Baz leans over her shoulder. “Smith told Beth that … she was just tired … That it was temporary … But … when she turned to leave … he cast a spell on her.” Baz shoots a glare at me, like this is my fault somehow.
“What spell?” I ask.
Baz looks back at the wall. “‘Put it out of your head.’”
“No!” Jamie is adamant. “Smith would never!”
“Yikes,” Penny says. “That’s like shaking up an Etch A Sketch inside someone’s brain.”
Philippa is still writing.
“Smith didn’t know … that I was watching … but he’d asked me to bring tea … I was standing…”
She’s running out of space. She gets on her knees.
“In the doorway,” Baz reads. “With a tray … I dropped it … Then he cast a spell on me, too … ‘Freeze’ … and called for Evander … to take me away … I couldn’t cry for help.” Baz’s voice cracks. He looks wretched.
“Smith told me he couldn’t … have helped me anyway…”
Philippa is kneeling on the floor, bent over. She’s written herself into the corner.
“That my voice was gone…” Baz reads. “Forever.”
“She’s lying,” someone says.
We all whip around. Smith’s godfather has come to. He’s trying to sit up, but his hands are tied to the bottom of the radiator. Baz points his wand at him.
“She attacked Smith,” Evander Feverfew says, furious. （He’s an odd-looking duck for an old guy: shoulder-length grey hair, long sideburns, a pierced ear. I’ve seen him helping Smith at meetings. I thought he was a roadie.）
Pippa’s eyes are wild, and her voice sounds bloody: “Why—Why would I do that?”
“Because he couldn’t help you, Pippa. You didn’t want anyone to have magic if you couldn’t.”
“Th-that isn’t—isn’t t-true!”
Evander looks at me. “She attacked him, and then she threatened to stop today’s meeting! We couldn’t let that happen. Smith is going to cure six people today. Six magicians.”
“He’s going to—to—curse them!”
“Liar!”
Baz is still pointing his wand at Smith’s godfather; he looks like he’s got a curse of his own at the tip of his tongue. Penelope looks as confused as I feel.
Jamie Salisbury has both of his hands fisted in his hair.
“Jamie,” I say. “Did Smith fix your magic?”
“Of course he did!” Evander shouts. “Everyone saw it.”
“I…” Jamie looks ashamed. “I hardly had any magic to fix.”
“But Smith cured you,” I say.
“He did,” Jamie says eagerly. “And then…”
“He cured you!” Evander strains against the radiator. “First among his followers. It was a tremendous honour.”
“It’s true.” Jamie nods. “I was the first.”
“And it worked,” I say. “You can do magic now?”
“Smith was still developing the spell,” Jamie says earnestly. “He’s already improved it since then.”
“What does that mean?”
“It m-means,” Pippa scrapes out, “his magic—his magic faded. Just. Like.
Beth’s.”
Jamie looks embarrassed. He runs a hand through the top of his long hair.
“Pippa…”
“Everyone who—who Smith—cured,” she says, “has stopped ccoming to —to meetings.”
“Did Smith-Richards take your magic?” Baz demands of Jamie.
“No!” Evander booms. “He made him a mage for the first time in his magic-forsaken life!”
“And now?” I ask Jamie. “Can you do magic?”
He’s pulling his own hair. “It’s complicated. Smith says—”
“Simon”—Baz squeezes my arm—“we have to stop Smith-Richards. He’s going to cast that spell on Daphne.”
“And Gloria Brooks,” Pippa says, looking at Jamie. “And Eliza—Eliza Murphy. And Martin B-Bunce. And—”
71
SMITH
It’s better than I hoped—every bench is full.
I’ve never been in the White Chapel before; I’ve only heard about it from Evander. The windows are disappointing, but the architecture is excellent. I can imagine how I look standing by the altar. I’m wearing white. My followers are fanned out behind me. I’m going to do Daphne first—she’ll cry, but she won’t wreck her face. Daphne has excellent presentation.