“Youdo.But I—look, I just don’t care. It’s behind us. Agatha and I are fine.”
“I wonder if it’s behind Baz.”
“Fuck Baz, he’ll do whatever he can to get to me.”
And he’ll start just as soon as he shows up. Which could be anytime…
Almost everyone else is here already. Nobody wants to miss the welcome-back picnic on the Great Lawn tonight. It’s always a big to-do. Games. Fireworks. Spectacle magic.
Maybe Baz will miss the picnic; he’s never missed it before, but it’s a nice thought.
***
Penny and I meet Agatha out on the Lawn.
I don’t see Baz, but there are so many people, it’d be easy for him to avoid me if he wanted. (Baz normally makessurethat I see him.)
The littluns are already playing games and eating cake, some of them wearing their Watford uniforms for the first time. Hats sliding off, ties crooked. There are races and singing. I get a bit choked up during the school song; there’s this line about“those golden years at Watford / those glowing, magickal years”—and it makes me think again about how this isit.Every day I have this year will be the last day like it.
Last back-to-school picnic.
Last first day back.
I make a pig of myself, but Penny and Agatha don’t mind, and the egg and cress sandwiches are to die for. Plus roast chicken. Pork pie. Spice cakes with sour lemon frosting. And jugs of cold milk and raspberry cordial.
I keep bracing for Baz to show up and ruin everything. I keep looking over my shoulder. (Maybe this is part of his plan—to ruin my night by making me wonder how he’s going to ruin it.) I think Agatha is worried about seeing him, too.
One thing I’mnotworried about is the Humdrum attacking. He sent flying monkeys to attack the picnic at the start of our fourth year, and the Humdrum never tries the same thing twice. (I guess he could send somethingotherthan flying monkeys…)
After the sun sets, the littluns all head back to their rooms, and the seventh and eighth years stay out on the Lawn. The three of us find a spot, and Penny spells her jacket into a green blanket for us to lie on. Which Agatha says is a waste of magic when there are perfectly good blankets just inside. “Your jacket is going to get grass stains,” she says.
“It’s already green,” Penelope dismisses her.
It’s a warm night, and Penelope and Agatha are both good at astronomy. We lie on our backs, and they point out the stars. “I should get my crystal ball and tell your fortunes,” Penelope says, and Agatha and I both groan.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” I say. “You’re going to see me bathed in blood, but you won’t be able to tell whose it is. And you’ll see Agatha looking beautiful and swathed in light.”
Penelope pouts, but not for long. The night is too good for pouting. I find Agatha’s hand in the blanket, and when I squeeze, she squeezes back.
This day, this night, it all feels so right. Magickally right. Like a portent. (I didn’t used to believe in portents—I’m not superstitious. But then we did a unit on them in Magickal Science, and Penny said not believing in portents was like not believing in beans on toast.)
After an hour or so, someone crosses the Veil, right out onto the Lawn. It’s somebody’s dead sister; she’s come back to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—
I put my blade away on my own this time, without Penny telling me to.
“It’s amazing,” she says. “Two Visitings in one day, and the Veil is just beginning to open…”
When the ghost leaves, everybody starts hugging each other. (I think the seventh years have been passing around dandelion wine and Bacardi Breezers. But the three of us aren’t class monitors, so it’s not our problem.) Somebody starts singing the school song again, and we join in. Agatha sings, even though she’s self-conscious about her voice.
I’m happy.
I’mreallyhappy.
I’m home.
***
I wake up a few hours later, and I think Baz must be back.
