siblings. There’s the older girl, Mordelia, then two other little girls, maybe twins—I’m not sure how old, old enough to sit up by themselves and gnaw on turkey legs—and a baby in a fancy carved high chair tapping a rattle onto his (her?) tray.
They all look like Baz’s stepmum: dark hair, but not black like Baz’s, with round cheeks and those Billie Piper mouths that don’t quite close over their front teeth. They don’t look dangerous enough to be Baz’s siblings—or his father’s children. Penny says the Grimms are less political and less deadly than the Pitches, but Baz’s dad looks like a pit viper wearing a pin-striped suit; even his snow-white hair is scary.
“Stuffing?” Baz asks, handing me a platter. It seems like their servants have the day off. (I’ve counted at least four since I’ve been here: Vera, two women cleaning, and a man out front shovelling the walks.)
I take a big scoop of chestnut stuffing and notice that there’s almost nothing on Baz’s plate. The platters and boats go around twice, and he just passes them to me—I wonder if he has an eating disorder.
I eat enough for both of us. The food here is even better than at Watford.
* * *
“Did you ever believe in Father Christmas?” Baz asks. He’s laying out blankets and pillows for me on his couch. His stepmother brought them up after Baz explained that I didn’t want to sleep in the guest room. “He’s afraid of the wraiths,” he told her.
That made his little sisters giggle. They were eager to get to bed, so that Father Christmas could get here. “Did you tell Father Christmas that you’d be here?” Mordelia asked me. “So that he can send your presents?”
“I didn’t,” I told her. “I should have.”
“I don’t think so,” I tell Baz now. “I mean, sometimes the home would get somebody to dress up like Father Christmas and hand out crap gifts, but I don’t remember believing in him. What about you?”
“I believed in him,” Baz says. “And then, the year after my mother died, he didn’t come.…” He throws me a pillow and walks over to a tall wooden chest of drawers. “I thought I’d been very, very bad. But now I think my dad was probably just depressed and forgot about Christmas. Fiona showed up later that day with a giant stuffed Paddington.”
“The bear?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Paddington Bear. Here.” He’s holding out some pyjamas, his pyjamas. I take them. Then he sits at the end of his bed and leans against one of the posts. “So … you came back.”
I sit next to him. “Yeah.”
He’s still wearing his dark green suit. He slicked his hair back for dinner—I wish he wouldn’t do that. It looks better when it’s loose and falling around his face.
“We can go talk to the numpties tomorrow,” he says.
“On Christmas Day? Do numpties celebrate Christmas?”
“I don’t know.” He cocks his head. “I didn’t really get to know them. According to the books, they don’t do much but eat and try to stay warm.”
“What do numpties eat?” I ask.
“Rubble,” he says, “as far as anyone can tell … maybe they just chew on it.”
“Do you think Penny is right? That it was your mother’s murderer who hired the numpties?”
Baz shrugs. “It would make sense—and Bunce is usually right.”
“You’re sure you can handle going back there?”
He looks at his knees. “I’d rather talk to the numpties than go back to Nicodemus, and those are our only two leads.”
“I still wish we had a motive…,” I say. “Why would someone want to hurt your mother?”
“I’m not sure they did want to,” Baz says. “What if the target was the nursery, not my mother? There was no way of knowing that she’d be the one who came. Maybe the vampires wanted to take the children—maybe they wanted to Turn us all.” He’s rubbing his hand along the top of his thigh. His legs are longer than mine; that’s where all his height is.
“I’m not a very good boyfriend,” I say.
Baz’s hand settles on his trouser leg and tugs. He sits up straighter. “I understand, Snow. Trust me. I’m not planning our next mini-break—I’m not even going to tell anyone about us.”
“No,” I say, turning slightly towards him. “That’s not what I mean. I mean … I’ve always been a terrible boyfriend. That’s why Agatha broke up with me. I basically just did what I thought she wanted me to, but I always got it wrong, and I never