Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(19)

Penny turns in to his shoulder and cries some more. “Micah’s right,” she sobs. “I took him for granted.”

“Maybe,” Baz says, “but that doesn’t excuse what he did. He’s a coward.”

“He said it’s impossible to tell me something I don’t want to hear!”

Baz catches my eye, and we both grimace, because that’s absolutely true.

“I like that about you,” I offer.

“We all do,” Baz says. “If you weren’t relentless, the Mage and the Humdrum would still be a plague on the whole World of Mages.”

“But you wouldn’t want to date me,” she says.

“I would never want to date you,” he earnestly replies, “but it’s not because you’re muleheaded. That’s practically my type.”

“I’m such a fool, Baz!”

Baz rubs her back and lets her cry into his shirt. I love him so much, and I want to tell him so. But I’ve never managed to say it, and now is definitely not the time.

He looks up at me, his eyes urgent. “Switch places with me, Snow. I’m about to drain her dry.”

Penelope sits up—not as urgently as she should, I reckon—and Baz extricates himself from her arms and her hair and the booth.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “I think I’ll step outside. For a moment.” He’s white as a sheet, though his cheeks and nose look sort of flushed with black. He wheels around and heads for the exit, dipping towards the hostess on his way out, then backing out the door.

I sit down next to Penny and pull my plate over. “I know you don’t eat beef,” I say, “but this burger tastes like America.”

She takes one of my chips.

I put my arm around her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says.

“I feel like this is my fault.”

“Did you introduce Micah to a girl named Erin?”

“No, but I—” My voice drops, I’m embarrassed to say this. “—I know you stayed in England, for university, because of me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says.

“I’m not.” I look in her brown eyes. “Penny, I’m not stupid.”

She looks right back at me. “Simon, I think I would have come to America for university if I really wanted to. I could have brought you with me.”

“Would you have?”

“No. Baz would never have allowed it.” She looks down at her plate. “Anyway. I was happy. The way things were with Micah. Apart. It was enough for me.”





16





BAZ


It’s still broad daylight, but I can’t wait anymore—I have to kill something. Or find something dead.…

I wander around to the back of the mall, behind some skips. I have no idea what sort of wildlife can be found in West Des Moines. Rats, probably—but I’d need a boatload of them at this point.

There are some houses over the hill. I hate to use this spell unless I’m desperate, but I am desperate. I crouch low and hold my wand out over the ground, pouring in as much magic as I have available.

“Here, kitty-kitty!”



* * *



When I get back to our booth, the waitress is putting three monstrous slices of cheesecake on the table.

Simon’s sitting next to Penny, and I’m flushed with warm feelings for both of them. (A side effect of being flushed with the blood of nine cats, probably.) I go to their side of the booth—“Scoot over”—and pick up a fork.

Simon points at the plates of cheesecake: “This one’s Outrageous, this one’s Ultimate, and this one’s Extreme.”

“No, this one’s Extreme,” Bunce says, taking a giant bite. “With the Oreos.”

I take a bite of the same piece and cover my mouth. “Oof, thas good.”

“It is The Cheesecake Factory,” Simon says. “Does what it says on the tin.”



* * *



After dinner, we’re all shattered. We’d meant to keep pushing on through Iowa, but we’re jetlagged and full of cream cheese, and Bunce still looks like someone blew out her pilot light.

We end up at an inn near the motorway. It’s cheap, but the room is huge with two big beds. Bunce falls onto one. I nudge her foot. “Plug in your mobile.”

Snow and I are still holding our bags. We could take the other bed. We’ve shared a bed before. A few times. We’ve …

Being with Simon hasn’t meant what I thought it would.

It seemed at first that all my dreams were coming true, that he was finally mine. Mine to love, mine to live with—to walk with—to have. I’d never been in a relationship before. “I want to be your terrible boyfriend,” Snow said, and I couldn’t wait for it.

Maybe I should have taken him at his word.

For we are indeed terrible at being boyfriends.

We’re very good at this, though—standing uncomfortably in the same space, absolutely not saying what we’re both thinking, squeezing through a room full of elephants. We’re champions.

“I’ll take the sofa.” Snow brushes past me and drops his bag near a brown settee. “My wings’ll pop in the middle of the night.”