I think I’m waiting for Braden.
43
SIMON
Baz is standing in front of a full-length mirror, wearing—I swear to Merlin—a flowered suit. It’s some slick material, dark blue with blood-red roses. With a white shirt. No—a lightpinkshirt. When did he start wearing all these flowers? When did his hair get so long? He’s put stuff in it, and it’s hanging over his collar in thick, black waves.
“You can’t be serious,” I say.
He cocks an eyebrow at me in the mirror.
“It’s perfect,” Shepard says. “Vampires are alwayswayover the top.”
Baz shifts his evil eye over to Shepard. “No, it’s perfect because it’s perfect.”
If Shepard could see Baz’s house, he’d know that it isn’t just vampires living the goth life; it’s also stupidly rich magicians.
Baz didn’t blink when we walked into this hotel, the theme of which seems to beWhat if Dracula opened a hotel and didn’t care whether everyone guessed he was Dracula?
Everything is black. The walls, the furniture. Everythingbut the carpet, which is the colour of spilled wine. Or spilled blood, I reckon.
Penelope walked in and nearly walked right out: The centrepiece of the lobby is a bunch of hanging birdcages. At least a dozen of them, all painted black, withonlyblack birds inside. Black parrots and black—I don’t know—cockatoos or something.
“Do you think theydyethem?” Penny asked, walking along the wall to avoid the cages. (She’s hated birds ever since fourth year, when the Humdrum sent cravens after us, and they tried to peck out our eyes.)
We all kept our distance from the front desk while Baz secured our room. I’m not sure if he had to use money or magic, or if the employees just recognized him as one of their own. Everyone who works here is pale and incredibly good-looking. The men wear black suits, and the women wear black leather dresses cut into lace. (Leatherandlace.) (Are they vampires? Is everyone a vampire here? You’d think I’d know, from living with one. But it took me years of very close study to figure him out.)
Our suite is slightly more cheerful, at least. It’s onlymostlyblack. The walls are the colour of Baz’s new shirt (maybe vampires love pink?), and the beds are grey. Everything that could be leather is.
We got here this morning, and spent the rest of the day washing the sand out of our hair, taking naps, and ordering room service. Baz went out for a while and came back with this suit and a change of clothes for Penelope and me. He was the only person Shepard would allow to leave the room.
“Las Vegas can’t bethatdangerous,” Penny says. “Some of the most famous magicians in the world live here.” She’s lying on one of the beds, wearing a pretty yellow sundress—Bazshould pick out her clothes more often. (And he should never pick out mine. He brought me back a shirt with buttons. Like I work in a bank.) Penelope sighs. “I can’t believe I came all the way to Las Vegas, and I’m not gonna see Penn and Teller.”
“Please,” Baz mutters. “Sellouts.”
Shepard’s eyes light up. “Penn and Teller?”
Baz finishes adjusting his cuffs and collar, and turns away from the mirror. He really does look perfect. Whatever strange look he’s going for—Gothic pop star—it works for him.
Penelope sits up, looking serious. “Right then, Basil, we’ll be here listening, and your phone—”
“Will be in my pocket, Bunce,” Baz says. “I’ll call you before I leave. You’ll hear the whole thing.” He’s all set up for international calling now.
Thinking about him in a room full of vampires makes me itch all over.
“If they start asking too many questions—” Penny says.
Shepard takes over: “Be as honest as possible.You’re not from around here, you’re on holiday, you heard there was a party.”
“That’s… actually a decent plan,” Penny says. “And if they don’t buy it—”
“You set them all on fire,” I cut in, “and we get the hell out of here.”
Baz smiles at me. His eyes are soft. I think they’re still soft from last night. From whatever spell we cast in the back of the truck.
“On second thought”—I step between him and the door—“let’s just set this place on fire and get the hell out of here immediately.”
Baz lowers his eyebrows, like he can’t tell whether I’m being serious. “What about Agatha?”
