Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(33)

“That’ll only get you—”

“Clean as a whistle, I know. But right now, I’m clean as a rat.”

I wave my wand over his hands, casting the spell, then start walking again.

He’s unbelievable! He wants me to drink his blood? As if not drinking his blood hasn’t been my primary concern since my fangs grew in!

He’d actually let me drink him …

Never mind the pain. Or the scars. Or the blood loss.

Or the risk of becoming a monster.

I thought maybe Snow didn’t want to share a bed with me because he was afraid I’d bite him in my sleep. But apparently that’s fine! Bloodletting is fine —intimacy is the real taboo!

“Don’t people notice you?” he asks, still unbothered. “Strolling around with a bunch of dead rats?”

“Not usually. I cast a spell if they do.”

“How many rats do you need to get full?”

“Depends on the size. Four to six.”

Simon giggles. “Four to six.”

I shake my head. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this with me.”

“I’ve kind of already done it with you. I used to follow you around the Catacombs every night.”

I laugh. “Those weren’t dates, Snow.”

He grins. “Is this a date, then?”

I go back to scanning the alley for rats. “You really were obsessed with me, weren’t you? I can’t believe you didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not gay,” Simon says. Immediately.

I stop and turn back to him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I suppose, I mean—” We’ve never really talked about this. I’ve just assumed … I don’t know what I’ve assumed. “Are you bi, then?”

“What?” He looks put off. “No. ”

“Well…” I look around the alley, like I might find something helpful there.

I hold up my hands. I forget I’m carrying rats. “What does that leave, Simon?

Do you still think you’re straight?”

“Christ, Baz, I never thought I was straight. I never thought about it at all.”

He’s walking down the alley, away from me.

I follow after him. “Haven’t you thought about it a little? Since us?”

“What’s there to think about? I’m with you. And you’re a…” He trails off.

“Man,” I say flatly.

Simon shrugs. “I was going to say ‘boy.’”

“I’m twenty years old. I could go to war.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“So, you do know you’re dating a man. That’s a start.”

He turns to wink at me. “A-ha, this is a date.”

“Simon, I’m being serious.” I’ve stopped walking.

He stops, too. “Yeah, but why are you being serious? Is this important? Is this, like, our second-biggest problem? Me not knowing what colour flag to hold at the Pride Parade?”

“I didn’t think it was a problem,” I say. “But you’re being a real twat about it. So maybe it is.”

Simon sighs and rubs his forehead. I’m glad I spelled his hands clean. “I just … don’t know. All right? I know I’m not straight. And obviously I was whatever I am now back when I was going to all your football matches and hiding outside your violin lessons.”

“I thought you were trying to figure out whether I was a vampire,” I say. I really did.

He’s exasperated: “I already knew you were a vampire!”

I want to put my hands on my hips, but I’m still holding four dead rats.

“Are you saying you liked me? In fifth year?”

“Baz, I was obsessed with you.”

“I knew that. But you liked me?”

Simon sighs again. Really put out now. “I didn’t like you. I still don’t really like you…” That’s a lie, and he knows it.

“But you wanted to kiss me?”

“I wanted to jump on you. I didn’t really think past that.”

“Plus ?a change…”

“Fuuuck you,” he says, extravagantly. “I know that’s French for something smug.”

I laugh. Snow makes me laugh. He makes me lose track of why I’m irritated with him. I see a rat scuttling past us in my peripheral vision and crouch, catching its neck in my fist. It’s small enough to kill with one hand. “I liked you, ” I say.

“You hated me,” Snow says, above me.

I stand. “That, too.”

I’m nearly done hunting. I should probably grab one more, so that I don’t have to do this again later. Snow walks beside me. I clear my throat. “But you liked Agatha then, right? In fifth year?”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

I get ahead of him a bit. “You were attracted to Agatha,” I say over my shoulder, like it’s nothing to me, “right?”

“You’ve seen Agatha,” he says. “Inanimate objects are attracted to her.

Trees bend her way.”

“Yes, but did you—” I ask. I try to ask. “I mean, you’ve—”

Simon double-steps to catch up with me. “I’ve what?”