Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(54)

“You don’t have food. I’ll bet you don’t have cutlery. Or bath towels. You don’t even have a bed.”

“I have a bed. A mattress is a bed.”

He looks away from me. I think he might be blushing. With Baz, that’s more of an expression than a change in colour. I knock my shoulder into his, and he smiles at the floor.

“So, what do you think?” I ask him.

“About what?”

“Lady Salisbury, Smith-Richards—the whole thing.”

Baz glances around us. Nobody’s paying any real attention. There are a few girls checking him out, but there’s never any getting away from that.

“I think Daphne might be caught up in it,” he says. “What do you think?”

“I liked her,” I say. “Lady Salisbury.”

“You like anyone who feeds you.”

“I don’t think she’s barmy…”

“No.” Baz shakes his head. “Me neither. What do you want to do about it?”

“Well, we’re going to have to meet the new Chosen One, aren’t we?”

He looks at me for a moment, then nods. “I suppose we are.”





30

PENELOPE

The sign over the door says THE WHISTLING OGRE.

“Right in plain sight,” I say.

Shepard just grins at me. I swear, he’s excited. I thought it would take days of detective work to find a place like this, but Shepard assured me it wouldn’t take long. “I’ll sniff one out. Just wait until it gets dark. The sort of Maybes we’re looking for don’t truck with daylight.”

“Maybes.” As in magickal beings.

I wasn’t sure what to wear. None of my clothes scream “dark creature pub night.” I don’t even like ordinary pubs. I don’t drink, and I don’t smoke. And I don’t play darts. So going to the pub means watching other people drink and smoke and play darts. Secondhand darts—what an abject waste of time.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I say. “I’m going to stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Trust me,” Shepard says, “everyone in there will be minding their own business.”

“Not you. You never mind your own business.”

“That’s one of my unique charms, Penelope.”

I roll my eyes and let his “unique charms” go without comment. “They’re going to see that we’re not creatures,” I say instead.

Shepard has done nothing to alter his appearance. He’s really walking into a dark creature hangout with a NEVER SASS A SASQUATCH badge on his jacket and smelling like patchouli. “I told you,” he says, standing close to me and talking under his breath, “they’ll assume we’re something else in disguise.”

“All right,” I say, “what am I, then, what’s my backstory?”

He laughs. “Do you need to get into character?”

“Shepard.”

“Okay, okay, um…” He raises his narrow shoulders and bites his lip for a second, like he’s thinking. “You’re a muskrat maiden.”

“What the hell is a muskrat maiden? Did you just make them up?”

“No! Muskrat maidens trick human beings into trapping them, and then they trade skins.”

“Do people trap muskrats?”

“Well, not so much anymore. These are lean times for muskrat maidens.”

“We don’t even have muskrats in England.”

“See,” he smiles, “that’s good, that means no one will see the holes in your story.”

“Shepard.”

“Penelope, it’ll be fine. Just stay behind me and stay quiet.”

“Oh, is that a woman’s place?”

He points at me. “Nice. Muskrat maidens are notoriously thin-skinned.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s because they only steal the human epidermis,” he explains. “It’s really very intere—”

The door to the pub opens, and a squat woman leans out. “If you’re not coming in, you need to move along. I don’t like a commotion.”

I duck behind Shepard.

“We’re coming in,” he says, “thank you. I’m Shepard.”

“I don’t need to know your name,” she grumbles, waving us into a small, dark room. She’s wearing black leather trousers and a leather coat (unseasonable), and standing in front of a second door. “This is a private club. Are you a member?”

“I am a friend of the establishment,” he says.

“Are you now?”

“I’ve walked the hills.”

She folds her arms. “Have you.”

“And crossed the rivers.” There’s a gleam in his brown eyes.

She grunts.

“I’ve sat in the dark and never asked for a light,” Shepard continues. “I carry no weapon, though I may not come in peace. And there’s enough in my purse to cover the night.”

Her mouth is flat. “I suppose that’ll do,” she says, opening the door behind her.

“Thank you”—Shepard pulls me inside by the elbow—“have a great night!”