Текст книги "Carry On"

Автор книги: Rainbow Rowell

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

65

SIMON

If Penelope were here, I’d tell her she’s wrong about me. She thinks I solve everything with my sword. But apparently, I can also solve things with my mouth—because, so far, every time I lean into Baz, he shuts up and closes his eyes.

If Penelope were here, she’d make me explain myself.

Thank magic she isn’t here yet.

I’ve just pushed my fingers between Baz’s shirt buttons; his skin is room temperature.

Then someone clears her throat. Baz stands up straight, which means his mouth jerks away from mine. I step away so quickly, I’m not sure I didn’t teleport.

His maid or nanny or whatever she is, is standing in the archway. She’s wearing a black dress and a white apron. “Mr. Pitch,” she says, and she must get paid to pretend she doesn’t notice anything around here, because she doesn’t even flinch. Boys kissing is probably mild—she’s probably walked into interrogations and goat sacrifices. “You have guests,” she says. “Two young ladies.”

“Thank you, Vera,” Baz says without a hint of apology. “Send them in.” He straightens his shirt and smooths down his hair.

“Girls?” I say. “More than one?”

“Agatha,” Baz says over my shoulder, “welcome. Hello, Bunce.”

I spin around. Penelope and Agatha are standing in the library door; they must not have waited for the maid to come back for them. Penny’s already eyeing the library bookshelves lustfully. Agatha’s looking at me.

“What are you doing here?” I say.

“Baz called us,” Penny says. She walks into the room and hands me a plate of gingerbread biscuits covered in plastic wrap.

“What are you doing here?” Agatha asks me.

“Agatha was staying with me,” Penny explains, “and she had her car, so—”

“Please come in, Agatha,” Baz invites. “Could I get you both something to drink?”

“I’ll have tea,” Penny says.

“Excellent,” he says, striding past Agatha out the door.

“What is this?” Agatha says. “Penelope wouldn’t even tell me where we were going. What are you doing here, Simon?”

I frown at Penny.

She unwraps the plate of gingerbread and takes one. “I didn’t know what I was allowed to say! And I didn’t think she’d drive me if I told her where we were going. You two need to get over this, Simon. If you can make peace with Baz, you can make peace with Agatha.”

“Temporary peace,” Baz says, already back with tea and a plate of fruit. He must have used magic.

“I’ll pour,” Penny says.

“Temporary peace?” Agatha asks. Penny hands her a cup of tea. “Are you all possessed?” She hands the tea back. “I’m not drinking this.”

Baz looks at me. “Your call, Snow. Do you trust her?”

Agatha’s fuming. “Does he trust me?”

“Of course,” I say. And it’s true, to some extent, anyway. I trust Agatha not to be evil. I don’t trust her alone with Baz—though I guess I should rethink all that, in light of recent information. “Agatha, um—”

“We’re trying to figure out who killed Baz’s mother,” Penelope cuts in.

“The Humdrum killed her,” Agatha says.

Penny holds her teacup up, gesturing with it. “Not according to her, he didn’t.”

Agatha looks confused. And a little pissed off.

I look to Baz. It seems like he should be the one to tell this part, as much of it as he wants to, but he’s back at his whiteboard, filling out the Everything we know column—ghosts, Visitings, vampires. Penny jumps up as soon as Baz adds Nicodemus to the list.

I take her place on the couch next to Agatha.

“When did this all start?” Agatha asks me.

“When the Veil thinned,” I say. “Natasha Grimm-Pitch came through to find Baz and found me instead. She wants him to find her murderer. When Baz came back, I told him I’d help him figure it out.”

Agatha’s eyebrows are almost touching in the middle, and her nose is wrinkled. “Why?”

“Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It did?”

I shrug. “Yeah. I mean—it was an attack on Watford. A murder.”

“What did the Mage say about all this?”

“He didn’t. Exactly.” I look down at my lap, scratching the hair above my neck. “Penny and Baz don’t think we should tell him.”

“Penny and Baz think?”

“It’s Baz’s mum,” I say, “so I feel like I should respect his wishes on this.”

“But Baz hates you!”

I nod. “I know. We’re sort of … on a truce?”

