“Still nothing,” Simon said.
“We’ll keep trying,” she replied.
“I’d rather we didn’t.”
Penny scoots closer to me now to make room for Shepard. It’s a three-person sofa. Snow plops down at my feet. “I got enough to share,” he says, holding up his plate.
I groan. “I’m still so full . . . I’m too full to hunt.”
“That’s how you’re going to kill your vampire boyfriend, Simon,” Penelope says. “Sandwiches.”
Snow barks a laugh. “He’ll be fine. He’s always got room for four to six rats.”
She pushes his knee with her socked foot. “How’d Baz spell that shirt around your wings, if you’re immune to magic?”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “The spell is on the shirt, Bunce.”
“Oh,” Penny says. She really is in a mood. “Well, it looks nice.”
“Until I have to tear it off,” Snow says.
“Just let Baz reverse the spell.”
“I don’t like being dependent on him.”
I kick him. “Magic forbid you rely on me.”
“That’s not what I meant—and everyone needs to stop kicking me. I’m injured.”
“You could have some shirts made,” Shepard offers.
All three of us turn to him.
“Magickal shirts?” Snow asks.
“No—regular shirts,” Shepard says. “But with openings that button closed around your wings.”
I try to picture it. “Buttons?”
“Or zippers,” he says. “I’ve seen people use buckles, but those seem fiddly.”
“People?” Bunce asks.
“Well, fairies . . .” Shepard sweeps his arm, expansively. “Harpies. Gargoyles . . . Lots of things have wings.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say. “Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Because you think with your wand,” Snow says.
I kick him in the side again. (It’s hardly a kick.) (I can’t stay off him.)
“I didn’t mean it in the dirty way!” he objects. “Penelope does, too.”
“Where are we going to find a magickal tailor . . .” Bunce wonders aloud.
Shepard grins at her.
When I get out of the shower that night, Snow is wearing my pyjama trousers and practising sword manoeuvres. I hang back in the bathroom door to stay out of his way.
