“On Facebook? What do they call themselves?”
Dev sounded amused: “Baz, are youactuallyinterested? Have you found religion?”
“Nah. I have a friend who’s all caught up in it. I want to make sure they’re not in any trouble.”
“A friend, eh? Well, it’s not me, and it’s not Niall. Has Simon Snow joined a saviour cult? That’s rich.”
“You don’t think there’s anything to all this, do you?”
“Do I think the Greatest Mage has been hiding out in Swansea, and my grandmother was the first to know? No, dear cousin, I do not. I think some greedy tosser wants to make sure I don’t inherit her Aston Martin.”
“Your poor grandmother,” I said.
“My poor car,” he replied.
“So, it’s all a financial scam?”
“Grandmum’s Facebook saviour? Assuredly. But better him than the Chosen wanker Máire Clark is following around.”
“Máire Clark, is that someone I know?”
“Year ahead of us at Watford. Dark hair. Good legs. The Mage arrested her dad for insider dealing.”
“Oh right.” Máire. Scottish. Sat near me in Magic Words.
“She’s obsessed with some ‘miracle worker.’ Volunteers at his compound. The guy bleeds from his palms, spits doves, the whole bit.”
“What’s the difference between miracles,” I asked, “and good old-fashioned magic?”
“Don’t ask Máire,” Dev groaned. “She’ll gnaw your bloody ear off—and her legs won’t even be a distraction for you.”
“So, what’s that one called? Máire’s miracle worker?”
“You’re actually invested in this, aren’t you?” This was a real treat for my cousin, I could tell. “Which of your friends has gone off the deep? Is it Wellbelove? Because I could find religion with Wellbelove. I could bleed from the palms, if you catch my meaning.”
I pretended that I didn’t. Once Dev starts on Agatha, he never stops. “Will you send me the name of your grandmother’s guy?” I asked. “And Máire’s, too. Could you find out?”
“Yeah, yeah. Will you come out to the pub with us? Before term starts? You can even bring Snow. I heard he’s slowly turning into a dragon; can he still have a drink? Can he still take it up the—”
I cut him off. “Who told you that, the dragon thing?”
“My grandmother. She saw it on Facebook. Is it true?”
At the moment, Simon was sitting across from me, eating toast. There was melted butter running down his wrist. I held out a napkin.
“He can still have a drink,” I said.
Simon took the napkin, then licked the butter off his arm.
“Excellent,” Dev said. “I’ll call you next week. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I said, hanging up.
“Who wasthat?” Simon asked, sucking on his thumb.
“One of my cousins,” I said, taking a piece of his toast. “Dev.”
“Dev from school? Your little minion?”