“Simon, listen to yourself—a truce?”

“You went to a vampire bar!” Penny shouts from across the room. Baz must be catching her up. “What a pair of splendid morons you are! Did you take photos?”

“Vampires don’t show up in photos,” I say.

“That’s mirrors, you dolt,” Baz says.

“You can’t see yourself in the mirror?”

Baz ignores me and goes back to telling Penny about Nicodemus.

“But…” Agatha is staring at the two of them. “Baz is dark. He’s evil.”

“I thought you never believed that,” I say.

“I absolutely believed it,” she says. “You told us he was a vampire, Simon. Wait—” She turns to him, then back to me. “—did he just now admit that he is a vampire?”

I pull at the hair on my neck. I can tell I’m making an idiotic face. “I’m not sure it’s that simple.…”

“That Baz is a vampire?”

“No, he’s definitely a vampire,” I say. “I guess it is that simple. But you can’t tell anyone, Agatha.”

“Simon, you’ve already told everyone. You’ve been telling everyone since we were third years.”

“Yeah, but nobody believed me.”

“I believed you.”

“‘One of you’?” Penelope says loudly. “What does Nicodemus mean by that? That it was another mage who let the vampires in? Or one of you Pitches, someone in your family—”

“It wouldn’t have been someone in my family,” Baz protests. “Never.”

“Your relatives are famous betrayers,” Penny argues. “There was a time in the 1700s when they weren’t even allowed to sign contracts.”

“Yes, but we never betray each other.”

Baz keeps telling Penny about Nicodemus. And Ebb. “Simon’s the one who broke it all open,” he says, “without even opening a book.”

“Typical,” Penny says.

Baz doesn’t tell her the way Nicodemus threatened him or taunted him. He doesn’t tell her much about Fiona. He doesn’t say how fucking cool he was at the bar, or how he lost it completely as soon as he walked out. How I kissed him to save his life—and then kissed him just because I wanted to. (I’m just now realizing that maybe I could have saved his life some other way.…)

“So you’re staying here?” Agatha says. To me.

“No, I just came to tell Baz about Nicodemus, and then I didn’t have a ride home.”

“Who’s Nicodemus again?”

“The person who knows who the traitor is,” Penny answers, then turns to me. “I can’t believe you guys just walked away from him, knowing he has all the answers! If he’d told you who tried to hire him, we’d be done now.”

“We couldn’t compel him,” I say. “And we couldn’t beat it out of him—we were surrounded by vampires.”

Penelope folds her arms. “I guess.”

“The ethics on you, Bunce,” Baz says.

“What did you find out, Penny?” I ask.

“Not much, in comparison.” She leans back against a bookshelf and crosses her ankles. “I talked to my dad about the Humdrum. He confirmed that nobody blamed the Humdrum for the Watford Tragedy until years later. They just thought it was another vampire attack. Hey, Agatha, are you caught up yet? Maybe we could talk to your parents—your dad might remember something—”

“I’m not caught up,” Agatha says.

“Well, catch up,” Penny says. “It’s all on the whiteboard. I’ve got to say, it’s good to have you back.”

“I’m not sure I am back,” Agatha mutters. Only I hear her.

“It’s been really good,” I tell her. “Actually. Working with Baz instead of fighting with him.”

“Is that why you were looking for him?” she asks. “That night on the ramparts? Because of a Visiting?”

“Sort of…”

Penny and Baz keep adding notes to the board. They’re fighting over the dry-erase marker. I feel like I should stay sitting with Agatha, and answer her questions, but she doesn’t say any more. And she still won’t drink any tea.

Penny drills Baz until she finds out about Fiona’s school memory book, then she wants to see it. Then Penny and Agatha spend an hour poring over the pictures.

Baz’s stepmum brings us sandwiches. When she walks in, Baz and Penny move to block the whiteboard—Baz, looking cool; Penny, looking like she has a terrible secret.

I try to convince them that it’s stupid to have all our notes out in the open, and that we should erase the whiteboard now, but they’re both addicted to the thing.

Then Baz’s dad comes home from work. He still seems confounded by my presence, but he’s thrilled to meet Penny and Agatha—even though I know he doesn’t get along with their parents. Maybe he just has nice manners. Baz keeps rolling his eyes.

