“Lies.”
“You don’t have to lie to your mother for my sake.”
“I think I do, Shepard, unless you’d like me to magically concuss you and leave you in Piccadilly Circus.”
“I told you—I can just go home.”
“You don’t even have a real passport!”
“Cast a few spells my way, and I’ll get on a plane. It’ll be fine.”
She stops raging at her phone to rage at me directly. “You. Will. Not. Be.Fine.There’s nothingfineabout being cursed by a demon!”
“We all die someday, right?”
“Yes, but most of us aren’t obligated to go to hell afterwards.”
“I don’t think it’s hell exactly. I’ve done some reading . . .”
“For snake’s sake, Shepard—”
“My point is—” I say.
She takes a deep breath, like she’s about to shout at me.
I keep talking, holding up both hands. “Mypoint,Penelope, is that it’s not your problem to fix.”
“Of course it is!”
“Why?”
“Be-because—” she sputters. “Because it’s a problem that—thatexists.”
“You’re responsible for all existing problems?”
She buries her hands in her hair. “No! Butyes.What sort of person would be if I didn’t help you?”
I try to look reassuring. “A normal one.”
“I’m not Nor—”
“You know what I mean. If I had cancer, would you feel like it was your job to cure me?”
“Possibly.”
“Penelope, listen—”
“No, Shepard,youlisten! I understand I can’t fix everything. But it’s like, you can’t pick up every piece of litter, right? You can’t stop and pick up every napkin or piece of paper you see on the street. But my mum used to say that once we touched something, we were responsible for it. So if we picked up a can or a sweet wrapper, we had to deal with it—throw it away or recycle it or whatever—because we’d made it our business.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I think I get what you’re saying . . . I’m like a piece of trash that you picked up.”
“Exactly! I can’t just drop you now. ThenI’dbe the one littering.”
“What if I give you permission to throw me back?”
“It doesn’t work like that. You’ve penetrated my sphere of accountability.”
“Penelope. . .” I smile. “Does that mean we’re friends?”
