After the unicorn fully materialized in the physical world, Jenkins instinctively glanced down at the carpet. Good, not a speck of mud under its hooves.
A soft nicker escaped its lips.
It looked up at Jenkins, its joy obvious, but seeing how crowded the foyer was, it refrained from trotting over to greet him. This restraint might also have been due to the cat and the woman watching it warily from the entrance hall; the still-young unicorn was a little timid.
Its luminescence was strikingly apparent in the dim room. But before Hathaway could properly admire it, there was a sharp click as Jenkins turned and lit the gas lamp in the living room.
"Please," he offered, gesturing with one hand in a manner not unlike a waiter in a fine dining restaurant. Hathaway shook off his hand, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and only then walked toward the sofa.
The renovated house had much more space now, and the area in front of the fireplace was large enough for two adult humans, a unicorn, and a cat to relax together.
Hathaway was angry for some unknown reason—so angry, in fact, that she completely ignored the beautiful little creature.
"So, does this unicorn belong to those people, or does it belong to you? Have you been involved in the activities of the Believers of the God of Lies? Jenkins, you haven't become one of them, have you?"
She was worried about him. Though she tried to suppress the concern in her voice, Jenkins could still hear it.
The unicorn's golden horn nudged the hand Jenkins had resting on the arm of the sofa, clearly displeased with his explanation.
"So you're saying you've never once participated in the activities of the Believers of the God of Lies?"
Her eyes bored into his.
Jenkins nodded repeatedly. "I know you're worried about me, but please, rest assured, I never get involved in dangerous things. The only reason I learned this ability is because it's interesting, and it likes me."
As he spoke, he reached out and stroked the back of the unicorn, which was now lying beside the sofa. Its smooth white coat was exceptionally soft to the touch, though still no match for the feel of Chocolate's little head.
"I wasn't concerned about you at all," Hathaway retorted, turning her head to avoid his gaze. The side of her face was beet red—redder, even, than the half-eaten apple left on the table from feeding the cat. Jenkins knew it was definitely not a reflection of the firelight.
At that thought, he suddenly felt terribly guilty.
"You really haven't been involved in anything illegal?" Hathaway asked again after a long silence.
"I'm certain of it. I have not."
Jenkins also turned his head, refusing to look at her. Though the man was a frequent liar, he actually despised the act of lying.
"Promise me you'll protect yourself and stop getting mixed up with those lunatics, alright?"
She took his hand once more. Jenkins's gaze remained fixed on the unicorn at the side of the sofa. He tried to pull his hand away but couldn't break her grip.
"They're not lunatics... and I will be careful."
She suddenly wrapped her arms around him from behind. The writer felt a soft pressure against his back, but this time, it was definitely not the cat. His cat was perched on the unicorn's back, regarding him with a scrutinizing gaze.
It was a terrifying look, one that Chocolate usually reserved for times when it suspected Jenkins was sneaking food behind its back.
"I was so terribly worried. Worried that one day you'd be taken away by the Church, or that someone would tell me you'd been found dead in some deserted alley."
She held him tightly, and Jenkins was terrified she might start to cry. He hated it when girls cried.
But Hathaway was strong; at least, she wouldn't cry over something .
"I won't be in any danger. No one can hurt me."
He chose his words carefully, hoping the young woman behind him would loosen her embrace.
"I'll look after myself. I know there are people who care about me—my family, Papa Oliver, the professor, my friends at the Church. Oh, did you know, I met a very interesting little girl at the Church, her name is Fi..."
The voice came from right behind him, and Jenkins felt his heart begin to pound again. Grains of sand continued to patter against the window, the logs in the fireplace crackled, the living room clock ticked with a steady rhythm, and the bored unicorn tilted its head back and let out a soft cry.
The firelight stretched their embraced shadow across the wall, a long, distorted, yet incredibly solid silhouette. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel※fire.net
"And Chocolate. It can't live without me."
He might have gotten that relationship backward.
"Anyone else?" the woman asked again.
Jenkins felt his lips go dry. He desperately wanted to reach for the teacup on the coffee table.
"Oh, and in Ruen, I also have..."
"Enough, Jenkins. You know what I'm asking."
Jenkins looked helplessly at his cat, which returned his gaze with the same scrutinizing stare. He knew, of course, what answer Hathaway wanted, but he...
"I know that you and Briny are both worried about me."
He finally gave his answer.
And that was enough. Hathaway wasn't asking for much at that moment. She just wanted to know what Jenkins was truly thinking, to know what was going through the mind of this somewhat lonely man. It seemed now that he wasn't oblivious to everything; he just wasn't willing to admit it yet.
Hathaway had managed to uncover some of what Briny had been hiding, and in doing so, learned Marquis Mikhail's true intentions. She had been surprised at first, but her genuine initial reaction was one of joy. This, it seemed, was the most perfect ending she could have imagined.
"Is there anything else you want to say to me?" the woman asked once more, though she had already let go of him.
Jenkins quickly turned, picked up his teacup for a sip, then scooped his cat onto his lap, as if seeking a sense of security.
This was the perfect opportunity to extend an invitation—an invitation to the end-of-month family dinner. But once that invitation was given, certain things between the three of them would become irreversible. He understood this, and so, though his mouth was open, no words came out.
He looked down at his cat. Back in its black-and-white coat, Chocolate was as beautiful as ever. It could accompany Jenkins through many things, but in this matter, it could offer him no help at all.
"I won't do anything immoral!"
Jenkins swore he had no idea how those words had stumbled out of his mouth. He hated the him of one second ago—truly hated him. Because that sentence had taken an already awkward situation and made it infinitely more so.