Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow #3)(3)

I’m having the time of my life.

We’re in London now. She insisted on bringing me home with her, with all of them, as soon as she realized I was cursed.

What kind of girl brings you home because you’re cursed? I mean, that’s something I would do, but I’m pretty foolish about these things—which is how I got cursed in the first place.

She faked my passport. She faked my plane tickets. She and Baz will both cast spells in front of me now like it’s nothing. I never thought I’d be this in with a group of magicians. Nobody gets in with magicians!

I mean, I think my heart will burst if I betray them … Literally. There was a magical handshake, and I crossed my heart and hoped to die. But I was glad to do it. I’m seeing things no Talker ever gets to see—no “Normal,” that’s what the magicians call us here. That’s what Penelope calls me half the time.

“The Normal.” Like she’s only ever met one.

“Well,” she says now, letting me into her apartment. “Here we are.”

It’s just the two of us. We all got out of San Diego in a hurry. I guess Baz’s aunt has been arrested or something? Something about their old school. He took off as soon as we landed at Heathrow. And Simon and Agatha went straight to Agatha’s house; she was pretty shook up.

We’re all pretty shook up. I get the feeling that last week was intense, even by magician and vampire and dragon-boy standards. “I could sleep for a month,” I say, sitting on Penelope’s couch.

“You can sleep tomorrow,” she says. “We’re going to see my parents as soon as I’ve had a shower.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes. Shepard. You’ve lost your soul to a demon.”

I shrug. “Right. But that’s not … urgent. ”

“How is your spending eternity in demonic service not urgent?”

“It’s eternity,” I say. “Not tomorrow.”

“Unless you get hit by a bus tomorrow.”

“Are you going to throw me in front of a bus?”

“No, but on that note: Remember to look right when you cross the street.

Americans are always walking into traffic…”

“Penelope. I’ve already been living like this for two years.”

“Which is why we’re going directly to my parents’ house. Then you’ll have your soul back, and you can die whenever you want.”

“Your parents are going to unbind me from a demon over dinner?”

“Well”—she’s looking through a stack of mail, twirling the end of her long, brown ponytail in her fingers—“there probably won’t be dinner unless we bring it. No one in my house likes to cook. But otherwise, yes. My mother is the smartest and possibly the most powerful mage in all the World of Mages.”

“Is she some sort of queen?”

“What? No.” Penelope looks up at me, disgusted. “Mages don’t have queens.”

“Oh, right, pardon me for making that assumption in a country that actually has a monarchy.”

“My mother is a magickal historian, and a headmistress, and an elected official.”

“And she’s really the most powerful magician in the world?”

“In the World of Mages.”

“Which is … the world?”

“Which is the United Kingdom. And Ireland. And various islands.” She drops the mail back on the table. I kind of hoped Penelope and Simon’s apartment would be full of magical devices and artifacts. Like crystal balls and mystery boxes. But so far it looks like any other college student’s apartment. They’ve got the same Ikea couch my sister has.

“Let me call and make sure Mum’s home…” Penelope kicks off her chunky black Mary Janes. Doc Martens. I like them. She’s wearing argyle knee socks. I like those, too. I like her whole Velma from Scooby Doo, but make it lazy look. Her plaid skirt and baggy purple T-shirt. The tortoiseshell eyeglasses.

“Are you sure your mom will want to help me?” I ask.

“Of course she’ll want to help you.”

“In my experience, Speakers don’t go around helping Talkers out of traps…”

Penelope folds her arms and frowns at me. “Your experience with magicians is extremely limited and doesn’t include my mother. It just barely includes me.”

I return her frown with my warmest smile. (Which is very warm.) “Let’s do it,” I say. “I’m up for anything.”

She frowns more deeply at me. “That is the problem, you know.”

“I do know that. Yes. Indeed.”





4



BAZ

“You here to bust me out, Basil?”

My aunt is sitting on a velvet-upholstered chair in the corner of a stone cell. The Coven summoned a tower to lock her up. The guard outside had to wait till dusk before he could cast the spell to open the door.

“I’m here to bail you out,” I say. “For snake’s sake, Fiona, what were you thinking?”

“Bail? Pitches don’t pay bail. Or ransom.”

“Well, that’s fine,” I say. “My father paid it, and he’s a Grimm.”

She leans back and rests her boots on a writing table. “Come back when you’re ready to break me out properly.”