Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(10)

“What if I give you permission to throw me back?”

“It doesn’t work like that. You’ve penetrated my sphere of accountability.”

“Penelope…” I smile. “Does that mean we’re friends?”

She rolls her eyes—like she thinks I’m worth helping, but not talking to— and starts with the pacing again. “I can’t believe Mum was so dismissive.

She’s the one who taught me the sphere of accountability.”

“Maybe it doesn’t apply to Normals.”

“Normals are still people, Shepard!”

“I’m surprised to hear you say so.”

She doesn’t look up. “On top of everything else, I owe you a life debt. We might all owe you a life debt. I can’t just—”

The front door bangs open, and Simon walks in, shuffling off his raincoat.

His wings spring out.

“Simon, thank Morgana!” Penelope says. “You won’t believe what Mum did tonight—”

Simon walks past her. “We can talk about it tomorrow, yeah?”

“Simon, it’s urgent, I—”

He walks into one of the bedrooms and shuts the door behind him.





8

SIMON

Dr. Wellbelove told me to sleep on it. So I did.

And I woke up thinking he was right. I’m taking the money.

I don’t deserve it. Nobody owes me. But I could use it—I could really use it right now.

I’ve been trying to hang on to the World of Mages because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Because I couldn’t find a way forward. I thought I’d find my way at the bottom of a cider can. I thought I’d find it, or something, driving across America. And for a few hours—a few hours in the back of a truck, somewhere in Utah—I fooled myself into thinking that I had.

But the only way forward is out.

This money is my way out.

There’s enough to get a flat. I won’t have to worry about rent for a year, at least. And I’ll have a job by then. I made an appointment with Dr.

Wellbelove to finally deal with the wings. It’s going to have to be surgical, he says; magic won’t touch them. That’s fine. I’m ready.

I’m ready to let go—to be me again. The me I thought I was before the Mage ever showed up.





9

BAZ

“I just tried to call you. I’m going to stay down here for another day.

Things are a bit of a mess. I think my father and Daphne had a fight. Text me when you wake up.”

“Are you around?”

“Are you sleeping? You shouldn’t sleep in the middle of the day when you’re jet-lagged.”

“I don’t have a room here. I slept on the sofa. Mordelia woke me up this morning, playing video games.”

“Daphne still isn’t home. She hasn’t returned my texts.

There’s a lot of that going around…”

“I’m staying another day, maybe two, I’m not sure. I still haven’t cornered my father.

I don’t know how to corner my father.

Anyway …

I can’t leave yet.”

“I’ll just pretend you’ve replied with a thumbs-up emoji.”

“Good night, Snow.”

“Good morning.”

“Daphne has left my father.

As far as I can tell.

He hasn’t told me so—magic forbid my father tell me anything other than ‘Tea’s ready’ or ‘The night mares are nearly ready for brooding.’

(He’s into heritage livestock now—the barns are full of rare magickal creatures. Battering rams and Judas goats. ‘The only lllama herd outside of South America.’)

But my stepmother isn’t here—and hasn’t been here in days, maybe weeks. A Normal woman from the village comes up on weekday mornings to take care of the children—who all have mobile phones and iPads glued to their faces. Even Swithin! He watches the same YouTube videos over and over, and cries if you take the thing away. These Grimm children are being raised by algorithms.”

“Bunce says you’re awake and running a lot of errands. I leave the city for three days, and suddenly you have errands.”

“Sorry.”

“That was rude.”

“I’m still camping out in the family room. I think you’d like this house better than the one in Hampshire. It isn’t haunted, for one. And the lighting is better.

You could come sleep on the sofa with me, if you like. My father is in such a state, I don’t think he’d notice.

There’s not actually room for you on the sofa, but there’s no room for me either. I wouldn’t be any less comfortable with you here. And I think you’d like the twins. All they do is eat jam and butter sandwiches and throw things at each other. It takes me back to our first year at Watford.

I wish I’d brought a change of clothes with me, but I never expected to stay this long. I’m still not certain how long I should stay. I’d thought ‘until Daphne comes home.’ But what if Daphne isn’t coming home?

I’m not raising my father’s ill-advised second family.

(If I were raising them, we’d have a stern talk about screen time.) I’m half asleep, can you tell?