Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(95)

“Oh…”

I look over at her. She looks embarrassed, I think.

“There isn’t a thing,” she says. “I just didn’t want to get stuck hanging out with you and your friends … No offence.”

“You can’t just say ‘no offence’ after you say something offensive.”

“It’s nothing against you,” she says. “I just didn’t want to be the third wheel.”

“The third wheel? I’m the third wheel. I was possibly the third wheel the entire time Simon and I were dating. If anything, you’d be the fourth wheel, Niamh. You’d balance everything out.”

“I didn’t want to crash your reunion…”

“There was no reunion, ” I say. “We were just … herding goats in a friendly manner.”

“I was worried we’d, like, end up at a pub.”

“Heaven forfend.”

Niamh sighs and rubs her forehead. She looks like she’s experiencing a migraine. She hasn’t put her hair back up.

“You don’t like pubs?” I ask.

“Pubs are fine.”

“You don’t like my friends?” ( Are Simon and Baz my friends? Now isn’t the time to do the math.)

“I’m sure your friends are fine!” A debilitating migraine. “Look, I’m not trying to offend you, Agatha. I’m just not a … people person.”

I wasn’t ready to laugh so hard at that. It comes up the back of my nose.

Niamh sighs again and rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Is that why you became a veterinarian? Because you like animals better than people?” That’s why I want to become a veterinarian.

“No,” she says.

I wait for her to expand. Of course she doesn’t.

“Why, then?” I ask.

She glares at me, but eventually answers. “I like the way bodies work.”

She takes a second to huff. “And when they’re not working, I like to think about why. I like taking things apart and putting them back together.”

“Why animals, then, instead of people?”

She shrugs. “Variety.”

I laugh up my nose again.

“Stop laughing at me, Agatha.”

I don’t stop laughing. “Variety?” Still laughing. “Oh my words … You’re so strange, Niamh.”

“Fine.” She’s fed up. “Why did you want to become a veterinarian, Agatha?”

“Because I like animals more than people! Like a normal person!”

“I also like animals more than people!” she says. “That just wasn’t the deciding factor!”

Still laughing. I can’t help it.

“Agatha.”

“Yes?”

She’s rubbing her forehead. “Do you want to stop and get something to eat?”

“With me, a human being? Won’t you feel like the second wheel?”

“Do you want to go to a pub?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “All right.”

I really do.





54

SHEPARD

We’ve spent two days reading about mage marriages. Penelope’s dad sent some books over for us. At first she wasn’t going to let me read them. Then she reminded me that I’ve already crossed my heart and hoped to die if I ever tell any of their magical secrets—“which is a one-way ticket to hell for you, buddy-boy”—and handed me a book.

I’m not going to tell their secrets.

I’m not going to do anything else to mess things up with Penelope.

I know that she’s miserable right now. That she’s fighting with her friends, and all broken up over her breakup … That she’s on the outs with her mom … I know that she’s only putting up with me because I present an interesting problem.

But I am having the time of my life with Penelope Bunce.

And it’s not just because she’s an endless corridor of magical revelations —and not just because she’s excruciatingly cute. I mean … That’s part of it. I am still human. Everything is part of it. Everything is so much fun.

We wake up, I make tea. (I have a feeling that was Simon’s job.) Then we spend the whole day reading out loud to each other from books about magic, and telling each other stories. When Penelope gets excited about something, she’s much more likely to talk about herself. You wouldn’t believe her life— she’s fought werewolves, she’s invented spells. She has a real crystal ball, but she can’t find it. (I would like to help her find it.) When we get hungry, I run down to the corner to buy dumplings and noodles, or to one of the sandwich shops. (There are so many sandwich shops.) (Penelope is partial to cheese and pickle.) When she’s excited, I think she forgets that she’s only putting up with me.

And I think she forgets what a losing proposition I am. She’ll jump off the couch to write something on the wall— “Aha!” —or lean into my shoulder to show me something ridiculous, laughing and waving around a piece of strawberry licorice— “Get a load of this, Shepard” —and I think maybe she’s having fun, too.

This can’t go on much longer, can it?

Penelope’s filled both walls with notes, and I’ve learned so much about magical weddings, I could probably officiate one. But I don’t think we’re any closer to breaking my engagement.