By late afternoon, we’re all cream-crackered, and we haven’t made any real progress. Even Penny has abandoned the whiteboard.

I’m still sitting next to Agatha on the couch. Baz is sitting in a stuffed chair, across from us; I think Agatha and I are both watching him, but he rarely looks our way.

Penelope slumps down onto the arm of Baz’s chair. I see his nostrils twitch, but he doesn’t pull away. I guess he’s gone this long without eating anyone, so I’m not going to be bothered about it.

“We have to go back to Nicodemus,” Penny says. “It’s what Headmistress Grimm-Pitch told us to do.”

“We can’t compel him,” I say, “and he’s not gonna tell us anything.”

“Maybe you guys didn’t ask nicely enough,” she says, waggling her eyebrows.

“Corking idea, Penelope,” Baz says. “We’ll have you seduce him.”

“No,” I say.

“I was thinking Agatha…,” Penny says.

“I’m not even here,” Agatha says. “When you’re all put on trial before the Coven, I wasn’t here.”

“We haven’t broken any laws,” I object.

“Oh, like that matters,” she says.

“Hear, hear,” Baz agrees. “You know, I’ve always expected to be tried unfairly before the Coven someday, but I never thought I’d be in such good company.”

“Nobody’s seducing a vampire,” I say.

Baz frowns at me.

“Unless,” I say, “we could convince your aunt—”

“No.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to get this vampire to confess to murder,” Agatha says flatly, “when you can’t even get Baz to tell you where he was for two months.”

“He was ill,” Penny says. She turns to Baz. “Weren’t you? You said you were ill. You certainly looked ill.”

“He wasn’t ill,” Agatha says. “Dev said he was missing.”

Baz’s lip curls. “Dev told you that?”

“I told you your relatives are betrayers,” Penny says.

Baz sneers some more. “He only told Agatha because he has a dirty crush on her.”

“See,” Penny says, “I told you we could use Agatha to seduce people.”

“You said you were ill,” I say to Baz.

He looks at me, narrows his eyes into a glare, then looks away. “I was ill,” he says, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing out his dark trousers. “But I was also missing.”

“Where were you?” I demand.

He meets my eyes again, still glaring, “I really don’t think this is relevant—”

“Everything is relevant,” Penny says.

“I—” He clears his throat and looks down at his knees. “—was kidnapped.”

I sit up. “Kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped,” he repeats, then clears his throat again. “By numpties.”

“Numpties?” Penny says. “Was it an accident? Did they mistake you for a hot water bottle?”

“They put a bag over my head while I was leaving the club, actually.”

Agatha sits up. “You were kidnapped at the club?”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I ask.

“Well, I tried,” he says. “I guess nobody heard me shouting from inside the coffin.”

I’m still holding a sandwich. I drop it. “The numpties kept you in a coffin? For two months?”

“Six weeks,” he mutters. “And I think they thought they were doing me a favor, with the coffin.…”

Penny shoves his shoulder. “Basil. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Why didn’t I tell you?” He’s glaring at her now. “Think about it: Who would pay numpties to kidnap the heir to the House of Pitch? Who has it out for my family right now? Who’s raided my house twice in the last month—who threw my cousin in a tower?”

“Not the Mage,” I say.

“Of course the Mage!” Baz has got both his hands in his pockets, and he’s leaning forward over his crossed legs, his elbows flaring out. “He thought he could terrify my parents, so they’d co-operate with his latest campaign. It must drive him mad to see me at school and know I got away from him! Why didn’t I tell you? ‘Hey, Simon, your Jedi master is out to get me, do we still have a truce?’”

“How did you get away?” I ask.

“Fiona found me. She’s fearless.”

“That’s why you were so thin,” I say. “And pale. And why you’re still limping. Did they hurt you?”

He sits back, looking down at his lap. “Not intentionally, I don’t think. They did something to my leg when they caught me, and it didn’t get a chance to heal.”

“You should go see my dad,” Agatha says.

“Is he a vampire doctor now?”

“Was there a ransom?” Penny asks.

“Yeah,” Baz says. “My family wouldn’t pay it. Pitches don’t negotiate for hostages.”

