“You can change your mind,” he says.
“I won’t.” I shake my head against his forehead.
“I’ll always be less than you,” he whispers.
“I know; it’s a dream come true.”
That makes him laugh a bit, pathetically. “Still,” he says. “You can always change your mind.”
“We both can,” I say. “But I won’t.”
I should have known that this is what it would be like to dance with Simon Snow. Fighting in place. Mutual surrender.
He puts both arms around my neck and slumps against me. He’s either forgotten that everyone’s watching, or doesn’t care. “Baz?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Are you still friends with Cook Pritchard?”
“I assume.”
“It’s just—I really hoped there’d be sandwiches.”
AGATHA
The sun shines every day in California.
I’ve got a flat I share with two other girls from school. There’s a little veranda, and I sit out there with Lucy when I get home from class, and we soak in it. The sun.
Lucy’s my Cavalier King Charles spaniel. I found her in the snow outside Watford. I thought she might be dead, but I didn’t want to stop and sort it out. I just scooped her up and kept running.
I know that Penny will never forgive me for running away that day, but I couldn’t turn back. I couldn’t. I’ve never felt more sure of how to stay alive.
I had to run.
***
Technically, the farthest you can get from Watford is just east of New Zealand, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But Californiafeelsfarther.
I left all my old clothes at home.
I wear sundresses now, and strappy sandals that tie around my ankles.
I left my wand at home, too; my mother would faint if she knew. She keeps asking if I’ve met any magicians. California is very popular with the magickal set, she says. There’s even a club in Palm Springs.
I don’t care. I live in San Diego. My friends work in restaurants and strip mall office buildings, and I date boys who wear dark stocking caps, even on warm days. On weeknights, I study, and on weekends, we go the beach. I spend the money my parents give me on tuition and tacos.
It’s. All. So. Normal.
The only magician I still talk to, other than my parents and Helen, is Penelope. She texts. I tried not texting back, but that doesn’t work with her.
She tells me how Simon is doing. She told me about the trials—I thought I might have to go back to testify, but the Coven let me do it in writing.
That’s the closest I’ve come to talking to anyone about what happened.
About what I saw.
About Ebb.
