“What kind of show?”
“I don’t know; it’s what my aunt Fiona always told me to say if anyone ever noticed my fangs.”
I sit in front of Baz now, on the coffee table—which I carried up by myself. He hands me his cup, and I take a sip. “What is this?”
“Pumpkin mocha breve. I created it myself.”
“It’s like drinking a candy bar,” I say. “I thought we were going to have tea.”
“Didn’t Bunce buy you a kettle? You have to start figuring this stuff out, Snow. Self-sufficiency.” He holds his wand over my shoulder and taps the wing. “There’s nothing to see here!”
“Oh, Baz, come on. You know I hate There’s nothing to see here. Now people are going to be running into me all day.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers—I don’t know that robot spell of Bunce’s.”
Penny walks out of her bedroom. “Simon, have you seen my crystal ball?”
“Should I have?”
“It’s in a box marked Careful—crystal ball. Oh, hey, Baz. What’re you doing here?”
“I’m going to be here all the time, Bunce. I’m going to haunt your door day and night.”
“Did you come to help us move in?”
He puts the lid on his drink. “Hmm. No.”
Baz and I talked about getting a flat together after he was done at Watford. He went back to finish second term, but I just couldn’t. I mean, I could have, even though I was under house arrest; Penelope’s mum would have let me.
I’ve only been back once, for Baz’s leavers ball in the spring. Maybe I’ll go again someday. When it all feels further away. I’d like to visit Ebb’s grave, deep in the Wood.
Agatha didn’t go back to Watford either. Her parents weren’t going to make her. She’s going to school in California now. Penny says she has a dog. I haven’t talked to her. I didn’t talk to anyone for a while, except for Baz and Penelope.
There was a three-month inquiry into the Mage’s death. In the end, I wasn’t charged. Neither was Penny. She had no idea that I’d say what I said after her spell—and I had no idea that what I said would kill the Mage.
I thought the World of Mages would fall apart without him. But it’s been seven months, and there hasn’t been a war. I don’t think there will be.
The Mage hasn’t been replaced.
The Coven decided the World of Mages doesn’t need one leader, at least right now. Dr. Wellbelove suggested that I run for the Mage’s seat, and I tried not to laugh like a madman.
I think I am, though … a madman.
I mean, I must be.
I’m seeing somebody, to talk about it—a magickal psychologist in Chicago. She’s, like, one of three in the world. We do our sessions over Skype. I want Baz to talk to her, too, but so far, he changes the subject every time I mention it.
His whole family has moved to one of their other houses, up north.
The magic hasn’t come back to Hampshire. Or any of the other dead spots—but there haven’t been any new holes since Christmas. (Dozens of new ones opened that day. I feel bad about that—those are the ones I could have helped.) Penny’s dad keeps calling to reassure me that nothing’s getting worse. I’ve even gone along on a few of his surveys. It’s not a big deal for me to visit the holes, the way it is for other magicians; I don’t have any magic to lose. I mean … it is a big deal for me. But for other reasons.
Penny’s dad thinks the magic will come back to the dead spots eventually. He’s shown me studies about plants growing in Chernobyl and about the California condor. When I told him I was going to university, he said I should study restoration ecology. “It could be very healing, Simon.”
I don’t know. I’m going to start with basic courses and see what sticks.
Baz is starting at the London School of Economics in a few weeks. His parents both went to Oxford, but Baz said he’d be staked before he left London.
“Would that actually work on you?” I asked him.
“What?”
“A stake?”