All the muscles in my body clench. Mustering the little courage I have, I march right up to officer on the dapple gray horse and ask, “May I pet him?”
Their conversation stops. “Sure thing. This is Henry. He’s a big ol’ softie.”
I reach up with shaking hands. I haven’t willingly gotten this close to a horse in years. “Nice, Henry.”
He moves his nose and attempts to nip me, but I jump back. My pulse is racing rapidly.
“Henry, behave,” the officer chides. “Go ahead and try again, miss, ’e won’t hurt ya.”
Every fiber of my being is telling me to run away, but horses are important to Sam and my fear of them is something I’m going to have to start working through if he and I end up dating, and maybe even becoming a couple. He’s mentioned wanting to become a riding instructor. It’s clear to me that horses are always going to be a part of his life. If I can learn to connect with them, it’ll give us something special to bond over.
Shuffling my feet forward, I try again. My hand touches his nose. It’s wet and coarse, like the fabric of a stiff cotton towel. After a few gentle strokes, my body starts to relax.
“That’s it. Nice and easy,” the officer says.
Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. Tension fleesmy body. I stroke his nose one final time. “Thank—” The words die on my lips, however, as Henry promptly sneezes on me. Suddenly, I’m covered in horse spit.
Ten
Steve’s eyes widen as I enter the break room. “What happened to you?”
“Henry happened,” I mumble, and dart over to the sink.
I pump a generous amount of soap onto my hands and arms and vigorously scrub them down. The hot water runs over my skin, stinging, and matching my mood. As soon as I finish here, I’ll march straight to the bathroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I don’t have the courage to wash my face in the sink we use for dishes.
“Um, Min . . .”
“Yeah?” I shake a few droplets of water off my hands, reach for a paper towel, and turn.
Steve’s cheeks are rosy red. “Your hair . . . it’s, er . . .”
“What?” I’m not in the mood to play games. If it looks like crap, whatever. I don’t care.
“It looks like the bird pooped there too.”
My nostrils flare, my eyelids flutter, and I inhale sharply and count backward from five. You’ve got to be kidding me. Horse snot in my hair too? Ugh. It’s going to be eight longhours before I can go home and shower. Reaching one, I exhale. It’s fine. I’ll just wear a hat, and maybe nobody will notice.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I manage.
“Happy Monday,” Mr. G grumbles as he enters the room. He clearly hasn’t had his second cup of coffee yet. “Steve, you’re on the till today. Min, you’re working stock, but first, Lord Renbrook’s asked to see you in his office. Meet with him, and then come and find me to... what happened to your shirt collar?”
I thought my shirt had survived the ordeal. My forehead tightens. I feel a tension headache beginning to take hold. “A horse sneezed on me.”
“I’ll see if I can find you another shirt.” Mr. G sighs. “In the meantime, the marching orders stand. Renbrook is waiting for you.” He tucks the clipboard in his hands under his elbow. “Don’t worry about changing. Paddy is a horseman, he’ll understand the horse bogies.”
Mr. G hasn’t said anything about my hair. I resist the urge to touch it just in case whatever is in it smears and makes it worse. Lord Renbrook is known for being scatterbrained at times—maybe he won’t even notice it.
“Yes, sir.”
If I had attended normal school as a teen, I imagine that the walk to Lord Renbrook’s office would be a lot like a walk to the principal’s office. I keep my head down as I cross through the exhibit hall and decide to take the stairs to the second floor. My legs move quickly, in an effort to avoid as many people as possible.
Unlike most higher ups, Renbrook doesn’t have a secretary. He handles most of his own affairs, unless there is a request from the palace. In that case, the details usually get passed on to Mr. G.
The door is propped open. The museum’s director is bent over his desk, scribbling something down. I tap my knuckles against the wooden door and wait. He raises his head.
“Minerva, please come in.” He stands. “Would you care for some tea? I think there’s still hot water in here.” He lifts the top of a white ceramic service for one and glances inside. “Er, never mind.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m fine.” I take a seat and rest my hands on my lap. “You asked to see me?”
