“Tha Bodleian ain’t yer county library. It’s over four ‘undred years old, fer starters, second oldest in Europe.”
“So, you were a gargoyle at the library, but now you’re a cat. And a wyvern?” My confusion is written across my face.
“I ain’t ‘ad ta explain this ta someone new in ages.” H marches a couple of laps on the carpet while he gets his thoughts in order. “Well, mate, it’s like this. After several ‘undred years of wind and rain, my carvin’ started ta wear away.”
I follow his talons as he traces the path, “First tha top of my wing, then my legs… when I was barely a ‘ead left, I started ta worry. I been watching people and animals walk by for centuries. I never saw no one worried ‘bout what was ‘appenin’ ta me.” He lets loose a blast of black steam, his anger clear.
“Then one day, right when I was ‘bout to give up, I nodded off and woke up on tha ground. I was one of them. And a cat! Bloody lucky call, that one. My neighbour Sid ended up bein’ a squirrel. No Lincolnshire poacher cheddar for ‘im; ‘e’s gotta ‘unt around fer chestnuts.”
Sid? I make a mental note to come back to that name later. “Right, then you, um, reincarnated?”
Snout nodding in approval, H confirms, “Guess you can call it that. A black cat wiff white markings for my wings, missie.” He waves the wings in question, fluttering up a few feet into the air.
The picture is coming together in my head, but I’ve still got a question. “Ok, gargoyle into cat. How do you get back to being a wyvern?”
“That’s tied to tha magic. Unless yer born to tha right family, I’m a cat. Bloody ridiculous wiff all tha miaowing and whatnot. Thankfully, I can usually con somebody into sharing their curry wiff me.”
“Can I only see you as a wyvern inside the college? What happens if we leave St Margaret?”
“We can go most anywhere in Oxford, and ya’ll see a wyvern. Everybody else sees a cat. Now wot ya say about meetin’ some of tha other lads in my magical gang?”
Chapter Five
I’m gathering up my handbag to leave when the reality of what I’m doing sets in, freezing me in place. “Um, H? I’ve got a few more questions before I’m ready to leave this office.”
H glances back, mid-flight towards the closed office door. “But my mates! Everyone is wantin’ ta meet ya.”
I grab his tail to halt his progress. “Trust me, I am really excited to meet everyone, but it’s nine in the morning. What if someone catches me talking to you? Or to a portrait? Or thin air?”
His glare softens when he sees the concern written across my face. “Don’t ya worry none, missie. Tha magic makes it so people accept whatever they see. Cat wanderin’ tha ‘allways, no problem. Lady chattin’ wiff a painting, that’s just fine.” H flies up until his eyes are level with mine, reaching out with a hand to pat my cheek. “Don’t worry iffen someone sees you.”
“What about when you breathe fire? Won’t people notice the burn in my… where did it go?” I spin around, searching for the spot that H set on fire when he sneezed earlier. Aside from basic wear and tear, the carpet is perfect.
“Tha magic fixes everything back again. ‘Cept tha ash… that sticks around.” H swoops across the room, dislodging the last bits of ash from the carpet in question.
Once again, I grab H by the tail before he can get to the door.
“Lor luvin, Nat. It’s a tail, not a bell pull. Wot now?”
I struggle to speak past the lump in my throat. “I’m nervous. I mean, magic? Ghosts? Am I really ready for all of this?”
His eyes travel from the polka dot ballet flats on my feet, up the length of my ladybird dress until he finally meets my eyes. “Look at ya self, Nat. Yer a strong missie, confident. Yer grandda prolly told ya all about us. Yer not meetin’ strangers, yer finally gettin’ to know yer wider family.”
That’s the inspiration I needed to get moving. My answering smile reassures H that it’s safe to turn his back on me. I’m ready to go, no further plans to pull on his tail before we go.
After opening my office door, I nudge H aside and stick my head out to peek down the hallway. No humans wandering about. Everyone must be off playing catch-up on all the work they didn’t get done yesterday. Seemed like every person in the college found an excuse to stop by the dining hall and spy on the bobbies investigating the scene.
I wave H out and lock the door behind us. As we turn, I rub my eyes, checking to make sure they are working properly.
How on earth was I oblivious to all this activity yesterday and this morning? The hallway is buzzing with ghostly figures dressed in clothes covering every decade in the last century.
Pausing, I watch them bustle from room to room, carrying paper-filled folders or large textbooks. “Ghostly college admins? Is that really how they’re spending their afterlife?” I shudder, horrified at the thought of passing eternity shuffling papers from one room to another.
I spy a well-dressed man hurrying in our direction. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and I’m guessing he’s from the earlier days of the college as he has a pocket watch tucked into his waistcoat. I attempt to flag him down, but my hand passes right through him as he rushes past.
Fortunately, H is there to snag him with a claw. “‘Old up Bartie, I want ya ta meet Nat. She’s our new prefect. Old Philip was her grandda.” Facing to me, H completes the introductions. “Nat, this is Bartholomew.”
Bartholomew’s eyes light up in satisfaction. “Welcome, Ms Nat. Sorry for not stopping, but I wasn’t sure you could see us yet. We’re all chuffed you’re here.
