend a considerable amount of time ogling him.
I’d run my fingers through his soft blond hair.
Caressed the scars that covered his shoulders and his back.
He had many scars, yes, but also a specific one.
One that was more raised and less irregular than the ones that marked his back.
And if I recall correctly, it had been high on the nape of his neck, just at the base of his skull.
It’s one I’d subconsciously noticed when he’d undressed in his room at the Briggs mansion, because it looked different from the others.
A very straight scar, in a very particular place…
“Gwen?” Heli says, uncertain.
I pace away from her, one hand clamped on my forehead.
Now that exams are over and my brain is no longer in panic mode, my memories are unlocking, answers to all my questions slotting into place.
And the sound of Nathaniel Price’s subordinate, the man who Mr. Price called Jarvis, echoes through my mind: Their Source was implanted so long ago, it will have built up a significant capacity.
They might be the only individual capable of holding a long-term tether.
They’d been talking about a particular patient, someone who they referred to as patient 39.
A patient 39 they intended to use to ration their remaining Source.
“Heli—” I choke out, my throat closing over. “Harrisford…His scar…Oh my god.”
Heli’s brow creases. “What’s wrong? What about Harrisford’s scar?”
“I think it’s an implant scar.” I raise my eyes to meet hers. “I think…I think that Harrisford is patient 39.”
Heli and I corner Pen and Conall at the postgraduation cocktail function.
They’re slightly tipsy on champagne but agree to come immediately.
We need them both: Conall because he’s brilliant in all things to do with the Void.
And Pen because they’re the only one out of the four of us who knows how to pick a lock.
With me cradling Percy, we rush through the hallways, heading to Harrisford’s room.
Thankfully, the south wing’s main corridor is empty, since most of the students are still at the function.
The last time I was here, most of the mahogany doors were open, hanging off their hinges with holes blown through them from the surge.
But now they’re pristine: Magical Maintenance have clearly been through and repaired every single one.
It’s different to our wing, which still bears loose locks and ill-fitting doors and scorch marks all the way up the walls.
Figures. I’m slightly bitter—but not surprised—that they’ve prioritized the rich folk over us.
As we hurry along, I ask Pen, panting, whether they or the MLO know about Magecorp’s plans to kidnap Harrisford.
They shake their head. “Sorry, Gwen, but the MLO are secretive about all their intel, even if we’re members.
They say it’s best to keep information siloed so we’re not a risk if one of us gets caught. ”
When we arrive at Harrisford’s door, I bang on it, but he doesn’t answer.
So I give the signal to Pen, who slides a bobby pin out of their elaborately curled hair and inserts it into the keyhole.
It takes a few minutes, a lot of jiggling, and several choice words from Pen’s mouth before the lock clicks and the door swings ajar.
My heart starts to pound. I haven’t been in Harrisford’s dorm room since that fateful morning, around two weeks ago, when we’d been prepping to break into Magecorp HQ.
It’s exactly the same as it was then, with the exception that Harrisford’s bedclothes are smooth, having been neatly made up.
And there’s something else there; something extremely worrisome.
There’s no Harrisford.
But there is Pudding, sitting on a platform, watching us with unblinking eyes.
A few minutes later, I’m actually pacing, both hands buried in my hair.
“He never goes anywhere without his familiar,” I tell the others. It’s not strictly true, of course—he’d come to Manchester without her. And to dinner, and the hotel room. But for him to miss graduation and leave Pudding behind…This is very much out of character.
“Could he be at the hospital?” Heli asks.
I stop moving for a second, chewing my lip. “I doubt it,” I say, after a pause. “From what Jarvis said, it really sounded like he’d been implanted ages ago.”
Was this something that Darghan did—to his own son? Is that why he was pressuring Harrisford to join Magecorp, so he could use him as a tether?
I feel sick. In the cavernous depths of my mind, I picture Harrisford as a small boy, a white-blond mop of hair on his head, being held down on a surgery table and forcibly sedated while his father stands at the viewing window, looking on…
“I’ll call them anyway,” Heli says, and while she makes the phone call, I draw nearer to the bearded dragon, feeling all fidgety with worry.
“Where did he go, Pudding?” I say to her, aloud. But she can’t communicate with me. The only people familiars can speak to are their bonded humans.
Heli hangs up, the corners of her mouth tugging down. “He’s not at the hospital.”
Percy has been silent the whole time, curled up tightly on an armchair. But now he pipes up, his aloof voice echoing through my brain. Can you not smell the Void magic?
My gaze falls on him, sharp and pointed. “No?” I’ve never been able to smell Void magic. I didn’t know that magic even had a smell. Is this another thing, like detecting ketones and being able to easily diagnose DKA, that I’m not genetically equipped to do?
I remember suddenly that the others can’t hear Percy and me communicate, so I turn to them, to ask if anyone else can smell it.
They all respond in the negative. Like me, none of them could smell Matilda the DKA cat’s ketones. The only one who could smell them was Harrisford. Perhaps the two abilities are related, somehow.
Percy gives a disdainful sniff. Well, it absolutely reeks of Void magic in here. I could also smell his life force. The trail was strong, leading to this room, but in here it just…disappears. Which means that—
I don’t wait for Percy to finish before I spin to face my friends.
“He’s been kidnapped.” My memories are raking through the other things Jarvis had said to Nathaniel at the hospital, about patient 39.
If we station 39 inside the Void…we can just swap out the tethers on the outside as they burn out.
My voice wavers as I add, “I think that…Harrisford has been taken into the Void.”