Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(50)

Lady Salisbury is a large woman. Tall and sturdy looking, even at her age.

She must be about 70—a full generation older than my mother. I wonder how they became friends … She’s wearing a long mauve sweater, loose grey yoga pants, and patent leather Dansko clogs. Her hair is a yellow grey, and she wears it in a large, loose bun, with bluntly cut bangs that make her look like a Scandinavian tourist. I don’t know if she’s a “Lady” in the British sense or the magickal sense—I suppose she could be both. I think her husband may have been active in the magickal community before he died … Perhaps that’s how she knew my mum.

Clearly, Lady Salisbury wasn’t a fan of the Mage. Which could mean she’s sensible and progressive—or could mean she’s petty and corrupt. (For my own family, it’s a bit “all of the above.”) She might just miss the old days, when families like mine and hers ran things. Whatever else, her cake is very good. Snow is inhaling his.

“So,” Lady Salisbury says, sitting back in the sofa, “did Malcolm send you to talk to me? Is he frustrated with the Coven as well?”

“Oh,” I say. “Well. No. My father—”

“We took this on ourselves,” Simon cuts in. (If ever someone was emboldened by baked goods.) He takes a moment to swallow. “When I heard that there were people claiming to be the Greatest Mage, you know, you can see why I’d be concerned.”

Lady Salisbury is smiling sadly at him again. “Many still believe that title belongs to you, Mr. Snow.”

Simon’s face is wide open. “No. That was never me.”

“But you’re the most powerful mage—”

“No. Not anymore.”

I know that Simon is a hopeless liar, but I wish he wouldn’t tell people the truth so easily. There’s no harm in letting them believe he’s still powerful.

“Probably I was never a magician,” he goes on. “The Mage was just using me.”

“But they say you gave yourself flaming dragon wings…”

“Pfft,” he says. “They don’t flame.”

“So you do have wings.” There’s a light in her eyes. She leans over her plate. “May I see them?”

I try to object. “I don’t think—”

But Simon is already shuffling off my grey mac. He’s handed Lady Salisbury his plate. “Sure. I’d love an excuse to take off this coat.”

You look very smart in that coat, I think.

“You look very smart in that coat,” Lady Salisbury says. “But you must get tired of hiding them—” She sets both plates on the table to cover her mouth.

“Oh!”

Simon’s wings are free. He spreads them some, careful not to stab Lady Salisbury, who looks genuinely dazzled.

“They’re splendid, ” she says. “Much bigger than I was expecting. And the loveliest shade of red. May I touch them?” She’s already touching the wing closest to her. Simon flinches, and she pulls her hand back. “Oh, I see, I’m so sorry.” She smiles again. “I understand why you keep them hidden from the Normals, but these are tremendous. Can you fly with them?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Oh, that’s remarkable. Did you teach yourself?”

“I must have.”

“Imagine!” She holds a hand to her chest. “I’ve always wanted to fly.” She turns to me. “Haven’t you always wanted to fly, Basilton?”

I have flown. With Simon. “Yes,” I say.

“There are no good spells for it,” she says with real disappointment. “The most you can do is float around like a week-old party balloon.”

“That’s true,” I agree.

She looks down at Simon’s mostly eaten cake. “Here, let me cut you another slice. You, too, Basilton, hand me your plate.”

“I have plenty.”

“Rubbish. Look at you. You could use some shoring up at the foundation.”

She serves herself some, too.

“You can call him Baz,” Simon says.

“Is that so?” She smiles at me.

“Yes,” I say.

“All right.” She nods. “So, Simon and Baz, you’ve taken it on yourself to investigate this Chosen One conspiracy.”

“I know we look like children,” I say, “but we have good heads on our shoulders, and Simon has spent his whole life defending the World of Mages.”

“You don’t look like children to me. You look like veterans. And I’m grateful to have someone who’s willing to listen. The Coven laughed at me.

They sent your aunt to convince me it was vampires who took my son. There hasn’t been a vampire attack since—” She looks at me, dismayed. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Please go on.”

“I know Jamie is alive,” she says. “He’s in danger—but he’s still out there.”

“You have a feeling?” Simon asks. “Mother’s intuition?”

“No. I cast a spell.”

SIMON

I feel like a creeper, walking into a strange woman’s bedroom—but that’s where Lady Salisbury takes us. On the second floor of her house. It’s darker up here. Cooler. Her room is huge, with a little sitting area and kind of a shrine by the lace-curtained window. There’s a table with two lit candles— one burning brightly and one sputtering like it’s about to go out. Each candle is surrounded by photographs: a fair-haired boy on the side that burns bright; a girl on the side that gutters.