Carry On (42 page)

Whoever it was who came out for a fag finishes it and goes back in, slamming the screen door shut.

*   *   *

I was early. But now Ebeneza's late. Real late.

The noise has stopped inside the house. The kids'll be in bed. Ebb says all our brothers and our little sister have kittens these days. I never thought about having any of my own before I crossed over. I think about it now. Me and Fi. Coupla sprogs. Her family woulda had a fit if she settled down with me. Guess she was never gonna settle down with no one.… I know where Fi is now. Our paths would cross if I let them. Don't fancy
she
wants to hear anything I have to say either.

Ebb's late.

Maybe she forgot.

Not like her to forget. Never has, in all these years.

Can't call her. Don't even know if she has a mobile these days.

I stand, and pace a bit under the tree. Normally, Ebb casts a spell so that no one sees me.

I'm antsy. I creep up closer to the house. If anyone's up, I should be able to hear them. The house is dark. One of the kitchen windows is cracked, but I can't smell dinner. Ebb says she helps Mum with the cooking now. Roasted gammon, it'll be. And bread and butter pudding. Ebb usually brings me out a plate.

I go up the back steps and peek inside the window in the door. The kitchen is empty. I can't hear anything.

I twist the knob, not expecting it to turn, but it does, and the door gives. I step forward gingerly, not sure whether I'll be allowed—but the house accepts me, and I stand there for a moment feeling right sorry for myself in my mum's kitchen.

I smell the child before I see her.…

She's hiding behind the doorway, peeking out at me. “Is that you, Aunty?”

“Aunty?” I say. “Do I look like somebody's aunty?”

“I thought you were my Aunt Ebb. You look like her.”

She's a little blond one in a red plaid nightgown. Must be my sister Lavinia's. Vinnie wasn't much older than this herself last time I saw her.

“I'm family,” I say. “I come to talk to Ebb—why don't you go get her for me? She won't be mad.” Not at the girl, anyway.

“Aunty Ebb's gone,” the chick says. “She left with the Mage. Grandmum's still crying. We can't even have Christmas.”

“The Mage?” I say.

“Himself,” the girl says. “I heard everybody say it. Mum says Aunty Ebb was arrested.”

“Arrested! For what?”

“I don't know. I guess she broke a rule.”

I stare at the child. She stares back. Then I turn for the door.

“Where are you going?” she calls after me.

“To find your aunty.”

 

71

SIMON

I wake up feeling hungry.

And not until I'm awake do I realize that it's not
me
who's hungry.

The air is dry. And itching. Pulling at my skin—pulling with needles, pricking at me.

I sit up and shake my head. The feeling doesn't go away. I take a deep breath and then it's inside my lungs, too. Like sand. Like ground glass.

The Humdrum.

I look over at Baz's bed—the sheets and blankets are cast aside. He's not there. I stumble to my feet and out of the room, standing in the blood-dark hallway.
“Baz,”
I whisper.

No one answers.

I follow the bad feeling down the hallway, down the stairs, to the front door of the manor—the night sky and the snow are so bright, there's light streaming into the foyer. I open the door and run out into the snow.

The feeling is stronger out here. Worse. Almost like I'm standing inside one of the Humdrum's dead spots. But when I reach for my magic, it's still there: It rises to the surface of my skin and hums in my fingertips. It pools in my mouth.

I try to force it down again.

I follow the itchy feeling forward. (I should go back inside. I should put on shoes.) I find myself running towards the private forest that sweeps along the side of the Pitches' house like a curtain.

I'm wearing Baz's red-and-gold-striped pyjamas, and they're wet to my thighs. The hungry feeling gets stronger with every step. It sucks at me. I feel my magic slipping out, sliding around my skin. A tree branch drags against me and catches fire.

I keep pushing forward.

I don't know where I'm going—I've never been in this forest before. Plus there's no space between the trees. I'm not on a path, there isn't a clearing.

