Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(122)

“So?” Simon says, running ahead of me down the stairs.

“Simon!”

The music is thundering down here—and terrible, some old hard rock music from when my parents were kids. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Baz is still with us. He’s coming down the stairs behind me, leaning way back so that the bag won’t pull him into a dive.

“Is this where it wants to go?” I ask.

“I think so. It mostly just wants to get away from me. Keep up with Snow.”

I nod and hurry down the stairs, pulling Shepard along with me. We end up in another hallway. Dark. Old. Walls of crumbling brick. We follow the music and find Simon standing outside another locked door, trying to muscle it open. “Penelope!”

Morgana below, has anyone ever cast so many “Open Sesame”s? I hold my gem over the lock, and do it again. Simon wrenches the door open, and the music is suddenly unbearably loud.

There’s a middle-aged white man inside the room, drinking tea and watching television. He’s got stringy blond hair and a patchy beard. He fumbles for the remote. “Sorry! I thought everyone was—” He stops fumbling and stares at Simon. “Is that—Are you— Simon Snow!? ”

Simon is staring back. “Jamie?! ”





67

BAZ

Jamie Salisbury has been locked in a basement, listening to hair metal. He looks hale enough. He was sitting in an armchair, drinking tea when we barged in. Now he’s standing and staring at Simon.

“How do you know who I am?!” Salisbury shouts over the music.

“We were looking for you!” Simon shouts back.

Shepard walks past them and picks the TV remote up off the floor. He turns the music down.

Salisbury looks at the TV, then back at Simon. “Why is Simon Snow looking for me?”

“Because your mum is worried about you,” Simon says.

“My mum knows Simon Snow?”

“You can just call me Simon.”

“Really?”

“Jamie”—Simon touches the man’s shoulder—“who locked you in the basement?”

Salisbury pulls his head back, surprised. “They didn’t. I mean, I’m not locked down here. I mean, well, I am—but not like that. Smith is letting me stay here. He’s letting me lie low.”

“Why do you need to lie low?”

Salisbury looks down at his feet and scratches the back of his head. “If I could talk about that, I wouldn’t need to lie low.”

Simon looks around the little room. There’s a bed and the easy chair and a bare lightbulb hanging over our heads. The walls are brick and held together by spiderwebs. “If you want to be in here … why was the door locked from the outside?”

Salisbury shrugs. “Well, there is no lock on the inside, so Smith had to— Wait, how did you open it?” His eyes get big. “Did Smith fix your magic?”

“No,” Simon says. “I—”

“Smith said he was going to fix your magic.”

This is ridiculous. Jamie Salisbury hasn’t been kidnapped. He’s just hiding from his mother. I need to find Philippa. She’s here somewhere—the bag is pulling towards the far wall of Salisbury’s cell.

I step in front of Simon before he tells Salisbury the whole story.

“Where’s Pippa?” I demand. “Pippa Stainton?”

“Pippa?” Salisbury says. “She’ll be at Watford by now, with Smith.” He looks at Simon. “You’re supposed to be there, too.”

He’s useless. I head for the door.

Once I’m in the hallway, I try to let the bag lead, but it wants to move as the crow flies, not down hallways and through doors.

“Baz, wait!” It’s Penelope. I ignore her. Philippa is close. She must be— the bag is getting harder to hold on to. If I let go of it, it will smash into one of these brick walls and destroy the tape recorder. Fucking Bunce and her spells.

Most of the doors down here aren’t locked. Most of the rooms are empty.

When I get to the end of the hall, the bag pulls me flat against a door. I have to arch my neck up to breathe. I pry my arm free and try the door. It’s locked.

My wand is already in my hand. “Open Sesame!”

I try the knob again, and the bag pushes the door open, hauling me in.

It’s a dark room. Philippa is here. Her hands are tied. And a man is holding a wand to her head.

“Drop your wand,” he says. “Now.”





68

SIMON

“Honestly,” Jamie Salisbury says. “I’m fine.”

I suppose he looks fine. He’s watching music videos. He’s got a pot of tea and a stack of dirty dishes. There’s a bed down here. “Maybe you could call your mum,” I say, “and tell her that.”

“I will,” Jamie says, “as soon as Smith—”

“Smith won’t let you call your mum?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Simon”—Penelope is pulling on my arm—“we can’t let Baz run off.”

I turn to her. “Where’d he go?”

Shepard is standing in the doorway. “Down the hall and out of sight.”