“What were you thinking?” she demanded of me. “Those are the Pitches. He is a vampire.”
“That’s never stopped you from cavorting with him in the Wavering Wood,” Penny said to her.
“That happened once,” Agatha said. “And it was an adolescent crush.”
“It was?” I said.
“I was only hoping for a kiss—I wasn’t conspiring against the Mage!”
“You were?” I couldn’t even figure out who I was jealous over in this situation. Both of them, I guess.
“We aren’t conspiring against the Mage!” Penny argued. “We’re conspiring … apart from him.”
“As far as I can tell,” Agatha said, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I worried that she was right.
Everything was turned upside down: co-operating with Baz, keeping secrets from the Mage. What would Agatha say if she knew about the kissing?
“You’re not even gay, Simon.”
I rubbed my palms into my eyes.
“The prophecy doesn’t actually say that Simon has to listen to the Mage,” Penny was going on. “It says that he’s here for the World of Mages. That includes Baz’s mum—” She glanced back at me. “Simon, are you okay?”
“Headache,” I said.
“You’re not even gay,” she’d say, “and he’s not even alive.”
“Do you want me to try and shrink it?” Penny offered, leaning back between the bucket seats.
“My head?”
“Your headache.”
“Merlin, no. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not even gay, and he’s not even alive, and that isn’t even the worst part of this idea—what will the Mage say?”
“It isn’t your job to solve murders,” Agatha said. “You’re not the police.”
“Now, there’s an interesting concept,” Penny said. “Magickal law enforcement. I’d like magickal social programmes, as well. Plus a department of health and wellness.”
“The Mage’s Men are the police,” Agatha said.
“The Mage’s Men are some sort of personal army.”
“You’re talking about your brother!” Agatha shouted, pulling herself forward over the steering wheel.
“I know!” Penny shouted back. “We’re in desperate need of reforms!”
“But the Mage is the Great Reformer!”
“Oh, anyone can call themselves that. Besides, Agatha, I know you think the Mage is a tax-happy interloper with a chip on his shoulder about the aristocracy. I’ve heard you say so.”
“My mother thinks that,” Agatha said. “He’s still the Mage.”
“Stop,” I choked out. “Pull over.”
Penny turned back to me. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?”
“No,” I said. “I just need to get out. Please.”
Agatha yanked the car over to the side of the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel, then turned in her seat to look at me. “What’s wrong, Simon?”
“I need to go back.”
“Why?”
I put my hand on the door handle. “I … forgot something.”
“Surely it can wait,” she said.
“It can’t.”
“Then I’ll drive you back.”
“No.”
“Simon,” Penny said seriously, “what’s this about?”
I opened the door. “I need to go back and make sure that Baz is okay.”
“Baz is fine,” Agatha insisted as I climbed out.
“He’s not fine! We just found out that he was in a coffin for six weeks.”
They were leaning into each other between the front seats, turned completely around to shout at me.
Penny: “He’s fine now!”
Agatha: “Get back in the car!”
I put my hand on the door and bent over so I could see them. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“He isn’t!” they both said.
“I should keep an eye on him.” I stood up again.
“We’ll drive you back,” Agatha said.
“No. No. You’ll be late for Christmas Eve. Go.” I shut the door, turned around, and immediately started to run.
* * *
I didn’t think rich people actually ate this way. At a long table covered with red and gold cloth. Thick napkins tied with poisonsettias. Platters with heavy silver lids.
It wouldn’t surprise me if rich people really don’t live like this—but that the Pitches do it, just to make a scene. If this is Christmas Eve, what do they have planned for tomorrow?
“Sorry we’re late, Mother,” Baz says, pulling out a chair.
“What a nice surprise, Mr. Snow,” his dad says. He’s smiling, but in a way that makes me regret my decision to come back.
“Thank you, sir. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Baz’s stepmum smiles, too. “Of course not.” I can’t tell if she means it or is just being polite.
“I invited him,” Baz says to his father. “It’s not like he has anywhere else to go at Christmas.” I can’t tell if Baz is actually being rude to me or doing it for show. I can’t read any of their faces—even the baby just looks bored.
I thought there might be extended family here for the holidays, miscellaneous Grimms and Pitches, but it’s just Baz’s parents and his