Maybe she forgot.
Not like her to forget. Never has, in all these years.
Can’t call her. Don’t even know if she has a mobile these days.
I stand, and pace a bit under the tree. Normally, Ebb casts a spell so that no one sees me.
I’m antsy. I creep up closer to the house. If anyone’s up, I should be able to hear them. The house is dark. One of the kitchen windows is cracked, but I can’t smell dinner. Ebb says she helps Mum with the cooking now. Roasted gammon, it’ll be. And bread and butter pudding. Ebb usually brings me out a plate.
I go up the back steps and peek inside the window in the door. The kitchen is empty. I can’t hear anything.
I twist the knob, not expecting it to turn, but it does, and the door gives. I step forward gingerly, not sure whether I’ll be allowed—but the house accepts me, and I stand there for a moment feeling right sorry for myself in my mum’s kitchen.
I smell the child before I see her…
She’s hiding behind the doorway, peeking out at me. “Is that you, Aunty?”
“Aunty?” I say. “Do I look like somebody’s aunty?”
“I thought you were my Aunt Ebb. You look like her.”
She’s a little blond one in a red plaid nightgown. Must be my sister Lavinia’s. Vinnie wasn’t much older than this herself last time I saw her.
“I’m family,” I say. “I come to talk to Ebb—why don’t you go get her for me? She won’t be mad.” Not at the girl, anyway.
“Aunty Ebb’s gone,” the chick says. “She left with the Mage. Grandmum’s still crying. We can’t even have Christmas.”
“The Mage?” I say.
“Himself,” the girl says. “I heard everybody say it. Mum says Aunty Ebb was arrested.”
“Arrested! For what?”
“I don’t know. I guess she broke a rule.”
I stare at the child. She stares back. Then I turn for the door.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me.
“To find your aunty.”
71
SIMON
I wake up feeling hungry.
And not until I’m awake do I realize that it’s notmewho’s hungry.
The air is dry. And itching. Pulling at my skin—pulling with needles, pricking at me.
I sit up and shake my head. The feeling doesn’t go away. I take a deep breath and then it’s inside my lungs, too. Like sand. Like ground glass.
The Humdrum.
I look over at Baz’s bed—the sheets and blankets are cast aside. He’s not there. I stumble to my feet and out of the room, standing in the blood-dark hallway.“Baz,”I whisper.
No one answers.
