I’d wake up every morning and tell myself…
I’d tell myself…
“You live in fear! In denial!”
Simon is on the ground. His wing is bent the wrong way. His blood is red and abundant. It smells like brown butter. His hair is a mess, his face is in the sand. He doesn’t know how much I love him. He’s never really heard it.
I’d wake up every morning and tell myself…
“Simon… love… get up. We still have to save Agatha.”
Simon is on the ground.
This will end in flames.
61
SIMON
I’m going to get up. As soon as my head clears. If my head clears.
I think I’ve got holes in my wings.… Can I bleed out through appendages that didn’t originally come with my body?
I’m going to get up. As soon as I can. I’m waiting for the right moment.
The right moment will be the moment when I have a shot at one of these bastards. (I got at least one already. I yanked one of his eyes out.) (Heal that, fucker.)
I’m getting up. So I can go down with a fight.
They took Penelope.
I can’t—
I don’t think I can—
The vampires are fighting, I think. Maybe they’ll kill each other. That would make my job easier.
My job is getting up.
My job is going down.
With a fight.
I saved Agatha from a werewolf once. And from a Pegasus foaming at the mouth. I killed a dragon. By accident. Did you know that, one time, the Humdrum hid Agatha at the bottom of a well? I found her. I hauled her up.
He sent cravens, and I caught them in my bare hands.
Once there was a nar-do-whal. In the moat.
And I…
There were so many goblins.
So many trolls.
I killed them.
A gryphon. A diphthong. An aspssasin. And I…
