It starts now, and it doesn’t slow down until the world is new.
72
BAZ
There’s no good way to get to Watford fast.
I won’t let Simon fly. And none of us have cars. I probably should have thought of something before Penelope stole this builder’s van—she’s making Shepard drive it, while she casts frantic spells on surrounding traffic.
“I’m going to get arrested,” Shepard says.
“I’ll break you out,” she tells him.
“That’s not as reassuring as you think.”
As soon as Bunce heard her father’s name, she was on her way to Watford, whether the rest of us were coming or not.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me my father was wrapped up in this!”she shouted at Simon.
“I wasn’t sure!”he said.“Plus it didn’t seem like my business!”
“My business is your business, Simon!”
“I wasn’t sure it wasyourbusiness either, Penny!”
She cast a “Gentlemen start your engines” on the first van she found, and barely gave us time to climb in the back.
We’re sitting on the floor now—there are no seats in the cargo area—Pippa and I on one side, Simon and Lady Salisbury’s son on the other. The latter is still tearing his hair out, trying to defend Smith Smith-Richards, who may or may not have cast the magic right out of the poor sod.
Snow is still trying to sort everything out. (Smith-Richards is a villain; that’s all I need to know.) He’s sitting close to Salisbury, a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Just tell us what happened, Jamie.”
“This is all a misunderstanding,” Salisbury says for the tenth time. He’s huddled against the wall of the van. He’s a thickset man. Broadly built. Big, open face. Heavy in a nearly-40 way. He scrubs his fingers through his collar-length hair. “Smith would never hurt anyone.”
“So he didn’t hurt you?” Simon asks.
“Of course not!” Salisbury looks anguished. “I don’t think you understand what Smith did for me—what he’s offering everyone.”
“Mundanity,” Pippa rasps. (I wonder if a body can reject its own voice. Maybe I can find a spell to help it stick . . .)
“Pippa, you’ve been with Smith as long as I have—youknowthe cure works.” Salisbury turns to Simon, his face pleading. “Smith made me into a different person. It was like being a superhero. I could cast every spell I knew.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Simon says.
Salisbury huffs. “It was more than that—it was amiracle.You don’t know what I was like before. I was rubbish at magic. I could only ever do really basic spells. Kids’ stuff. But Smith . . . He made me into a real magician.”
“That must have felt amazing,” Simon says.
“Yeah.” Salisbury nods. His eyebrows are pulled up in the middle. “It did.”
“So what happened next?”
Salisbury looks down again, crestfallen. “Well, I should have known I wasn’t a good candidate for the spell. I was practically Normal.”
“But you said Smith’s spell worked on you . . .”
“It did. At first. But then . . .”
“Then?”
