Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(50)

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Shepard says.

Baz looks at him. “If it’s knowledge you want, you can have it. You help us find our friend, and we’ll let you travel with us. We’ll answer some of your questions. But you can’t share that knowledge with anyone else.”

Shepard nods immediately. “All right.”

“What’s all right?” Baz asks.

“I won’t tell anyone what I learn. I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Shake on it,” Baz says.

Shepard holds out his hand. Baz holds his own palm out to Penny. She drops her purple stone into it. Then he takes Shepard’s hand, pressing the stone between them. “Cross your heart, and hope to die!” Baz casts. Their hands light up.

Shepard’s eyes get big. But he doesn’t try to pull away. “I keep my promises.”

“You’ll keep this one,” Baz says. “Or you’ll drop dead.” He slumps to the ground, exhausted from the spell. “Now, where’s my wand?”



* * *



We all want to go help Agatha immediately, but Penny and Baz are literally spelled out. Baz looks like one of the bloodless carcasses he leaves behind. When we get to the next town, I steal a dog for him. It’s not my finest moment. But it’s not any of our finest moments.

We break into another hotel, and Baz and Penny collapse on the beds. Shepard offers to go get pizza. Penny gives him a weak thumbs-up.

Before he leaves, he stands in the doorway—“If you all want to leave while I’m gone, that’s fine. I won’t follow you this time. Just don’t count on me to bail you out of your next mess.”

None of us try to argue or reassure him. I’m too shagged out to care.

When the door closes behind him, Penny sits up. “We give him ten minutes, then we leave.”

Baz throws a pillow at her. “Stand down, Bunce. We need help. And I need a shower.” He looks a bit better since drinking the dog, but his hair is bushy and matted, and there’s fresh blood on his already stained and shredded shirt. Huh. It’s not like him to spill blood when he’s drinking.…

“Baz—” He’s walking past me on his way to the bathroom. I catch his arm. “Are you bleeding?”

“No.”

“You are so,” I say. I start to unbutton his shirt.

Baz looks away from me. “Snow,” he says, his voice quiet but stern, “please don’t—”

“Baz.” His chest is covered in raised, round bumps. The skin is broken in places, and bloody. I touch him—the bumps feel like pebbles. A couple of them break open under my fingers, and little pieces of black metal push through his pale skin. “What happened?”

“Buckshot,” he says. “From last night. My body seems to be rejecting it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

I look up at his face, my fingertips still on his breast. His eyes are narrow and shadowed—it does hurt. I move my face closer to his. I want to comfort him, but I don’t know how.

“Simon…” he says.

“Yes.”

There’s a soft thrum in his breath. “You should really wash your hands.”

“Oh.” I pull my hand away. Covered in vampire blood. “Right.”



* * *



When Baz gets out of the shower, he’s wearing his fresh jeans and no shirt. His chest is covered with blotches and cuts, and there’s a dark grey bruise on his side.

Shepard is back with the pizza, and even though he says it’s the cheapest possible, it’s better than any pizza I’ve had back home.

He was surprised when he came back to the hotel room and we were still here. But he doesn’t ask us any more questions, and none of us bother keeping watch tonight. Penny and Baz take one bed, and Shepard takes the other. I take the extra pillow and a bedspread, and fall asleep on the floor.





37





BAZ


I know that I heal faster than other people. (More proof that I’m not a person.) But I’ve never really tested my limits. No one’s ever emptied a shotgun into my chest or kicked me in the gut with steel-toed cowboy boots.…

The worst I’ve been injured before this was when the numpties took me. I think my leg healed right away even then—but it healed wrong because I was stuck in that coffin.

Before that, there were fights with Simon. A few black eyes over the years, a split lip. I healed fast from those injuries, but so did he. I think Simon’s magic used to heal him, even when he couldn’t cast the spells to heal himself.

Not anymore—there’s something wrong with his wing, it won’t close all the way. I’m going to try to spell it better as soon as he gets up.

I woke up before everyone else, feeling livelier than I have in days. The rest of the buckshot scrubbed out last night in the shower, and my chest has completely stopped burning. It’s covered in glossy white scars now—but those will heal, too, I think. All my other scars have.



* * *



Breakfast is cold pizza.

We pool our money on the bed. We have a few hundred dollars between us. I have my credit card, but I’m still nervous about using it.