“Las Vegas…” Bunce looks vaguely disapproving.
I look over at Snow. He’s grinning.
Before we leave, Simon decides we should try calling Agatha.
“But what if the NowNext track the call back to us?” Bunce worries.
“If they findus,” he says, “we won’t have to findthem.”
“Let’s call,” I say, “just in case Wellbelove picks up and tells us she’s at a wellness camp, having her pores extracted.”
“You don’t really believe that,” Bunce says.
She’s right. I don’t.
Bunce and I spell her phone secret, or try, and call Agatha’s number. It goes straight to an automated voicemail. Agatha’s never recorded a personal message. (I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been,“Penelope, stop calling me.”) Bunce immediately hangs up.
“Right,” Simon says after a moment. “We press on.”
When we open the hotel room door to leave, most of my socks and three of my shirts fly in. I’m so happy, I actually hug them. (I was going to have to magick up a shirt. Or let Shepard run into a Walmart to buy me something. Without a shirt, I wouldn’t even be allowedintoa Walmart.) One of my socks is covered in feathers, but the shirts are clean. I put one on straightaway—a good print, aubergine with navy leaves—and tuck the rest into a plastic bag. (I regret leaving my suitcase in that creek, but there’s no going back for it now.)
Bunce has spelled Simon’s wings away again. He insists I squeeze into the cab of the truck with Penny, instead of riding in back with him. “You’re already sunburnt,” he says. “And you know what the wind does to your hair.”
Shepard tells Simon he has to lie down in the truck bed; apparently riding back there is dangerous and illegal. “Both my middle names,” Simon says.
“You don’t have a middle name,” I say. Which seems to hurt his feelings, which I immediately regret. I’m justworriedabout him. I grab his hand, trying to make up for it. “Just be careful,” I say. “Plenty of time for derring-do when we’re fighting vampires.”
“What’s ‘derring-do’?” he asks.
“Your middle name.”
He tugs on my hand. Crowley, we’re bad at this. I can’t ever tell what Simon wants. Does that tug mean“I like you”? Or is it“Take care”? Or“Give me my hand back”? I swear what it feels most like is“I’m sorry.”We can’t even hold hands without exchanging apologies. If we knew how to talk to each other, it’d be over, wouldn’t it? If either of us ever found the words…
“Basil, get in.” Penelope’s holding the door open. She’s making me sit between her and Shepard.
I squeeze Simon’s hand, then do as I’m told.
38
SHEPARD
Yes, yes,yes.
I amin.I am more in than I’ve ever been in before—and I’ve midwifed a centaur foal! I’ve helped an unfairy with his taxes!
Butnobodygets to hang out with Speakers and vampires. Speakers don’t hang out with anyone! And if they do, they don’t let on. I’ve heard that sometimes Speakers marry Talkers andstillnever tell them about their magic.
It’ll be hard keeping all this a secret. I’d love to drop it on the message boards. It’s thegetof allgets.But I’ve kept secrets before—I never told anyone about Maggie until yesterday. (She told them first, I think.)
Knowing is better than telling.
And maybe, if I help these three get their friend back, they’ll keep me around. I could be their Normal friend! (Simon calls himself a Normal—but he has dragon wings.)
“I feel like we still haven’t really met,” I say, when we’re back on the highway. “You know that I’m Shepard.… And you’re Baz, right?”
The vampire nods.
“And you’re Penelope?”
