I look over my other shoulder, scanning the other side of the room for Jamie. I’ve seen most of these people before. Oh, there’s Máire. I thought she’d already chosen a Chosen One. Hedging her bets, apparently. I wonder where Agatha’s old roommate is tonight; I haven’t seen her yet.
I look back up at Smith-Richards and cross my legs, trying to at least appear as if I’m paying attention. He’s still being clinically sincere: “I’ve been consulting with some of my most loyal friends and looking at ways to expand my reach. If I can cast the spell on one mage, why not cast the same spell on two or three—”
My breath catches in my throat.Agatha’s old roommate!
“Or six.”
That’s who she is.
“When we next meet, tomorrow, I’ll be bringing six of my most faithful—”
The girl.
“—and steadfast supporters—”
The quiet girl. At the door. Pippa.
“—onto the stage, to stand beside me—”
It’s Philippa! Agatha’s old roommate, from Watford. She lost her voice.
“—and step into their destiny.”
I stole her voice. In fifth year.
“My dear friends . . .”
I stole her voice.
“Patrick, Melinda—”
Miss Possibelf said it would come back. She promised.
“Eliza, Gloria, Daphne—”
Daphne shrieks and throws her arms around me.
“And you, Martin.”
I stole Philippa’s voice.
I was trying to steal Simon’s.
It hasn’t come back . . .
Daphne is weeping. I peel her arms away from me.
It never came back.
I lay a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I have to go,” I say. It’s not a whisper, because everyone in the room is shrieking and crying.
Simon looks concerned. “Go where?”
“I know this is your fault!” he shouted at me that day. Out on the Great Lawn. The day I stole Philippa’s voice.
I’m standing up. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He’s standing, too. “I’ll come now.”
