Free The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) by Julia Golding Page A

on their way across the foyer. A tall, thin man with limp brown hair, he had the look of a plant kept in a dark room, straining to grow toward the light. Connie’s party stopped.
    “Oh, it’s you,” Horace said, his normally genial voice laced with disdain. “How’s the New Members Department treating you?”
    “Same as usual,” Mr. Coddrington replied evasively, his eyes still fixed on Connie. “I wondered if I might have a brief word with Miss Lionheart. Alone.” He attempted a pleasant smile that was truly painful to behold.
    Horace glanced at his watch. “If Connie doesn’t mind, I suppose we have a few moments.” Connie wished he had not said this, wished he had given her a decent reason to excuse herself, for now her head was full of the last time Mr. Coddrington had spoken to her “alone”: the rush of wings, the terror of being swept away by a black dragon and taken to Kullervo.
    “Good. If Miss Lionheart would not mind stepping this way into my office, I have something I would like to ask her.”
    Connie was too shy to be overtly rude to him. She followed Mr. Coddrington down a tiled corridor leading off the entrance hall. There were many doors opening on either side, some ajar, giving her a glimpse into the administrative heart of the Society, but she was too preoccupied by what Mr. Coddrington might want with her to take much in. The assessor paused by a closed door marked “New Members Department,” unlocked it, and ushered her inside.
    There were three desks in the room but no occupants.Two desks were piled high with files, adorned with children’s pictures and potted plants. One desk was meticulously tidy—not a stray paperclip in sight—with a pale gray blotter set squarely in its gleaming center and an in-tray in one corner. Behind the desk on the wall, it was another matter: a huge map of the British Isles was covered with tiny pins, each color-coded for one of the companies and bearing a number.
    “It is fortunate that my colleagues are out assessing,” Mr. Coddrington said, nodding at the two untidy desks. “Please have a seat.”
    Connie sat down nervously in a low chair across the desk from him. Avoiding his gaze, her eyes drifted to the map. She realized with a jolt that on the spot marking Chartmouth there was single silver pin—the only silver one on the whole map.
    “Oh, yes, I like to keep tabs on everyone,” he said with a wintry smile. “Literally, that is. Each pin is cross-referenced to my filing system with a note of date assessed and eventual allocation of companion species. They are all filed in one of my cabinets.” He nodded at four metal filing cabinets standing along one wall. “I did not know what to do with you. Your entry is still here, waiting to find a home.” He picked up a thin piece of paper from his in-tray, the only thing in it, holding it between his finger and thumb, before dropping it back down. “I suppose I will just have to get a new cabinet for you, won’t I?”
    Connie was not sure what she was expected to say tothis, so she said nothing, her eyes now straying to the despised piece of paper that recorded her membership details.
    “Actually, it is about this that I wanted to talk to you, Miss Lionheart.”
    Filing cabinets? Connie had lost track of what he was saying.
    “I was wondering if you could give me any idea of just how many of you there might be out there—to help us adjust our systems to cope with the burdens you will place on them.”
    “Me?” Connie stared at him. “How should I know?”
    Mr. Coddrington leaned forward intently, elbows on his blotter, fingertips touching lightly. “We thought you might be in a position to find out. At the very least you might have your suspicions about other universals.”
    Connie recalled the “suspicions” she and her aunt had about her brother Simon some time ago, but they’d not had an opportunity so far to follow up. Mr. Coddrington would be the last person with whom she would