Carry On

“But if Headmistress Grimm-Pitch was talking about the Humdrum,” Bunce says, “why would she throw that on Baz’s shoulders—does she expect him to kill the Humdrum? And what about this Nicodemus?”

Snow frowns. “We should stop thinking of it as an isolated attack.”

“It’s the only vampire attack in the history of the school,” I argue.

“Yeah,” he says, “but all sorts of other stuff was going on back then. The Mage said the dark creatures thought we were getting weak—they were making a serious move on our realm.”

“When did he say that?” Pe

“It’s in The Record,” Snow says. “The Mage gave a speech to the Coven—even before the Watford invasion.” He sticks what’s left of his sandwich in his mouth and reaches around Pe

He finds the right page soon enough, holding it out to us. I stand above them, not prepared to actually sit on Snow’s bed.

It’s the front page of The Record. The Mage’s speech is printed in full, and there’s a large chart with dates and bold-faced atrocities—all the attacks on magickind over a fifty-year period. OUR DOMINION IN DANGER? the headline asks.

“Wait a minute.…” Bunce takes the book from him and hands him her sandwich to hold; he takes a bite. “There’s nothing about the Humdrum.” She flips ahead to the story about my mother’s death, then scans it with her finger. “No Humdrum here either.”

She closes the book and taps the cover with her ring. “Fine-tooth comb—Humdrum!” The book opens, and the pages start rifling forward. They pick up speed towards the end; then the book slams shut on her lap.

“No mentions,” Pe

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “The Humdrum existed then. The first dead spot appeared in the late ’90s. Near Stonehenge. We’ve studied it in Magickal History.”

“I know,” she says. “My mother was pregnant with me when it happened. She and Dad visited the site.” Bunce takes what’s left of her sandwich back from Snow and takes a bite. She looks up at me, chewing suspiciously. “I wonder how they knew…”

“Who?” I ask. “What?”

“I wonder how they figured out that it was the Humdrum behind everything,” Bunce says, “behind the dark creature attacks and the dead spots? How would they know it was him before they knew how he felt? That’s how we identify him now. That feeling.”

“Did you feel the Humdrum?” Snow asks. “That day in the nursery?”

“I was a bit distracted,” I say.

“What did they tell you?” Bunce asks.

“What did who tell me?”

“Your family. After your mother died.”

“They didn’t tell me anything. What was there to say?”

“Did they tell you it was vampires?”

“They didn’t have to tell me that. I was there.”

“Do you remember?” she asks. “Did you see the vampires?”

“Yes.” I set the apple back on the tray.

Snow clears his throat. “Baz, when did you first hear that it was the Humdrum who sent the vampires?”

They’re imagining my father sitting me down in a leather club chair and saying, “Basilton, there’s something I need to tell you.…”

He’s never said those words.

Nobody tells anyone anything in my family. You just know. You learn to know.

No one had to tell me that we talk about Mother, but we don’t talk about Mother’s death.

No one had to tell me I was a vampire:

I remembered being bitten, I grew up with the same horror stories everyone else did—then I woke up one day craving blood. And no one had to tell me not to take it from another person.

“I learned it in school,” I say. “Same as you.” They both look surprised.

“What happened to the vampires?” Snow asks. “Not the ones your mother killed—the others.”

“The Mage drove most of them out of England,” I say. “I think it’s the only time my family has co-operated with his raids.”

“Mum says the war started with the vampire raids,” Bunce says.

“Which war?” Snow asks.

“All of them,” she says. She leans over Snow’s lap to reach the brownies.

I take a sandwich and the apple, and stand up. “I need some air.”

I wait until I’m down in the Catacombs to tuck in. I don’t really like eating in front of people.

47

SIMON

Pe

Talk to Dad at Xms break. OK to wait that long? Ask him to send notes?

“Why all of them?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“Why all the wars? Why did they all start with the vampire raids?”

“The war with the dark things started there,” she says. “That should be obvious. I mean, mages and vampires have never got on—we need Normals alive, and they need them dead. But invading Watford, that was an act of war. And it was the first real attack by the Humdrum, too.”

“What about the war with the Old Families?”

“Well, the Mage’s reforms started then,” she says.

“I wish there were just one war,” I say. “And one enemy that I could get my head around.”

“Wow,” Pe

“I still have Baz.”

“Not as an enemy.”

“We’re just having a truce,” I say.

“A magic-sharing truce.”

“Pe

I feel her climbing up next to me. “Try again,” she says, taking my hand.

“No.”

“Why did you try with Baz?”

“I didn’t,” I say. “I just wanted to help him, and I didn’t know how. So I put my hand on him and thought about helping him.”

“It was pretty extraordinary.”

“Do you think everyone could tell?”

“No … Maybe. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell, not for certain—and I was the closest. But I saw him stand straighter when you touched him. And then the spell started working. There’s no way that Baz is powerful enough to chant back a dragon.…” She squeezes my hand. “Try again.”

I squeeze hers back. “No. I’ll hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt Baz.”

“Maybe I did—he’d never admit it.”

“Maybe it didn’t hurt him,” she says, “because he’s already dead.”

“Baz isn’t dead.”

“Well he’s not alive.”

“I … I think he is,” I say. “He has magic. That’s life.”

“Morgan’s tooth—imagine if you could do it again. If you could actually control your power, Simon.”

“Baz was the one controlling my power.”

“It was like you were focused for the first time—directed. You were using him like a wand.”

I close my eyes. “I wasn’t using him.”

48

BAZ

When I come back, Bunce is gone. I can tell she’s been sitting on my bed again—it smells like her. Like blood and chocolate and kitchen herbs. I’ll snap at her about it tomorrow.

Snow has showered, the room is humid from it, but our papers and di

The chalkboard is in order, though, completely filled with Bunce’s tight-fisted handwriting and pushed against the wall.

I take my jacket off and spell it clean, hanging it in my wardrobe. My tie’s tucked in the pocket. I pull it out and loop it around the hanger.

I ate my sandwich down in the basement, washing it down with a few rats. I need to go hunting in the Wood again; the rats are getting few and far between in the Catacombs, even though I try not to take the females.

It’s a pain to hunt in the Wood. I have to do it during the day because the Mage brings the drawbridge up at dusk, and I can’t Float like a butterfly over the moat every night like I did today; I don’t have the magic.

I look over my shoulder at Snow—a long, blanketed lump on his bed.