But what do I know? Maybe they’re good for each other.They both seem to like talking about phytonutrients. And, like, meridian tapping. And Ginger really does seem at least 80 per cent activated these days.
I don’t think I’ll ever level up.
But if that’s what Ginger wants, I guess I can go along for it. She’s the best friend I’ve made here. She’ll be my friend even if I’m only ever 15 per cent activated (and less than 15 per cent magic). I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Ginger squeals. “Yes! It’s going to be so good!”
My phone vibrates, and I look down at it. Penelope, again:
“I’m going to call you, so we can discuss details.”
I slip the phone into my purse without replying.
5
BAZ
We’re meeting at the airport, and Snow’s already there when I arrive. At first I don’t recognize him—or it’s more like I recognize him from another time. He’s wearing jeans and Agatha’s old Watford Lacrosse sweatshirt. (I need to casually leave one of my old football shirts at his flat; he’ll wear anything he finds on the floor.) The sweatshirt is slit down the back for his wings, but there’s nothing there. Really nothing. Other spells only hide Simon’s wings; you can still see a shimmer or a shadow. Today, there’snothing.I reach up to touch the space between his shoulder blades, but he spins around before I can.
“Hey,” he says when he sees me. He’s pulling on his hair, nervous.
My hand’s still stretched out, so I pat his shoulder. “Hey.”
“Penny’s checking us in. Or something. I didn’t have a passport.” He leans closer and whispers: “She stole someone else’s passport and magicked it.”
As if Bunce wasn’t already in deep water; we all know she used magic to buy these plane tickets. It’s one of the only laws we live by in the World of Mages—no magickal counterfeiting. We’d throw the world economy into chaos if we used magic for money. Everyone bends the rules now and then, but Bunce’s mother is on the Coven. “I hope she realizes her mother will happily surrender her to the authorities.”
Snow’s anxious: “Do you think we’ll get caught? This whole thing is stupid.”
“No.” My hand’s still on his arm, and I squeeze it. “No. It will be fine. If somebody looks suspicious, I’ll distract them by being a vampire.”
He doesn’t try to pull away from me. Perhaps because he’s out of his element, away from his worst habits. Bunce might be on to something with this change-of-scenery idea.…
“Speaking of,” Simon says, “will you be okay on the flight?”
“Do you mean, will I lose myself to bloodlust somewhere over the Atlantic?”
He shrugs.
“I’ll be fine, Snow. It’s only eight hours. I get through every day without slaughtering people.” I’ve got through fifteen years, as a matter of fact. Not a single (vampire-related) casualty.
“What about when we get there?”
“No worries, I’ve heard that America is overrun with rats. And other animals. Grizzly bears, show dogs.”
He smiles at that, and it’s so good to see that I sling my arm around his shoulders and think about hugging him. There’s a woman standing in line near us, giving us her most aggrieved“don’t be gay”face, but I don’t care—easy moments with Simon are miserably few and far between.
Simon cares. He notices the woman, then leans over to messwith his bag—the same duffel he used to carry back at Watford. When he stands up, he’s pulled away from me.
He pats his thigh, nervously checking his tail.
I’m still not sure why Snow gave himself a tail.…
The wings, I understand. They were a necessity, he needed to escape. But why the tail? It’s long and red and ropey, with a black spade at the tip. If the tail has a use, I haven’t figured it out. He isn’t putting it to one, anyway.
Bunce thinks that in the moment, Simon was actually turningintoa dragon, not just wishing for wings.
Which doesn’t explain why he still has them, more than a year later. Snow gave up his magic—all of it—to defeat the Insidious Humdrum. So it’s not like he’s using magic to maintain his dragon parts, and most spells would have worn off by now.
