Carry On (30 page)

“You'll have to take off your boots,” I say. “They're still dripping.”

He crouches to unlace them, wet wool trousers straining ridiculously over his thighs.…

And then Simon Snow is standing in my foyer in his red-stockinged feet.

All the blood I've got in me rises to my ears and cheeks.

“Come on, Snow. Let's … talk.”

 

54

SIMON

I follow Baz from one giant room to the other. His house isn't a castle, I don't think, but near enough.

We walk through a dining room that looks like something off
Downton Abbey,
and there's a woman at the table, working on a flash silver laptop.

She clears her throat, and Baz stops to introduce me. “Mother, you remember my roommate, Simon Snow.”

She must have already recognized me, but she still looks shocked, which reminds me to ask myself what the bleeding hell I think I'm doing here. In the House of fucking Pitch.

Which I should have thought through on the train, or in the taxi, or even walking the five miles from the main road to Baz's front door.

I never think.

“Snow,” Baz says. “You've met my stepmother, Daphne Grimm.”

“It's nice to see you, Mrs. Grimm,” I say.

She's still looking shocked. “And you, Mr. Snow. Are you here on official business?”

I don't know what she means; I never have official business.

Baz is shaking his head, trying to cut off whatever that look is on her face. “He's just here to visit, Mother. We have a project we're working on together—a school project. And you don't have to call him that. You can just call him Simon.”

“
You
don't call me Simon,” I mumble.

“We'll be up in my room,” Baz says, ignoring me.

His stepmum clears her throat. “I'll send for you when dinner's ready.”

“Thank you,” Baz says, and he's on the move again, leading me up a staircase so grand, there are statues built into it—naked women holding circles of light. I can't tell if they're electric light or magickal, but it makes sense to have lights built into your stairs when everything in your house is either dark wood or dark red, and the windows are so far away that the middle of the house feels like the bottom of the ocean.

I try to keep up with him. I still can't believe he's wearing jeans. I guess he wouldn't wear his uniform when he's not at school, but I'd always imagined Baz lounging around in suits and waistcoats—with, like, silk scarves hanging around his neck.

I mean … they do look like really expensive jeans. Dark. And snug from his waist to his ankles without looking tight.

I wonder for a moment if he's leading me into a trap. He didn't know I was coming, but don't houses like this just
come
with built-in traps? He's probably going to pull a black-tasselled cord and drop me into the dungeon—as soon as I finish telling him what I know.

We get to a long hallway, and Baz opens a tall arched door into a bedroom. His bedroom.

It's another vampire joke: The walls have red fabric panels, and his bed is monstrous and decorated with gargoyles. (There are
gargoyles.
On his
bed.
)

He shuts the door behind me and sits on a chest at the foot of the bed. There are gargoyles on that, too.

“All right, Snow,” he says, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“You invited me,” I say. So lame. So eternally lame.

“Is that why you're here? For Christmas?”

“No. I'm here because I have something to tell you—but you
did
invite me.”

He shakes his head like I'm an idiot. “Just tell me. Is it about my mother?”

“I found out who Nicodemus is.”

That gets his attention. He stands up again.
“Who?”

“He's Ebb's brother.”

“Ebb your girlfriend?”

“Ebb the goatherd.”

“She doesn't have a brother.”

“She does,” I say. “A twin. He was stricken from the Book when he became a
vampire.
”

I swear Baz's face gets even whiter.

“Ebb's brother was Turned? They struck him from the Book for that?”

“No, he joined up with the vampires himself. Voluntarily.”

“What?” Baz sneers. “That isn't actually how it works, Snow.”

I step into his space. “How
does
it work, Baz?”

“You don't fucking
join up.
”

“This Nicodemus did. He tried to get Ebb to go with him.”

“Ebb. The
goatherd.
Has a brother named Nicodemus that nobody's ever heard of—”

“I told you—we haven't heard about him, because he's
stricken
. That's why Ebb lives at Watford. Your mum gave her a job, so she wouldn't join her brother. They're both bloody superheroes, I guess, and everybody was afraid they'd team up and be supervampires.”

“Ebb knew my mother?”

“Yeah. Your mum gave Ebb her job.”

Baz is just standing there like he wants to punch something—or suck it dry.

“Well, where is he now?” he asks. “This Nicodemus?”

“Ebb doesn't know. She's not supposed to talk to him. She's not supposed to talk about him, even.”

Baz sneers again, then reminds me that he actually
is
a supervampire—a supervillain: “Doesn't know, does she? Well,” he says, “we'll see about that.”

I put my hand on his chest. I don't have to step any closer to reach him. “No,” I say firmly. “Ebb doesn't know where Nicodemus is. We're not talking to her again.”

Baz swallows and licks his grey-pink lower lip. “I'll talk to the goatherd if I want to, Snow.”

“Not if you want my help.” I keep my hand on his chest because I feel like he still needs to be held back, but I can't believe he's letting me do it.

His hand flies up and closes over my wrist. (As if he's read my mind.) (Is that a vampire thing?) “Fine,” he says, shoving my wrist down. “Then how
do
we find Nicodemus?”

“I haven't thought it through that far. I came here as soon as I left Ebb's.”

“Well, what does Penelope think?”

“I haven't talked to her yet.”

“Where is she?”

“I don't know—I told you, I haven't talked to her. I came straight here.”

Baz seems confused. “You came straight here?”

“Would you rather I waited to tell you after Christmas break?”

He narrows his eyes and licks his lips again. I put my hands on my hips, just to have something to do with them. “What about you?” I ask. “Have you made any progress?”

He looks away. “No. I mean, I've been reading a lot of books about vampires.”

I stop myself from saying,
“Self-help?”
“What have you found out?” I ask instead.

