Wayward Son - Rainbow Rowell Page 0,87

sorrowful. Her hands spark again.

AGATHA

Penelope is nodding at me.

Does she think I have a grand plan?

I’m sorry, Penny. I’m not getting us out of this. I was never a hero. I was never a very good friend—I did try to tell you.

She shimmies up next to me. The vampire in the front seat isn’t paying attention to us; he’s still on his phone. I jerk my head towards the window, towards the glittering parade. When Penny’s eyes widen, I know for certain that I haven’t hallucinated it. She pushes her face against my neck, and I feel my magic snap into focus, almost as if I’m holding my wand—the sparks above my hands catch into a flame.

Penny grunts. I pull back to look in her eyes. She nods again.

I lean forward and hold the flame over the front seat.

It happens so fast. He burns so bright.

I turn back to Penelope. Her face is damp. Her nose is running. She’s still nodding at me. I push my forehead against hers and close my eyes.

PENELOPE

Agatha, yes—you brilliant girl.

You’ve saved the day in the end.

59

SHEPARD

“My name is Shepard,” I say. “I’m from Omaha, Nebraska.”

“I told you to shut up!” the vampire says, pressing the nose of his gun more firmly into my temple.

He did tell me to shut up, but I think he’s probably going to kill me whether I shut up or not, so I may as well keep playing till I’m all out of cards.

I put my hands up as soon as I saw the guns. The vampires seemed to know I’m not magic. They taped Penelope’s mouth shut, but not mine. They shot Simon out of the air.

He went down like a rabid bat. I don’t think the vampire he landed on will ever see again. (Can vampires grow new eyes?) Then Simon grabbed the vampire’s rifle and swung it at another one’s head—it was like watching a Mortal Kombat character.

The vampires shot him again.

He didn’t get up.

Baz is coming down the hill now. He looks like he’s in shock. Like Lamb is practically holding him up.

“My mother’s name is Michele,” I say to the man holding me. “With one l. She teaches Spanish. My parents are divorced, what about yours?”

One of the NowNext guys steps forward to meet Lamb. The guy’s dressed in brand-new, expensive camping gear—they all are. Space-age nylon pants with zippers. Glacier glasses. One of them even has one of those aluminum hiking poles. It’s like getting ambushed by a heavily armed GQ spread.

The Next Blood vampire is spitting mad. “For fuck’s sake, Lamb, you could have warned us that one of them was feral!”

“I did warn you,” Lamb says, cool as ever. “The treaty holds.”

“And you brought a rando with a cellphone?!” (That’s me, I think.)

“Consider him a bonus.” Lamb is trying to turn away, but Baz won’t turn. He won’t look away from Simon.

“You promised us two mages!” the Next Blood vamp says, still spitting.

“I brought you two mages.” Lamb’s voice cracks, like he can’t believe he’s got to deal with this nonsense. He gestures at Simon. “It’s not my fault you ruined one!”

“Well,” the other vampire says, all sullen, “at least take the kid with you. You know we don’t like to involve NPCs.”

Lamb laughs. A few of the other Vegas vampires snicker.

“Does that mean you won’t kill me?” I ask the guy holding the gun to my head. “Because that’s really good of you. That’s an admirable policy.”

Lamb is still smiling. Smiling like he’s happy to have someone to hate this much. “You really think you’re the superior model, the next step on the evolutionary ladder.… And you can’t even cope with a teenage Bleeder?” (I’m 22, but I decide not to interrupt him.) “You haven’t worked out a protocol for this? Give him to us, Braden! We’ll show you how a real vampire takes care of business.”

The Vegas vampires are leering at me.

The other guy, Braden, rolls his eyes with his whole body. “There’s no such thing as a ‘real’ vampire, Lamb! It’s an apocryphal concept!”

“I assure you I’m real!” Lamb roars, letting go of Baz. I get the feeling he and Braden have had this screaming match before.

“We don’t have to play by your rules!” Braden shouts back. “We don’t have to play into your age-old fallacies!”

“No indeed, you’re free to behave like uncultured cowards!”

“We’re not cowards!” the one holding me shouts, jabbing me again in the temple.

This is not an encouraging direction.

“Don’t listen to Mr. Las Vegas over there,”