Carry On (38 page)

Baz frowns at me.

“Unless,” I say, “we could convince your aunt—”

“No.”

“I don't know how you're going to get this vampire to confess to murder,” Agatha says flatly, “when you can't even get Baz to tell you where he was for two months.”

“He was ill,” Penny says. She turns to Baz. “Weren't you? You said you were ill. You certainly
looked
ill.”

“He wasn't ill,” Agatha says. “Dev said he was missing.”

Baz's lip curls. “Dev told you that?”

“I told you your relatives are betrayers,” Penny says.

Baz sneers some more. “He only told Agatha because he has a dirty crush on her.”

“See,” Penny says, “I
told
you we could use Agatha to seduce people.”

“You said you were ill,” I say to Baz.

He looks at me, narrows his eyes into a glare, then looks away. “I
was
ill,” he says, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing out his dark trousers. “But I was also missing.”

“Where were you?” I demand.

He meets my eyes again, still glaring, “I really don't think this is relevant—”

“Everything is relevant,” Penny says.

“I—” He clears his throat and looks down at his knees. “—was kidnapped.”

I sit up. “Kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped,” he repeats, then clears his throat again. “By numpties.”

“Numpties?” Penny says. “Was it an accident? Did they mistake you for a hot water bottle?”

“They put a bag over my head while I was leaving the club, actually.”

Agatha sits up. “You were kidnapped at
the club
?”

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” I ask.

“Well, I tried,” he says. “I guess nobody heard me shouting from inside the coffin.”

I'm still holding a sandwich. I drop it. “The numpties kept you in a coffin? For two months?”

“Six weeks,” he mutters. “And I think they thought they were doing me a favor, with the coffin.…”

Penny shoves his shoulder. “Basil. Why didn't you tell
us
?”

“Why didn't I tell you?” He's glaring at her now. “Think about it: Who would pay numpties to kidnap the heir to the House of Pitch? Who has it out for my family right now? Who's raided my house twice in the last month—who threw my cousin in a tower?”

“Not the Mage,” I say.

“Of course the Mage!” Baz has got both his hands in his pockets, and he's leaning forward over his crossed legs, his elbows flaring out. “He thought he could terrify my parents, so they'd co-operate with his latest campaign. It must drive him mad to see me at school and know I got away from him! Why didn't I tell you?
‘Hey, Simon, your Jedi master is out to get me, do we still have a truce?'”

“How did you get away?” I ask.

“Fiona found me. She's fearless.”

“That's why you were so thin,” I say. “And pale. And why you're still limping. Did they hurt you?”

He sits back, looking down at his lap. “Not intentionally, I don't think. They did something to my leg when they caught me, and it didn't get a chance to heal.”

“You should go see my dad,” Agatha says.

“Is he a vampire doctor now?”

“Was there a ransom?” Penny asks.

“Yeah,” Baz says. “My family wouldn't pay it. Pitches don't negotiate for hostages.”

“If I'm ever kidnapped at the club,” Agatha says, “tell my parents to pay the ransom.”

“My aunt found me with a souped-up finding spell,” Baz says. “She canvassed most of London.”

“I would have helped,” I say. “It wouldn't have taken six weeks with me helping.”

Baz is scornful. “You never would have helped my family.”

“I would! It was driving me mental not knowing where you were. I thought you were going to jump out from every corner.”

“It wasn't the Mage…,” Penny says. Thoughtfully.

“
This
is why I didn't tell you lot,” Baz says. “I knew you wouldn't believe me. You're so convinced that the Mage is a hero—”

“No,” Penny cuts him off. “It wasn't
the Mage,
Baz—it was the murderer!”

“I thought it was numpties…,” Agatha says.

