“She just thinks you attract trouble. And you do, Simon. Possibly literally.”
“Yeah, but I can’t help it.”
Penelope starts walking again. “You are preaching to the head of the choir.”
It’s not that I mind being alone at Watford—I don’t mind it much. But nobody’s here on Christmas Day. I’ll have to break in to the kitchen to eat. I guess I could ask Cook Pritchard for the key.…
We get to my next lesson, and I intentionally slam my shoulder into the wall next to the door. (People who tell you that slamming and bashing into things won’t make you feel better haven’t slammed or bashed enough.) “Is that what we’re calling it now?” I ask. “‘The Watford Tragedy’?”
It takes Penny a second to backtrack in our conversation. “It’s what they called it at the time,” she says. “What does it matter what we call it?”
“Nothing. Just. We’re doing this because somebody died. Baz’s mum died. ‘The Watford Tragedy’ makes it sound like it happened to people far away who don’t matter to us.”
“Tell the Mage you’re staying here for Christmas,” she says. “He’ll want to spend it with you.”
That makes me laugh.
“What?” Penny asks.
“Can you imagine?” I say. “Christmas with the Mage?”
“Singing carols,” she giggles.
“Pulling crackers.”
“Watching the Queen’s speech.”
“Think of the gifts,” I say, laughing. “He’d probably wrap up a curse for me just to see if I could break it.”
“Blindfold you, drop you in the Hell of the Wood, and tell you to come home with dinner.”
“Ha!” I grin. “Just like in our third year.”
Penny pokes my arm, and I slide away, along the wall. “Talk to him,” she says. “He’s a mad git, but he cares about you.”
* * *
Baz is one of the last students to leave for break. He takes his time packing his leather trunk. He’s got most of our notes in there.… He still hasn’t decided whether to talk to his parents about all this, but he’s going to find out what he can. “Someone has to know something about Nicodemus.”
I’m lying on my bed, trying to think about how nice it will be to have the room to myself—and trying not to watch him. I clear my throat. “Be careful, yeah? I mean, we don’t know who this Nicodemus is, and if he’s dangerous, we don’t want him to twig that we’re looking for him.”
“I’ll talk only to people I trust,” Baz says.
“Yeah, but that’s it, isn’t it—we don’t know who to trust.”
“Do you trust Penelope?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust her mother?”
“I trust her not to be evil.”
“Well, I trust my family. It doesn’t matter whether you do.”
“I’m just telling you to be careful,” I say.
“Stop showing concern for my well-being, Snow. It’s making me ill at ease.” He closes the lid of his trunk and snaps the latches. Then he looks at me, frowning, and decides something. I’m familiar with that look. I put my hand over the hilt of my sword.
“Snow…,” he says.
“What.”
“I feel like I should tell you something. In the interest of our truce.”
I look over at him, waiting.
“That day you saw Wellbelove and me in the Wood…”
I close my eyes. “How can this possibly be in the interest of our truce?”
He keeps going: “That day you saw me with Wellbelove in the Wood—it’s not what you think.”
I open my eyes. “You weren’t trying to pull my girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Sod off,” I say. “You’ve been trying to get between me and Agatha since the day she chose me over you.”
“She never chose you over me.”
“Get over yourself, Baz.”
He looks pained; that’s a new one. “No,” he goes on. “What I’m saying is—I’ve never been an option for Wellbelove.”
I push my head back into my pillow. “I shouldn’t have thought so, but apparently, I was wrong. Look, you’ve got a clear shot at her now. She’s done with me.”
“She interrupted me,” he says. “That day in the Wood.”
I ignore him.
“She interrupted my dinner. She saw me. I was asking her not to tell anyone.”
“And you had to hold her hands for that?”
“I only did that bit to piss you off. I knew you were watching.”
“Well, it worked,” I say.
“You’re not listening.” He’s looking very pained now. “I’m not ever going to come between you and Wellbelove. I was always just trying to piss you off.”
“Are you saying you flirted with Agatha just to hurt me?”
“Yes.”
“You never cared about her?”
“No.”
I grit my teeth. “And you think I want to hear that?”
“Well, obviously. Now you can make up with her and have the best Christmas