“If I’m ever kidnapped at the club,” Agatha says, “tell my parents to pay the ransom.”

“My aunt found me with a souped-up finding spell,” Baz says. “She canvassed most of London.”

“I would have helped,” I say. “It wouldn’t have taken six weeks with me helping.”

Baz is scornful. “You never would have helped my family.”

“I would! It was driving me mental not knowing where you were. I thought you were going to jump out from every corner.”

“It wasn’t the Mage…,” Penny says. Thoughtfully.

“This is why I didn’t tell you lot,” Baz says. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You’re so convinced that the Mage is a hero—”

“No,” Penny cuts him off. “It wasn’t the Mage, Baz—it was the murderer!”

“I thought it was numpties…,” Agatha says.

“It was the same person who sent vampires after your mother!” Penny says, jumping to her feet. “They knew that the Veil was lifting, and that there was a good chance your mum would come back to talk to you. It was a classic Visit—a dangerous secret, a crime against justice. The traitor was worried that Natasha Pitch might come back, and knew that she’d come back to you. So he—or she, I guess—hid you. This used to happen all the time! There’s a family in Scotland who lost a different family member every twenty years because the murderer kept killing the person most likely to avenge the previous deaths. No one wanted a ransom for you, Baz—they just wanted you tucked away until the Visitings were over.”

Baz looks at her. Licks his lips. “Not the Mage?” he asks.

“The murderer,” Penny says—looking all too pleased about it, considering that murderer is still at large.

“If that’s true,” Agatha says, “then we need to tell the Mage about all of this. Immediately.”

66

PENELOPE

All right, fine. It was probably a mistake to bring Agatha.

But it had gone on too long, all this tension between her and Simon. I didn’t want them to go all year without sorting it out.

And I thought maybe a good mystery might distract her from—well, from everything else. I should have remembered that Agatha doesn’t appreciate a good mystery.

And also that she’s the world’s worst snitch.

“We have to tell the Mage,” she says, crossing her arms and then her legs. “You all know it.”

She’s doing her best not to look at either of the boys.… I also should have thought through their whole love-triangle dynamic before I dragged Agatha to Baz’s house. But their whole love-triangle dynamic is so persistently stupid, you can’t blame me for blocking it out.

“Agatha,” I say, “we’re just starting to make some progress here.”

“Towards what?” she asks. “Infiltrating the numpties?”

“We could just talk to them,” Simon offers. “Can numpties talk?”

“Barely,” Baz says. “And what are we going to ask them—‘Lose something?’”

“We’re going to ask who hired them to kidnap you,” I say.

“They might not feel co-operative,” Baz says. “My aunt did kill a few of them.”

Simon looks horrified. “Your aunt murdered numpties?”

“In self-defence!”

“Did they attack her?”

“In my self-defence,” Baz says. “Are you really taking their side? They held me hostage for six weeks.”

“Your aunt should have asked for help!”

“If you’d have been there, Snow, all the numpties would be dead.”

“Maybe.” Simon sticks his chin out. “But it wouldn’t have taken six weeks.”

“So we’ll interrogate the remaining numpties,” I say.

“We will not,” Agatha says. “We’ll tell the Mage and let him handle this—it’s his job to handle it. We’re talking about kidnapping! And murder!”

“Look here, Wellbelove,” Baz says. “We’re not going to the Mage. We’ve all already agreed.”

“Well, I didn’t agree.” Agatha looks furious, and also fed up, and also I think she was supposed to be home two hours ago.

Simon puts his hand on her shoulder. “Baz, she’s right. A lot has changed. We know about Nicodemus now, and we’ve connected your mum’s murder to your kidnapping—”

“No,” I say. “We’re not going to the Mage.”

Simon looks surprised. “Penny, come on. Why not?”

“Because Baz is right, Simon. The Mage isn’t in any mood to help the Pitch family right now. And he’s right that we all already agreed not to involve the Mage.”

Agatha huffs.

“I know you didn’t agree, Agatha,” I say. “But you also don’t have to be part of this.”

She huffs again.

“I mean, you don’t have to be part of this from now on. I’m sorry I dragged you here.”