“That they're dead and evil and like to kill babies.”

“Huh,” I say. “Did it say anything about salt and vinegar crisps?” Baz eats them on his bed when he thinks I'm asleep, then brushes the crumbs between our beds.

He glares at me, then moves away, walking towards his desk. “No one knows anything about the vampires,” he says, fiddling with a pen. “Not really. Maybe I should just go talk to them.”

There's a knock at his door, and it swings open.

“You're supposed to knock!” Baz snaps before the girl even steps inside. It's his sister, I think. She's too young for Watford yet. She looks like his stepmother, dark-haired and pretty, but not like Baz and his mother—they're drawn in bolder lines than this.

“I did knock,” she says.

“Well, you're supposed to wait for me to say ‘come in.'”

“Mum says you have to come down for dinner.”

“Fine,” he says.

She stands there.

“We'll be down soon,” he says. “Go away.”

The girl rolls her eyes and lets the door close. Baz goes back to thinking and fiddling with the pen.

“Well,” I say, “I'd better head back. Send a message if you hear more. You can try to call, but I don't think there's anyone answering the school phone over break.”

“What?” He scowls up at me.

“I said, send a message if—”

“You're not leaving now.”

“I told you everything I know.”

“Snow, you came in on the last train, then you walked for an hour. You haven't eaten all day, and your hair's still wet—you're not going anywhere tonight.”

“Well, I can't stay
here.
”

“You haven't burst into flames yet.”

“Baz, listen—”

He cuts me off with a hand. “No.”

 

55

BAZ

Snow was a wreck at dinner.

Which I might have enjoyed if I wasn't so desperate for him to stay.

Everything on his plate seemed to confuse him, and he alternated between staring at his food miserably and vacuuming it up because he was clearly ravenous.

Daphne went out of her way to make him feel comfortable, and the children just stared at him. Even they've heard of the Mage's Heir.

Father seems to think I have some dark plan at work. (I guess I do have a dark plan, but this time it has nothing to do with disabling Snow.) He—Father—pulled me aside after dinner and asked if I wanted him to call in the Families for assistance.

“No,” I said. “Please don't. Snow's just here for a school project.”

Father practically winked.

I've thought about telling him. That Mother came back for me. But what if he asks why she didn't come back to him? What if he takes it to the Families? They'd never understand why I was working with Snow and Bunce. And right now, Snow and Bunce seem like the best allies I could have. They're relentless once they set their minds to something. Completely trustworthy, with no sense of self-preservation. I've watched these two uncover plots and beat back monsters time and again.

Snow is still eating dinner. Daphne keeps offering extra helpings, out of politeness, and Snow keeps accepting them.

I've never actually sat at a table
with
Snow before. I let myself watch him, and let myself enjoy it, at least for a few minutes. I keep doing that, since this all started—indulging myself. (What's that they say about having dessert first if you're on the
Titanic
?)

Snow's table manners are atrocious—it's like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you'd like to slip the tongue.

After dinner, we go to the library and I show him what I've found on vampires. He keeps moving away from me, and I pretend not to notice. We should probably call Bunce and see what she thinks of all this—I'll suggest it tomorrow.

There's nothing in our library about any Nicodemus. I've already searched, but I do it again. I stand at the door and cast,
“Fine-tooth comb
—
Nicodemus Petty!”
None of the books come flying out of the shelves.

We
do
find a few mentions of the Petty family, so we read those. They're an old East End family, and a big one, and every few generations, they turn out a powerhouse like Ebb. If Snow hadn't come along, Ebb might be the most powerful magician in our world—and to think she wastes it all on goats and moping.

“Do you think it would have made it into
The Record
?” Snow asks. “When Nicodemus crossed over?”

“I don't know,” I say. “Maybe not. They probably wanted to keep it hush-hush, and it doesn't seem like he hurt anybody.”

“What's the point of becoming a vampire,” Snow says, “if you're not planning to hurt anybody?”

“What's the point of becoming a vampire?” I ask.

“You tell me.”

I swallow my temper and then swallow it again, and keep looking through a book.

Snow sits down across from me at the small table, pulling up a quilted chair. “No,” he says. “I'm being serious. Why would Nicodemus have done it?”

“You're asking me to pose a theory?”

He nods.

“To become stronger,” I say. “Physically.”

“How much stronger?” Snow asks.

I shrug. “You'd have to ask him. I wouldn't know how to compare.” Because I don't remember being normal.

“What else?” he asks.

“To enhance himself … his senses.”

“Like, to see better?”

“In the dark,” I say. “And hear more. And smell more sharply.”

“To live forever?”

I shake my head. “I don't think so. I don't think it works like that. But he wouldn't ever … be sick.”

Snow lowers his eyebrows. “When you look at it that way, why doesn't everyone cross over?”

“Because it's
death,
” I say.

“It clearly isn't.”

“They say your soul dies.”

“That's tosh,” he says.

“How would
you
know, Snow?”

“Observation.”

“Observation,” I say. “You can't
observe
a soul.”

“You can over time,” he says. “I think I'd know—”

“It's
death,
” I say, “because you need to eat life to stay alive.”

“That's everyone,” he says. “That's eating.”

“It's death,” I say, refusing to raise my voice, “because when you're hungry, you can't stop thinking about eating other people.”

Snow sits back. His mouth is open—because no one ever taught him to close it. He pushes at his bottom lip with his tongue. I think about licking blood from it.

“It's death,” I say, looking back down at my book, “because you look at other people, living people, and they seem really far away. They seem like something else. The way that birds seem like something else. And they're full of something you don't have. You could take it from them, but it still won't be yours. They're full, and … you're hungry. You're not alive. You're just hungry.”