Carry On

I wonder if they’re all wrong about me, all of them.

AGATHA

I don’t like the White Chapel. Whenever we have assemblies in here, I can’t get the smell of incense out of my hair.

It smells more like smoke than incense today. Smoke and spent magic. Like a classroom after an exam.

I’m just going to find the Mage, tell him what I know, then leave.

(Minty’s house might not be far enough away from this disaster. Maybe I’ll go to university in Scotland. At that school where Kate went to meet William.)

The front hall of the Chapel is empty. I walk deeper in, following the smoke, which seems like an idiotic move—a Simon move—but also seems like the best way to find the Mage.

I keep going, opening doors, making my way deeper into the building. It’s smokier back here. And darker. And I think I hear the Mage chanting. I’m probably interrupting some heavy magic. Maybe he’s searching for Simon.

“Sir?” I call out. I don’t know what else to call him—I’ve never heard anyone actually call the Mage “the Mage” to his face.

There’s a crash like wood hitting wood. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, and I can’t see anything. I start looking for a light switch. Some of the older Watford buildings don’t have switches—you have to turn on the lights with magic. But my wand is in the car, lying on the passenger seat; it didn’t fit in my coat pocket.

There’s another crash. I stand very still and listen:

A metallic clanging. Someone shouting. Footsteps coming towards me—ru

Someone slams into me, pushing me aside and ru

“You didn’t,” I say. “You didn’t tell me.”

He’s holding my arms so tight, I think they might actually break. “Let there be light!” he says.

And there is.

I stare into the Mage’s eyes. When he sees that it’s me, he throws me aside.

“Where did she go?” he demands.

“Who, sir?”

He swings his wand around him. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” His teeth are bared. “You know I don’t have time for this. The hour is near!” He slashes with his wand. “Please!” (Slash.) “Please!” (Slash.) “Please!” (Slash.) “Let me, let me, let me!”

I’m not sure what he’s casting for, but the spell tugs at me, and I fall forward.

“You…,” the Mage says, noticing me again. His tunic is open, and he’s sweating profusely. There’s something blue smeared all over his chest. “What are you doing here, girl?”

“I came to tell you about Simon, sir.”

“Simon!” he says wildly. “Where’s Simon?” He holds up his hand. “Wait—” The Mage looks like he wants to run away, like he’s listening. I take a step away from him, but he grabs my arm. “Where is Simon?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I say. “But I came to tell you—he was with Basilton Pitch. Last night. They told me they were going to find some numpties, but I think it’s a trap! You have to help him!”

The words rush out of me. Everything I rehearsed in the car.

The Mage groans and holds his head, pacing now across the dark room, coming in and out of my sight. The light from his spell still hangs in the air around me. I take a step towards the door.

“Numpties now. Vampires. Children. I don’t have time for this!” He growls, in frustration, and I hear something loud and heavy, like a bookcase, fall to the ground. Maybe he’s distracted. I turn to run from the room, but the Mage is right there, grabbing me. “You’ll have to do,” he says. “You’ll have to do for now.”

My legs give out, and he drags me.

“You don’t have much to give,” he says, “but I’ll take it.”

BAZ

Bunce is biting her nails. She keeps trying to cast spells on the car, but I’m already driving it as fast as it can manage, and all her spells come out nervous and tight.

She’s worried that the Mage will kill Simon once he finds out that Simon is causing the Humdrum.

I’m worried she’ll figure out that I want to kill the Mage first.

PENELOPE

I don’t trust Baz.

I only called him for help because he has a car.

I mean, I’d love to trust him—he’s a brilliant magician and excellent company—but I can’t.

I only trust four people: my parents, Micah, and Simon. I don’t have any spare trust lying around, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to Tyra

And there’s something in the way he looks at Simon.…

I don’t think Baz has set aside the last seven years of hostility. He’s got a mad glint in his eyes for Simon. If he gets a chance to stab him in the back, I think he might take it.

I need to get Simon away from the Mage.

And then I just need to get him away.

AGATHA

I should be scared. And I am—terrified.

But I’m also thinking, Fucking of course. Of course this is how I’m going to die! Because somebody’s looking for Simon and finds me instead. I’m going to be murdered by some power-hungry maniac who doesn’t even know my name.

I don’t try to fight. What’s the point? But I go limp. And start to cry. Just because I knew I was going to die like this doesn’t mean I’m ready for it. I wish I’d been nicer to my mum this morning. I wish I were wearing something other than leggings and Ugg boots. I always figured I’d make a more beautiful corpse.

The Mage hauls me to another room, where a trapdoor hangs open in the ceiling, light streaming down.

He points his wand at himself—“Up, up, and away!” You’re not supposed to cast that spell on people; you can accidentally pull their lungs through their shoulders. But the spell works for him, and we start to float up through the door.

Then another spell—“And we all fall down!”—knocks us both to the ground. Whoever casts it falls, too. I hear her land.

“No, Davy,” she says. “Let her go.”

And I think it must be Lucy. Here. To save me.

SIMON

I land on the Great Lawn at sunset and walk across the drawbridge. I see the Mage’s Jeep, and Dr. Wellbelove’s Volvo, and I wonder if they’re here—or if they’re off somewhere fighting. Actually fighting. Blades out, wands drawn. I don’t even know where to look for the war if it isn’t at Watford.

I’m headed for the Mage’s office when I see the light at the top of the Chapel.

It’s in a tower I’ve never seen lit before. I’ve never even noticed the stained glass there—it looks like a crown, or a cluster of stars.

As I’m looking, the windows blaze with light.

AGATHA

The Mage lurches up onto his hands and knees and starts casting spells. “Please, please, please! Let me, let me, let me!”

“Hell hath no fury!” the woman shouts. Fire pours from her staff and hits him in the chest. I’ve never seen anything like that, not even from Simon. The light from the fire finally illuminates her face—it’s Ebb. The goatherd.

“Run, Agatha!” she says.

But the Mage has fallen on top of me. “I can’t!” I sob.

The Mage raises his wand to cast at her, and I hit his hand as hard as I can. His wand goes flying, and he rolls away from me to get it.

“Run for your life!” Ebb shouts, and I do. I scrabble to my feet and run from the room like there’s a jet stream at my back.

I run through the smoke and darkness out into the light and snow, and then I keep ru