She looks at his hand for a moment, then grabs the chalk, nodding. She turns to the wall and starts scribbling frantically on the wallpaper, as high up as she can reach.
I’ve been with Smith from the beginning,she writes.
We’re all crowded around her, trying to read along. Baz pushes us back—“Give her space”—and starts to read aloud:
“He said he could bring back my magic . . . and I believed him . . . I worked for him . . . and for Evander . . . They trusted me.”
Pippa glances back at us, like she’s making sure that we’re listening. We are. She goes back to writing.
“But today,”Baz reads out,“Beth . . . came to see Smith . . . She was afar—no,afraid . . . She told him all her spells . . . have stopped working.”
“Not Beth,” Jamie cuts in. “She was so happy.”
Philippa looks at him and nods. “Beth,” she says. “Her magic—” She turns back to the wall, finding more space.
Baz leans over her shoulder.“Smith told Beth that . . . she was just tired . . . That it was temporary . . . But . . . when she turned to leave . . . he cast a spell on her.”Baz shoots a glare at me, like this is my fault somehow.
“What spell?” I ask.
Baz looks back at the wall.“ ‘Put it out of your head.’ ”
“No!” Jamie is adamant. “Smith would never!”
“Yikes,” Penny says. “That’s like shaking up an Etch A Sketch inside someone’s brain.”
Philippa is still writing.
“Smith didn’t know . . . that I was watching . . . but he’d asked me to bring tea . . . I was standing . . .”
She’s running out of space. She gets on her knees.
“In the doorway,”Baz reads.“With a tray . . . I dropped it . . . Then he cast a spell on me, too . . . ‘Freeze’ . . . and called for Evander . . . to take me away . . . I couldn’t cry for help.”Baz’s voice cracks. He looks wretched.“Smith told me he couldn’t . . . have helped me anyway . . .”
Philippa is kneeling on the floor, bent over. She’s written herself into the corner.
“That my voice was gone . . .”Baz reads.“Forever.”
“She’s lying,” someone says.
We all whip around. Smith’s godfather has come to. He’s trying to sit up, but his hands are tied to the bottom of the radiator. Baz points his wand at him.
“SheattackedSmith,” Evander Feverfew says, furious. (He’s an odd-looking duck for an old guy: shoulder-length grey hair, long sideburns, a pierced ear. I’ve seen him helping Smith at meetings. I thought he was a roadie.)
Pippa’s eyes are wild, and her voice sounds bloody: “Why—Why would I do that?”
“Because he couldn’t help you, Pippa. You didn’t want anyone to have magic if you couldn’t.”
“Th-that isn’t—isn’t t-true!”
Evander looks at me. “She attacked him, and then she threatened to stop today’s meeting! We couldn’t let that happen. Smith is going to cure six people today. Six magicians.”
“He’s going to—to—curse them!”
“Liar!”
Baz is still pointing his wand at Smith’s godfather; he looks like he’s got a curse of his own at the tip of his tongue. Penelope looks as confused as I feel. Jamie Salisbury has both of his hands fisted in his hair.
“Jamie,” I say. “Did Smith fix your magic?”
