When I turn away, I see that Lamb is watching me, his blue eyes wide. The vampire at his throat is staring at me, too. “You’vedone it,” the man says to me, awestruck. “You’ve levelled up.” Lamb rams his forehead into the man’s nose.
The magic here is a capricious thing. Half my spells fail. So I cast twice as many. And the tide—it wasn’t a tide so much as a melee—turns:
The vampires don’t have guns anymore. But Simon has some sort of scythe. He looks like the grim reaper. Drenched in blood, his T-shirt as red as his wings. One of his wings is drooping, I don’t think he can fly. He doesn’t really need to. Unarmed, untrained vampires aren’t much of a match for Simon with a blade—any blade will do.
Penelope and Agatha are fighting together, holding hands and using their free hands as flamethrowers. The vampires go up like tinder, any of them who get too close; the girls and the fire aren’t discerning. Lamb’s vampires are leaving the fight, running up the sand dune or already running down the other side.
I spin around, my wand out, looking for my next bout. There’s more fire than foes now.
Lamb is still at my back. (The better to stab me, I suppose.) “Baz!” he hisses. “Come on, let’s go!”
“You must be kidding.”
He heaves me around by the arm, so I’m facing him. His suit is stained. His hair is disordered. “I’m glad your friends made it,” he says, “but that doesn’t change reality—nothingcan change what you are.”
“You saw what I am,” I say.
He nods grimly. “Yes. You’re one of them. I see that. But Baz, you’re one of us, too. Blood will out.”
“Could I live as a mage in your tower, Lamb?”
“Can you live as you are with them?”
I don’t answer him. He’s still holding my arm. “Come with me.”
I shake myself free. “No.”
He runs away then. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him.
When I turn back to the fight, there’s one last member of the Next Blood running towards me. He’s already alight. I hold out my wand.“Fuck off and die!”
The spell doesn’t catch.
I try again.
Nothing happens.
Thensomethinghappens: Simon Snow sweeps me out of the way and into the air.
He’s got me by the waist. His wings are pumping hard. I hold on to dear life.
64
SHEPARD
I take shelter in the unburnt Mercedes for the rest of the fight. I’m foolhardy, but I’m not a fool.
The vampires flare up and ash out quickly. Only their clothes keep burning. All that’s left in the end are little puddles of fire in the sand.
Agatha took out the last one. She and Penelope are still holding hands. Their mouths are smeared with blood, and sparks are sputtering from Agatha’s palm.
Simon hasn’t landed yet. His wings are beating unevenly, and he keeps lurching down, then flapping back up, still holding Baz by the waist.
I climb out of the car and kick some sand over a pile of burning clothes. “So,” I say, “the keys are still in this Mercedes. Anybody feel like blowing this Popsicle stand?”
Penelope and Agatha just stare at me. They’re like something out of a Stephen King movie.
I get in front of them and clap my hands. “Guys!” I clapagain. “Friends! Let’s go. Get out while the getting’s good, right? Penelope?” I touch her shoulder.
