“Their sons?”
He starts rattling off names—boys I know, but not well. Sixth, seventh, and eighth years.
“But surely,” I say, “the Families know that the Humdrum will finish us if we don’t stand together. He’s more powerful than ever.”
“Perhaps that’s part of their plan,” the Mage says. “I’ve stopped trying to figure these people out. They care more for their own wealth and power than for our world. Sometimes I think they’d sacrifice anything to see me fall…”
“How can I help, sir?”
“By being careful, Simon.” He puts his hand on my arm again and turns to face me. “I’m leaving again in a few hours. But I was hoping, in the light of this new attack, that I could convince you to heed my words.Leave here, Simon.Let me take you to the haven I spoke of—it’s the farthest I can put you from danger.”
I take a step back. “But it was just flibbertigibbets, sir.”
“This time.”
“No.Sir.I told you… I’m fine here. I’m perfectly safe.”
“You’re never safe!” he says, and he says it so fiercely, it almost seems like a threat. “Safety, stability—it’s an illusion. It’s a false god, Simon. It’s clinging to a sinking raft instead of learning to swim.”
“Then I may aswellstay here!” I say. Too loudly. One of the Mage’s Men, Stephen, looks up at me. My voice drops: “If nowhere is safe, I may as well stay here. With my friends. Or I may as well fight—I could help you.”
We lock eyes, and I see his fill with disappointment and pity. “I know you could, Simon. But the situation is very delicate right now…”
He doesn’t have to finish. I know what he means.
The Mage doesn’t need a bomb.
You don’t send bombs on reconnaissance missions or invite them to strategy meetings. You wait until you’ve run out of options, then you drop them.
I nod my head.
Then I turn away from him, walking back towards the heart of the grounds.
I can feel his Men watching me. They’re all just a year or two older than I am. I hate that they think they’re even older—that they feel so important. I hate the dark green breeches they wear, and the gold stars on their sleeves.
“Simon!” the Mage shouts.
I flatten my expression, then turn back.
He’s holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He gives me a rare smile. A small one. “The Humdrum may be more powerful than ever, but you’re more powerful than ever, too. Remember that.”
I nod and watch him walk back to the garage.
I’m late to meet Penelope.
20
PENELOPE
We’re studying out in the hills, even though it’s cold, because Simon doesn’t like to practise where anyone can see him.
He’s got his grey duffle coat on, and a green-on-green striped school scarf, and I should have worn trousers because the wind is blowing right through my grey tights.
It’s nearly Samhain—the Veil will close soon, and Aunt Beryl hasn’t shown a whisker.
“It is what it is!”Simon says, pointing his wand at a small rock sitting on a tree stump. The rock shivers, then collapses into a pile of dust. “I can’t tell if the spell’s working,” he says, “or if I’m just destroying things.”
Every eighth-year student is tasked with creating a new spell by the end of the year—with finding a new twist in the language that’s gained power or an old one that’s been overlooked, and then figuring out how to apply it.
