Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(82)

I should have ended this before he had the chance. That would have been the heroic thing.

I should have thrown myself down a well. Penelope would have.

How have I lived through so many happy endings without ever learning how to save the day?





57





BAZ


When the gunfire starts, Lamb is still holding on to me. “Steady,” he says.

I’m anything but.

I drag him up the sand dune, the rest of the vampires forming a V behind us. I’ve got my hand inside my jacket, ready to cast a spell the moment it’s worth spoiling my cover.

The guns quiet, then rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, then settle again.

Lamb stops me at the crest, squeezing my arm. “Steady, lad. I need you to trust me to get you through this.”

I’m half mad to get over the hill. “What? I do. I will. We followed you this far.”

Lamb pulls me closer, his nose nearly touching my chin, his hair flopping over one eye. “Trust me now, Baz. I’ll get you through.”

I nod, hauling him forward. He won’t let go of me. He follows me over the edge.

We look down and see a dozen or so vampires with machine guns. They’ve got a gun to Shepard’s head—and Simon is lying on the ground.

One of the vampires looks up at us and waves.

Lamb is holding me so tight, I think my arm will snap. He’s whispering in my ear. “It was the only way, Baz. There’s a treaty.”

“No.…”

“Any mage who comes to Las Vegas gets turned over to them, no exceptions. It’s how we keep them out.”

I try to shove him away. “No!”

“This is going to be better for you in the end!”

I clutch my wand in my pocket and point it at Lamb, hissing, “Et tu, Brute!”

Nothing happens.





58





AGATHA


At first, I think it’s a mirage.

Because it’s exactly what I wish were there.

I was supposed to be at Burning Lad this weekend. Ginger and I had been planning it for months. A weeklong festival in the middle of the desert. A pop-up city. A celebration of life and death in a place where nothing lives, and even death has slim pickings.

I bought body paint, and sewed feathers onto my bikini. I was going to wear it on the last day—to the Grand Parade, the climax of the festival.

I’d pictured it so many times:

All that skin and fire snaking through the desert. I imagined how it would feel to shine like that. To be a small, spangled part of something so magickal, without anyone using any magic at all.

I see it now, on the horizon.

That glittering snake.

A mirage, surely. A trick of the sun and the sand.

I’d swear it’s getting closer.…

I see the line of moving parts, of dancing bodies. I see the figure at their head—a large wooden boy, in flames.

I see it.…

It’s not a mirage! It’s real!

It’s here!

And my first thought is, It’s coming for me!

That’s how accustomed I am to being rescued; I see a parade of people coming over the hill, and I assume they’re coming to save me.

They’re not.

They wouldn’t even hear me if I could scream.

Which I can’t.

And yet …

And yet!

I was wrong about Burning Lad! It’s full of magic. Fifty thousand Normals. The third-largest city in Nevada, for one week of the year.

A pop-up city heading my way!

The line on the horizon gets thicker, but the Normals are still so far.…

That’s okay. I don’t need much of their magic for this spell. It’s the only one I can cast without a wand, without even moving my lips.





PENELOPE


I’m worried that they won’t kill us. Promptly.

That our bodies might hold years of useful information.

The vampires will find what they’re looking for, I suspect. Magic is genetic, after all—it must be coded into mages in a way that can be decoded. We should have been the ones to figure it out first.

Mum would call that heresy. Trying to explain magic.

But isn’t that just … science?

I wish I could have this argument with her.…

I’ve read that bodies disappear completely in the desert. Good. I hope Mum never knows my role in this.

The gunshots go on for a while. Simon shouts.

And then he doesn’t.

It’s—

I can’t—

I slump forward against the front seat, choking on something that comes out half sob, half vomit. My lips are taped shut. My mouth and nose are full of bile. I see sparks.

This is it, this is what happens. This is not getting away.

There are more sparks.…

In Agatha’s lap, above her bound hands.

I look up at her face. Her chin is tilted back, and her eyelids are heavy. She looks like she’s casting a spell.

Magic? Where is Agatha getting magic? And how is she casting without a wand? Without speaking?

She sees me watching her. She looks so sorrowful. Her hands spark again.





AGATHA