something to do with them. “What about you?” I ask. “Have you made any progress?”
He looks away. “No. I mean, I’ve been reading a lot of books about vampires.”
I stop myself from saying, “Self-help?” “What have you found out?” I ask instead.
“That they’re dead and evil and like to kill babies.”
“Huh,” I say. “Did it say anything about salt and vinegar crisps?” Baz eats them on his bed when he thinks I’m asleep, then brushes the crumbs between our beds.
He glares at me, then moves away, walking towards his desk. “No one knows anything about the vampires,” he says, fiddling with a pen. “Not really. Maybe I should just go talk to them.”
There’s a knock at his door, and it swings open.
“You’re supposed to knock!” Baz snaps before the girl even steps inside. It’s his sister, I think. She’s too young for Watford yet. She looks like his stepmother, dark-haired and pretty, but not like Baz and his mother—they’re drawn in bolder lines than this.
“I did knock,” she says.
“Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say ‘come in.’”
“Mum says you have to come down for dinner.”
“Fine,” he says.
She stands there.
“We’ll be down soon,” he says. “Go away.”
The girl rolls her eyes and lets the door close. Baz goes back to thinking and fiddling with the pen.
“Well,” I say, “I’d better head back. Send a message if you hear more. You can try to call, but I don’t think there’s anyone answering the school phone over break.”
“What?” He scowls up at me.
“I said, send a message if—”
“You’re not leaving now.”
“I told you everything I know.”
“Snow, you came in on the last train, then you walked for an hour. You haven’t eaten all day, and your hair’s still wet—you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“Well, I can’t stay here.”
“You haven’t burst into flames yet.”
“Baz, listen—”
He cuts me off with a hand. “No.”
55
BAZ
Snow was a wreck at dinner.
Which I might have enjoyed if I wasn’t so desperate for him to stay.
Everything on his plate seemed to confuse him, and he alternated between staring at his food miserably and vacuuming it up because he was clearly ravenous.
Daphne went out of her way to make him feel comfortable, and the children just stared at him. Even they’ve heard of the Mage’s Heir.
Father seems to think I have some dark plan at work. (I guess I do have a dark plan, but this time it has nothing to do with disabling Snow.) He—Father—pulled me aside after dinner and asked if I wanted him to call in the Families for assistance.
“No,” I said. “Please don’t. Snow’s just here for a school project.”
Father practically winked.
I’ve thought about telling him. That Mother came back for me. But what if he asks why she didn’t come back to him? What if he takes it to the Families? They’d never understand why I was working with Snow and Bunce. And right now, Snow and Bunce seem like the best allies I could have. They’re relentless once they set their minds to something. Completely trustworthy, with no sense of self-preservation. I’ve watched these two uncover plots and beat back monsters time and again.
Snow is still eating dinner. Daphne keeps offering extra helpings, out of politeness, and Snow keeps accepting them.
I’ve never actually sat at a table with Snow before. I let myself watch him, and let myself enjoy it, at least for a few minutes. I keep doing that, since this all started—indulging myself. (What’s that they say about having dessert first if you’re on the Titanic?)
Snow’s table manners are atrocious—it’s like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you’d like to slip the tongue.
After dinner, we go to the library and I show him what I’ve found on vampires. He keeps moving away from me, and I pretend not to notice. We should probably call Bunce and see what she thinks of all this—I’ll suggest it tomorrow.
There’s nothing in our library about any Nicodemus. I’ve already searched, but I do it again. I stand at the door and cast, “Fine-tooth comb—Nicodemus Petty!” None of the books come flying out of the shelves.
We do find a few mentions of the Petty family, so we read those. They’re an old East End family, and a big one, and every few generations, they turn out a powerhouse like Ebb. If Snow hadn’t come along, Ebb might be the most powerful magician in our world—and to think she wastes it all on goats and moping.
“Do you think it would have made it into The Record?”