“I need to get home,” she says. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

I look at my watch. “Damn. My mum’s going to hit the roof. We’ve got to go. We’ll regroup on Boxing Day, yeah?”

The boys nod, both of them staring at the floor.

There’s not much to gather up. Baz goes to get our coats. I’m disappointed that we didn’t get to see more of his house—or even dig into the library. I went to the bathroom a few times, but it’s just down the hall, and it seems like a modern addition. (There’s a Japanese toilet in there with comforting music and a seat warmer.)

Agatha pulls on a soft white hat and a matching scarf. “Come on, Simon, didn’t you bring a coat?”

Simon is still sitting on one of the couches, thinking too hard about something. Probably about killing numpties. He looks up. “What?”

“Come on,” Agatha says. “We have to go.”

“Go where?”

“We came to get you,” she says.

He still looks confused. “To take me back to Watford?”

Agatha furrows her brow. (She’s going to have a vicious wrinkle there someday, and I’m going to laugh about it.) “Just … come on,” she says. “It’s Christmas Eve. My parents will be glad to see you.”

Simon smiles like somebody just handed him a huge present. Baz is standing behind him, grimacing. (Irritating love-triangle dynamic.) I think Simon is right; you really can see Baz’s fangs sometimes through his cheeks.

Baz clears his throat, and Simon looks back over his shoulder.

“I…,” Simon says. “Well, actually, I feel like maybe I should keep working on this numpties thing.”

Merry Morgana, does Simon actually realize that getting back together with Agatha would be a terrible idea?

“Simon.” Agatha is staring hard at him, but I’m not sure what she means by it. I don’t think she wants to get back together either. She’s probably just tired, and tired of ignoring each other.

Maybe she feels like a jerk about leaving him at Pitch Manor on Christmas Eve. I know I do. The vibe here is very, Let’s kill a virgin and write a great Led Zeppelin album. (Though the library is lovely, and Baz’s stepmum seems very nice.) (I wonder, is Simon still a virgin…) (Surely not.) (Maybe?)

“But I thought—” Simon says.

“Come on,” Agatha insists. “If you don’t come, who’ll eat all the leftovers and make sure we watch Doctor Who?”

Simon glances back at Baz. Baz still looks pissed off. I wonder if there’s an Agatha clause in the truce. Maybe she’s a no-fly zone.

But that’s not fair: Agatha isn’t just Simon’s not-at-all-suited-for-him ex-girlfriend; she’s also one of his only friends. And she will be, even after this truce has ended.

“Come on, Simon,” I say. “We’ll regroup after Christmas.”

“Right…” He turns to me. “Right. I’ll get my jacket.”

67

BAZ

I’m holding my violin, not playing it, when my father comes back to the library.

“The Magelings are gone,” he says.

I nod. He walks into the room and sits on the long horsehair couch, where Simon spent most of the afternoon. Father’s dressed for dinner. We dress for dinner on Sundays and holidays, and tonight he’s wearing a black suit with a red sheen. His hair went white when my mother died, but it looks like mine—thick, with a bit of wave and a stark widow’s peak. It’s nice to see that my hairline probably won’t recede completely.

Everyone says I favour my mother in appearance—we’re from the Egyptian branch of the Pitch family—but I consciously mimic the way my father carries himself: the way you can never see what’s happening behind his eyes. I’ve practised that in front of the mirror. (Of course I can see myself in the mirror; Simon Snow is a fool.)

Currently I’m pretending that I don’t care that Snow left. I’m pretending I don’t even notice he’s gone.

I’m not sure why it surprised me when he left—I’d been reminding him for the last twenty-four hours that we weren’t friends, kisses notwithstanding. So I shouldn’t be shocked and dismayed that he left with the two people who actually are his friends.… With the one person he’s always wanted, as long as I’ve known him.

Father clears his throat and crosses his legs idly. “Are you in over your head, Basilton?”

No one ever calls me Tyrannus. My mother insisted on it because it’s a family name, but my father hates it.

“No,” I say.

“Is this part of some mad scheme of your aunt’s?” He sounds bored. He picks at his trouser leg, pulling the crease straight.

