Carry On

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 ru

I know that Pe

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.

Pe

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 Pe

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.”

Pe

“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 ru

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

Pe

“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. Pe

There was a three-month inquiry into the Mage’s death. In the end, I wasn’t charged. Neither was Pe