SMITH
Simon Snow.
Here.
Like someone out of a story.
A fallen angel. A prodigal son. A returning hero, Achilles tendon sliced in the war.
He looks the part.
(Can heseehow people look at him? Can he see how theyseehim?)
The wings were a genius twist. Scarlet wings, what a visual. He’s a stained-glass window waiting to happen—I’m almost jealous.
I mean, I am, a little . . . jealous.
But I’ll get there. Who knows what destiny holds for me? Who knows how my legend will build? There will be windows someday and statues. Full-colour plates in gilded books.
One day at a time, Evander always says. One chapter.
My godfather raised me with all the old stories. We travelled the world, but he kept the World of Mages alive in me. What a world! What glory! I hardly recognized it when he brought me home to London . . .
This is how magicians live now? Among the Normals?Likethe Normals? Afraid of them?
What’s the point of being magickal if you have to fill your days with mundanity?
(Can they evenseethemselves? Do they see how theylook?)
In the stories, there arecastles.There are feats of power. Dragons!
In the World of Mages, there’s almost nothing. A school. A few clubs. Dishwashing spells.
I give them a lifetime’s worth of power, and they make chocolate bars. (Maybe I should just hand out chocolate bars . . .)
At least they haven’t forgotten all the old stories. They still know who I am. They’re still waiting for me.
The Chosen One.
The Greatest Mage.
The Power of Powers.
The one who will come to save them from the greatest threat to the World of Mages.
Iwillsave this world.
And Simon Snow will help me.
45
SHEPARD
Penelope doesn’t even have to cast a spell to find her dad; she’s got a key that will take her right to him. There’s a piece of yarn looped through it. “My mum made this,” she says. “When I was a kid, they made me wear it around my neck.”
She hangs the key over a map of London. “Mum meets with the Coven tonight, so we should be able to catch Dad alone.”
“What’s the Coven?”
