skulls stacked along the walls around him.
“You found me,” he said.
I already had my blade out. “I knew I would.”
“Now what?” He didn’t even stand. Just brushed some dust off his grey trousers and leaned back against the bones.
“Now you tell me what you’re up to,” I said.
He laughed at that. Baz was always laughing at me that year, but it came out flatter than usual. There were torches staining the grey room orange, but his skin was still chalky and white.
I adjusted my stance, spreading my feet below my hips, squaring my shoulders.
“They died in a plague,” he said.
“Who?”
Baz raised his hand—I flinched back.
He cocked an eyebrow and swept his arm in a flourish at the room around us. “Them,” he said. “Les enfants.” A lock of black hair fell over his forehead.
“Is that why you’re here? To track down a plague?”
Baz stared at me. He was 16, we both were, but he made me feel 5. He’s always made me feel like a child, like I’ll never catch up to him. Like he was born knowing everything about the World of Mages—it’s his world. It’s in his DNA.
“Yes, Snow,” he said. “I’m here to find a plague. I’m going to put it in a steaming beaker and infect all of Metropolis.”
I gripped my blade.
He looked bored.
“What are you doing down here?” I demanded, swinging the sword in the air.
“Sitting,” he said.
“No. None of that. I’ve finally caught you, after all these months—you’re going to tell me what you’re up to.”
“Most of the students died,” he said.
“Stop it. Stop distracting me.”
“They sent the well ones home. My great-great-uncle was the headmaster; he stayed to help nurse the sick and dying. His skull is down here, too. Maybe you could help me look for it—I’m told I share his aristocratic brow.”
“I’m not listening.”
“Magic didn’t help them,” Baz said.
I clenched my jaw.
“They didn’t have a spell for the plague yet,” he went on. “There weren’t any words that had enough power, the right kind of power.”
I stepped forward. “What are you doing here?”
He started singing to himself. “Ring around the rosie / a pocket full of posies…”
“Answer me, Baz.”
“Ashes, ashes…”
I swung my sword into the pile of bones beside him, sending skulls rattling and rolling.
He sneered and sat up, catching the skulls with his wand—“As you were!” They turned in the air and rolled back into place.
“Show some respect, Snow,” he said sharply, then slumped and leaned back again. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to know what you’re up to.”
“This is what I’m up to.”
“Sitting in a fucking tomb with a bunch of bones.”
“They’re not just bones. They’re students. And teachers. Everyone who dies at Watford is entombed down here.”
“So?”
“So?” he repeated.
I growled.
“Look, Snow…” He got to his feet. He was taller than me—he’s always been taller than me. Even after the summer when I grew three inches, I swear that jammy bastard grew four. “You’ve been following me,” he said, “looking for me. And now you’ve found me. It’s not my fault if you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.”
“I know what you are,” I snarled.
His eyes locked onto mine. “Your roommate?”
I shook my head and squeezed the hilt of my sword.
Baz stepped into my reach. “Tell me,” he spat.
I couldn’t.
“Tell me, Snow.” He stepped even closer. “What am I?”
I growled again and raised the blade an inch. “Vampire!” I shouted. He must have felt the force of my breath on his face.
He started giggling. “Really? You think I’m a vampire? Well, Aleister Crowley, what are you going to do about that?”
He slipped a flask out of his jacket and took a swig. I didn’t know that he’d been drinking—my sword dipped. I tried to remind myself to stay battle ready, and pulled it up again.
“Stake through the heart?” he asked, falling back into the corner and resting an arm on a pile of skulls. “Beheading, perhaps? That only works if you keep my head separate from my body, and even then I could still walk; my body won’t stop until it finds my head.… Better go with fire, Snow, it’s the only solution.”
I wanted to just slice him in two. Right then and there. Fucking finally.
But I kept thinking of Penelope. “How do you know he’s a vampire, Simon? Have you seen him drink blood? Has he threatened you? Has he tried to put you in his thrall?”
Maybe he had. Maybe that’s why I’d been following Baz around for six months.
And now I had him.
“Do something,”