“My point is,” I say, “this isn’t on you. Or me. We’re just bystanders.”
The door to Exam Three opens again. It’s my dad. Niamh frowns at him.
“Oh, Niamh,” he says. “And Agatha. Niamh, are you still heading out to Watford this afternoon?”
“Yes, Doctor. But I can stay if you need me.”
“No, no, go ahead. Nice day for it.” My dad glances over at me. “Say, you should take Agatha with you. I’m sure you could use an extra wand.”
“No,” I say, before I’ve thought it through. Niamh and my father look at me, waiting to hear why not. “I . . . I told Janice I’d cover the phones for her while she goes on break.”
“Pish,” Dad says. “She’ll manage somehow without you. Niamh, Agatha had planned to study veterinary care herself.” He looks back at me, and I can hear him thinking,But who knows what she’s planning now?
Niamh is looking at me, too, trying very hard to smile like a normal person. (Close but no cigar, Niamh!) “Of course,” she says. “I’d be glad of the help.”
“Grand,” my dad says. “Have a good time, Agatha. Say hello to Mitali if you see her.” The door closes behind him.
Niamh is still grimacing at me. “I’ll come find you when I’m ready.”
“Great.” I nod.
Grand.
23
PENELOPE
I try to pull myself together in the shower. It helps to have a plan. Next step: Get Shepard home.
I buy him a plane ticket for this evening. Don’t tell my mother, but I can pay for almost anything online with “A penny for your thoughts.” (I think it works so well for me because of my name.) I’m not going to worry about getting caught for this. If anyone figures out I’ve been kiting plane tickets,thiswon’t be the one that seals my fate.
The only real risk is that the magic will fail somehow before Shepard gets home. I don’t want him to get into any more trouble. (Though I’ve never met anyone with such a nose for it, not even Simon.) (I’m trying not to wonder about the “interesting” thing Simon was texting about. I amnotfalling back into this routine with him. Not if he hates me for it.) (Evidently Baz was less easily dismissed than I was. Fine. Let Baz be the one who gets repeatedly dumped.)
When I walk out into the living room, Shepard is pulling on a fresh T-shirt. His denim jacket is lying on the back of the sofa. It’s rare to see his arms—he wears that jacket even indoors, even in June. The tattoos trail out from his shirt sleeves, all the way down to his wrists. They’re so ornate, they almost seem to move.
No. Theyaremoving.
I think they’re really moving!
I walk over to Shepard and grab his arm, staring down at the symbols.
“They do that sometimes,” he says softly.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
“Don’t know,” he says. “Can’t read Demon.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No. Sometimes it sort of flashes—like, tingles—before things start to change.”
I watch the symbols shift and turn, winding around his arm. There must be some rhyme, some reason . . .
“It’s kind of cool-looking, huh?”
I look up at him. “No. Shepard. It isn’t cool. It’s horrid. I lament your inability to tell the difference.”
He flashes a smile at me, pulling his arm away and sliding it into his jacket. “I’m going to miss your lamenting, Penelope Bunce. And your derision. And the way you occasionally threaten to turn me into a frog. Will you threaten me by text every once in a while? So I know you’re doing okay?”
