I’m laughing.
Niamh lays her hand on my back. “You saved them both, Agatha.”
“I didn’t—” I turn to Niamh. For once, she doesn’t look angry. Niamh is looking at me the way lots of people do sometimes, but she never has. Like I’m . . . well, like I’m . . .
“You’re amazing,” she says.
I’ve turned right into her arm. Her hand stays on my back. Niamh’s eyes are royal blue. Her eyelashes are short and dark. Her colour is high. Here, in the clearing, under the solid gold sun.
“Agatha,” she says.
My hands are covered in goo and jelly. I lift up my chin, so it’s there, if she wants it . . .
She does. She kisses me.
Niamh.
Her long nose in my cheek. Her chin as sharp as it looks. Her lips the softest part of her, surely.
Niamh.
I would like . . .
Niamh.
More of this . . .
Niamh.
Please.
Niamh kisses me.
“Agatha,” she says, “you saved Watford.”
77
BAZ
Smith-Richards has been arrested. He’ll be kept in a tower until his trial.
There’s an emergency Coven meeting; three members were already here for Smith-Richards’s rally. (Which I find alarming.)
Headmistress Bunce makes everyone in the Chapel stay to give a statement. Even Penelope and me.
“I’m not telling you anything until you tell me where Snow is,” I say when it’s my turn.
“Easy, Baz. He’s in my office.”
“Is he under arrest?”
“Not yet.” The headmistress narrows her eyes. “Should he be?”
“No. He should be given a medal. And a pension.”
“We’ll take that under advisement.”
When the Coven is done with me, I go looking for my stepmother . . .
