Carry On (46 page)

“Aside from the fact that he's missing?”

“You know what I mean, darling.
Between
you. The two of you.”

“We're fine,” I assure her.

I'm not about to tell her that we broke up. I don't even know whether Simon's alive; I'm not telling my mother about my ruined prospects until I absolutely have to.

I get some leftover party food—a Diet Coke and some soggy artichoke crostini—and go back to my room. I fell asleep last night before my parents' party, and they never woke me. They must have decided I needed the rest.

I take a bite of bread. There's nothing I can do about this. Any of it.

I don't even
really
know where Simon is. “Out chasing numpties” isn't helpful. What else do I know—that he might be with Baz? That he and Baz are friends now? That's not a clue.

I still can't believe they're
friends.

I can believe it of Simon; he'll make friends with anyone who's willing. Anyone who doesn't mind the risks of befriending a human wrecking ball. But what's in it for Baz?

All Baz has ever wanted from Simon is his demise. Baz would do anything to get Simon out of his way.

Anything …

What if this is all a trick?

What if Baz is
luring
Simon to the numpties? The way he lured me into the Wood that night …

Well. He didn't quite lure me. I followed him. But still. But
still
 …

Baz is a vampire.

Baz is a villain.

Baz is a
Pitch.

My phone is on my nightstand. (I'm allowed to have one at home.) I pick it up and text Penny.

Your mum is looking for you. Everyone's worried.

And:

Are you fighting numpties? Do you need help? I could get help.

Then:

Are you with Baz? I think it might be a trick. That he's trying to hurt Simon.

And then:

You could have at least left a note. That seems pretty basic.

I throw the mobile down on the bed and pop open my Diet Coke. The photo of Lucy and Davy is stuffed under my pillow. I pull it out.

What would brave, bold Lucy Salisbury do in a hopeless situation like this?

Hot-tail it to California like a rational human being, apparently. Leave it to the heroes.

If Baz
has
turned on Simon, there's nothing I can do to help.…

But I can't just sit here, doing nothing, damn it! (Damn
him
.) (Damn them all.) Even when I'm not involved in their stupid drama, I'm still involved—I still have to play my part.…

And this is the part where I always scream for help.

*   *   *

My mother's on the phone when I slip out. I take the Volvo.

 

78

BAZ

It took me a good bit to figure out that Bunce was just possessing the dog—that she wasn't trapped inside its body. I've never even heard of such a thing. I'm certain it isn't legal.

The real Bunce, terrifying mage that she is, is hiding behind a hedge in Hounslow, waiting for me.

I'm on my way to get her.

“I wouldn't have had to do this if you weren't so cagey about your mobile number!” she yaps from the back seat.

PENELOPE

I'm hiding in our neighbour's garden. I can't go home because I know if Mum's there, she won't let me leave. And I
have
to leave—I can't let Simon face the Mage alone. He might already be at Watford. He probably just
thought
about teleporting and arrived there.

I really blew it with Simon.

He was going to let me go with him, I think, after Baz stormed off. But then I tried to talk him down—I tried to
reason
with him.

“Maybe Baz is right,” I said.

Simon was pacing around my bedroom, swinging his blade, and he stopped to shoot me a scornful look. “Seriously, Penny? Numpties?”

“No, not about the numpties—but, Simon, think it through, what's going to happen when people find out about you?”

“I don't care about people!” he growled.

I shushed him. My little brothers and sisters were still downstairs. “You care about the Mage,” I said. “What's going to happen when he finds out you're stealing magic?”

“I'm not stealing it!”
he whispered.

“Whatever you're doing!”
I whispered back. “What's going to happen?”

“I don't know! The Mage will decide.”

That's when I probably should have given up. But instead I stood in front of him and reached for his hand. He let me take it.

“Simon,” I said, “maybe we should just
go.
”

He looked confused. He clenched his sword in his other hand. “Penny. That's what I'm saying. We have to go.”

“No.” I stepped closer to him, squeezing his hand. “I think this might be our only chance to … to leave.”

He looked at me like I was mental.

I kept at it: “Everyone has already connected you to the Humdrum. When they figure out what's actually happening, even the people who care about you—you're a threat to everyone, Simon. To our whole world. Once they find out … Maybe this is our last chance to
leave.
We could just …
go.
”

He shook his head. “Go where, Penny?”

“Wherever we have to,” I said. “Away.”

SIMON

Away. There is no away.

There's only here and Normal. Did Penelope think that would be an escape for me—to run away from magic?

I don't even think it's possible. I
am
magic. And whatever I'm doing, running away won't stop it.

“I have to fix this,” I said. “It's my job to fix it.”

“I don't think you can,” she said.

I let go of her hand. “I have to. It's why I'm
here.
”

But maybe that's not why I'm here. Maybe I'm just here to fuck everything up.…

It doesn't change what I have to do next.

PENELOPE

“I'm going to talk to the Mage,” he said.

“Simon,” I begged, “please don't.”

But he'd already stopped listening to me. Dark red wings were unfolding from his shoulders, and that arrowlike tail wound its way down his thigh.

He looked at me with his jaw set. And then he took off.

That's when I called Baz.

He pulls up now in a burgundy sports car. I climb out from the bushes, and Baz has already leaned over to open the car door.

There's a little cross-eyed dog in the back seat. I break my possession spell, and it yelps.

 

79

LUCY

We snuck back into Watford on the autumn equinox.

“He'll be born at solstice,” Davy said, pulling me up the hole in the floor into the old Oracle's room, at the top of the White Chapel.

“Or she,” I said.

