Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(54)

We’re in Arizona, I think, on a dark road. We’ve been staying off the main motorway, but we’re never far from towns and people.

“What we’re about to attempt,” the Normal says, “isn’t exactly legal.”

“I thought you were Mr. Law and Order.”

“I’m Mr. Don’t Steal Cars, Counterfeit Money, or Commit Other Acts of Grand Larceny. But this won’t hurt anybody. We need to get in to see my friend, but it’s sorta after visiting hours—”

“Just tell us what you need,” Baz cuts in.

“A few ‘Open Sesame’s should do it.”

“Aghh,” I groan. “Don’t name spells. You shouldn’t know any spells.”

“I heard you use it back at the motel! And besides, everyone knows ‘Open Sesame’ is a spell. It’s probably a spell because everyone knows it. Have you ever thought about that?”

I’m hiding my face. I want to cover my ears. “Who explained the nature of our magic to you? Please tell me, so I can make sure they face an international tribunal.” There’s no such thing as an international tribunal, but I like the idea of muddying Shepard up with false information.

“Fine,” Baz says. “Just get on with it. We don’t have time to argue.”

We turn onto a larger road, following signs towards something called the Hoover Dam. I think I’ve heard of it.

I glance out the back window. Simon is sitting up, leaning eagerly on the wall of the truck bed. There doesn’t seem to be any part of this trip that he doesn’t relish. (Aside from the times when we’ve almost died.) (And, honestly, he seemed to enjoy those, too.)

“Maybe you could make us harder to see,” Shepard says. “There are cameras.”

Baz casts, “Through a glass, darkly!” on the truck.

Shepard nods. “Cool. Now those gates…”

“Open Sesame!” I say. It comes out flat and sarcastic, so I have to cast it again.

“There might be guards,” Shepard says, squinting into the darkness ahead of us.

“I’ll take care of it.” Baz is all business. “Should I put them to sleep?”

“Whoa.” Shepard holds out his arm. “I don’t want anyone to accidentally fall asleep on their control panel and blow up the whole dam.…”

“I doubt there’s a ‘BLOW UP THE DAM’ button,” I say.

Baz is getting impatient. “I’ll take care of it.”

We park, and Simon hops over the side of the truck. “What’s the plan? Are we going to see the dam? Wicked. Did we sneak in?”

Baz grabs Simon’s T-shirt and pulls him close, inspecting him for damage. “Are you all right? Are you thirsty? Are you dying of exposure?”

“I’m fine,” Simon says. “You should ride back there with me when we leave. Now that the sun’s down. You’ve never seen so many stars.” Simon spreads his wings like he’s stretching. Baz brushes some dust off Simon’s shoulders. Baz seems timid, like he isn’t sure he’s permitted this much tenderness. It’s hard to watch, so I look at Shepard. He’s watching them, too. I shove his arm. “So what’s the plan?”

Shepard takes a bottled water from the back of the truck. “My friend lives in the water,” he says. “Well, more or less. We just have to walk out onto the dam, and see if she feels like talking.”

“So Agatha’s life depends on someone wanting to talk to you? Brilliant.”

“Fortunately for you, most people actually like talking to me. You’re a notable exception.”

We follow a pathway out onto the dam.

Baz and I make sure the guards don’t notice us, with a combination of “Through a glass” and “Nothing to see here.”

Shepard watches our every move. I’m sure he’s going to write down all these spells in one of the notebooks he has stacked on his dashboard, just as soon as he has a moment. Well … we didn’t promise not to destroy any evidence.

Simon flies along behind us. I think he’s enjoying having his wings out in the open. When we get home, we need to find a way for Simon to exercise his wings. (If we’re not in magickal prison.) (At least if we’re in magickal prison, Simon won’t have to hide his wings.)

The dam is enormous—and rather beautiful, I think—a curved wall of concrete, holding back the river. When we get out to the middle of the wall, Shepard leans as far as he can over the water. If I actually cared about him, I’d pull him back. It would be a long fall from here—the river must be at a low point. You can see the waterline on the rock around the reservoir, like a ring around a bath.

“Blue…” Shepard calls out in a low voice. He tips his bottle of water over the rail and spills some. Nothing immediately answers him.

He keeps hanging out over the wall, emptying the bottle. “Blue…”

There’s a rushing noise below us—a rushing, slurring voice.

“Shhhhep,” the voice says.

A pillar of water shoots up in front of us. I jump back. Simon puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. He’s landed.

The water falls.

A few more jets spurt up, then fall.

Then a larger column of water surges up and holds. It looks like a woman for a moment. Like a melting ice sculpture.