“I learned it in school,” I say. “Same as you.” They both look surprised.
“What happened to the vampires?” Snow asks. “Not the ones your mother killed—the others.”
“The Mage drove most of them out of England,” I say. “I think it’s the only time my family has co-operated with his raids.”
“Mum says the war started with the vampire raids,” Bunce says.
“Which war?” Snow asks.
“All of them,” she says. She leans over Snow’s lap to reach the brownies.
I take a sandwich and the apple, and stand up. “I need some air.”
I wait until I’m down in the Catacombs to tuck in. I don’t really like eating in front of people.
47
SIMON
Penny is back at the chalkboard, making notes.
Talk to Dad at Xms break. OK to wait that long? Ask him to send notes?
“Why all of them?” I ask.
“Hmm?”
“Why all the wars? Why did they all start with the vampire raids?”
“The war with the dark things started there,” she says. “That should be obvious. I mean, mages and vampires have never got on—we need Normals alive, and they need them dead. But invading Watford, that was an act of war. And it was the first real attack by the Humdrum, too.”
“What about the war with the Old Families?”
“Well, the Mage’s reforms started then,” she says.
“I wish there were just one war,” I say. “And one enemy that I could get my head around.”
“Wow,” Penny says, finally turning away from the board, “what are you going to do with yourself now that you don’t have Baz?”
“I still have Baz.”
“Not as an enemy.”
“We’re just having a truce,” I say.
“A magic-sharing truce.”
“Penny.” I frown and lie back on my bed. I’m knackered.
I feel her climbing up next to me. “Try again,” she says, taking my hand.
“No.”
“Why did you try with Baz?”
“I didn’t,” I say. “I just wanted to help him, and I didn’t know how. So I put my hand on him and thought about helping him.”
“It was pretty extraordinary.”
“Do you think everyone could tell?”
“No … Maybe. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell, not for certain—and I was the closest. But I saw him stand straighter when you touched him. And then the spell started working. There’s no way that Baz is powerful enough to chant back a dragon.…” She squeezes my hand. “Try again.”
I squeeze hers back. “No. I’ll hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt Baz.”
“Maybe I did—he’d never admit it.”
“Maybe it didn’t hurt him,” she says, “because he’s already dead.”
“Baz isn’t dead.”
“Well he’s not alive.”
“I … I think he is,” I say. “He has magic. That’s life.”
“Morgan’s tooth—imagine if you could do it again. If you could actually control your power, Simon.”
“Baz was the one controlling my power.”
“It was like you were focused for the first time—directed. You were using him like a wand.”
I close my eyes. “I wasn’t using him.”
48
BAZ
When I come back, Bunce is gone. I can tell she’s been sitting on my bed again—it smells like her. Like blood and chocolate and kitchen herbs. I’ll snap at her about it tomorrow.
Snow has showered, the room is humid from it, but our papers and dinner things are still scattered on the table and the floor. It’s like having two slovenly roommates.
The chalkboard is in order, though, completely filled with Bunce’s tight-fisted handwriting and pushed against the wall.
I take my jacket off and spell it clean, hanging it in my wardrobe. My tie’s tucked in the pocket. I pull it out and loop it around the hanger.
I ate my sandwich down in the basement, washing it down with a few rats. I need to go hunting in the Wood again; the rats are getting few and far between in the Catacombs, even though I try not to take the females.
It’s a pain to hunt in the Wood. I have to do it during the day because the Mage brings the drawbridge up at dusk, and I can’t Float like a butterfly over the moat every night like I did today; I don’t have the magic.
I look over my shoulder at Snow—a long, blanketed lump on his bed.
He has the magic.
He could do anything.
I’m still humming with his magic, and it’s been hours since he pulled his hand away. He’s thrown spells at me before, but this was different. This was like being struck by benevolent lightning. I felt scorched clean. Bottomless …
No, that’s not right, not bottomless. Centreless. Like I was bigger on the inside. Like I could cast any spell—back up any promise.
At first it was as if Snow was giving magic to me. Sending it to me. But then the magic was just there. It was mine, in that moment, everything that was his.
All right. I have to stop thinking about it like this. Like it was a gift. Snow would never have opened himself up to me if there hadn’t been a dragon overhead.…
I wonder if I could take the magic from him if I tried, but the thought turns my stomach.