“Yes,” I say. “Find Nico.…”
“Nicodemus. Tell him.”
“I will,” I say. “I’ll tell him.”
Her face falls. “My son,” she says, cold tears gathering in her eyes. “Give him this.” She leans forward and presses a kiss into my temple. No one has ever kissed me there. No one has ever kissed me anywhere but on my mouth.
“My son,” she says, and it sounds like a whisper, but I think it’s a shout—I think she’s just fading now.
I lie in bed, trembling, after she’s gone. The room is so cold. I should build a fire, but I don’t want to open my eyes.
* * *
I must fall sleep, because the cold wakes me again, a fresh wave of it, deep in the night. It hangs like a cloud of chill over my bed, then seeps into me, touching me, cradling me.
“My son, my son,” I hear.
There’s no figure this time, just this everywhere cold. And the voice is higher and thinner, a wail on the wind.
“My son, my son. My rosebud boy. I never would have left you. He told me we were stars.”
“I’ll tell him,” I say. I shout it—“I’ll tell him!”
I just want her to go away.
“Simon, Simon … my rosebud boy.”
I close my eyes and pull up my blankets. But the cold is on me, it’s in me. “I’ll tell him!”
If Baz ever comes back, I will.
28
SIMON
I can’t wait to get out of my room in the morning. I run out the door with my tie hanging around my neck and my jumper thrown over my shoulder.
I have no plans to come back. Ever. There’s no room for me in there with all the ghosts. Let Baz’s mum hang out with his empty bed; I’m tired of staring at it.
I have to tell Penny what happened. She’ll be disappointed that I didn’t drill the ghost with questions. “Sorry about your missing son, Mrs. Pitch, but since Baz isn’t here, we may as well use this time to advance magickal science.…”
Penny’s already got tea and toast at our table when I get there. I grab a plate of kippers with scrambled eggs.
“We need to talk,” I say, dropping into a chair across from her.
“Good,” she says. “I thought you were going to make me beat it out of you.”
“You know already? How do you know?”
“Well, I know something happened. Agatha’s sitting alone, and she won’t even look at me.”
“Agatha?” I look up. Agatha’s sitting by herself on the other side of the dining hall, reading a book while she eats her cereal.
“So?” Penny asks. “Is this about me sleeping in your room? Because I can talk to her about that.”
“No,” I say. “No … we broke up.”
Penny’s about to take a bite of toast, but she pulls it back. “You broke up? Why?”
“I don’t know. I think she’s in love with Baz.” That reminds me. I’m wearing the same trousers as yesterday. I reach into the pocket and feel his handkerchief.
“Oh,” Penelope says. “I guess I can see that. I mean—”
I push my face forward. “You can see that? How can you see that? My girlfriend falling in love with my sworn enemy? My girlfriend, who’s good, falling in love with my enemy, who’s completely evil?”
“Well, your relationship has had better … years, Simon. You and Agatha both seemed like you were just going through the motions.”
“And ‘the motions’ include cheating on me with Baz?”
“Did she cheat on you?”
“I don’t know.”
Penny sighs. Like she feels sorry for me. She’s unbearably patronizing sometimes. “Agatha’s not really in love with Baz. She’s just looking for something that sticks. It’s romantic to be in love with a dead vampire.”
“Dead?”
“You know what I mean,” Penny says. “Missing. Seriously missing.”
Was Baz dead? Wouldn’t his mother know if he were? Wouldn’t she have seen him behind the Veil? Maybe death is a big place. (It would have to be.) Maybe she’s been looking for Baz here because she hasn’t seen him yet on the other side.
I jab at my eggs a few times, then drop my fork.
In all of this, I’ve never seriously considered that Baz might be dead. Hiding, yes—plotting. Maybe even kidnapped or hurting, but … not dead.
He promised to make my life miserable.
When the doors to the dining hall fly open, it’s almost like I’m making it happen, like I’ve summoned it. Cold air pours into the room. It’s bright outside, in the courtyard, and at first, all we can see is the outline of a person.
This has happened so many times since school started that no one is scared now, not even the littluns.
When the figure steps forward, I recognize him at once.
Tall. Black hair swept back from his forehead. Lips curled up in a sneer … I know that face as well as my own.
Baz.
I stand up too quickly, knocking my chair over. Across the room, a mug falls to the floor and shatters—I glance over and see that Agatha is standing, too.
Baz steps towards us.
Baz.
BOOK TWO
29
BAZ
It’s unnecessarily grandiose to use an Open Sesame on the doors, but I do it anyway because I know everyone will be in the dining hall, and I may as well make an entrance.