“Is he racist?” I ask. “Isn’t he a race? His mum looks sort of Spanish or Arabic in her painting.”
“Arabic is a language, Simon. And everyone is a race. And Baz is the whitest person I’ve ever seen.”
“Only because he’s a vampire,” I said.
Damn it all, I have to tell Baz about his mum. Or I have to tell Penny about Baz’s mum… Or maybe even the Mage. If it wasn’t the Humdrum who had Baz’s mother killed, whowasit?
I can’t keep a secret this big. I don’t have room for it.
***
Penny sneaks up to my room before she leaves that night with her mum. She’s stupidly brave—it’s the only stupid thing about her—and I swear it gets worse when we go too long between emergencies. I’m tempted to slam the door when I see that it’s her.
“Baz will turn you in if he catches you in our tower,” I say. “And youwillget suspended.”
She waves her hand, dismissively. “He’s out by the pitch, watching the team practise. Pitch on the pitch.”
She shoves at the door, and I stop her. “Someone else will turn you in, then.”
“Nah. All the boys in our year are scared of me. They think I’ll turn them into frogs.”
“Is there a spell for that?”
“Yes, but it’s enormously draining, and I’d have to kiss them to turn them back.”
I sigh and let go of the door, peeking down the stairs while Penelope slips past me into my room.
“I’m just here to talk you into coming with me,” she says.
“Not gonna work.”
“Come on, Simon. My mum won’t lecture me so much if you’re around.”
“She’ll lecture me instead.” I sit down on my bed. I’ve got a few books spread out there. And some old documents from the library.
“Right. It’s a shared burden—hey, are you readingThe Magickal Record?”
The Recordis the closest thing magicians have to a newspaper. It keeps track of births and deaths, magickal bonds and laws, plus minutes from every Coven meeting. I snuck a few bound volumes from the early 2000s out of the library. “Yep,” I say, “I’ve heard it’s fascinating.”
“You heard that from me,” she says, “and I know you weren’t listening. Why are you readingThe Magickal Record?”
I look up from the books. “Have you ever heard of a magician called ‘Nico’ or ‘Nicodemus’?”
“Like, in history?”
“No. I don’t know—maybe. Just anybody. Maybe a politician or someone who was on the Coven? Or a professor?”
She’s leaning against my bed. “Is this for the Mage? Are you on a mission?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, I haven’t even seen him. I was—it’s about Baz.” Penny rolls her eyes. “I was thinking about his mum,” I say, “something I heard, that maybe she had an enemy.”
“The Pitches have always had more enemies than friends.”
“Right. Anyway, it’s probably not important.”
Penny isn’t that interested, but I’ve asked a question, so she tries to answer it. “An enemy named Nico…” But then something in her coat pocket chimes. Her eyes get big, and she jabs her hand in her pocket.
I feel my eyes get big, too. “Do you have aphone?”
