“Maybe Smith can help Philippa,” I say.
Baz hisses and stands up. “I can help her.” He looks down at the tape recorder. “Fiona never took out the tape.”
I look at it, too. It’s got to be older than we are. “So Philippa’s magic is right there?”
“Her voice is.” He swallows. “I’m going to give it back to her—and then I’m going to let her spell me into oblivion.”
I stand up and take his arm. “Well, I’m not letting her spell you into anything.”
Penelope stands, too. “Me neither.”
“We’ll have to hurry,” I say, “if we want to catch Philippa before she leaves for Smith’s meeting at Watford.”
“‘We’？” Baz pulls away from me. “There’s no ‘we.’ You’re not all coming.”
“I can stay here,” Shepard offers.
Penelope frowns at him. “Oh no, I’m not letting anyone in this room out of my sight, ever again.”
“You know what? Fine. I don’t care anymore.” Baz leans over and lifts the tape recorder with both hands, cradling it like it’s a porcelain egg. “Let’s just go.”
He looks beaten. He’s standing there with his hair all matted down on one side, wearing a Watford hoodie I never gave back to Agatha and his “Clean as a whistle”-d pyjama trousers.
I clear my throat. “Don’t you want to, um … change?”
Baz looks down at himself and groans again.
Apparently this is another occasion that calls for a suit. Three pieces. A shade of brown that gleams red in the light. Baz buttons his white shirt all the way to the top, and puts on a shiny purple tie. （Why did he bring neckties and three-piece suits to my flat? What was he anticipating?） Then he dumps an entire duffel bag full of shoes onto the floor.
“Should we talk about this?” I ask.
“No.” He lays the bag on my bed and carefully sets the tape recorder inside.
I keep trying: “We’re about to do something huge; shouldn’t we talk about it?”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Simon Snow?” He flicks his wrist, and his wand slides into his palm—he’s wearing his holster. He points at the tape recorder. “Safe as houses!”
I touch his arm. “Baz…”
He turns on me, eyes flashing. “Simon. She hasn’t had magic. For five years. And it’s my fault. I can’t talk until I fix this. I can’t even breathe …
All right?”
I take in his wild eyes, his bloodless fists. “Yeah,” I say. “All right.” I squeeze his arm. “Let’s go, then. Let’s fix it.”
I’m wearing a T-shirt with slits down the back for my wings. I pick the Watford hoodie up from the floor. “It’s too hot for this,” I say. “Just hide the wings, would you?”
Baz has the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “With a spell?”
“Yeah. I’m tired of wearing hoodies and trench coats, and it’s not like I’m gonna fly to Camden…”
“All right,” Baz says softly. He snaps his wrist, then aims his wand at my wings. “Now you see it, now you don’t!”
Baz’s magic is hot, it normally burns a little bit … But not today. I don’t feel anything. I glance over my shoulder—my wings are still there.
Baz frowns. He points his wand again. “There’s nothing to see here!”
Nothing happens.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been upset. My magic is … We’ll have Bunce do it.” He’s already walking into the living room. “Penelope—”
Penny and Shepard are leaning against the living room wall, kissing. （I kind of feel like I’ve been cockblocking Penny all these years. As soon as I left her alone, this happened.）
“Spell Simon’s wings away,” Baz says.
She kicks away from the wall. “I thought we weren’t doing that anymore.”
“I changed my mind,” I say. “It’s too hot to hide them.”
Penny fishes her purple gem out of her bra （we need to fix that ring） and holds it out to me. “There’s nothing to see here!”
Nothing happens.
Penny frowns. “Did you already try, Baz?”
“Yeah, I’m too upset to cast.”
“Is that a thing?” she asks. “Maybe Simon moved to a dead spot.” She points her fist towards the sandwich wrappers. “A place for everything, and