The book. More copies? Check at Watford. Pitch Library?
“You know, the Mage actually seized a bunch of old magickal books. Wonder where those ended up . . .” I tap my chin.
Ask Premal about the Mage’s book stash.
“Was the book handwritten?” I ask again.
When Shepard doesn’t answer, I turn away from the wall.
His head is down, and he’s running his fingertips up and down the raised stripes of his trousers.
“The book,” I say, “was it handwritten? Could there be more copies?”
Shepard looks up at me, with one eye closed, like he’s thinking. “Penelope. I have to go now, if I’m going to make my flight.”
“What? No—you’ve still got time.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
I pick up my phone . . . Oh. He doesn’t have time. He’s already going to be cutting it close. I look back at the blackboard. “But . . .”
Shepard stands up, pulling his backpack straps over his shoulders. “This helped.”
“It didn’t help,” I say. “We were just getting started—”
Then he reaches for my face, and for a completely absurd moment, I think he might be trying to kiss me good-bye—but he’s just rubbing chalk from my chin. “It helped,” he says. “You have a way of making things seem manageable. I like it.”
“But we didn’t manage anything.”
He hooks his thumbs on his backpack straps. “You have my number now. Remember, you’re going to send me derisive texts.”
I’m examining my blackboard again, like it might give me something useful to send home with him. “About what?”
“Ah, just assume I’m doingsomethingyou wouldn’t approve of.”
I look back at him. “That is a safe bet.”
He winks at me. “I know.”
Shepard is walking to the door now, and I’m walking with him. He’s going back to America. Where he doesn’t have a truck anymore. I mean, he’ll be fine. He’ll bounce back. He’s very bouncy. Unsinkable. Cursed, but unsinkable. Still totally cursed. And foolish. Too trusting. Will he even make it to Heathrow with both kidneys?
I would help him if I could.
If it were my responsibility . . .
No—if it were in mypower.I would help him if I were a better mage.
But a better magewouldn’thelp him . . .
There’s a patch sewn to his backpack that says,BE SOFT.
“Shepard!” I say.
He stops in the doorway.
“Stay.”
He smiles, but it’s sad. “Penelope . . .”
