I saw it in his eyes when Philippa went mute.
Philippa got sent away. The Mage told me that she’d get her voice back, that it wasn’t permanent, but she never came back to Watford.
I wonder if Baz still feels guilty. I wonder if he ever did.
Now he’s gone, too.
When I notice Agatha again, she’s trembling. I unbutton my grey duffle coat, sliding the horn buttons through the cord loops. “Here,” I say, sliding it off.
“No,” she says. “I’m fine.”
I hold it out to her anyway.
“No, it’s okay. No—Simon.Keep your coat.”
My arms drop. It doesn’t seem right to put the coat back on, so I fold it over one arm.
I don’t know what else to say.
This is already the most time that Agatha and I have been alone since the start of the term. I haven’t even kissed her since we’ve been back. I should probably kiss her…
I reach out and take her hand—but I must move too quickly, because she seems surprised. Her hand jerks open, and something falls out. I kneel, picking it up before it blows away.
It’s a handkerchief.
I know that it’s Baz’s handkerchief before I even see his initials embroidered in the corner, next to the Pitch coat of arms (flames, the moon, three falcons).
I know it’s his because he’s the only person I’ve ever met who carries old-fashioned handkerchiefs. He dropped one on my bed, sarcastically, when we were in first year, the first time he made me cry.
Agatha tries to pull the linen from my hand, but I don’t let go. I snap it away from her.
“What is this?” I ask, holding it up. (We both know what it is.) “Are you—are youwaitingfor him? Are you meeting him here? Is he coming?”
Her eyes are wide and glossy. “No. Of course not.”
“How can you say ‘of course not’ when you’re up here, obviously thinking about him, holding his handkerchief?”
She folds her arms. “You don’t know what I’m thinking about.”
“You’re right, I don’t, Agatha.I really don’t.Is this where you come every night? When you tell us you’re studying?”
“Simon…”
“Answer me!”It comes out as an order. It comes out drenched in magic, which shouldn’t even be possible—because those aren’t magic words, that isn’t a spell. The spell for forcing honesty is “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth”—but I’ve never used it; it’s an advanced spell, and a restricted one. Still, I see the compulsion in Agatha’s face. “No,” I say, pushing magic into my voice.“You don’t have to!”
Her face falls from compulsion to disgust. She backs away from me.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” I say. “Agatha.I didn’t. But you—” I throw my arms up. “—what are you doing here?”
“What if Iamwaiting for Baz?” she spits out, like she knows it will shock me stupid. It does.
“Why would you?”
She turns to the stone wall. “I don’t know, Simon.”
“Areyou waiting for him?”
The wind is in her hair, making it lash out behind her. “No,” she says. “Not waiting. I’ve no reason to believe he’s coming.”