When I hear him laughing, I stop so abruptly that my magic sloshes forward, spilling up over the sides of me.

He's right there, leaning against one of trees.

Him. The Insidious Humdrum.

Me.

“Hello,” he says, tossing his ball in the air. He catches it, frowns at me for a second, then tucks the ball into the pocket of his jeans.

“You can talk,” I say.

“I can now. I can do all sorts of things now.” He looks up into the tree and reaches for one of the slimmest branches; his hand passes through it. He grimaces and tries again. This time his hand closes around the twig, and he snaps it off. Then he looks back up at me and grins, like I should be proud of him.

“Why do you look like me?” I ask. This still feels like the most important question.

“This is just what I look like.” He laughs. “Why wouldn't I look like you?”

“But you're not me.”

“No.” The Humdrum frowns. “Look at you. You're different every time I see you. But I always look just like this.” The twig is still in his hands. He breaks it in two, then drops it and steps towards me. “You can do all sorts of things I can't do.”

I step back. Into a tangle of branches. “Why are you here—what do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing. But what does
he
want from you? That's the real question.”

I hear someone groan. There's something moving in the trees.… I wish I could see better, and as soon as I wish it, my magic gets brighter—I'm glowing. The Humdrum laughs again.

“Simon?”
someone calls. I think it's Baz, but he sounds wrong. Like he's out of breath or in pain.

“Baz? Are you okay?”

“No, no …
Simon!
”

Then I see Baz ahead of me, twenty feet or so, leaning against a tree. The Humdrum is above us now, sitting on a low branch, watching. Baz's head hangs low.

I rush forward. “Baz!”

He lifts his face, and it's wrong, too. Twisted. His eyes are dilated and black, and his mouth is full of white knives—his lips have retracted to make room for them.

I should back away, but instead I squeeze between the trees to try to get to him. It's Baz who backs away from me. “Something's wrong,” he says. “I'm hungry.”

“Baz, you're always hungry.”

“No. It's different.” He shakes his head and shoulders like an animal. “I saw you in the forest,” he says. “Just now. But you were young—you looked like you did the very first time I saw you.” His words are slurred. Like he's shoving them through his teeth. “I thought for a minute that you were
dead.
I thought it was a Visiting.”

“It wasn't me.” I take a step towards him. “You saw the Humdrum.”

“You touched me,” he says. “I leaned down and you put your hand on my face.”

“It isn't me,” I say.

“And then you pushed it into me.” He stumbles backwards, staying a step away from me. “Like you do, Simon. But it wasn't magic this time. It was a void. You pushed a void into me, and everything else left to make room.”

“Baz, stop. Let me help you.”

He keeps shaking his head. He reminds me for a moment of the red dragon, swinging her head back and forth.

“It's easy with creatures,” the Humdrum says. He's standing behind Baz now. He reaches out and presses a hand onto Baz's hunched spine. “I just take what I got and give it to them.”

Baz whines and unfolds until his back is arched.

“
What
?” I demand. “What do you give them?”

The Humdrum shrugs. “Nothing. I give them some of my nothing.”

Baz lifts his face to me, all pupil and fang. He takes a step forward. “Get away, Simon. I'm hungry.”

“I give them some of my nothing,” the Humdrum says again, “and then they're drawn to the biggest of all somethings—
you.
And then you give me more nothing. It's a great game.”

Baz keeps coming for me. I stand my ground.

“Get away, Simon! I'm hungry!”

“What are you hungry for, Baz?”

“For you!” he shouts. “For magic, for blood, for magic—for everything.
For you
.
For magic.
”

He's shaking his head so fast, it blurs.

There's a tree between us, and Baz rips it from the ground and tosses it aside.

“Wicked,” the Humdrum says. “I've never tried it with one of these before.”

Baz ploughs into me like a steel gryphon. I catch him in my arms and roll to the ground.

