Baz lifts his voice louder. There’s sweat on his forehead and along his hairline, and his hand is trembling.
I want to help, but chances are, I’d just spoil his spell. I think about taking a whack at the dragon while it’s distracted, but Baz told me to stop. I move slowly until I’m standing behind him.
The dragon shakes its head and starts to turn again. I’m beginning to think it really wants to go. That it wants the spell to work.
“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn.”
Baz’s whole arm is shaking now.
I put my hand on his shoulder to steady him. And then I do something I’ve never done before—something I probably wouldn’t try with anyone I was scared of hurting.
I push.
I take some of the magic that’s always trying to get out of me, and I just push it into Baz.
His arm straightens like a rod, and his voice hitches louder—“away home!”—midsentence.
The dragon’s wings shudder, and it lurches back.
I push a little more magic. I worry that it’s too much, but Baz doesn’t fall or crumple. His shoulder is rock hard and steady under my palm.
“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home!” he booms. The dragon’s wings are flapping frantically, and it’s jerking itself back into the air, like a plane taking off backwards.
I stop pushing and close my eyes, letting Baz draw on my magic as he needs it. I don’t want to overdo it and set him off like a grenade in my hand.
When I open my eyes again, the dragon is a red spot on the sky, and there’s applause ringing out from the ramparts.
“As you were!” Baz shouts, pointing his wand at the school. The crowds immediately start to scatter. Then Baz steps away from my hand and faces me.
He’s looking at me like I’m a complete freak. (Which we both already knew was true.) His right brow is arched so high, it looks like it’s broken free of his eye.
“Why did you help me?” I ask.
“Truce,” Baz says, still alarmed. Then he shakes his head, just like the dragon did when it was trying to throw off his spell. “Anyway, I wasn’t helping you.” He brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I was helping the dragon. You would have killed her.”
“It was attacking the school.”
“Not because she wanted to. Dragons don’t attack unless they’re being threatened. And dragons don’t even live in this part of England.”
Penelope runs into me like a freight train. She grabs my hand and puts it on her shoulder. “Show me,” she says. “Turn on the juice.”
I pull my hand back. “What?”
She grabs it again. “I saw what just happened.” She puts my hand on her shoulder. “When did you learn to do that?”
“Stop,” I say, and I try to say it meaningfully, looking around at everyone who can hear us. The Lawn is full of kids, all inspecting the scorch marks and generally acting like people who almost just died but didn’t. “I was just giving him moral support.”
“Excellent work, gentlemen.” Miss Possibelf is standing beside us; I didn’t even see her walk up. “I’ve seldom seen such a strong and nuanced nursery rhyme, Mr. Pitch—and never a situation that so desperately required it.”
Baz bows humbly. Perfectly. His hair falls forward.
“Mr. Snow,” she goes on, turning to me, “perhaps you’ll provide a report for the headmaster upon his return. And you can work on moderation this week in Elocution.”
I dip my head. “Yes, miss.”
“As you were,” she says without any magic.
Penelope puts my hand on her shoulder again. I pull it away.
When I turn back to the castle, I see Agatha, the only one still watching us from the ramparts.
45
SIMON
“You got Visited! And you didn’t tell me!”
Penelope is standing with her hands on her hips, and I’m pretty sure she’d be casting a world of hurt at me if Baz hadn’t taken away her wand.
“You told him?” She swings her hand at Baz. “But you didn’t tell me?”
“It was his mum,” I say.