“He needs air,” I told Davy, and he didn’t argue.
He took me out to the empty garden and lay with me in the grass. I needed to feel the ground beneath me, and the air, and the sun.
“Better,” I told Davy, still feeling the crank turn.
* * *
When I was alone, I talked to you.
I told you about your family. About your grandparents. The cottage. About Watford, where your father and I met.
I named you.
“Simon,” I said to Davy. We knew you were a boy then.
“All right,” he said. “Why?”
“It’s a good name, it’s a wise name.”
“Is it a saviour’s name?”
“If he’s the Great Mage, won’t his name automatically be a saviour’s name, whatever we choose?”
“Good point,” he said. “Simon.”
“Simon Snow.”
“What’s that?”
“His middle name. Simon Snow.”
“Why on earth?”
“Because I like it. And because everyone should have a silly middle name.”
“What’s yours?”
“Winifred.”
We laughed until it was too much for me.
* * *
Everyone feels tired when they’re pregnant. Everyone feels sick. And strange.
“How do you feel?” Davy would ask.
“Good,” I’d say.
“How’s our boy?”
“Hungry.”
I never told Davy the truth—what could he have done to help me? What would he have done if I’d said:
“I feel like an empty hallway, Davy. Like a wind tunnel. Like there’s something inside of me, and it isn’t just eating me, it’s eating everything. But not ‘eating,’ that’s not the right word. Consuming, sucking, devouring. How long does it take for a star to collapse? How many trillions of years?”
* * *
Maybe I shouldn’t tell you all this. It wasn’t what I came back to tell you.
I don’t want you to think that it was your fault.
You’re the child we would have had anyway, Simon. You were ours, in every way. And none of it is your fault. We made you this powerful—like starting a fire in the middle of the forest. We made you this hungry.
* * *
In the end, I just wanted to see you.
And I thought maybe—maybe when you were born, I’d get some of myself back.
I should have asked Davy to get help when my labour came on. But we couldn’t risk someone finding out what we’d done.
You came on the solstice. And you came so easily, I swear you didn’t want to cause me any more pain.
Your father held you up to me and covered both our faces with kisses. He was the most powerful magician in the world before you, and he cast every safeguard he knew over our heads.
I saw you.
I held you.
I wanted you.
That’s what I came back to tell you. I loved you before I met you, and I loved you more the moment I held you. And I never meant to leave you so soon.
I never would have left you.
Simon, Simon.
My rosebud boy.
85
PENELOPE
We sit there, together, I’m not sure how long. All of us past the point of sorrow and exhaustion and relief.
Then Simon takes off his suit jacket—it tears around the wings—and spreads it over the Mage’s torso. He starts crying again, and Baz pulls him into his arms. Simon lets him.
“It’s okay,” Baz says. “It’s all okay now.” One arm is tight around Simon’s back, and the other is smoothing his hair out of his face. “You did it, didn’t you?” Baz whispers. “You defeated the Humdrum. You saved the day, you courageous fuck. You absolute nightmare.”
“I gave him my magic, Baz. It’s all gone.”
“Who needs magic,” Baz says. “I’m going to turn you into a vampire and make you live with me forever.”
Simon’s shoulders are heaving.
Baz keeps talking. “Think about it, Simon. Super strength. X-ray vision.”
Simon lifts his head. “You don’t have X-ray vision.”
Baz raises an eyebrow. His hair is in his face, and his hands are bleeding.
“I killed him,” Simon says.
“It’s going to be okay.” Baz wraps both arms around him. “It’s all right, love.”
Everything is starting to make sense.
EPILOGUE
PENELOPE
I sent a little bird to my mum. There were a bunch of them around—they’d come in through the broken windows and were fluttering around the Mage’s body.
We were all pretty wrecked, Simon, Baz, and me. I fell asleep right there. Between two corpses, that’s how exhausted I was.
Simon tried to help Ebb, but she was cold. Gone. He didn’t cast any spells on her—not even to cover her up—and I thought he must just be as exhausted as Baz and I were, out of magic for once in his life. I didn’t understand until much later that his magic was gone for good.
Baz was exhausted and thirsty. All the blood everywhere—Ebb’s, I think—was making him mental. Finally he started feeding on the birds. Which was disturbing, but like, not half as disturbing as everything else that had happened, and neither Simon nor I tried to stop him.
Mum showed up after a while—with Premal, of all people; he’d been helping her look for me. We were asleep by then, so Mum and Premal thought we were all dead. When I sat up, Mum was pale as a Visitor. I think it was like she’d walked into her greatest fear for me.