“That’s helping me, Snow. Because as soon as I know, I’m killing them.”
“Well, I’m not helping with that part.”
“You already are,” Baz says, hitching his bag over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Starting now,” he says, pointing at the floor. “We’re starting this now. It’s our first priority.” He heads for the door.
I want to argue. “What—?”
Baz stops, huffs, then turns back to me.
“What about everything else?” I ask.
“What everything else?” he says. “Lessons? We can still go to our lessons.”
“No,” I growl. “Youknowwhat everything else.” I think of the last seven years of my life. Of every empty threat he’s made—and every full one. “You want me to work on this with you, but… you also want to push me down the stairs.”
“Fine. I promise not to push you down the stairs until we solve this.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “I can’t help you if you’re setting me up all the time.”
He sneers. “Do you think this is a setup? That I brought my mother back from the dead to fuck with you?”
“No.”
“Truce,” he says.
“Truce?”
“I’m fairly certain you know what ‘truce’ means, Snow. No aggression until we’re through this.”
“No aggression?”
He rolls his eyes. “Noactsof aggression.”
I grab my wand off the table that sits between our beds and walk over to him, raising it in my left hand and holding out my right. “Swear it,” I say. “With magic.”
He narrows his eyes at me. I see the tension in his chin.
“Fine,” he says, swatting my wand away. “But I’m not letting you anywhere near me with that.” He slips his own wand out of the pocket inside his jacket and holds it between us. Then he takes my hand in his—he’s cold—and I pull back, out of reflex. He tightens his grip.
“Truce,” Baz says, looking in my eyes.
“Truce,” I say, sounding much less certain.
“Until we know the truth,” he adds.
I nod.
Then he taps our joined hands.“An Englishman’s word is his bond!”
I feel Baz’s magic sink into my hand. Someone else’s magic never feels like your own—like someone else’s spit never tastes like your own. (Though I guess I can only speak for Agatha’s.) Baz’s magicburns.Like heat rub. It hangs in the muscles of my hand.
We’ve just taken an oath. I’ve never taken an oath before. Baz could still break it—he could still turn on me—but his hand would cramp up, and he’d lose his voice for a few weeks. Maybe that’s part of his plan.
We’re both staring at our joined hands. I can still feel his magic.