“It was the same person who sent vampires after your mother!” Penny says, jumping to her feet. “They knew that the Veil was lifting, and that there was a good chance your mum would come back to talk to you. It was a classic Visit—a dangerous secret, a crime against justice. The traitor was worried that Natasha Pitch might come back, and
knew
that she'd come back to you. So he—or she, I guess—hid you. This used to happen all the time! There's a family in Scotland who lost a different family member every twenty years because the murderer kept killing the person most likely to avenge the previous deaths. No one wanted a ransom for you, Baz—they just wanted you tucked away until the Visitings were over.”

Baz looks at her. Licks his lips. “Not the Mage?” he asks.

“The
murderer,
” Penny says—looking all too pleased about it, considering that murderer is still at large.

“If that's true,” Agatha says, “then we need to tell the Mage about all of this. Immediately.”

 

66

PENELOPE

All right, fine. It was probably a mistake to bring Agatha.

But it had gone on too long, all this tension between her and Simon. I didn't want them to go all year without sorting it out.

And I thought maybe a good mystery might distract her from—well, from everything else. I should have remembered that Agatha doesn't appreciate a good mystery.

And also that she's the world's worst snitch.

“We
have
to tell the Mage,” she says, crossing her arms and then her legs. “You all know it.”

She's doing her best not to look at either of the boys.… I also should have thought through their whole love-triangle dynamic before I dragged Agatha to Baz's house. But their whole love-triangle dynamic is so persistently stupid, you can't blame me for blocking it out.

“Agatha,” I say, “we're just starting to make some progress here.”

“Towards what?” she asks. “Infiltrating the numpties?”

“We could just talk to them,” Simon offers. “Can numpties talk?”

“Barely,” Baz says. “And what are we going to ask them—
‘Lose something?
'”

“We're going to ask who hired them to kidnap you,” I say.

“They might not feel co-operative,” Baz says. “My aunt did kill a few of them.”

Simon looks horrified. “Your aunt murdered numpties?”

“In self-defence!”

“Did they attack her?”

“In
my
self-defence,” Baz says. “Are you really taking their side? They held me hostage for six weeks.”

“Your aunt should have asked for help!”

“If you'd have been there, Snow,
all
the numpties would be dead.”

“Maybe.” Simon sticks his chin out. “But it wouldn't have taken six weeks.”

“So we'll interrogate the remaining numpties,” I say.

“We will not,” Agatha says. “We'll tell the Mage and let him handle this—it's his job to handle it. We're talking about kidnapping! And murder!”

“Look here, Wellbelove,” Baz says. “We're not going to the Mage. We've all already agreed.”

“Well,
I
didn't agree.” Agatha looks furious, and also fed up, and also I think she was supposed to be home two hours ago.

Simon puts his hand on her shoulder. “Baz, she's right. A lot has changed. We know about Nicodemus now, and we've connected your mum's murder to your kidnapping—”

“No,” I say. “We're not going to the Mage.”

Simon looks surprised. “Penny, come on. Why not?”

“Because Baz is right, Simon. The Mage isn't in any mood to help the Pitch family right now. And he's right that we all already agreed not to involve the Mage.”

Agatha huffs.

“I know you didn't agree, Agatha,” I say. “But you also don't have to be part of this.”

She huffs again.

“I mean, you don't have to be part of this
from now on.
I'm sorry I dragged you here.”

“I need to get home,” she says. “It's Christmas Eve.”

I look at my watch. “Damn. My mum's going to hit the roof. We've got to go. We'll regroup on Boxing Day, yeah?”

The boys nod, both of them staring at the floor.

There's not much to gather up. Baz goes to get our coats. I'm disappointed that we didn't get to see more of his house—or even dig into the library. I went to the bathroom a few times, but it's just down the hall, and it seems like a modern addition. (There's a Japanese toilet in there with comforting music and a seat warmer.)

Agatha pulls on a soft white hat and a matching scarf. “Come on, Simon, didn't you bring a coat?”

Simon is still sitting on one of the couches, thinking too hard about something. Probably about killing numpties. He looks up. “What?”

“Come on,” Agatha says. “We have to go.”

“Go where?”

“We came to get you,” she says.

