“But we’ve always been at war,” I say. “As long as I’ve been here. We can’t just stop living because we’re at war.”
“Can’t we?” He’s finally lost his temper. He jerks his hand back down to the hilt of his sword. “Look at me, Simon. Have you ever known me to indulge myself with a normal life? Where is my wife? My children? Where’s my house in the country with my cosy chair and a fat cocker spaniel to bring me my slippers? When do I go on holiday? When do I take a break? When do I do anything other than prepare for the battle ahead? We don’t get to ignore our responsibilities because we’re bored with them.”
My head drops down like he’s shoved it. “I’m not bored,” I mutter.
“Speak up.”
I lift my head. “I’m not bored, sir.”
Our eyes meet.
“Get dressed. Gather your things.…”
I feel every muscle in my body grab. Every joint lock. “No.”
I can’t. I just got here. And this summer was the worst summer yet. I held on because I was coming to Watford at the end of it, but I can’t hold on any longer. I don’t have it in me. My reserves are empty, and the Mage won’t even tell me where he wants me to go—and what about Penny? And Agatha?
I’m shaking my head. I hear the Mage take in a sharp breath, and when I look up, there’s a haze of red between us.
Fuck. No.
He steps away from me. “Simon,” he says. His wand is out. “Stay cool!”
I fumble for my own wand and start running through spells. “Keep it together! Suck it up! Steady on! Hold fast!” But spells take magic, and drawing on my magic right now just draws it to the surface—the red between us thickens. I close my eyes and try to disappear. To think of nothing at all. I fall back on the bed, and my wand bounces onto the floor.
When I can focus again, the Mage is leaning over me, his hand on my forehead. Something is smoking—I think it’s my sheets. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” he says, but he still looks scared. He pushes my hair up off my forehead with one hand, then brushes his knuckles down my cheek.
“Please don’t make me leave,” I beg.
The Mage looks in my eyes, and through them. I can see him deliberating—then relenting. “I’ll talk to the Coven,” he says. “Perhaps we still have time.…” He purses his lips together. He has a pencil-thin moustache, just above his lips; Baz and Agatha both like to make fun of it. “But it isn’t just your safety we’re concerned with, Simon.…”
He’s still leaning over me. I feel like there’s nothing to breathe between us but smoke.
“I’ll talk to the Coven,” he says. He squeezes my shoulder and stands. “Do you need the nurse?”
“No, sir.”
“You’ll call for me if something changes. Or if you see anything strange—any signs of the Humdrum, or anything … out of the ordinary.”
I nod.
The Mage strides out of the room, his palm resting on the hilt of his sword—that means he’s thinking—and closes the door firmly behind him.
I roll around and make sure that my bed isn’t actually burning, then collapse back into sleep.
8
LUCY
And the fog is so thick.
9
SIMON
Penny’s sitting at my desk when I wake up again. She’s reading a book as thick as her arm. “It’s past noon,” she says. “You’ve become an absolute sluggard in foster care; I’m writing a letter to The Telegraph.”
“You can’t just let yourself into my room without knocking,” I say, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “Even if you do have a magickal key.”
“It’s not a key, and I did knock. You sleep like a corpse.”
I walk past her to the bathroom, and she sniffs, then closes her book. “Simon. Did you go off?”
“Sort of. It’s a long story.”
“Were you attacked?”