“Fer the first time in four ‘undred years, I ain’t ‘ungry. I’m too worried about ‘Arry ta eat.”
“I know exactly how you feel. Did you see the state of her fingernails? When she stood to leave, a ray of sunlight illuminated the bags under her eyes. I can’t even think about the gala. Cancelling it? That would be devastating.” I slump in my chair, depressed and overwhelmed.
Harry is right, Edward and the police inspectors aren’t moving fast enough. If we’re not careful, Chef Smythe’s murder will end up in the cold case files. And then there’s the rise in petty crimes. I can see both Harry and Dr Radcliffe will feel somehow at fault. If only there was some way to let them know that the problem is much bigger than the two of them, bigger than St Margaret.
My mouth moves, vocalising the thoughts spinning in my brain. “Maybe it would help if they knew the gala was part of the solution rather than another casualty of the crime. But how could we… No, I guess we…” I trail off when I hit a dead end. H was very clear in our first conversation. I can’t tell anyone about the magic.
But surely this must qualify as exceptional circumstances, right? Every rule has an exception if you’re willing to look hard enough to find it. Nearly everything that has happened since I arrived in Oxford has fallen into the “this has never happened before” category.
I straighten in my chair, a feeling of hope giving me a newfound energy. “H, we need to tell Dr Radcliffe that Oxford has magic.”
H opens his mouth, but a giant sneeze slips out, lighting half my gala notes on fire. Without thinking, I grab my coffee mug and splash the now cold brew on the flames. Between the coffee and H’s frantic stomping, we put the fire out, but my notes are a complete loss. Good thing the magic will replace them.
Glaring, I snipe at H, “We need to find a better stress relief for you than sneezing jets of flames everywhere.”
“Soz, Nat. Does it make it better iffen I say it were an accident?” Using his wing as a broom, H dusts a pile of ashes into the rubbish bin.
“Not really, but I’ll let it go since we’ve got bigger problems on our hands. Where was I? Oh yeah, Dr Radcliffe. Can we tell her about the magic of Oxford?”
H gives a hesitant snuffle, causing me to leap out of my chair and wrap a hand around his snout. This time he swallows the sneeze instead of setting the room on fire. Only when he nods that it’s safe do I let go.
“Thar’s rules, Nat. We can’t tell nobody. Ya know that, I told ya myself.”
Throwing my hands in the air, I spin around and begin pacing. “Forget the rules! We’re in crisis mode here, H! We’ve got three brand new prefects and no human mentor. The magical field is out of alignment and we haven’t got a clue why or how to fix it. And on top of that, we’ve got a murder to solve and a crime wave to stop. We’re in over our heads here, and I don’t see any other solution. We need help, H, right now, right here.”
I can see H preparing to fire off another immediate no to my request. I throw up a hand, forcing him to stop. “Think about my request the same way you all considered my gala plans. What would it take to get a yes? No isn’t an option.”
H rocks back on his tail, his wings flared out to keep his body in balance. He stares up at the ceiling, then down at the floor, muttering to himself. I don’t dare move, too afraid of disrupting his considerations. Finally, he mutters something unintelligible, nods his head and looks over at me.
“Yer right, Nat. This ain’t normal and we do need ‘elp. ‘Uman ‘elp. But not Dr Radcliffe.”
I try to contain my relief. “Ok, if not Dr Radcliffe, then who? And why not her? She’s the college principal. You can’t get any more senior than that here at St Margaret.”
“College principals come and go, Nat. Iffen we’re gonna tell somebody, it ‘as ta be a person as committed ta Oxford as we are. Somebody who’s been ‘ere fer years, knows ever’one and ever’thing. Someone whose whole life is Oxford.” In unison, H and I both look around the room, searching until our eyes land on Harry’s forgotten coffee mug, still sitting on my meeting table.
H flaps his wing, soaring from the desk to the table. He does a backflip before landing across from me. With a sharp talon, he raps against the side of the mug. “The old bag Lillian trusted ‘Arry more’n anybody else ‘ere. I reckon she’s our best choice.”
I grab my handbag, ready to rush out the door in search of Harry. H blasts a jet of smoke in my path, arresting my movements. “Ya can’t run out and tell’er now, Nat. Think of tha other Eternals! No, I need ta talk to all of ‘em first, get’em all on board with tha plan. Then we can tell ’er.”
I see his logic. “That’s our plan, then. You track down all the Eternals and get their agreement. In the meantime, I will visit Dr Radcliffe. Edward Thomas and the police aren’t moving fast enough. I think it’s time for me to take a more active role in solving the murder.”
❖
I march down to Dr Radcliffe’s office and straight through her outer door. Harry’s desk is empty and the inner door to Dr Radcliffe’s office is partially open. Most people would wait for Harry to return. Not me, not today. I stride forward, pushing open the inner office door.
Dr Radcliffe sits at her desk, her full attention focused on her computer monitor. She looks dishevelled. I wouldn’t go so far as to say unkempt,
