Looking at my chair, I try to picture the scene. “Poor Harry. For her sake, I hope you’re wrong. For all of our sakes. If she ends up being a murderer, she’ll have fooled us all. I could never imagine her doing it, she’s just too good-natured.”
H swoops to land on the chair beside me. He’d been so quiet, I’d forgotten he was here with me. Nearly falling out of my chair, I reach over to hold his snout shut before he can let loose with another one of his infamous sneezes. He swallows it back, steam pouring from his ears, “Thanks, Nat. That was a close one. Yer right in tha line of fire.”
Wiping wyvern snot onto the chair cushion, I arch an eyebrow in his direction. “No worries, but you only sneeze when you’re stressed. What’s going on?”
H sinks into the chair, his leathery wings scratching against the seat back. “I was rememberin’ them stories she told last night at dinner. ‘Arry’s got a dark side.”
My mind whirring, I mentally replay everything I heard. There was the story about getting even with Professor Green and the funny tale of her putting Edward Thomas in his place. Sure, she doesn’t hesitate to hold her own, but murder? It seems like a huge stretch.
But then again, what would a strong woman do to make sure she held onto her husband? Could Harry be the culprit? If so, what does that mean for me? My one friend here at the college, um, human friend that is, and I might have to point the police in her direction.
I’m so lost in thought I leave without saying goodbye, wandering the hallway until I exit into the gardens. In a mindless trance, my feet move along the worn path towards my flat. I need a quiet space to think this over and figure out what to do next.
Chapter Ten
I move mechanically around my kitchen, boiling the kettle and dropping a tea bag into my favourite mug, pacing in a circle as I wait the requisite three to five minutes for the tea to steep.
I pour in a spot of milk, stir in a spoonful of sugar, and make my way over to the window seat. When I imagined spending hours here, I wasn’t planning to pass them away wondering if a woman I genuinely like might be a cold-blooded murderer. I’m relieved that H didn’t follow me back. If he were here, I’d be forced to give voice to my thoughts, making my suspicions real.
I replay every minute of time I’ve spent with Harry. Could she have done it? It seems unfathomable. I have countless examples of things she has done to welcome me and make me feel at home.
“Would a murderer stock your refrigerator?” I ask my empty living room. Unsurprisingly, the sofa cushions fail to answer.
My grandfather’s picture sits on the mantle. Was it only a week ago that I showed up, bright eyed and ready to take on everything the college had to throw at me? I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I wish his face would come to life, offering advice on what to do next. Sipping my tea, I stare at the photograph, willing the mouth to move. “Grandfather, are you there? I know about the magic now. We need your help.” Silence is my only response.
Back into my bedroom, I toss my work clothes onto the bed before digging my workout wear and trainers out of my cupboard. I need to get out of here, out of the college and away from everything that the college keeps throwing at me.
For the first time, I turn toward my front door. I don’t want to jog through the gardens, waving hello at every student I pass. I want out of here, now, without being forced to speak to a soul. Earbuds in, volume cranked up, I tuck my key into the pocket of my leggings.
I fling my front door open, head down as I search through my music for my cardio playlist. Not looking where I’m going, I jog into the narrow entry hall straight into the path of someone, my shoulder banging into a man’s chest, nearly causing me to drop my phone. I rip out my earbuds to apologise, looking up to find Professor Rude glaring back at me.
Of course I do. That seems about right for how my day is going.
I can tell he’s gearing up for another round of criticism, so I open my mouth, jumping in before he can get a word out.
“Well, well well… Are you policing the housing now? Not content with complaining about me to the Principal in the dining hall or ensuring I don’t invade your precious senior common room?” Waving towards my open apartment door, I explain, “I live here, in this very flat, whether you like it or not.”
Eyebrows arched, he stares down his nose at me. “I have plenty of better ways to spend my day, Ms Payne, than wander around after you.” He pauses, pointing towards the ceiling, “I also live here, right up these stairs.”
I stare at him as the words trickle through the muck of my brain. The shopping tote on his shoulder and the stack of mail in his hand are evidence of the truth of his statement. He lives here. That means he must be… can it be?
I lean