“No,” I say blandly. “It’s a school project, actually. I thought I’d play nice for once, see where it gets me.”

He raises an eyebrow. It’s so quiet in the library, I can hear his watch tick.

“Because it would be a bad time to make a move,” he says, “independently. The Families have their own plan.”

“With a role for me?”

“Not yet. I’d like you to finish school first. I’d like you to recover. I was talking to your mother—she thought you might like to speak to someone … About your situation.”

He calls Daphne my mother. I don’t mind.

“A doctor?” I say.

“More of a counsellor.”

“A psychologist?” That didn’t come out bored. I settle my face. Clear my throat. “Father,” I say more calmly, “I can’t imagine what part of my situation could be discussed with a Normal therapist.”

“Your mother … She mentioned that you’re already accustomed to speaking about your condition carefully. You could avoid specifics.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Your mother—”

“I’ll consider it.”

He stands. Gracefully. Shoots his cuffs. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he says. “You should change.”

“Of course, Father.”

*   *   *

Daphne bought me a grey suit for the holidays—but I’m stuck in grey every day at school, and I’m already grey enough. So I put on a dark green one that I picked out myself. Greenish black with a bit of silver. I’m just knotting a blood-pink tie when Mordelia opens my bedroom door.

“Knock,” I say to her in the mirror.

“Your—”

“Leave. And knock. I’m ignoring you until you do.”

She groans and leaves, slamming the bedroom door behind her, then bangs on it. I’d despair if she were a Pitch. She doesn’t behave as if she has an ounce of Grimm in her either; my stepmother’s blood is thin as gruel.

“Come in,” I say.

Mordelia opens the door and leans in. “Your friend’s back.”

I turn from the mirror. “What?”

“The Chosen One.”

“Simon?”

She nods. I push past her out the door, muttering, “Don’t call him that,” then run down the stairs. If he’s here, something must be wrong. Maybe they were attacked on the road.… I slow down when I get to the dining room.

Simon is standing in the foyer, covered in snow and muck. Again.

I put my hands in my pocket. “Déjà vu, Snow.”

He runs his hand through his hair, smearing it with mud. “There’s still no good way to get from the road to your house.”

“And you still can’t remember a basic weatherization spell. Where are the girls?”

“Halfway to London by now.”

“Why aren’t you with them?”

He shrugs.

I walk down the last steps into the foyer and take out my wand.

He holds up his hand. “I’d prefer to just take a shower and change, if you don’t mind.”

“Why’d you come back?” I say—softly, just in case Mordelia is lurking around.

“I can leave if I’m not welcome.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I thought you’d be happy that I came back.”

I step closer to him, and my voice drops to a menace. “Why? So we can tumble around and kiss and pretend to be happy boyfriends?”

He shakes his head, like he’s at his limit, then rolls his eyes mightily. “Yeah … I guess so. Yes. Let’s do that, okay?”

I fold my arms. “Take off your shoes. I’ll find you something to wear. You’ll make us late to dinner.”

*   *   *

Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

SIMON

I came back because I was afraid of what might happen if I didn’t.

Baz might just pretend that nothing had ever happened between us. He’d make me feel like I dreamt this whole thing—like I was a maniac and a moron for believing he’d ever felt something for me.

I was already feeling like a maniac and a moron in the car with Penny and Agatha.

Agatha was on a rant. Which almost never happens. (It usually only happens when we’re stranded or kidnapped or stuck at the bottom of a well that’s rapidly filling with water.) But she was clearly fed up with the both of us.

“What were you thinking?” she demanded of me. “Those are the Pitches. He is a vampire.”

“That’s never stopped you from cavorting with him in the Wavering Wood,” Penny said to her.

“That happened once,” Agatha said. “And it was an adolescent crush.”

“It was?” I said.

“I was only hoping for a kiss—I wasn’t conspiring against the Mage!”

“You were?” I couldn’t even figure out who I was jealous over in this situation. Both of them, I guess.

“We aren’t conspiring against the Mage!” Penny argued. “We’re conspiring … apart from him.”

“As far as I can tell,” Agatha said, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”

I worried that she was right.

Everything was turned upside down: co-operating with Baz, keeping secrets from the Mage. What would Agatha say if she knew about the kissing?

