“Well, that’s dramatic,” I say.
“Wait till you see him,” Baz mutters.
Baz has been hammering on the door with a brass knocker far past the point of politeness. There’s no sign of anyone coming to answer it.
“Maybe everyone’s already left for Watford,” Simon says, trying to look in a window.
Baz drops the knocker in disgust. “Or maybe Philippa went home. Or out for brunch. Or to the moon. She could be anywhere.”
“We could track her,” I say.
Baz lowers an eyebrow. “How? We don’t know her, we don’t have anything that belongs to her…”
“We have her magic.” I fish out my gem.
“Bunce, wait—”
My hand is already over Baz’s duffel. “Find your way home!”
The bag jerks away from his body. “Seven snakes!” he says. “What if you erased the tape?”
“I didn’t erase anything. The spell worked—now follow it.”
His bag bumps against the door.
“She must still be inside…” Simon cups his hands around his mouth and leans against the window. “Philippa!”
“She goes by Pippa now,” Baz says.
“Pippa!” Simon shouts.
Baz’s bag knocks harder against the door. He secures it to his chest with one hand and bangs on the door with the other.
“Honestly. Are you a mage or a mouse?” I hold my gem over the lock.
“Open Sesame!”
“Now she’s breaking and entering,” Shepard sighs.
“I didn’t break anything,” I say, shouldering Baz out of the way and opening the door. I step inside. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
My voice echoes. The foyer is empty, and it smells old, the kind of old you can never air out. There’s a staircase leading to the next floor. I crane my head to look up.
The rest of them have come in behind me. Shepard moves to my left side and takes my hand. I like that he knows to leave my right free for casting.
“Hello?” Simon calls up the stairs. “Pippa?”
I turn to Baz. “Which way is your bag pulling?”
“I can’t tell.” He’s frowning down at the bag, letting it float away from his chest. “Forward, I think, but also possibly—” His head jerks up, eyes sharp.
The rest of us go still, listening. There are footsteps somewhere deeper in the building. A door creaking.
“Philippa?” Simon says, too soft for anyone but us to hear him.
“Come on,” I say, pushing Baz forward. “Let her magic lead.”
He lets go of the duffel, and it tugs him towards a door at the back of the foyer. Baz opens it, and the rest of us follow him into an abandoned hallway.
We hear more footsteps … somewhere. I nudge him to move faster.
“Philippa?” Simon calls, more boldly.
“Hush,” Baz says.
“Why?”
“Because we’re trespassing now. If they wanted to let us in, they would have answered the door.”
“Well, they’ve already heard us.”
“Hush, Snow.”
The duffel bag leads us past closed rooms and empty hallways, up to a wide swinging door. Baz has his wand out. I hold up my gem and push Shepard behind me.
Baz shoves the door open, and we both rush through, ready to cast.
We find ourselves in a big institutional kitchen—long wooden tables, ancient brown wallpaper, tiled floor. The room is empty, but there’s a kettle heating on the stove. Baz lurches forward, the strap of his bag pulling at his neck. He leans over, trying to get his arms around it again.
“Are you okay?” Simon asks.
“I’m fine, Snow.”
Shepard leans closer to me and whispers, “Is that Def Leppard?”
“What’s deaf leopard?” I whisper back.
“Listen.”
There’s music playing. Somewhere close.
“Ungh. ” Baz is struggling with the duffel now, scrabbling to get the strap off from around his neck. The bag looks like it’s trying to pin him to the floor.
“Nicks and Slick!” I say, holding out my fist.
“I’ve got it,” Simon says, grabbing the strap from behind.
“It’s trying to get—” Baz drops to his knees. Simon is standing over him, pulling the strap with both hands away from the back of Baz’s neck. The bag thumps to the floor, and the strap sags enough for Baz to slip free.
We all stare at it.
“The basement!” Shepard says. “There must be a—”