Baz finally turns to look at me. “What’s this, Snow?”
“This,” I say. “I want to be your boyfriend. Your terrible boyfriend.”
He cocks an eyebrow and stares at me, like figuring out what’s wrong with me is something he’ll never have enough time for.
There’s a soft knock at the door.
Baz stands up, straightening his suit, and walks to the door. He opens it and leans over, picking up a tray, then brings it back to his bed. There’s a pitcher of milk and a heavily laden plate from dinner.
“Who’s that from?” I ask.
“My stepmother.”
“Why didn’t you just eat at dinner?”
“I don’t like eating in front of people.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
“Is it anorexia?”
“No, Snow, it’s not anorexia—do you even know what that means?” He sits on the far side of his bed and takes the napkin off the tray, shaking it unfolded. “My fangs pop when I eat,” he says. “It’s noticeable.”
I crawl across the bed to sit next to him. “I didn’t notice the other night, when you ate in front of me.”
“Well, you’re not very observant, are you.”
“Or maybe it’s not as noticeable as you think.”
Baz looks up at me, and his cheeks look fuller than normal. He smiles then, and I see them—long white fangs, trying to push out over both his lips.
“Wicked,” I whisper, trying to look closer. He pushes me back, but not far. “Open your mouth again,” I say. “Let me see.”
He sighs and pulls back his lips. His fangs are huge. And they look so sharp. “Where do they even come from? Like, where do they go when you’re not using them?”
“I don’t know.” He sounds kind of like he’s wearing braces.
“Can I touch them?”
“No. They’re sharp. And toxic.”
“I can’t believe there’s a part of your body that grows when you need it. You’re like a mutant.”
“I’m a vampire,” Baz says, “and can you hear yourself?”
I sit back. “Yeah.”
I expect him to look aggravated, and he does, but he’s also kind of smiling. Around his fangs.
I hand him his plate—turkey, stuffing, bacon, lashings of gravy. He takes it.
“Are you still hungry, Snow?”
“I could eat.”
“Come on, then.” He hands me the fork and keeps the spoon for himself. The turkey’s so tender, the spoon works fine. He takes a huge bite, and I see the full length of his fangs. “Wicked,” I say again.
Baz shakes his head. “You’re an idiot,” he says with his mouth extra full. He looks down at his plate. “But you can have … this. If you want it.”
I do.
68
AGATHA
It’s a three-hour drive back to London. Penelope casts, “Time flies!”—but neither of us are having any fun, so it doesn’t work.
I’ve half a mind to drive straight to Watford to tell the Mage everything, but my parents were expecting me ages ago—and, honestly, I don’t relish the thought of talking to the Mage by myself. He’s not exactly approachable. He’s always dressed like Peter Pan, and he carries a sword. Like, all the time. Once he showed up at our door in the middle of the night with his ear in his hand. Dad had to sew it back on.
I’ve known the Mage since before I was in school; he and Dad have been on the Coven together forever. But I’m not sure the Mage even knows my name. I’ve never heard him say it. He never really speaks to me.
Penny says he’s sexist, but the fact is that the Mage hardly talks to anyone at Watford. Not even Simon. I don’t get why he wants to be headmaster—does he even like kids?
Maybe that’s why Lucy broke it off with him.
Or maybe he’s such a prat because she broke up with him, and he never got over it.
I still have that photo in my handbag. I hope Penny’s mum doesn’t realize I stole it. I really hope she doesn’t tell my parents.
I went through a shoplifting phase when I was 14 and got grounded for an entire summer when my parents found my stash of unopened eyeliners and nail varnish.