Carry On

I turned to run back into the forest—but it was on fire. From me. From my magic. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it, because now I didn’t have any.

“Go!” Baz said again, so I did. I ran.

I got to the drive, and my feet were going numb from cold, but I kept ru

I’m still ru

My magic comes back to me all at once and sends me to the ground, shaking. If only I had my wand. Or a mobile …

I could hitchhike—would anyone pick me up? Would anyone be driving down this road, in middle-of-nowhere Hampshire in the middle of the night? On Christmas Eve? (Father Christmas isn’t real—the Tooth Fairy is.)

I’m kneeling in the snow at the side of the road. I can do this, I think. I’ve done this before. I just have to want it. I have to need it.

I think about getting away, about getting to Pe

Wide, bony wings.

There are no feathers this time; I must have been thinking about the dragon. These wings are red and leathery with grey spikes at the hinges. They spread out as soon as I think about them, and pull me up out of the snow.

I tear off the remains of my fla

Baz’s house is below me now, in the distance. The fire I started is still burning; I watch the smoke pouring out of the forest, and try to move closer—but I can’t. I’m made of magic, and there’s no magic there anymore.

I hover in the sky.

I think about putting out the fire. The clouds are full of freezing rain—so I think about pushing them towards the forest, and they go.

And then I think of Baz telling me to go, so I do.

And then I stop thinking.

73

PENELOPE

My little sister, Priya, was the one to get the door. She was waiting up for Father Christmas—and doing a hell of a job, too; she made it until four in the morning. I think she outlasted Mum and Dad.

Priya heard the knocking and thought that it was Father Christmas himself. We don’t have a fireplace; she must have thought he had to come through the front door.

When she opened the door, Simon fell in, and she shrieked.

I don’t blame her. He looked like Satan incarnate. Massive red-and-black wings. A red tail with a black spade at the end. He’d cast some sort of spell on himself that made him glow yellow and orange, and he was covered in snow and debris, and wearing the filthiest, fanciest pyjama bottoms.

Mum and Dad heard Priya scream and came thumping down the stairs. Mum screamed, too. And then Dad shouted, and then apparently he had to keep Mum from throwing curses—she thought Simon was possessed or enchanted or that he’d gone full Lucifer.

The rest of us came ru

That snapped Mum and Dad back to normal.

Mum started casting warming spells, and Dad got a bowl of hot water and a cloth to clean Simon up. We ended up putting him in the shower. He was so exhausted, he could hardly stand. He couldn’t even tell us where he’d been. I assumed he’d made it back to Baz’s house, but I didn’t want my parents to know that we’d left Simon on the road in the middle of the countryside on Christmas Eve.

I helped my mum and dad give him a shower, and nobody cared that I was seeing him naked. Then we put him in some of Mum’s trackies, and she tried to tuck his tail down one leg.

I kept casting, “Nonsense!” until Mum told me to shut up.

“It’s not working, Pe

“But it worked last time.”

“Maybe it’s not a spell,” Dad said. “Maybe he transformed.”

“Maybe he evolved,” Priya said from the bathroom doorway, “like a Pokémon.”

“Go to bed, Priya,” Dad said.

“I’m waiting for Father Christmas!”

“Go to bed!” Mum shouted.

Mum was casting spells, too. “As you were!” and “Back to start!”

“Careful, Mitali,” Dad said. “You’ll turn him into a baby.”

But none of Mum’s spells touched Simon. She tried casting spells in Hindi, too. (She doesn’t speak Hindi, but my great-grandmother did.) Nothing worked.

They put Simon in my bed, and Dad thought they should call the Mage, but Mum said they should wait to see what Simon wanted them to do.

(Simon seemed conscious, but he wasn’t saying anything. And he wouldn’t make eye contact.)

My parents were still arguing about it after they left my room and shut the door. “Go to bed, Priya!” my father shouted.

I climbed onto the bed next to Simon and laid my ring hand over his red wings.

“Nonsense!” I whispered.

“Nonsense!”

74

SIMON

I wake up on Christmas morning in Penelope’s bed.

She’s sitting next to me, staring at me.

“What?” I say.

“Thank magic! I was worried you’d never speak again.”

“Why?”

“Because you weren’t talking at all last night. For heaven’s snakes, Simon, what happened to you?”

“I…” I’m lying on my stomach. I try to roll onto my back, but can’t—the wings must still be there. Just thinking about them makes them spread out again, and they knock Pe

“Simon!”

“Sorry!” I say, trying to pull them back. “Sorry.”

Pe

“I don’t know,” I say. “Not intentionally.”

“We coated you in spells yesterday, and none of them did anything.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me, my parents. Do you even remember coming here?”

“Sort of … I remember flying. I didn’t recognize London. From above. So I had to go to the Eye, then sort of half-fly down the streets to find your house. I’ve only ever come here before on the Tube.”

“I wonder if anyone saw you.”

“I don’t know. I tried to think about being invisible—”

“You what?”

I close my eyes now and think about the wings. I think about how I don’t need them anymore. I feel the magic welling up in me. (The magic is always welling up in me lately. Always coming up the back of my throat.) I think about how I don’t want to fly, then I think about pulling the wings back into my back.

When I open my eyes again, Pe

“Got rid of the wings.”

“What about the tail?”

I reach down and feel a ropy, leathery tail. “Jesus.” I think hard about getting rid of it, and it zips through my hand, scratching my palm on its way back into my body.

“Why did you even have a tail?” Pe

“I don’t know,” I answer, sitting up. “I must have been thinking about that dragon.”

“Simon…” She’s shaking her head. “What happened last night?”

“The Humdrum,” I say. “He attacked me at Baz’s house. He tried to use Baz against me.”

“He created the biggest hole in Great Britain!”

“What?”

“My dad got the call this morning. All of Hampshire is gone.”

“What?”

“Dad and the team are there now, but the Pitches told them they can’t come on their land. They’re calling it an act of war.”

“By the Humdrum?”

“By the Mage,” she says. “They say he’s controlling the Humdrum—maybe even that the Mage is the Humdrum. The Old Families have convened a Council of War, no one knows where. Mum says the Mage is looking for you, but she’ll be damned if she tells him you’re here. Unless you want her to tell him. Do you want her to tell him?”