Carry On (51 page)

“Simon. You have a
tail.
”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look.” I bring our hands between us and knock up his chin. “Look at me. I don't want to have to say this all the time. It's the sort of thing that's supposed to go poetically unsaid.…” He meets my eyes. “You're still Simon Snow. You're still the hero of this story—”

“This isn't a story!”

“
Everything
is a story. And you are the hero. You sacrificed everything for me.”

He looks abashed, ashamed. “I didn't do it for you, exactly—”

“Fine. For me and the rest of the magickal world.”

“I was just cleaning up my own
mess,
Baz. Like, no one would call you a hero for cleaning up your own vomit.”

“It was brave. It was brave and selfless and clever. That's who you are, Simon. And I'm not going to get
bored
with you.”

He's still looking in my eyes. Staring me down like he did that dragon, chin tilted and locked. “I'm not the Chosen One,” he says.

I meet his gaze and sneer. My arm is a steel band around his waist. “I choose you,” I say. “Simon Snow, I choose you.”

Snow doesn't flinch or soften. For a moment, I think he's going to take a swing at me—or bash his rock-hard head against mine. Instead he shoves his face into mine and kisses me. It's still a challenge.

I shove back. I let go of his hand to hold his neck. He smashes into me, and I take it. I don't give an inch. (It's a mess, honestly, and if he cuts his lip on my teeth, it could be a disaster.)

When we break, he's panting. I press my forehead to his, and feel the tension leave his neck and back.

“You can change your mind,” he says.

“I won't.” I shake my head against his forehead.

“I'll always be less than you,” he whispers.

“I know; it's a dream come true.”

That makes him laugh a bit, pathetically. “Still,” he says. “You can always change your mind.”

“We both can,” I say. “But I won't.”

I should have known that this is what it would be like to dance with Simon Snow. Fighting in place. Mutual surrender.

He puts both arms around my neck and slumps against me. He's either forgotten that everyone's watching, or doesn't care. “Baz?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still friends with Cook Pritchard?”

“I assume.”

“It's just—I really hoped there'd be sandwiches.”

 

 

AGATHA

The sun shines every day in California.

I've got a flat I share with two other girls from school. There's a little veranda, and I sit out there with Lucy when I get home from class, and we soak in it. The sun.

Lucy's my Cavalier King Charles spaniel. I found her in the snow outside Watford. I thought she might be dead, but I didn't want to stop and sort it out. I just scooped her up and kept running.

I know that Penny will never forgive me for running away that day, but I couldn't turn back. I couldn't. I've never felt more sure of how to stay alive.

I had to run.

*   *   *

Technically, the farthest you can get from Watford is just east of New Zealand, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But California
feels
farther.

I left all my old clothes at home.

I wear sundresses now, and strappy sandals that tie around my ankles.

I left my wand at home, too; my mother would faint if she knew. She keeps asking if I've met any magicians. California is very popular with the magickal set, she says. There's even a club in Palm Springs.

I don't care. I live in San Diego. My friends work in restaurants and strip mall office buildings, and I date boys who wear dark stocking caps, even on warm days. On weeknights, I study, and on weekends, we go the beach. I spend the money my parents give me on tuition and tacos.

It's. All. So. Normal.

The only magician I still talk to, other than my parents and Helen, is Penelope. She texts. I tried not texting back, but that doesn't work with her.

She tells me how Simon is doing. She told me about the trials—I thought I might have to go back to testify, but the Coven let me do it in writing.

That's the closest I've come to talking to anyone about what happened.

About what I saw.

About Ebb.

I never knew Ebb. She was Simon's friend. I always thought she was barmy—living in that shack, spending her days with goats.

But I know more about her now.

She was a powerful magician, but she didn't do what powerful magicians do. She didn't want to be in charge. She didn't want to control people. Or fight. She just wanted to live at Watford and take care of goats.

And they wouldn't let her.

Like, they couldn't just let her be. She died in a war she had nothing to do with. There's no opting out of the World of Mages. There's no “no, thank you.”

I don't know why she came back to save my life. I'd hardly even spoken to her.

Penny says I should honour Ebb's memory by helping to build a better World of Mages.…

But maybe I'll honour her memory by fucking right off, the way she tried to.

She told me to
run.

*   *   *

I still have the picture of the Mage and Lucy. I stuck it in the mirror on my bedroom door. And I think about her sometimes when I'm getting dressed.

She's the one who got away.

I wonder if she's still here, in California. If she's got a family now. Maybe I'll run into her at Trader Joe's. (I won't tell her that I named my dog after her.)

I think I'm going to send the photo to Simon someday.

I'm not ready to talk to Simon yet, and I'm not sure he's ready to get a photo of the Mage in the mail.…

But I think Simon might be the only person who really loved the Mage. I know he killed him, but he's probably the person who was saddest to see him go.

 

 

SIMON

Even though I'm the only one here with no magic, no one is helping me carry boxes up four flights of stairs.

“You,” I say to Baz, letting a box drop on the couch, “even have superstrength. You could probably do this in half as many trips.”

“Yes—” He pulls the lid off his Starbucks cup, so he can lick the whipped cream directly. “—but then your Normal neighbours would start to wonder, and they're already curious about the handsome young man haunting your door day and night.”

“The neighbours don't even know we're moving in. They're all at work.”

“Well, they
will
wonder, once they get a look at us. We're cool and mysterious and better-looking than any couple has a right to be.” He looks up at me and pulls the cup away from his mouth. “Speaking of, come here, Snow—one of your wings is showing.”

I thought the wings would fade away or even fall off after I gave the Humdrum my magic. But Penny says I used my magic to make them, and just because I gave my magic away doesn't mean everything I did with it is going to come undone.

