Simon’s fingers tensed on the hilt of his sword. Baz took a step closer.
“Snow, if you lose this, we all lose. I may want a world without you—and a world without your tyrant of a father. But I don’t want a world without magic. If the Humdrum wins…”
Simon studied Baz’s pale, grave face and his smoldering grey eyes. There were times when Simon thought he knew those eyes better than his own— Levi giggled.
“Shhh,” Cath said. “I can’t believe this is happening.…”
—times when he thought he could read his enemy’s face better than anyone else’s. Better even than Agatha’s.
“Let me help you,” Baz said. There was something Simon didn’t recognize in his voice. Sincerity, maybe. Vulnerability.
Simon made up his mind quickly. (The only way he ever did.) He nodded once and sheathed the Sword of Mages. Then he wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out before him.
Baz locked on to Simon’s gaze as ferociously as ever, and Simon wondered whether there was too much animosity—too much history—between them ever to breach. Too much to set aside or get over.
All the curses.
All the spells.
All the times they’d fallen to the ground, fists and wands swinging, grabbing at each other’s throats …
And then Baz took his hand.
The two magicians, young men now, shook hands and shared a moment that held nothing more—for what could be more?—than understanding.
“What about Agatha?” Simon asked when the moment had passed, when their hands dropped again to their sides.
Baz grinned and started walking up the steep hill to the castle.
“Don’t be a fool, Snow. I’m never giving up on Agatha.”
The problem with playing hide-and-seek with your sister is that sometimes she gets bored and stops looking for you.
And there you are—under the couch, in the closet, wedged behind the lilac tree—and you don’t want to give up, because maybe she’s just biding her time. But maybe she’s wandered off.…
Maybe she’s downstairs watching TV and eating the rest of the Pringles.
You wait. You wait until you forget that you’re waiting, until you forget that there’s anything to you beyond stillness and quiet; an ant crawls over your knee, and you don’t flinch. And it doesn’t matter now whether she’s coming for you—the hiding is enough. (You win when no one finds you, even if they’re not looking.) When you break from behind the tree, it’s because you want to. It’s the first breath after a long dive. Branches snap under your feet, and the world is hotter and brighter. Ready or not, here I come.
Here I come, ready or not.
—from “Left” by Cather Avery, winner of the Underclassmen Prize, Prairie Schooner, Fall 2012
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who was good to me while I wrote this book—but especially to:
Bethany, who is an excellent, tireless beta and a marvelous friend—and who just goes around making life and the Internet better.
Forest, who talks about these characters like they’re real people; and Jade, who never gets tired of them.
My editor, Sara, who is fucking awesome.
And everyone at St. Martin’s Press who’s worked so hard to help my books find readers—and to help readers find my books.
Thank you to Christopher, who is ten pounds of agent in a five-pound sack.
To Rosey and Laddie, who make me happy.
And to Kai, who tells me to write all the words.
Also: I decided to write this book after reading a lot (I mean, a lot) of fanfiction. Reading fic was a transformative experience for me—it changed the way I think about writing and storytelling, and helped me more deeply understand my own intense relationships with fictional worlds and characters. So thank you for writing it.