Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(90)

“I thought you didn’t care about the goats,” she mutters.

“I didn’t know about the goats. Hell’s spells, do you want my help or not?”

She glowers out the window. “Yes. I want your help.”

When we get to Watford, I park outside the gates. There are a few other cars parked out here. The Mage used to take his Jeep straight through the gates and over the drawbridge. What a dick.

“I suppose it’s a good sign that we didn’t see any goats on the road,” I say.

“Unless they’ve all fled the county.” Niamh has a medical bag slung over her shoulder. She pushes open the gates. As soon as we’re through, we see Simon and Baz, walking towards us on the Great Lawn.

Simon breaks into a smile. “Agatha!” He jogs closer. “And … Niamh, right?”

“Simon Snow,” Niamh says.

“Hey,” I say. What are they doing here— is Watford under attack? Maybe that’s a paranoid way to think, but you’re more likely to run into Simon and Baz during an epic battle between good and evil than you are down at the pub.

“This is Baz,” Simon says to Niamh. He points his thumb at her and looks at Baz. “This is Niamh. She’s going to take my wings off.”

Niamh frowns. “He asked me to.”

“So I’ve heard,” Baz says, reaching for her hand. “Nice to meet you.” He nods at me. “Wellbelove.”

“Baz.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Simon asks. He’s wearing a very nice collared shirt. Knit. Blue argyle. With short sleeves that hug his biceps. Is Baz shopping for him now?

“Niamh is checking on the goats,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“Research,” Baz says.

Simon lowers his eyebrows. “Ebb’s goats? Is something wrong with them?”

I glance at Niamh.

“They seem to be wandering away,” she says.

“We’re going to round them up,” I add, “and make sure they’re all right.

One of the nannies is pregnant.”

“Well, we could help with that!” Simon offers.

“You don’t have—” Niamh starts to say.

But Simon has already decided. “I could fly up and tell you if I see them.

That would help, wouldn’t it?”

Niamh frowns. “It would,” she admits.

Baz is looking at his shoes. He sighs.

“Great!” Simon says.

So I guess this is happening. Simon and Baz and me, walking across the Great Lawn together. With Niamh, of all people, to bear witness.

Simon ends up taking the lead. I can tell he makes Niamh uncomfortable.

Because she failed him, I suppose. She looks like she wants to pin him down and try that amputation again straightaway.

“The goats are wandering off?” he asks. “Who’s herding them?”

“No one,” Niamh answers.

Simon is surprised. “They haven’t hired a new goatherd?”

“Probably not a high priority…” Baz says.

“You can’t just hire a new goatherd,” Niamh grumbles.

“Can’t you?” Simon asks.

Niamh shakes her head. In dismay, I gather. Especial dismay. “Do none of you know about the Goats of Watford?”

“Snow knows all about them,” Baz says. “They’re practically his siblings.”

Niamh scowls at him. She can’t begin to understand the dynamic here, but she doesn’t like it.

“Niamh says the goats are sacred,” I say. (It’s unclear why I’m bailing either Niamh or Baz out of this conversation. They both deserve the worst of each other.) “She says they’re tied to the spells protecting the school.”

“I don’t say it,” she says. “It’s oral tradition.”

“I’ve never heard that,” Baz says coolly.

Niamh’s completely indignant. “They’re in the Watford coat of arms!”

“I thought those were pegasus,” Simon says. “Pegas-i.”

“A-ha!” I say. “See!”

“They’re goats, ” Niamh insists. “Magic goats!”

“Magic goats,” Baz repeats, distastefully.

“Wait…” Simon has gone all earnest and intense. “So you’re saying Ebb had a really important job here…”

“Obviously,” Niamh says. “The goats are vital to the safety of Watford.”

“Then we have to find them,” he declares. “And make them stay.”

Niamh really couldn’t be more dismayed with all three of us. “We can’t make them stay…”

Simon’s already taking off his shirt. I thought his wings were spelled invisible, but they were just folded up on his back. He shakes them out and unfurls them.

Baz is reaching out to him. “Let me cast a spell on you, so the Normals won’t see.”

“I’ll be fine,” Simon says. “I’ll keep a low profile.”

“Snow—” Baz looks genuinely concerned. “—please.”

“Let him,” I say. “Seriously.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Fine, but don’t make me invisible.”