I still have the tail, too. Which Baz won't stop mocking:

“It's not even a dragon tail—you gave yourself a cartoon devil's tail.”

“I'm sure I could have it removed,” I say. “I could talk to Dr. Wellbelove.”

“Let's not do anything hasty.”

Penny's been casting
These aren't the droids you're looking for
on me every morning, so the Normals don't notice my dragon parts, but the spell never holds all day. I'm afraid they're going to pop out during a class.

“Just tell people you're in a show,” Baz advised.

“What kind of show?”

“I don't know; it's what my aunt Fiona always told me to say if anyone ever noticed my fangs.”

I sit in front of Baz now, on the coffee table—which I carried up by myself. He hands me his cup, and I take a sip. “What is this?”

“Pumpkin mocha breve. I created it myself.”

“It's like drinking a candy bar,” I say. “I thought we were going to have tea.”

“Didn't Bunce buy you a kettle? You have to start figuring this stuff out, Snow. Self-sufficiency.” He holds his wand over my shoulder and taps the wing.
“There's nothing to see here!”

“Oh, Baz, come on. You know I hate
There's nothing to see here.
Now people are going to be running into me all day.”

“Beggars can't be choosers—I don't know that robot spell of Bunce's.”

Penny walks out of her bedroom. “Simon, have you seen my crystal ball?”

“Should I have?”

“It's in a box marked
Careful—crystal ball
. Oh, hey, Baz. What're you doing here?”

“I'm going to be here all the time, Bunce. I'm going to haunt your door day and night.”

“Did you come to help us move in?”

He puts the lid on his drink. “Hmm. No.”

Baz and I talked about getting a flat together after he was done at Watford. He went back to finish second term, but I just couldn't. I mean, I
could
have, even though I was under house arrest; Penelope's mum would have let me.

I've only been back once, for Baz's leavers ball in the spring. Maybe I'll go again someday. When it all feels further away. I'd like to visit Ebb's grave, deep in the Wood.

Agatha didn't go back to Watford either. Her parents weren't going to make her. She's going to school in California now. Penny says she has a dog. I haven't talked to her. I didn't talk to anyone for a while, except for Baz and Penelope.

There was a three-month inquiry into the Mage's death. In the end, I wasn't charged. Neither was Penny. She had no idea that I'd say what I said after her spell—and I had no idea that what I said would kill the Mage.

I thought the World of Mages would fall apart without him. But it's been seven months, and there hasn't been a war. I don't think there will be.

The Mage hasn't been replaced.

The Coven decided the World of Mages doesn't need one leader, at least right now. Dr. Wellbelove suggested that I run for the Mage's seat, and I tried not to laugh like a madman.

I think I am, though … a madman.

I mean, I
must
be.

I'm seeing somebody, to talk about it—a magickal psychologist in Chicago. She's, like, one of three in the world. We do our sessions over Skype. I want Baz to talk to her, too, but so far, he changes the subject every time I mention it.

His whole family has moved to one of their other houses, up north.

The magic hasn't come back to Hampshire. Or any of the other dead spots—but there haven't been any new holes since Christmas. (Dozens of new ones opened that day. I feel bad about that—those are the ones I could have helped.) Penny's dad keeps calling to reassure me that nothing's getting worse. I've even gone along on a few of his surveys. It's not a big deal for me to visit the holes, the way it is for other magicians; I don't have any magic to lose. I mean … it
is
a big deal for me. But for other reasons.

Penny's dad thinks the magic will come back to the dead spots eventually. He's shown me studies about plants growing in Chernobyl and about the California condor. When I told him I was going to university, he said I should study restoration ecology. “It could be very healing, Simon.”

I don't know. I'm going to start with basic courses and see what sticks.

Baz is starting at the London School of Economics in a few weeks. His parents both went to Oxford, but Baz said he'd be staked before he left London.

“Would that actually work on you?” I asked him.

“What?”

“A stake?”

“I'd think a stake through the heart would kill anyone, Snow.”

He
will
call me Simon now, occasionally, but only when we're being soft with each other. (All that's still happening, too. I suppose I am gay; my therapist says it's not even in the top five things I have to sort out right now.)

Anyway, Baz and I thought about getting a flat. But we both decided that after seven years together, it might be good to have different roommates. And Penny and I have always talked about having a place together.

I never really thought that would happen.

I never thought there was a path that would lead here, a fourth-floor flat with two bedrooms and a kettle and a grey-eyed vampire sitting on the couch, messing with his new phone.

I never thought there was a path that would lead to both of us alive.

When you look at it that way, it wasn't that much to give up—my magic. For Baz's life. For mine.

Sometimes I dream that I still have it. I dream about going off, and I wake up, panting, not sure if it's true.

But there's never smoke. My breath doesn't burn, my skin doesn't shimmer. I don't feel like there's a star going nova in my chest.

There's just sweat and panic and my heart racing ahead of me—and my doctor in Chicago says that's all normal for someone like me.

“A fallen supervillain?” I'll say.

And she'll smile, from a professional distance. “A trauma victim.”

I don't feel like a trauma victim. I feel like a house after a fire. And sometimes like someone who died but stayed in his body. And sometimes I feel like someone
else
died, like someone else sacrificed everything, so that I can have a normal life.

With wings.

And a tail.

And vampires.

And magicians.

And a boy in my arms, instead of a girl.

And a happy ending—even if it isn't the ending I ever would have dreamt for myself, or hoped for.

A chance.

“What time is it?” Penny asks. “Is it too early for tea? There're biscuits in one of these boxes. I could magic them up for us.”