He's much stronger than I am—but I'm made of magic right now, so there's no crushing me. We thrash around on the ground. I hold his head in both my hands, pushing his jaw away.

“I'm so hungry,” he whines. “And you're so full.”

“You can have it,” I say, trying to look in his eyes. “Baz. You know you can have it.”

I push on his chin and grab at his hair, holding him back—but I let my magic go.

I let it flow into him from my every pore. Baz sobs and abruptly stops fighting. It feels like I'm pouring water into an empty well.

It goes.

And it goes.

Baz's body sags against mine.

“Wow…” the Humdrum says. “That's even better than fighting.” He feels close. I look up, and he's standing right over us, rock solid in the moonlight. “When did you learn to do that? It's like you turned on a tap.”

“Did you take his magic?” I shout at the Humdrum.

“Did I take his magic?” he repeats, like it's a hilarious question. “No. I don't take anything. I'm just what's left when you're done.” He grins, like the cat with the canary, and it's an expression I've never seen on my own face.

“Simon!” Baz is shouting beneath me. I look down—he's glowing now, too. His fangs are gone, but he still looks like he's in pain. He's squeezing my triceps. “Enough!”

I let go of him and roll away. But the magic is still pouring out of me, through me. It
is
like a tap. I concentrate on turning it off. When it feels like the magic's staying inside me again—when I stop glowing—I get up on my hands and knees. “Baz?”

“Here,” he says.

I move towards his voice. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He's lying on the ground. “I just feel a bit … burnt.”

“Are you on fire?”

“No,” he says. “No. Burnt on the inside.”

I look around, but I don't see the Humdrum. Or hear him. Or feel him sucking at my breath.

“Is he gone?” Baz asks.

“Seems like it.” I collapse next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

Baz gropes for me with his arm, and when he feels me, he wraps his arm around my neck and shoulders, weakly pulling me towards him. I move closer until my head falls on his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You?”

“Tip-top.” Baz coughs, and I push my face into his chest. “What
was
that?” he asks.

“The Humdrum.”

“Simon, are
you
the Insidious Humdrum?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

BAZ

I feel burnt out.

Incinerated.

That kid—it
was
Simon—emptied me somehow. Like he pressed my magic out or down.…

And then Simon filled me up again with fire.

I feel like a phoenix rebirthed itself in my lower intestines.

Simon's hiding his face in my chest, and I hold him tighter.

It
was
Simon. Like seeing him again for the very first time. Crap jeans and dirty T-shirt. That rawness in his skin, that hunger in his eyes. When I saw him step out from between the pines tonight, I wanted to kick him in the knees—it was definitely Simon.

Simon—the grown one—is trembling, so I wrap my other arm around him, too. My arms feel hollow, but Simon feels solid through.

Simon Snow is the Humdrum.

Or … the Humdrum is Simon Snow.

SIMON

“Did I take his magic? No. I don't take anything. I'm just what's left when you're done.”

I'm lying on Baz, and he has both arms around me. And I keep trying to shake the Humdrum's face out of my head. (To shake my face off his head.)

“I give them some of my nothing … and then you give me more nothing.”

I sit up and rub my eyes. “Do you still need to hunt?”

“No,” Baz says. “I was finishing up when he found me.”

I move into a crouch, then stand, holding out my hand to him. “Did he say anything? Before he attacked you?”

Baz takes my hand and pulls himself up. He doesn't let go. “He said,
‘You'll do.'
”

I close my eyes, and my head drops forward. “He used you. He used you against me.”

“Everyone does,” Baz says softly. I feel his arm slide, slowly, gently, back around my waist.

I slouch into him. “I'm sorry.”

BAZ

If Simon Snow is the Humdrum … that makes him a villain. A supervillain.

Can I be in love with a supervillain?

SIMON

Baz is shaking, and I think he might be crying—which would make sense, after what just happened. I open my eyes and lift up my chin.