I look back up at Smith-Richards and cross my legs, trying to at least appear as if I’m paying attention. He’s still being clinically sincere: “I’ve been consulting with some of my most loyal friends and looking at ways to expand my reach. If I can cast the spell on one mage, why not cast the same spell on two or three—”
My breath catches in my throat. Agatha’s old roommate!
“Or six.”
That’s who she is.
“When we next meet, tomorrow, I’ll be bringing six of my most faithful —”
The girl.
“—and steadfast supporters—”
The quiet girl. At the door. Pippa.
“—onto the stage, to stand beside me—”
It’s Philippa! Agatha’s old roommate, from Watford. She lost her voice.
“—and step into their destiny.”
I stole her voice. In fifth year.
“My dear friends…”
I stole her voice.
“Patrick, Melinda—”
Miss Possibelf said it would come back. She promised.
“Eliza, Gloria, Daphne—”
Daphne shrieks and throws her arms around me.
“And you, Martin.”
I stole Philippa’s voice.
I was trying to steal Simon’s.
It hasn’t come back …
Daphne is weeping. I peel her arms away from me.
It never came back.
I lay a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I have to go,” I say. It’s not a whisper, because everyone in the room is shrieking and crying.
Simon looks concerned. “Go where?”
“I know this is your fault!” he shouted at me that day. Out on the Great Lawn. The day I stole Philippa’s voice.
I’m standing up. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He’s standing, too. “I’ll come now.”
“I know you did this!” he cried.
I pat his back. I try to push him down. “No, you stay. I need—” I’m walking away. “You stay. I’ll see you later.” I’m running away. Out of the pub, onto the street. I need a car, a taxi.
Philippa.
I stole her voice.
I stole her voice.
And it never came back.
57
SIMON
I knew that Baz didn’t like Smith—that he doesn’t believe in him—but I didn’t realize he was taking it so personally. I guess it’s because of his stepmum and his dad. Maybe Baz thinks that if Daphne gets stronger, she won’t want to go home.
At the moment, Daphne’s crying like we’ve just won the World Cup.
When Baz ran off, she threw her arms around me instead. Six people. Smith is going to heal six people, all in one night. How long before he’s helped every magician in this room?
He’s motioning for everyone to calm down, but I don’t think they will.
“I won’t be casting the spell tonight,” he says. “I hope to spend the next day in meditation. Tomorrow we’ll be meeting somewhere very special…”
The crowd gets quiet, waiting.
“Watford.”
A few people gasp. A few people clap. And laugh. They’re delighted.
“Headmistress Bunce has invited us to use the White Chapel!”
“I was married there,” Daphne whispers to me.
I killed the Mage there, I decide not to say.
Smith steps closer to the edge of the stage. “If there are people in your life whose hearts are softening to our message … bring them tomorrow. Let them see the truth of what we’re offering. And if there are people in your life who still harbour doubts, invite them, too! Invite everyone! Let’s throw our doors open to the entire World of Mages and show them what equality looks like!
That magic belongs to us all!”
The room goes wild for him. I’m clapping, too. Good for Smith. Good for Daphne. Good for everyone in this room who might have a chance at something bigger and brighter.
Smith sees me clapping and smiles at me. “Good night,” he says to the crowd, “and see you tomorrow at Watford!”
He sets down the microphone and hops off the front of stage, reaching for my arm. “Simon, come quick, before I get mobbed.” He pulls me towards the side door. As soon as we’re through, he hugs me with one arm. “You came,”
he says.
“Smith, congratulations. This is really exciting.”
He looks almost embarrassed. Nervous. “Yeah, I’ve been working on expanding the spell, and, I don’t know, I’m tired of waiting. People shouldn’t have to wait.”