“I’d be more useful if I had wings.”
I frown at her. She’s looking straight ahead.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means . . .” She sighs. “It would be nice to have your—to have Simon here, to help us find the goats again.”
“We don’t need Simon,” I say, striding purposefully ahead of her. “I think the goats are this way.”
“You think?”
“I have a feeling about it.”
“A feeling,” she says.
“You don’t have to follow me, Niamh. You don’t have to listen toanyof my suggestions.”
I keep walking.
When I glance over my shoulder, Niamh is a few steps behind me.
66
PENELOPE
The new Chosen One has set up shop in old orphanage, apparently. We’re standing under a sign that says HOME FOR WAIFS.
“Well, that’s dramatic,” I say.
“Wait till you see him,” Baz mutters.
Baz has been hammering on the door with a brass knocker far past the point of politeness. There’s no sign of anyone coming to answer it.
“Maybe everyone’s already left for Watford,” Simon says, trying to look in a window.
Baz drops the knocker in disgust. “Or maybe Philippa went home. Or out for brunch. Or to the moon. She could be anywhere.”
“We could track her,” I say.
Baz lowers an eyebrow. “How? We don’t know her, we don’t have anything that belongs to her . . .”
“We have her magic.” I fish out my gem.
“Bunce, wait—”
My hand is already over Baz’s duffel.“Find your way home!”
The bag jerks away from his body. “Seven snakes!” he says. “What if you erased the tape?”
“I didn’t erase anything. The spell worked—now follow it.”
His bag bumps against the door.
“She must still be inside . . .” Simon cups his hands around his mouth and leans against the window. “Philippa!”
“She goes by Pippa now,” Baz says.
“Pippa!” Simon shouts.
