“Of course.” He goes back to his ledger. “Your mother and I were still at uni. You were just a little girl.…”
Mum and Dad got married just after Watford and started having kids right away, even though they were still in school and Mum wanted a career. Dad says Mum wanted everything, immediately.
“It must have been terrible,” I say.
“It was. No one had ever attacked Watford before—and poor Natasha Grimm-Pitch.”
“Did you know her?”
“Not personally. She was older than us. Her sister was a few years below me at school—Fiona—but I didn’t know her either. The Pitches always kept to their own sort.”
“So you didn’t like her? Natasha Grimm-Pitch?”
“I didn’t like her politics,” he says. “She thought low-powered magicians should give up their wands.”
Low-powered magicians. Like my dad.
“Why did the vampires attack Watford?” I ask. “They’d never done it before.”
“The Humdrum sent them,” Dad says.
“But it doesn’t say that”—I lean towards him, across the table—“in the initial news stories, right after the attack. It just says it was vampires.”
He looks up at me again, interested. “That’s right.” He nods. “We didn’t know at first. We just thought the dark creatures were taking advantage of how disorganized we were. It was a different time. Everything was looser. The World of Mages was more like a … club. Or a society. There was no line of defence. There were even werewolf attacks back then—in London proper, can you imagine?”
“So no one knew the Humdrum was behind the attack on Watford?”
“Not for a while,” he says. “We didn’t know the Humdrum was an entity at first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when the holes started appearing—”
“In 1998.”
“Yes,” he says, “that’s when we first recorded them. Seventeen years ago. We thought they might be a natural phenomenon, or maybe even the result of pollution. Like the holes in the ozone layer. It was Dr. Manning who first coined the term, I remember. He visited the hole in Lancashire and described it as ‘an insidious humdrum, a mundanity that creeps into your very soul.’” Dad smiles. He likes a well-turned phrase. “I started my research not long after that.”
“When did you guys realize that the Humdrum was a ‘he’?”
“We still don’t know it’s a ‘he.’”
“You know what I mean—when did you realize it was a thing with intention? That it was attacking us?”
“There wasn’t one day,” he says. “I mean, everything sort of shifted in 2008. I personally think that the Humdrum got more powerful around that time. We’d been tracking these small holes, like bubbles in the magickal atmosphere—and they suddenly mushroomed, like a cancer metastasizing. Around the same time, the dark world went mad. I suppose it was when the dark creatures started coming for Simon directly that we knew there was malice there—and intelligence—not just natural disaster. And then there was the feeling. The holes, the attacks … there’s a distinct feeling.” His eyes focus on me, and his mouth tightens.
After the Humdrum kidnapped Simon and me last year, Dad wanted to know every detail. I told him most of it—everything about the Humdrum, even what he looks like. Dad thinks the Humdrum took Simon’s form to mock him.
I rest my elbows on the counter. “Why do you think the Humdrum hates Simon so much?”
“Well.” He wrinkles his nose. “The Humdrum seems to hate magic. And Simon does have more of it than anyone—maybe anything—else.”
“It’s weird that the Humdrum isn’t its real name,” I say. “I mean, that it didn’t come with that name or name itself.…”
“Do you think a dark creature would choose the name ‘the Insidious Humdrum’?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” I say. “It’s just always been there.”