“My mum knows Simon Snow?”
“You can just call me Simon.”
“Really?”
“Jamie”—Simon touches the man’s shoulder—“who locked you in the basement?”
Salisbury pulls his head back, surprised. “They didn’t. I mean, I’mnotlocked down here. I mean, well, Iam—but not like that. Smith islettingme stay here. He’s letting me lie low.”
“Why do youneedto lie low?”
Salisbury looks down at his feet and scratches the back of his head. “If I could talk about that, I wouldn’t need to lie low.”
Simon looks around the little room. There’s a bed and the easy chair and a bare lightbulb hanging over our heads. The walls are brick and held together by spiderwebs. “If youwantto be in here . . . why was the door locked from the outside?”
Salisbury shrugs. “Well, thereisno lock on the inside, so Smith had to—Wait, how didyouopen it?” His eyes get big. “Did Smith fix your magic?”
“No,” Simon says. “I—”
“Smith said he was going to fix your magic.”
This is ridiculous. Jamie Salisbury hasn’t been kidnapped. He’s just hiding from his mother. I need to findPhilippa.She’s here somewhere—the bag is pulling towards the far wall of Salisbury’s cell.
I step in front of Simon before he tells Salisbury the whole story. “Where’s Pippa?” I demand. “Pippa Stainton?”
“Pippa?” Salisbury says. “She’ll be at Watford by now, with Smith.” He looks at Simon. “You’re supposed to be there, too.”
He’s useless. I head for the door.
Once I’m in the hallway, I try to let the bag lead, but it wants to move as the crow flies, not down hallways and through doors.
“Baz, wait!” It’s Penelope. I ignore her. Philippa is close. She must be—the bag is getting harder to hold on to. If I let go of it, it will smash into one of these brick walls and destroy the tape recorder. Fucking Bunce and her spells.
Most of the doors down here aren’t locked. Most of the rooms are empty. When I get to the end of the hall, the bag pulls me flat against a door. I have to arch my neck up to breathe. I pry my arm free and try the door. It’s locked. My wand is already in my hand.“Open Sesame!”
I try the knob again, and the bag pushes the door open, hauling me in.
It’s a dark room. Philippa is here. Her hands are tied. And a man is holding a wand to her head.
“Drop your wand,” he says. “Now.”
68
SIMON
“Honestly,” Jamie Salisbury says. “I’m fine.”
I suppose he looks fine. He’s watching music videos. He’s got a pot of tea and a stack of dirty dishes. There’s a bed down here. “Maybe you could call your mum,” I say, “and tell her that.”
“I will,” Jamie says, “as soon as Smith—”
“Smith won’t let you call your mum?”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Simon”—Penelope is pulling on my arm—“we can’t let Baz run off.”
I turn to her. “Where’d he go?”
