It goes.
And it goes.
Baz’s body sags against mine.
“Wow…” the Humdrum says. “That’s even better than fighting.” He feels close. I look up, and he’s standing right over us, rock solid in the moonlight. “When did you learn to do that? It’s like you turned on a tap.”
“Did you take his magic?” I shout at the Humdrum.
“Did I take his magic?” he repeats, like it’s a hilarious question. “No. I don’t take anything. I’m just what’s left when you’re done.” He grins, like the cat with the canary, and it’s an expression I’ve never seen on my own face.
“Simon!” Baz is shouting beneath me. I look down—he’s glowing now, too. His fangs are gone, but he still looks like he’s in pain. He’s squeezing my triceps. “Enough!”
I let go of him and roll away. But the magic is still pouring out of me, through me. It is like a tap. I concentrate on turning it off. When it feels like the magic’s staying inside me again—when I stop glowing—I get up on my hands and knees. “Baz?”
“Here,” he says.
I move towards his voice. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” He’s lying on the ground. “I just feel a bit … burnt.”
“Are you on fire?”
“No,” he says. “No. Burnt on the inside.”
I look around, but I don’t see the Humdrum. Or hear him. Or feel him sucking at my breath.
“Is he gone?” Baz asks.
“Seems like it.” I collapse next to him.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Baz gropes for me with his arm, and when he feels me, he wraps his arm around my neck and shoulders, weakly pulling me towards him. I move closer until my head falls on his chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
“Yeah. You?”
“Tip-top.” Baz coughs, and I push my face into his chest. “What was that?” he asks.
“The Humdrum.”
“Simon, are you the Insidious Humdrum?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
BAZ
I feel burnt out.
Incinerated.
That kid—it was Simon—emptied me somehow. Like he pressed my magic out or down.…
And then Simon filled me up again with fire.
I feel like a phoenix rebirthed itself in my lower intestines.
Simon’s hiding his face in my chest, and I hold him tighter.
It was Simon. Like seeing him again for the very first time. Crap jeans and dirty T-shirt. That rawness in his skin, that hunger in his eyes. When I saw him step out from between the pines tonight, I wanted to kick him in the knees—it was definitely Simon.
Simon—the grown one—is trembling, so I wrap my other arm around him, too. My arms feel hollow, but Simon feels solid through.
Simon Snow is the Humdrum.
Or … the Humdrum is Simon Snow.
SIMON
“Did I take his magic? No. I don’t take anything. I’m just what’s left when you’re done.”
I’m lying on Baz, and he has both arms around me. And I keep trying to shake the Humdrum’s face out of my head. (To shake my face off his head.)
“I give them some of my nothing … and then you give me more nothing.”
I sit up and rub my eyes. “Do you still need to hunt?”
“No,” Baz says. “I was finishing up when he found me.”
I move into a crouch, then stand, holding out my hand to him. “Did he say anything? Before he attacked you?”
Baz takes my hand and pulls himself up. He doesn’t let go. “He said, ‘You’ll do.’”
I close my eyes, and my head drops forward. “He used you. He used you against me.”
“Everyone does,” Baz says softly. I feel his arm slide, slowly, gently, back around my waist.
I slouch into him. “I’m sorry.”
BAZ
If Simon Snow is the Humdrum … that makes him a villain. A supervillain.
Can I be in love with a supervillain?
SIMON
Baz is shaking, and I think he might be crying—which would make sense, after what just happened. I open my eyes and lift up my chin.
He’s not crying—he’s laughing.
He’s laughing so hard, he’s falling against me.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Are you in shock?”
“You’re the Humdrum.”
“I’m not,” I say, trying to push him back by the shoulders.
“I’m dead, not blind, Snow. You’re the Humdrum.”
“That wasn’t me! Why are you laughing?”
Baz keeps laughing, but he’s also giving me a sneery grin. “I’m laughing because you’re the Chosen One,” he says giddily. “But you’re also the greatest threat to magic. You’re a bad guy!”
“Baz. I swear. That wasn’t me.”
“Looks like you. Sounds like you. Tosses that infernal red ball in the air like you.” He holds me tighter.
“I think I’d know if I were the Insidious Humdrum,” I say.
“I wouldn’t give you that much credit, Simon. You’re exceedingly thick. And criminally good-looking—have I mentioned that?”
“No.”
He leans in like he’s going to bite me, then kisses me instead.