“They’re called the Queen’s Ogres,” Cath said. “And Simon still doesn’t know that the Mage is his dad.”
“How can he not know?” Levi demanded. Cath was encouraged by how indignant he sounded. “It’s so obvious. Why does the Mage show up every time something important happens and get all weepy, talking about how ‘he knew a woman once with Simon’s eyes—’”
“I know,” Cath said, “it’s lame, but I think Simon wants so badly for the Mage to be his dad that he won’t let himself accept the overwhelming evidence. If he were wrong, it would ruin him.”
“Basil knows,” Levi said.
“Oh, Baz totally knows. I think Penelope knows, too.”
“Penelope Bunce.” Levi grinned. “If I were Simon, I’d be all-Penelope, all the time.”
“Ech. She’s like a sister to him.”
“Not like any of my sisters.”
“Anyway,” Cath said. “This story takes place during that Christmas break.”
“Okay,” Levi said, “got it.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, holding Cath’s pillow. “All right. I’m ready.”
Cath turned to the computer and cleared her throat. (Then felt stupid about clearing her throat.) Then glanced back at Levi one more time. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.…
Was she really doing this?
“If you keep pacing like that,” Baz said, “I’m going to curse your feet into the floorboards.”
Simon ignored him. He was thinking about the clues he’d found so far, trying to see a pattern … the rabbit-shaped stone in the ritual tower, the stained glass hare in the cathedral, the sigil on the drawbridge— “Snow!” Baz shouted. A spell book sailed past Simon’s nose.
“What are you thinking?” Simon asked, genuinely surprised. Flying books and curses were fair game in the hallways and classrooms and, well, everywhere else. But if Baz tried to hurt him inside their room—“The Roommate’s Anathema,” Simon said. “You’ll be expelled.”
“Which is why I missed. I know the rules,” Baz muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Did you know, Snow, that if your roommate dies during the school year, they give you top marks, just out of sympathy?”
“That’s a myth,” Simon said.
“Lucky for you I’m already getting top marks.”
Simon stopped pacing to really look at his roommate. Normally he liked to pretend that Baz wasn’t here. Normally, Baz wasn’t here. Unless he was spying or plotting, Baz hated to be in their room. He said it smelled like good intentions.
But Baz had hardly left the room in the last two weeks. Simon hadn’t seen him in the caf or at football, he’d seemed drawn and distracted in class, and his school shirts—usually pressed and bright white—were looking as manky as Simon’s.
“Because he’s a vampire, Simon!” Levi interjected.
“In this story,” Cath said, “Simon doesn’t know that yet.”
“He’s a vampire!” Levi shouted at her laptop. “And he’s hunting you! He stays up all night, watching you sleep, trying to decide whether to eat you whole or one chunk at a time.”
“Simon can’t hear you,” Cath said.
Levi sat back, hugging the pillow again. “They are kind of gay, aren’t they? What with all the watching each other sleep … and the ignoring Penelope.”
“They’re obsessed with each other,” Cath said, as if this were one of life’s absolute givens. “Simon spends the entire fifth book following Baz around and describing his eyes. It’s like a thesaurus entry for ‘gray.’”
“I don’t know,” Levi said. “It’s hard for me to get my head around. It’s like hearing that Harry Potter is gay. Or Encyclopedia Brown.”
That made Cath laugh out loud. “Big Encyclopedia Brown fan?”
“Shut up. My dad used to read them to me.” He closed his eyes again. “Okay. Go on.”
“Is … something wrong?” Simon asked, then couldn’t believe he’d asked it. It’s not like he really cared. If Baz said yes, Simon would likely say “Good!” Still, it seemed cruel not to ask. Baz may have been the most despicable human being Simon had ever met … but he was still a human being.
“I’m not the one pacing the room like a hyperactive madman,” Baz mumbled, his elbows on his desk, his head resting in his hands.
“You seem … down or something.”
“Yes, I’m down. I’m down, Snow.” Baz raised his head and spun his chair toward Simon. He really did look terrible. His eyes were sunken and shot with blood. “I’ve spent the last six years living with the most self-centered, insufferable prat ever to carry a wand. And now, instead of celebrating Christmas Eve with my beloved family, drinking mulled cider and eating toasted cheese—instead of warming my hands at my ancestral hearth … I’m playing a tortured extra in the bloody Simon Snow Show.”
Simon stared at him. “It’s Christmas Eve?”
“Yes…,” Baz groaned.
Simon walked around his bed glumly. He hadn’t realized it was Christmas Eve. He’d have thought that Agatha would have called him. Or Penelope …
Levi sighed. “Penelope.”