Aubrey wasn’t paying attention to the professor, too busy inspecting the paper (and the scone), until Foxwood was already pointing his wand his way. Aubrey tensed. Did he know?
There had been a student or two who had suspected something was odd about him, in Aubrey’s time. Sometimes he had wanted them to figure it out – sometimes he had tried to prove he was a man – and then sometimes he wondered whether he really wanted to ever be human again. The life of a pet hedgehog was no great wonder, but then, nor had the life of a footman been. At least now Aubrey didn’t have to wait upon people. Here, like this, occasionally people even waited upon him.
Aubrey, intensely still, held his breath, but the spell did not take effect. It probably wouldn’t – the magic the baby devil Urquart had used was perhaps not one fixed by an everyday incantation. And it had not been a failed spell, either. It had been depressingly definite. But maybe –
Oh, no, Foxwood had thought better of the theory, and had turned his attentions to sending off his research. Aubrey wrinkled his nose and gave a harumphing snort at the mention of owls – his nemeses, with their beady eyes and beaks – but if he had a Professor’s protection, he’d manage. And he would hardly turn down the company. (As long as he got his scone at the end of it, or he would have to repay the good gentleman for the reneged promise by chewing holes in his socks.)
Regally, Aubrey padded up to Foxwood’s palm – a better size for a chariot than some scrappy-handed student, to be sure – and brushed the side of his quills against Foxwood’s thumb as he passed, as a sign of... affection, maybe.
There had been a student or two who had suspected something was odd about him, in Aubrey’s time. Sometimes he had wanted them to figure it out – sometimes he had tried to prove he was a man – and then sometimes he wondered whether he really wanted to ever be human again. The life of a pet hedgehog was no great wonder, but then, nor had the life of a footman been. At least now Aubrey didn’t have to wait upon people. Here, like this, occasionally people even waited upon him.
Aubrey, intensely still, held his breath, but the spell did not take effect. It probably wouldn’t – the magic the baby devil Urquart had used was perhaps not one fixed by an everyday incantation. And it had not been a failed spell, either. It had been depressingly definite. But maybe –
Oh, no, Foxwood had thought better of the theory, and had turned his attentions to sending off his research. Aubrey wrinkled his nose and gave a harumphing snort at the mention of owls – his nemeses, with their beady eyes and beaks – but if he had a Professor’s protection, he’d manage. And he would hardly turn down the company. (As long as he got his scone at the end of it, or he would have to repay the good gentleman for the reneged promise by chewing holes in his socks.)
Regally, Aubrey padded up to Foxwood’s palm – a better size for a chariot than some scrappy-handed student, to be sure – and brushed the side of his quills against Foxwood’s thumb as he passed, as a sign of... affection, maybe.
Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.