Carry On

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.

He’s not crying—he’s laughing.

He’s laughing so hard, he’s falling against me.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Are you in shock?”

“You’re the Humdrum.”

“I’m not,” I say, trying to push him back by the shoulders.

“I’m dead, not blind, Snow. You’re the Humdrum.”

“That wasn’t me! Why are you laughing?”

Baz keeps laughing, but he’s also giving me a sneery grin. “I’m laughing because you’re the Chosen One,” he says giddily. “But you’re also the greatest threat to magic. You’re a bad guy!”

“Baz. I swear. That wasn’t me.”

“Looks like you. Sounds like you. Tosses that infernal red ball in the air like you.” He holds me tighter.

“I think I’d know if I were the Insidious Humdrum,” I say.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit, Simon. You’re exceedingly thick. And criminally good-looking—have I mentioned that?”

“No.”

He leans in like he’s going to bite me, then kisses me instead.

It’s so good.

It’s been so good every time.

I pull away. “I’m not the Humdrum! But why does thinking so make you want to kiss me?”

“Everything makes me want to kiss you. Haven’t you worked that out yet? Crowley, you’re thick.” He kisses me again. And he’s laughing again.

“I’m not the Humdrum,” I repeat, when I get the chance. “I’d know if I were.”

“What you are is a fucking tragedy, Simon Snow. You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.”

He tries to kiss me, but I hold back—“And you like that?”

“I love it,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because we match.”

*   *   *

We make our way out of the forest. Baz knows the way.

It really is stocked with deer just for him. It doesn’t creep me out at all to know that—apparently I can get used to anything.

Apparently he can, too.

“That thing,” I try again. “It isn’t me.”

“Maybe it’s you in the past,” he says. “Maybe you’re a time traveller.”

“But wouldn’t I remember it? If he’s me when I was a kid?”

“I don’t know how time travel works,” Baz says. “It’s not magic.”

“You’re not limping,” I say.

He looks down and shakes out his leg. “It feels better,” he says. “Crowley, Snow, you’ve healed me. I wonder if I’m still a vampire?”

I raise my eyebrows, and he laughs. “Calm down, miracle boy, I’m still a vampire—you still smell like bacon and homemade ci

“How can I smell like bacon and homemade ci

“You smell like something I’d gladly eat.” Baz stops and holds an arm out in front of me. “Wait. Do you feel that?”

I stop, too. It’s faint, but it’s there. That parched feeling. That scratch in the back of my throat.

“The Humdrum,” Baz says. “Is he back?”

There’s shouting ahead of us, somebody calling Baz’s name.

I hold my hand above my hip, trying to call my blade. It doesn’t come. I can’t feel my magic anywhere.

Baz has his wand tucked into his pyjamas (of course he does). He whips it out and tries to cast a spell. Nothing happens. He tries again.

“It’s a dead spot,” I whisper. “It’s one of the Humdrum’s dead spots.”

“Basilton!” Baz’s stepmother is screaming and ru

“The Humdrum…” Baz looks over at me, as pale as I’ve ever seen him, his face chalky and white in the moonlight. “Snow. Run.”

“What?”

“Go,” he says. “You did this.”

72

SIMON

I could probably walk to London.

If I were wearing shoes.

And if there weren’t all this snow.…

When Baz told me to go, when he blamed the dead spot on me, I wanted to argue. But his parents were ru