He still looks confused. “To take me back to Watford?”

Agatha furrows her brow. (She's going to have a vicious wrinkle there someday, and I'm going to laugh about it.) “Just … come on,” she says. “It's Christmas Eve. My parents will be glad to see you.”

Simon smiles like somebody just handed him a huge present. Baz is standing behind him, grimacing. (Irritating love-triangle dynamic.) I think Simon is right; you really can see Baz's fangs sometimes through his cheeks.

Baz clears his throat, and Simon looks back over his shoulder.

“I…,” Simon says. “Well, actually, I feel like maybe I should keep working on this numpties thing.”

Merry Morgana, does Simon actually realize that getting back together with Agatha would be a terrible idea?

“Simon.”
Agatha is staring hard at him, but I'm not sure what she means by it. I don't think
she
wants to get back together either. She's probably just tired, and tired of ignoring each other.

Maybe she feels like a jerk about leaving him at Pitch Manor on Christmas Eve. I know I do. The vibe here is very,
Let's kill a virgin and write a great Led Zeppelin album.
(Though the library is lovely, and Baz's stepmum seems very nice.) (I wonder,
is
Simon still a virgin…) (Surely not.) (Maybe?)

“But I thought—” Simon says.

“Come on,” Agatha insists. “If you don't come, who'll eat all the leftovers and make sure we watch
Doctor Who
?”

Simon glances back at Baz. Baz still looks pissed off. I wonder if there's an Agatha clause in the truce. Maybe she's a no-fly zone.

But that's not fair: Agatha isn't just Simon's not-at-all-suited-for-him ex-girlfriend; she's also one of his only friends. And she
will
be, even after this truce has ended.

“Come on, Simon,” I say. “We'll regroup after Christmas.”

“Right…” He turns to me. “
Right.
I'll get my jacket.”

 

67

BAZ

I'm holding my violin, not playing it, when my father comes back to the library.

“The Magelings are gone,” he says.

I nod. He walks into the room and sits on the long horsehair couch, where Simon spent most of the afternoon. Father's dressed for dinner. We dress for dinner on Sundays and holidays, and tonight he's wearing a black suit with a red sheen. His hair went white when my mother died, but it looks like mine—thick, with a bit of wave and a stark widow's peak. It's nice to see that my hairline probably won't recede completely.

Everyone says I favour my mother in appearance—we're from the Egyptian branch of the Pitch family—but I consciously mimic the way my father carries himself: the way you can never see what's happening behind his eyes. I've practised that in front of the mirror. (
Of course
I can see myself in the mirror; Simon Snow is a fool.)

Currently I'm pretending that I don't care that Snow left. I'm pretending I don't even notice he's gone.

I'm not sure why it surprised me when he left—I'd been reminding him for the last twenty-four hours that we weren't friends, kisses notwithstanding. So I shouldn't be shocked and dismayed that he left with the two people who actually are his friends.… With the one person he's always wanted, as long as I've known him.

Father clears his throat and crosses his legs idly. “Are you in over your head, Basilton?”

No one ever calls me Tyrannus. My mother insisted on it because it's a family name, but my father hates it.

“No,” I say.

“Is this part of some mad scheme of your aunt's?” He sounds bored. He picks at his trouser leg, pulling the crease straight.

“No,” I say blandly. “It's a school project, actually. I thought I'd play nice for once, see where it gets me.”

He raises an eyebrow. It's so quiet in the library, I can hear his watch tick.

“Because it would be a bad time to make a move,” he says, “independently. The Families have their own plan.”

“With a role for me?”

“Not yet. I'd like you to finish school first. I'd like you to recover. I was talking to your mother—she thought you might like to speak to someone … About your situation.”

He calls Daphne my mother. I don't mind.

“A doctor?” I say.

“More of a counsellor.”

“A
psychologist
?” That didn't come out bored. I settle my face. Clear my throat. “Father,” I say more calmly, “I can't imagine what part of my situation could be discussed with a Normal therapist.”