“You’re not even gay, Simon.”

I rubbed my palms into my eyes.

“The prophecy doesn’t actually say that Simon has to listen to the Mage,” Penny was going on. “It says that he’s here for the World of Mages. That includes Baz’s mum—” She glanced back at me. “Simon, are you okay?”

“Headache,” I said.

“You’re not even gay,” she’d say, “and he’s not even alive.”

“Do you want me to try and shrink it?” Penny offered, leaning back between the bucket seats.

“My head?”

“Your headache.”

“Merlin, no. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not even gay, and he’s not even alive, and that isn’t even the worst part of this idea—what will the Mage say?”

“It isn’t your job to solve murders,” Agatha said. “You’re not the police.”

“Now, there’s an interesting concept,” Penny said. “Magickal law enforcement. I’d like magickal social programmes, as well. Plus a department of health and wellness.”

“The Mage’s Men are the police,” Agatha said.

“The Mage’s Men are some sort of personal army.”

“You’re talking about your brother!” Agatha shouted, pulling herself forward over the steering wheel.

“I know!” Penny shouted back. “We’re in desperate need of reforms!”

“But the Mage is the Great Reformer!”

“Oh, anyone can call themselves that. Besides, Agatha, I know you think the Mage is a tax-happy interloper with a chip on his shoulder about the aristocracy. I’ve heard you say so.”

“My mother thinks that,” Agatha said. “He’s still the Mage.”

“Stop,” I choked out. “Pull over.”

Penny turned back to me. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?”

“No,” I said. “I just need to get out. Please.”

Agatha yanked the car over to the side of the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel, then turned in her seat to look at me. “What’s wrong, Simon?”

“I need to go back.”

“Why?”

I put my hand on the door handle. “I … forgot something.”

“Surely it can wait,” she said.

“It can’t.”

“Then I’ll drive you back.”

“No.”

“Simon,” Penny said seriously, “what’s this about?”

I opened the door. “I need to go back and make sure that Baz is okay.”

“Baz is fine,” Agatha insisted as I climbed out.

“He’s not fine! We just found out that he was in a coffin for six weeks.”

They were leaning into each other between the front seats, turned completely around to shout at me.

Penny: “He’s fine now!”

Agatha: “Get back in the car!”

I put my hand on the door and bent over so I could see them. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“He isn’t!” they both said.

“I should keep an eye on him.” I stood up again.

“We’ll drive you back,” Agatha said.

“No. No. You’ll be late for Christmas Eve. Go.” I shut the door, turned around, and immediately started to run.

*   *   *

I didn’t think rich people actually ate this way. At a long table covered with red and gold cloth. Thick napkins tied with poisonsettias. Platters with heavy silver lids.

It wouldn’t surprise me if rich people really don’t live like this—but that the Pitches do it, just to make a scene. If this is Christmas Eve, what do they have planned for tomorrow?

“Sorry we’re late, Mother,” Baz says, pulling out a chair.

“What a nice surprise, Mr. Snow,” his dad says. He’s smiling, but in a way that makes me regret my decision to come back.

“Thank you, sir. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Baz’s stepmum smiles, too. “Of course not.” I can’t tell if she means it or is just being polite.

“I invited him,” Baz says to his father. “It’s not like he has anywhere else to go at Christmas.” I can’t tell if Baz is actually being rude to me or doing it for show. I can’t read any of their faces—even the baby just looks bored.

I thought there might be extended family here for the holidays, miscellaneous Grimms and Pitches, but it’s just Baz’s parents and his siblings. There’s the older girl, Mordelia, then two other little girls, maybe twins—I’m not sure how old, old enough to sit up by themselves and gnaw on turkey legs—and a baby in a fancy carved high chair tapping a rattle onto his (her?) tray.

They all look like Baz’s stepmum: dark hair, but not black like Baz’s, with round cheeks and those Billie Piper mouths that don’t quite close over their front teeth. They don’t look dangerous enough to be Baz’s siblings—or his father’s children. Penny says the Grimms are less political and less deadly than the Pitches, but Baz’s dad looks like a pit viper wearing a pin-striped suit; even his snow-white hair is scary.