Anyway, Mum says that when the Mage brought Simon back to Watford, it was like he was calling bluff on the whole World of Mages. Here’s that saviour you’ve been talking about for a thousand years.
Even the people who didn’t believe it couldn’t say so out loud. And nobody could deny Simon’s power.
They did try to keep him out of Watford. The Mage had to make Simon his heir to get him into school—and to have him entered into the Book of Magic.
There are still a lot of people who don’t accept Simon, even among the Mage’s allies. “It takes more than magic to make a mage,” is what Baz has always said.
It sounds like classist nonsense, but in a way, it’s true:
The unicorns have magic. The vampires have some. Dragons, numpties, ne’er-do-wolves—they all have magic.
But you’re not a magician unless you can control magic, unless you can speak its language. And Simon … Well. Simon.
He gets up now and walks over to the window, opening it wide and sitting on the ledge. His wand is in his way, so he pulls it out of his back pocket and tosses it on his bed.
No. 4, I write in the air, The Mage.
“So we know the Mage’s Men are raiding…,” I say. “And, Simon, didn’t you say they were unloading things back in the stables? We could sniff around back there.”
He ignores me, staring out the window.
“Agatha,” I say, “what else have you heard at home?”
“I don’t know,” she says, frowning and fiddling with her skirt. “Father’s had lots of emergency Coven meetings. Mother says they can’t meet at our house anymore. She thinks our Normal neighbours are getting suspicious.”
“All right,” I say, “maybe we should move on to questions now—what don’t we know?”
I start a new column in the air, but Agatha stands up and starts walking out. “I really need to study.”
I try to stop her—“Agatha, wait, you’ll get caught if you leave by yourself!”—but she’s already closing the door.
Simon exhales loudly and runs his hands through his hair, making it stand up in curly bronze chunks. “I’m going for a walk,” he says, marching towards the door, leaving his wand on his bed.
Part of me wishes he were following her, but I don’t think he is.
I sigh, then sit down on his bed and look at our meagre lists. Before I leave, I blow my words out the window with a “Clear the air!”
24
AGATHA
I don’t know what I’m hoping for.
That he’ll see me standing at the wall, my hair whipping in the wind and my dress billowing out around me …
And that, what?
That it will mean something to him?
That he’ll see me up here, waiting for him on the ramparts, and really see me for the first time—There’s the answer, he’ll think. And he’ll unfasten my ribbons and tie them around his arm, or his thigh. And, Morgana, what would that even mean?
Something.
Something new.
I know that Basil, I don’t know … thinks about me. Or at least thought about me. That he used to watch me. Especially when I was with Simon.
I know that he hated what Simon and I have. And wanted it. That he’d do anything to get between us.
Baz was always there, cutting in at every dance. Teasing me away from Simon, then just teasing me. Disappearing. Sneaking away.
I played along sometimes—maybe I should be grateful that Baz never called my bluff.
Because maybe it wasn’t a bluff. Maybe I would walk away with Baz. I followed him into the Wood that day; I still don’t know what I was thinking.
I mean, I know who Baz is. I know what he is.
I can’t break up with Simon for a Tory vampire—my parents would disown me. And I don’t even know what that would entail. Would I have to be evil? Slip poison into people’s drinks? Cast dark spells? Or would it just be sitting next to a different boy at a different table … Being beautiful on another side of the room.
I’d be gold to his black. Both of us pale as snow.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to be evil—but Baz wouldn’t expect me to be good, always so good.
And maybe I’d live forever.
I walk the ramparts at night in a white dress and a knee-length woven cloak. The weather’s turning. I feel the roses in my cheeks.