he said the holes are spreading much more slowly than usual.” I add this to my notes in the air.
“We don’t know that he eats it,” Simon says. “We don’t know what the Humdrum does with the magic.”
“Sticking to what we do know…,” I say, and write, 2. The War with the Old Families.
“I wouldn’t call it a ‘war,’” Agatha says.
“But there have been skirmishes, yeah?” Simon says. “And duels.”
Agatha huffs. “Well, you can’t walk into someone’s house and demand to go through their attic without expecting a few duels.”
Simon and I both turn to look at her. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“The Mage,” Agatha says. “I heard Mother talking to a friend from the club. He’s been raiding magicians’ houses, looking for dark magic.”
This is all news to me. “Has he raided your house?”
“He wouldn’t,” Agatha says. “My father’s on the Coven.”
“What sort of dark magic?” Simon asks.
“Probably anything that can be used as a weapon,” Agatha says.
“Anything can be used as a weapon,” Simon says.
I add to my notes: Raids, dark magic, duels.
“And we know that the Old Families have kept some of their sons from Watford,” Simon adds.
“Which could just be coincidence,” I say. “We should do some legwork—maybe the missing boys just went to university.”
“Or maybe they’re tired of being treated like villains,” Agatha says.
“Or maybe,” Simon says, “they’re joining an army.”
I add to my notes: Pitch allies leaving school.
Simon’s getting jumpy. “What about Baz?”
Agatha runs her hand along the mattress.
“We’ll get there,” I say. “Let’s stay focused on what we know.”
He keeps pushing. “Miss Possibelf thinks he’s missing. She said his dad sounded scared.”
I sigh and add a third column: 3. Baz. But there’s nothing to write underneath it.
“I still don’t think it’s a war,” Agatha insists. “It’s just politics, just like in the Normal world. The Mage has power, and the Old Families want it back. They’ll bitch and moan and cut deals and throw parties—”
“It’s not just politics.” Simon leans towards her, pointing. “It’s right and wrong.”
Agatha rolls her eyes. “But that’s what the other side says, too.”
“Is that what Baz says?” he asks.
I try to cut in. “Simon.”
“It’s not just politics,” he says again. “It’s right. And wrong. It’s our lives. If the Old Families had their way, I wouldn’t even be here. They wouldn’t have let me into Watford.”
“But that wasn’t personal, Simon,” Agatha says. “It’s because you’re a Normal.”
“How am I a Normal?” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m the most powerful magician anyone knows about.”
“You know what I mean,” Agatha says, and she’s being sincere, I think. “There’s never been a Normal at Watford.”
She’s right, but I wonder who she’s parroting.
“I was prophesied,” Simon says, and it sounds so pathetically defensive, I try to think of a way to change the subject.
Simon was prophesied.
Or someone was. Over and over.
The most powerful magician ever to walk the earth was coming, and he (or she) was supposed to get here just when the World of Mages needed him most.
And Simon did.
The Humdrum was eating our magic, the Mage and the Old Families were at each other’s throats—and then Simon arrived. He came into his power and lit up the magickal firmament like an electrical storm.
Most magicians can remember exactly where they were that day. (I can’t. But I was only 11.) My mum was giving a lecture. She said it felt like touching a raw wire and feeling the electricity shake you from the inside. Raw, scalding, scorching magic …
Which is still how Simon’s magic feels. I’ve never told him so, but it’s awful. Just standing near him when he goes off is like taking a shock. Your muscles are tired afterwards, and your hair smells like smoke.
Sometimes Simon’s power seduces other magicians; they can feel it, and they want to be closer. But anyone who’s actually been close to Simon is long past feeling seduced.
Once, he went off while protecting Agatha and me from a clan of worsegers—like badgers, but worse—and Agatha twitched and ticced for a week. She told Simon she had the flu, so he wouldn’t feel bad. Agatha’s less tolerant of his power than I am; it might be because she has less of her own. It might be that their magic is incompatible.
That can happen sometimes, even when two people are in love. There’s an old story, a romantic tragedy, about two lovers whose magic drove each other mad.…