Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(46)

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

I pick up my phone … Oh. He doesn’t have time. He’s already going to be cutting it close. I look back at the blackboard. “But…”

Shepard stands up, pulling his backpack straps over his shoulders. “This helped.”

“It didn’t help,” I say. “We were just getting started—”

Then he reaches for my face, and for a completely absurd moment, I think he might be trying to kiss me good-bye—but he’s just rubbing chalk from my chin. “It helped,” he says. “You have a way of making things seem manageable. I like it.”

“But we didn’t manage anything.”

He hooks his thumbs on his backpack straps. “You have my number now.

Remember, you’re going to send me derisive texts.”

I’m examining my blackboard again, like it might give me something useful to send home with him. “About what?”

“Ah, just assume I’m doing something you wouldn’t approve of.”

I look back at him. “That is a safe bet.”

He winks at me. “I know.”

Shepard is walking to the door now, and I’m walking with him. He’s going back to America. Where he doesn’t have a truck anymore. I mean, he’ll be fine. He’ll bounce back. He’s very bouncy. Unsinkable. Cursed, but unsinkable. Still totally cursed. And foolish. Too trusting. Will he even make it to Heathrow with both kidneys?

I would help him if I could.

If it were my responsibility …

No—if it were in my power. I would help him if I were a better mage.

But a better mage wouldn’t help him …

There’s a patch sewn to his backpack that says, BE SOFT.

“Shepard!” I say.

He stops in the doorway.

“Stay.”

He smiles, but it’s sad. “Penelope…”

“Stay,” I say again. “We just got started.”

“We’ve been through this already. Twice.”

“I know, I’m sorry!” I hold my palms up to him. “I’m sorry I keep jerking you around. I’ve had a really rough couple of weeks, and I don’t know which way is up. I still don’t know if I can help you by myself—honestly, I wouldn’t bet my thirdborn on it—but just…” I take hold of his denim sleeve.

“Stay. Let me try. What have you got to lose?”

Shepard looks down at me. “You know you don’t have to do this by yourself.”

“No, it’s okay. I want to do what I can. I’m not completely useless. In every situation. Usually. I think.”

“No. I mean—Penelope, I’m here, too. We can work on this together.”

Oh …

Right.

I suppose we can.





26

BAZ

Simon didn’t take it well.

“There’s a new Chosen One?”

This was last night. After we went hunting. (I still can’t believe that he came hunting with me. That he watched me drink rat blood and still wanted to kiss me. Repeatedly. ) We’d eaten my aunt’s Bourbons, and we were headed back to sleep. My head was resting on his chest. It was bliss.

Simon sat up forcefully, pushing me off.

I sat up, too, sighing. “More than one, apparently.”

“But I was the Chosen One!” He turned to face me, his wings flared out behind him. “I mean, I was a fraud, but—”

“Disagree.”

“Baz…” he groaned, hiding his face.

“Simon, you know how I feel about this. You fulfilled every prophecy.”

“The Greatest Mage was supposed to defeat the greatest threat to the World of Mages; I was the greatest threat to the World of Mages.”

I shrugged. “Why not both?”

Simon shook his head, still trying to make sense of it all. “So, like, new people are calling themselves the Greatest Mage now?”

I leaned back against my headboard, elbows up, crossing my wrists on my head. “That’s how it seems. Fiona didn’t give me many details—just that, with you and the Mage out of the picture, a few charlatans are taking advantage.”

He still looked dumbfounded. “So your stepmother is following around a new Chosen One?”

“I’m not sure. Aunt Fiona thinks so.”

“Well”—Simon squared his shoulders—“we have to rescue her.”

I could have hugged him in that moment. And then I realized that I could hug him. That nothing was stopping me. I wrapped my arms around him, under his wings, and held tight.



“Baz?” Simon’s arms fell more gently around me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just very glad that you’re here.”

He held me more confidently then. “Why would anyone even want to be the Chosen One?”

I huffed a laugh into his neck. “Power, obviously.”

He shook his head against mine. “There’s no power,” he said, his voice low.

I didn’t know what to say to that. Simon could have ruled the World of Mages with his magic. He could have ruled the world.

“I’ll text Penelope,” he said, pulling away from me to find his phone. “She must not know about all this. She would have mentioned it—to you, if not to me.”