Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(67)

“Surely, the demon won’t show up without a proper summoning,” I say.

“Ashes, blood, et cetera.”

“I wouldn’t want to risk it.” Debbie pokes Shepard in the shoulder. “What got into your head, lad? There are easier ways to live forever.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” he says. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to talk in hell,” she says, more sympathetically than he deserves.

“Talk about some trouble and strife.” Jeremey shakes his head.

“I don’t think it is hell, so to speak,” Shepard says.

“Well, you’ll be an expert,” Debbie says, “won’t you.”

Kipper has sat down next to me at the table. She’s leaning on one hand, staring at Shepard. (Staring at his surprisingly fit arms, I suspect.) “I think you should help him, Mum. Translate what you can.”

Debbie rests two hands on her hips. Another appears holding a Coke Zero. She takes a sip. “How will having his bad end explicitly spelled out for him make it any better?”

“If we knew the terms of the contract,” I say, “we might find a loophole.”

“Demons don’t leave loopholes.” Another of Debbie’s arms emerges to point at me. “Sometimes they leave things that look like loopholes that are actually ways to further fuck yourself.”



“We could do the translation inside a protective circle,” Kipper says.

“And we could leave out any words that make you nervous…”

Her mum snorts. “This whole thing makes me nervous.”

“I could lend some extra protection,” I offer.

Debbie narrows all eight of her eyes at me. “Could you now … Debbie.”

Jeremey gets his car keys out of his pocket. “Well, I’m hooking it. I’m not trying to get engaged to a demon today.” He pats Shepard on the back. “Best of British, mate!”

Engaged …

Engaged?

I look over at Shepard. He’s rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.

I cast some protection spells. Who knows whether they work.

Debbie wouldn’t do the translation in her house. (More credit to her.) She took Shepard out to a shed in the back garden and made space for him to stand in the middle of the floor. Then Kipper drew an extremely artful protection circle around them both. The plan was to write the translation out on notebook paper, apparently leaving out the most dangerous words—like the demon’s name and address, I suppose, and “with this tattoo, I thee wed.”

Shepard tried to talk to me before we left the house. I wouldn’t let him. I wouldn’t even look at him. I followed Debbie out to the shed, waited for Kipper to draw the circle, cast my spells as quickly and quietly as possible, then went to sit on Debbie’s front steps. At the moment, I don’t much care if all three of them end up cursed.

I can’t believe I put myself out like this for a Normal …

That I cast spells in front of strangers … That I spent the morning with dark creatures and criminals, all because I thought I owed him something.

Because I thought, at the very least, that he had been honest with me.

Why am I even sitting here, waiting for him? I should hook it, too! I’m sure Old Kipper could help Shepard find his way back to my flat. Or back to hers. Or back to Omaha, for all I care.

“Hey,” he says, coming out the door behind me.

I stand up and start walking. He can follow me if he wants.

“Hey. Penelope.”

I walk a little faster.

“Penelope, are you angry with me?”

I walk even faster. I’m not having this conversation with him right now. I might not have it at all.

“Penelope…”

I don’t actually have to speak to Shepard again. I shouldn’t have spoken to him in the first place. I should have trusted everything I’ve ever been taught and every bone in my body. Smart mages don’t befriend Normals. Even witless mages don’t tell Normals their secrets.

“You can’t ignore me all the way back to Camberwell,” he says.

I laugh out loud, like this—“Ha!” I can ignore him for the rest of my life. I can make everyone ignore him! I can make him forget he exists.

Just because I haven’t spelled Shepard silly yet doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I just have to put my back into it. I’ll get the job done.

“Penelope…”

We turn a corner. I whip around and stick my finger in his face. I’ve got my gem clutched in my fist in case I decide to cast a spell. “When were you going to tell me that you were engaged to a demon?”

Shepard looks pitiful. Fortunately, I’m pitiless.

“I can explain,” he says.

“Apparently you can’t! Because I asked you to explain, multiple times, and you didn’t!”

“I was going to, Penelope!”

“Really? When!”

“When it was relevant!”

“Shepard, we were investigating your curse, which was apparently a marriage contract, which you apparently already knew. It was relevant the whole time!”

“I was going to tell you, I swear.” His tone is very sincere. “I tried.”