And I’ll know what I want, too.
25
LUCY
I keep trying.
I keep calling.
I know this is your place.
26
SIMON
At first, when I see her standing along the ramparts, I think she’s a ghost. A Visiting.
She’s pale and wearing a flowy white dress, and her white hair is unbound and flying around her head… But everybody else has come through the Veil wearing whatever it is they died in—not stereotypical ghost clothes.
I don’t recognize the white lady on the ramparts as Agatha until she startles and turns to me. She must have heard me summon my blade. I immediately stow it when I see that it’s her.
“Oh,” I say. “Hey. I thought you were studying.”
I don’t feel angry with her anymore. Now that we’re standing out in the cool air, and I’ve had time to clear my head.
“Iwasstudying,” she says. “Then I felt like taking a walk.”
“Me, too.” I’m lying again.
I swear I don’t normally lie and keep secrets from my friends like this. It’s just—I can’t tell them I’m out here looking for Baz. I mean, I never want to talk to Agatha about Baz, for obvious reasons, and Penelope just doesn’t want to hear it.
After our fifth year, Penny decided I wasn’t allowed to talk about Baz, unless he presentsa clear and present danger—
“You can’t just whinge about him every time he gets on your nerves, Simon. That would mean nonstop whinging.”
“Why can’t I?” I asked. “You complain about your roommate.”
“Not constantly.”
“Constantly enough.”
“How about this—you can talk to me about Baz when he presents a clear and present danger. And, beyond that: up to but no more than ten per cent of our total conversation.”
“I’m not going to do maths every time I talk to you about Baz.”
“Then err on the side of not whinging about him constantly.”
She still has no patience for it, even though I was completely right about Baz that year—hewasup to something. Even beyond his usual skulking around, being a vampire.
That spring, Baz tried to steal my voice. That’s the worst thing you can do to a magician—maybe worse than murder; a magician can’t do magic without words. (Not usually, anyway.)
It happened out on the Lawn: I’d spotted Baz sneaking out over the drawbridge at dusk, and went after him. I followed him as far as the main gates, and then he stopped and turned to me, all casual, with his hands in his pockets—like he’d known I was behind him the whole time.
I was just about to start something with him when Philippa ran up behind me, calling, “Hiya, Simon!” in her squeaky little voice. But as soon as she said my name, she couldn’t stop. She squeaked monstrously, like a lifetime of words were being ripped from her.
I know Baz did it.
I know he didsomething.
