says at breakfast. (Fried eggs. Fried mushrooms. Baked beans and black pudding.) “Also—” She leans over the table. “—there’s a leaf in your hair.”
“Hmmm.” I keep shovelling in my breakfast. There’ll be time for second helpings before lessons, if I hurry.
Penny reaches for my hair again, then glances at Agatha and pulls her hand back. Agatha’s always been jealous of Penny and me, no matter how many times I tell her it’s not like that. (It’s really not like that.)
But Agatha seems to be ignoring us both. Again. Still. We haven’t spent any time alone since our argument. Honestly, it’s been a relief. It’s one fewer person asking me if I’m okay. I put my hand on her leg and squeeze, and she turns to me, smiling with the bottom half of her face.
“Right,” Penny says. “We’re meeting tonight in Simon’s room. After dinner.”
“Meeting about what?” I ask.
“Strategy!” Penny whispers.
Agatha wakes up. “Strategy about what?”
“About everything,” Penelope says. “About the Humdrum. About the Old Families. About what the Mage’s Men are really up to. I’m tired of lying low—don’t you feel like we’re being left out?”
“No,” Agatha says. “I feel like we should be grateful for some peace.”
Penny sighs. “That’s what I thought, too—but I’m worried that we’re being lulled. Intentionally lulled.”
Agatha shakes her head. “You’re worried that someone wants us to be happy and comfortable.”
“Yes!” Penelope says, stabbing the air with her fork.
“Perish the thought,” Agatha says.
“We should be in on the plan,” Penelope says. “Whatever it is. We’ve always been in on the plan—even when we were kids. And we’re adults now. Why is the Mage sidelining us?”
“You think the Mage is lulling us?” Agatha asks. “Or is the Humdrum doing it? Or maybe Baz?” She’s being sarcastic, but Penny either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.
“Yes,” Penny says, and stabs the air again, like she’s making sure that it’s dead. “All of the above!”
I wait for Agatha to argue some more, but she just shakes her head—shakes her cornsilk hair—and scoops some egg onto her toast.
She doesn’t look happy or comfortable. She’s frowning, and her eyes are pinched, and I don’t think she’s wearing makeup.
“You look tired,” I say, feeling bad that I’m just now noticing.
She leans against me for a moment, then sits straight again. “I’m fine, Simon.”
“You both look tired,” Penny declares. “Maybe you have post-traumatic stress disorder. Maybe you’re not used to this much peace and quiet.”
I squeeze Agatha’s leg again, then get up to get us some more eggs and toast and mushrooms.
“Lulled,” I hear Penny saying.
23
PENELOPE
It was a murder of crows getting them both up here, and Agatha’s still complaining:
“Penelope, this is a boys’ house. We’ll be expelled.”
“Well, the damage is done,” I say, sitting at Simon’s desk. “You’re as likely to get caught leaving now as leaving later, so you may as well stay.”
“You won’t get caught,” Simon says, flopping down on his bed. “Penny sneaks up here all the time.”
Agatha is not happy to hear that. (I ignore her; if she’s moronic enough to believe that Simon and I have romantic feelings for each other after all these years, I’m not wasting my time talking her out of it.) She deliberately sits as far as she can from both of us, even though that means sitting on Baz’s bed.
Then she realizes what she’s done, and looks like she wants to stand up again. Her eyes dart around the room, as if Baz himself might walk out of the bathroom. Simon looks just as paranoid.
Honestly. The pair of them.
“I still don’t know why we’re having this meeting,” Agatha says.
“To pool our knowledge,” I say, looking around the room for materials. “This would be so much easier if we had a blackboard.…”
I raise my wand and cast a “See what I mean!” then start writing in the air—What We Know:
“Nothing,” Agatha says. “Meeting adjourned.”
I ignore her. “The way I see it, there are three things we always have to worry about.”
1., I write, The Humdrum. “What do we know about the Humdrum?”
“That he looks like me,” Simon says, trying to go along with me. Agatha doesn’t look surprised by this information; Simon must have told her what happened. “And that he wants something from me,” Simon continues. “That he comes after me.”
“And we know that he’s been quiet,” I say. “Nothing but flibbertigibbets since June.”
Agatha folds her arms. “But the Humdrum’s still out there eating magic, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I acknowledge. “But not as much. I saw my dad on the weekend, and