Instead he shoves his face into mine and kisses me. It’s still a challenge.
I shove back. I let go of his hand to hold his neck. He smashes into me, and I take it. I don’t give an inch. (It’s a mess, honestly, and if he cuts his lip on my teeth, it could be a disaster.)
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 running.
I know that Penny will never forgive me for running away that day, but I couldn’t turn back. I couldn’t. I’ve never felt more sure of how to stay alive.
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.
Penny says I should honour Ebb’s memory by helping to build a better World of Mages.…
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