He laughed. “I suppose that's right.”

I climbed onto the wood floor. “How did the Oracles get up here?”

“There used to be a ladder,” he said.

The room was round, with curved stained glass windows and an intricately painted domed ceiling—a mural of men and women holding hands in a ring, looking up at a field of foiled stars and ornate black script. I could only make out some of it—
In time's womb.
Shakespeare. “How did you find this place?”

Davy shrugged. “Exploring.”

He knew Watford like no one else. While the rest of us had flirted and studied, he'd roamed every inch.

I watched him draw a pattern on the floor with salt and oil and dark blue blood. (Not a pentagram—something else.) And I pulled my shawl around my shoulders and legs. We hadn't brought anything with us. Blankets or pillows. Or mats.

Davy had a stack of notes, and he kept going back to them.

“You're sure of everything?” I asked for the twentieth time this week. He'd been more indulgent with me since I agreed to this.

I
did
agree to it.

I thought …

I thought Davy might do it without me. That he might find a way.

I thought that as long I was there, I could keep him from going too far.

And I thought … that Davy wanted a child. Underneath it all, we were talking about
a child.
He was asking me to have his child. To change our lives.

I wanted that.

“I'm sure,” Davy said. “I've compared the ritual and phrases over three sources; the three accounts complete each other, and the divergence is small.”

“Why hasn't anyone else tried this?” I asked.

“Oh, I think they have,” he said brightly. “But
we
haven't. You said it yourself, no one has studied these rituals like I have. None of these scholars had access to each other's notes.”

He'd shared some of the spells with me.
Beowulf.
The Bible. I wrapped my shawl tighter. “So there's no risk—”

“There's always risk. It's creation. It's life.”

“It's a child,” I said.

He stood and hopped over his designs to crouch in front of me: “Our child, Lucy, the most powerful magician the World of Mages has ever known.”

*   *   *

The room was lit by seven candles.

And Davy chanted every spell seven times.

Why is it always seven?
I wondered, lying on my back on the cold wood floor.

I wished that we'd brought music. But there was singing outside—the students at the equinox bonfire out on the Great Lawn.

The night was turning out more solemn than I had expected. It had been a lark, sneaking into Watford, finding the hidden room. But now Davy was focused and quiet.

I wondered how we'd know whether the ritual had worked.…

How would we know if our baby was the most powerful mage in the world? Would he look any different? Would his eyes glow?

Davy said we couldn't talk at all during the ritual, so instead I caught his gaze. He looked happy, excited.

Because he's finally
doing
something, I thought—not just shouting at the sky.

I tried not to talk. I lay very still.

And I knew—oh, I
knew
the moment it happened that magic and luck were on our side.

There was a pull deep in my belly. Like a star had collapsed there. The world around me went white, and all my magic contracted into a tight ball in my pelvis.

When I could see again, all I could see was Davy's golden face above mine, as happy as I'd ever known him.

 

80

AGATHA

The gates are open when I get to Watford, and there's a single set of tyre tracks in the snow. That's good; that means the Mage is here. I follow them and park the Volvo in the main courtyard right next to the Mage's Jeep. I won't get in trouble—this is an emergency.

I'm not good in emergencies. I can't wait to find the Mage and hand this off to him. I'll tell him what I know, then I'll get as far from this mess as I can.

Maybe I'll go over to Minty's house. And we can watch
Mean Girls.
And her mum will make us virgin mojitos. And we'll do gel manis—Minty's got her own machine.

Minty doesn't care about magic.

Minty won't even read fantasy novels.
“I just can't make myself care,”
she says.
“It's all so fake.”

(I tried to do manicures with Penelope once, and she got distracted, trying to come up with a way to do it magickally.)

I run through the snow to the Weeping Tower and up to the Mage's office. It's a thousand stairs, I swear. There are elevators, but I don't know the spells.

I'm worried about knocking at the Mage's door, but it's wide open, and when I walk inside, it's a catastrophe. It looks like Penny's been in here: There are books everywhere, in stacks and lying open. There are pages ripped out and taped all over one wall. (Not
taped
—stuck to the wall with spells.) (And this is exactly the sort of thing I'm sick of. Like, just use some tape. Why come up with a spell for sticking paper to the wall? Tape. Exists.) Anyway, the Mage isn't here. I suppose I could leave him a note, but how would he ever find it? And what if he doesn't come back in time? The Mage should really have a secretary, given his responsibilities. I close one of his books out of spite and lean against a window frame, trying to decide what to do next.

That's when I see the lights in the White Chapel.

SIMON

I'm not sure how I know the way to Watford.

I'm not sure I'm really flying anymore. Or if I'm just
thinking
about being there.

I wonder if this—what I'm doing, the magic I'm using—is enough to tear a new hole, or if it's just making an old one bigger.

I wonder if they're all wrong about me, all of them.

AGATHA

I don't like the White Chapel. Whenever we have assemblies in here, I can't get the smell of incense out of my hair.

It smells more like smoke than incense today. Smoke and spent magic. Like a classroom after an exam.

I'm just going to find the Mage, tell him what I know, then leave.

(Minty's house might not be far enough away from this disaster. Maybe I'll go to university in Scotland. At that school where Kate went to meet William.)

The front hall of the Chapel is empty. I walk deeper in, following the smoke, which seems like an idiotic move—a Simon move—but also seems like the best way to find the Mage.

I keep going, opening doors, making my way deeper into the building. It's smokier back here. And darker. And I think I hear the Mage chanting. I'm probably interrupting some heavy magic. Maybe he's searching for Simon.