“Dad . . .” Penelope is getting distressed. “Wait. We need a plan.”
“Well, I’ll keep thinking about it,” he says. “I’m going to do some reading.”
“What’s Shepard supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Nothing dangerous, I hope.” Then he smiles at me and nods towards Penelope. “You might want to find different company, Shepard.”
“Dad,” she says, “I need to fix this.”
“And I’ll do my best to help,” he says. “I’m sorry I don’t have any solutions off the top of my head. It’d be easier if I could consult with your mother—”
“You can’t!”
“I know. I won’t. Just . . . don’t do anything to make this worse.” He seems to remember something. “Where’s Simon? Is he already off fighting the demon?”
“He’s . . .” Penelope shrugs. “He got his own flat.”
Mr. Bunce’s face falls. Like this is worse news than my engagement. “That doesn’t sound like Simon. Did you have a row?”
“No,” she says, looking down at her scone, “we’re fine. It’s not like we were going to spend our whole lives in each other’s pockets . . .”
“Could have fooled me,” her dad says.
46
SIMON
Baz is lying on my bed when I get out of the shower.
He brought pyjamas with him from his flat. I wonder if this is what he always sleeps in—cotton trousers and a T-shirt. I usually sleep in my pants, but I’ve been wearing joggers while he’s here. Baz let me borrow his pyjamas once, on Christmas Eve . . .
This was easier when it started.
This thing with Baz.
We were so caught up—with the Mage and the visitations and finding out who killed Baz’s mum. It’s always easier to make a decision when your back’s against the wall, and there’s a knife at your throat. No time to think; just do. Grab the thing you need. Grab the thing you want. Steal the kiss.
I’d live like that all the time if I could.
I’d make all my decisions jumping out of second-storey windows.
You know that phrase, “out of the frying pan, into the fire”? People say that like it’s a bad thing. But what’s the alternative—out of the frying pan, onto the counter? Out of the frying pan, onto the sofa.
Baz kept trying to have a normal relationship with me, after I lost my magic. He’d bring me dinner and try to get me to watch films. Maybe that’s what he wants now . . . I’m more than a bit worried that I was only able to move forward with him these last few days because the fear of losing him waslikehaving a knife to my throat. What happens when the danger fades?
“Are you air-drying?” Baz has sat up. He’s frowning at me.
The towel is hanging from my hand. I bring it up to my hair.
“Are the wings hard to clean?” he asks, still frowning.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re a pain. I can only spread them out one at a time in the shower.”
Baz looks like he’s thinking. “I don’t have to sleep in the bed every night . . .”
I scrub at my hair. “Well, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”
“I could cast a spell to soften it, it’d be fine . . .”
