Shepard snaps his mouth closed, and I hope that means he’s done arguing.
I stand up and make a show of heading back into the flat. Like,case closed.“I mean,” I say, without turning, “I know you think you know everything there is to know about the magickal world, but I don’t even know that, and I’m smarter than you, and I’ve spent my whole life studying it.”
“I can’t afford the airfare, Penelope.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t have a passport.”
“Oh ye of little faith.”
“Is that a spell?”
I stop at the sliding door, looking at his reflection in the glass. “Come to London and find out.”
SIMON
The Pacific Ocean is warmer than the Atlantic.
This bit of it, anyway.
I’m sitting out on the sand, with my boots off and my jeansrolled up. The jeans got wet, anyway. Penny will dry them. She’s been plastering me with spells since we got out of the dead spot—I came out here partly just to give her a break. And to try to clear my head.
I had this idea about America.…
That I’d find myself here.
That’s why people get in a convertible and hit the road without a map. That’s the promise. That you’ll finally see yourself when you don’t recognize the scenery.
Maybe it worked.
I fell for the blue sky and sunshine—then this country dragged me behind it, kicking and bleeding. I failed every test. I fell. I fell short. And only someone else’s spells got me back on my feet and breathing again.
It’s time for me to stop pretending that I’m some sort of superhero. Iwasthat—I really was—but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story.
Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready. I could go back to school then, or get a job—I think I’d rather get a job. Earn something for myself. Pay my own rent.
It feels good to think about.
It feels like—shit, I’m crying. It feels awful, but it feels clean.
There’s a wave crashing towards me. Sometimes they start out fierce, then lose their nerve before they get to the beach.
This one doesn’t blink.
BAZ
Simon’s sitting on the beach, like a boy in a music video. White T-shirt, rolled-up jeans. Head full of sun.
There’s a wave headed for him, he must see it, but he doesn’t move until it comes up over his legs. His head falls back. I think he might be smiling.
I take off my socks and shoes and leave them on a rock, then find my way down to him. He looks up when my shadow reaches him, closing one eye against the sun. “Hey.”
I smile. “Hey.”
Another wave is coming our way. I hop back to avoid it. Simon laughs. The wave breaks a few feet away from him.
I decide to join him on the sand—I can spell myself dry later. I sit a bit behind him, on slightly higher ground.
