“You’re such an arse!” I say, jumping to my feet and charging at him.
“Anathema!” he shouts, and I hear him, but I almost plant my fist in his jaw anyway.
I stop just short. “Does she know?”
He shrugs.
“You’re such an arse.”
“It was just flirting,” Baz says. “It’s not like I tried to feed her to a chimera.”
“Yeah, but she likes you,” I say. “I think she likes you better than me.”
He tilts his head and shrugs again. “Why wouldn’t she?”
“Fuck you, Baz. Seriously.” I’m standing so close, I’m practically spitting in his face. “She was carrying around your bloody handkerchief, that whole time you were gone. Since last year.”
“What handkerchief?”
I go to the drawer where the handkerchief is shoved in with my wand and a few other things, then I wave it in his face. “This one.”
Baz pulls the fabric out of my hand, and I pull it right back because I don’t want him to have it. I don’t want him to have anything right now.
“Look,” he says. “I’ll stop. I’ll leave Wellbelove alone from now on. She doesn’t matter to me.”
“That makes it worse!”
“Then I won’t stop!” he says, like he’s the one who should be angry. “Is that better? I’ll damned well marry her, and we’ll have the best-looking kids in the history of magic, and we’ll name them all Simon just to get under your skin.”
“Just go!” I shout. “Seriously. If I have to look at you anymore, I won’t even care about the Anathema. If I get kicked out of Watford, at least I’ll finally be done with you!”
51
BAZ
I was trying to do Snow a favour.
A favour that doesn’t serve my interests at all—at all.
I bloody well should marry Wellbelove. My father would love it.
Marry her. Give her the keys to whatever she wants keys to. Then find a thousand men who look exactly like Simon bloody Snow and break each of their hearts a different way.
Wellbelove isn’t very powerful, but she’s gorgeous. And she’s got a great seat; she and my stepmother could go riding.
Then my father could stop wringing his hands about the Pitch name dying with me. (Even though the Pitch line already died with me; I’m fairly certain vampires can’t have babies.) (Crowley, could you imagine vampire babies? What a nightmare.) (And why doesn’t Aunt Fiona pass on her bloody name? If my mother gave me hers, Fiona can surely provide the world with a few more Pitches.)
I think if I got married, to a girl from a good family, my father wouldn’t even care that I’m queer. Or who fathered his grandchildren. If the idea of passing on my mother’s name that way didn’t turn my stomach, I’d consider it.
Snow would probably find a whole new way to hate me if he knew I thought this coldly about love and sex and marriage. About his perfect Agatha.
But what does it even matter if my intentions are never good? My road to hell isn’t paved with good intentions—or bad—it’s just my road.
Go ahead, Snow. Forgive your girlfriend. I’m not standing in your way. Go stand on bloody hilltops together and watch the sun set in each other’s hair—I’m done being a nuisance. I’m done. Truce.
I didn’t expect to mend any fences with all this … co-operating. I didn’t expect to convince or convert Snow. But I thought we were making progress. Like, maybe when this was all over, he and I would still be standing on either side of the trench, but we wouldn’t be spitting at each other. We wouldn’t be spoiling for the fight.
I know Simon and I will always be enemies.…
But I thought maybe we’d get to a point where we didn’t want to be.
52
SIMON
With Penny (and Baz) gone, I spend a lot of time walking around the school grounds. I decide to look for the nursery.…
Baz thinks the Weeping Tower swallowed it after his mum died. Penny says that can happen sometimes when a magician is tied to a building, especially if they’ve cast blood magic there. When their blood is spilled, it hurts the building, too. The place forms sort of a cyst around it.
I think about what might happen if I died in Mummers House—after all the times I’ve spilled my blood to let our room recognize me.
This is one reason Penny doesn’t like blood oaths and spells. “If you’re as good as your word, words should be good enough.”
I’m quoting her again. I’ve been having conversations with her in my head all day. Sometimes Baz