“And she’s really the most powerful magician in the world?”
“In the World of Mages.”
“Which is … the world?”
“Which is the United Kingdom. And Ireland. And various islands.” She drops the mail back on the table. I kind of hoped Penelope and Simon’s apartment would be full of magical devices and artifacts. Like crystal balls and mystery boxes. But so far it looks like any other college student’s apartment. They’ve got the same Ikea couch my sister has.
“Let me call and make sure Mum’s home…” Penelope kicks off her chunky black Mary Janes. Doc Martens. I like them. She’s wearing argyle knee socks. I like those, too. I like her whole Velma from Scooby Doo, but make it lazy look. Her plaid skirt and baggy purple T-shirt. The tortoiseshell eyeglasses.
“Are you sure your mom will want to help me?” I ask.
“Of course she’ll want to help you.”
“In my experience, Speakers don’t go around helping Talkers out of traps…”
Penelope folds her arms and frowns at me. “Your experience with magicians is extremely limited and doesn’t include my mother. It just barely includes me.”
I return her frown with my warmest smile. （Which is very warm.） “Let’s do it,” I say. “I’m up for anything.”
She frowns more deeply at me. “That is the problem, you know.”
“I do know that. Yes. Indeed.”
4
BAZ
“You here to bust me out, Basil?”
My aunt is sitting on a velvet-upholstered chair in the corner of a stone cell. The Coven summoned a tower to lock her up. The guard outside had to wait till dusk before he could cast the spell to open the door.
“I’m here to bail you out,” I say. “For snake’s sake, Fiona, what were you thinking?”
“Bail? Pitches don’t pay bail. Or ransom.”
“Well, that’s fine,” I say. “My father paid it, and he’s a Grimm.”
She leans back and rests her boots on a writing table. “Come back when you’re ready to break me out properly.”
“This isn’t a joke. They’re only letting you out because Dr. Wellbelove and Headmistress Bunce vouched for you.” I only found out Fiona had been arrested because Penelope decided to call her mother before we left San Diego. When Penny came running down the beach yesterday afternoon, I thought someone had died.
“Wellbelove?” Fiona sneers. “And Bunce? Why on earth or below would they vouch for me?”
“They’re vouching for me. I promised that you wouldn’t do a runner.”
She huffs. “That was foolish of you.”
“Fiona. Can we please go?”
She sighs and takes her time standing up, then kicks over the chair. “Fine.”
Fiona’s wand and car were impounded. I had to sign for those, too. If she fucks up before her trial, they’ll put me in a tower with her. I hold out her wand and keys.
“Back seat,” she says, taking them.
“I’m not sitting in the back seat.”
She opens her door. “I think you are. Because the front seat is for people who haven’t been kidnapped by—”
“Ha ha,” I say.
“Ha ha,” she says, tossing her handbag onto the passenger seat.
I climb into the practically nonexistent back seat of her MG （1967, Grampian Grey—classic）， which Fiona treats as carelessly as everything else in her life. （You should see our flat; there are mice living in the sofa, it’s shambolic. ） I have to sit sideways to fit. I wrench my knees past the seat in front of me. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing at Watford?”
Fiona starts the car. “I needed to pick something up.”
“In Headmistress Bunce’s rooms?”
She glares at me in the rearview mirror. “Those are your mother’s rooms, Basil.”
“No. Not anymore.”
“Always.”
“Fiona. The Mage is dead. The war is over.”
“That’s what they’d have you think.”
“That’s what I do think.”
“The war isn’t over until we get back what’s ours!”
“What’s ours, Fiona?”
“Our power, Baz! Watford! The Coven!”
“The Coven has already rolled back most of the Mage’s reforms. What more do you want?”
“They were never reforms!” She points at me in the mirror. “They were a campaign against the Old Families!”