Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(88)

I find Shepard on the balcony. You can see the ocean from out here. He’s looking down at his phone.

“Writing this up for your blog?”

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll do that when I get home. I can’t type on my phone.”

“Ha-bloody-ha,” I say, glancing down at his screen. He’s looking up bus tickets. To Las Vegas. “Shepard, no! By no means!”

“I’ve got to get my truck, Penelope.”

“The vampires have your truck!”

“It’s in short-term parking,” he says. “I’m paying forty-three dollars a night.”

“There are other trucks, Shepard.”

“Yes.” He shrugs. “But none that I’m entitled to drive.”

I see them when he shrugs—two fang marks under the collar of his jacket. Just as Baz said.

“Hey,” I say, fishing my amethyst out of my bra. (Very happy to have it back outside my digestive tract. Sweet Circe, that was an unpleasant task.) “Let me see that bite.”

“I’m all right,” he says. “Save your magic.”

“You can’t save magic,” I say. “It’s not like spare change.”

“It’s not?” There’s that infuriating light in his eyes.

“No. Come on. We should have done this yesterday.”

He scoots his chair closer to mine, and I pull back his collar. There are two scabbed-over puncture wounds and bruises from the vampire’s non-fang teeth. I can’t help but shudder. “Are you worried that they might have…”

“Turned me?” He finishes my question. “No. I haven’t felt especially bloodthirsty. And … and anyway, no, I’m not worried.”

I hold my gem over his wound and say, “Good as new!”

When I pull my hand away, the scabs are still there. I frown. “Shepard … are you immune to magic?”

“No,” he says, running his fingers over the wound like he’s curious. “Not immune.”

I sit back. “Baz said that a vampire bit you, and it made the vampire sick.”

He looks out towards the water. “Maybe the vampire was allergic.”

“Shepard. I thought you believed in straight answers.”

He looks over at me like he’s hurting somewhere, and it has nothing to do with a vampire bite. “I do.”

I sit back a little farther. “What are you?”

He turns himself completely towards me. “Penelope, I’m exactly what I look like. I’m a Talker, a Bleeder, a Normal.”

“And…”

“And I am also slightly … a little bit…” He swallows. “Cursed.”

I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I don’t even know what that means. “You’re cursed?”

He rubs his eyes under his glasses. “Yeah, I … Josh the tech-bro vampire couldn’t claim my soul because, technically speaking, it belongs to someone else.”

“Who?”

“Nobody you’d know. I hope. A demon. Demon-type. I’d tell you his name, but then he might show up. I…” He looks embarrassed. Caught out. He slowly takes off his jean jacket.…

His arms are covered with twisting black tattoos. Runes and numbers. Thorns.

“Shepard.”

“Pretty goth, right? Not the ink I’d choose for myself. I thought about getting a Vonnegut quote, but everybody has those.…”

“How did this happen?”

He looks down. “Oh, you know—your classic wrong place, wrong time scenario. A summoning circle. Midnight. And then … a series of miscommunications and cultural differences.”

I’m still looking at the curse markings. I press my gem to his flesh. “Out, out, damned spot!”

The spell shoots down through my arm, then seems to double back on me. I pull my hand away like I’ve been shocked, and my gem drops.

The balcony is made of wood decking, and the gem is resting at the edge of one of the slats. Shepard carefully picks it up and holds it out to me. “Thank you,” he says. “But I don’t think there’s any un-cursing me. Some magic works on me, but nothing that would change my fate—”

I clench my amethyst in my fist and press my hand against his neck.

“Penelope,” he says, catching my wrist.

“Get well soon!” I say. I feel the spell hook on him. He feels it, too. His head rocks back a bit, and he squeezes my wrist.

I move my hand away. The vampire bite already looks a bit better. Good.

He’s still holding my wrist.

“Shepard, you’re not going back to Las Vegas.”

“But my—”

“If you mention your truck again, I’m going to turn you into a frog.” I pull my hand away. “A demon-cursed frog.”

“I need to get back home.”

“No.” I fold my arms. “You’re coming back to London with us. I’m taking you to my mother, and she’s going to fix you.”

“I appreciate the offer, but this situation is beyond ma—”

“Nothing is beyond magic!”

Shepard snaps his mouth closed, and I hope that means he’s done arguing.