“If you keep pacing like that,” Baz said, “I’m going to curse your feet into the floorboards.”
Simon ignored him. He was thinking about the clues he’d found so far, trying to see a
pattern … the rabbit-shaped stone in the ritual tower, the stained glass hare in the cathedral,
the sigil on the drawbridge—
“Snow!” Baz shouted. A spell book sailed past Simon’s nose.
“What are you thinking?” Simon asked, genuinely surprised. Flying books and curses
were fair game in the hallways and classrooms and, well, everywhere else. But if Baz tried to
hurt him inside their room—“The Roommate’s Anathema,” Simon said. “You’ll be
expelled.”
“Which is why I missed. I know the rules,” Baz muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Did you
know, Snow, that if your roommate dies during the school year, they give you top marks, just
out of sympathy?”
“That’s a myth,” Simon said.
“Lucky for you I’m already getting top marks.”
Simon stopped pacing to really look at his roommate. Normally he liked to pretend that
Baz wasn’t here. Normally, Baz wasn’t here. Unless he was spying or plotting, Baz hated to
be in their room. He said it smelled like good intentions.
But Baz had hardly left the room in the last two weeks. Simon hadn’t seen him in the caf
or at football, he’d seemed drawn and distracted in class, and his school shirts—usually
pressed and bright white—were looking as manky as Simon’s.
“Is … something wrong?” Simon asked, then couldn’t believe he’d asked it. It’s not like
he really cared. If Baz said yes, Simon would likely say “Good!” Still, it seemed cruel not to
ask. Baz may have been the most despicable human being Simon had ever met … but he was
still a human being.
“I’m not the one pacing the room like a hyperactive madman,” Baz mumbled, his elbows
on his desk, his head resting in his hands.
“You seem … down or something.”
“Yes, I’m down. I’m down, Snow.” Baz raised his head and spun his chair toward Simon.
He really did look terrible. His eyes were sunken and shot with blood. “I’ve spent the last six
years living with the most self-centered, insufferable prat ever to carry a wand. And now,
instead of celebrating Christmas Eve with my beloved family, drinking mulled cider and
eating toasted cheese—instead of warming my hands at my ancestral hearth … I’m playing a
tortured extra in the bloody Simon Snow Show.”
Simon stared at him. “It’s Christmas Eve?”
“Yes…,” Baz groaned.
Simon walked around his bed glumly. He hadn’t realized it was Christmas Eve. He’d have
thought that Agatha would have called him. Or Penelope …
Maybe his friends were waiting for Simon to call them. He hadn’t even bought them gifts.
Lately, nothing had seemed as important as finding the white hares. Simon clenched his
square jaw. Nothing was as important; the whole school was in danger. There must be some
pattern he wasn’t seeing. He quickened his step. The stone in the tower, the stained glass
window, the sigil, the Mage’s book …
“I give up,” Baz whined. “I’m going to go drown myself in the moat. Tell my mother I
always knew she loved me best.”
Simon stopped pacing at Baz’s desk. “Do you know how to get down to the moat?”
“I’m not actually going to kill myself, Snow. Sorry to disappoint.”
“No. It’s just … you use the punts sometimes, don’t you?”
“Everyone does.”
“Not me,” Simon said. “I can’t swim.”
“Really…,” Baz hissed with a hint of his old vigor. “Well, you wouldn’t want to swim in
the moat anyway. The merwolves would get you.”
“Why don’t they bother the boats?”
“Silver punt poles and braces.”
“Will you take me out on one?” It was worth a try. The moat was one of the only places
left in the school that Simon hadn’t searched.
“You want to go punting with me?” Baz asked.
“Yes,” Simon said, tilting his chin up. “Will you do it?”
“Why?”
“I … want to see what it’s like. I’ve never done it—why does it matter? It’s Christmas
Eve, and you obviously don’t have anything better to do. Apparently even your parents can’t
stand to be around you.”
Baz stood suddenly, his grey eyes glinting dangerously in the shadow of his brow. “You
know nothing about my parents.”
Simon stepped back. Baz had a few inches on him (for now), and when Baz made an
effort, he could seem dangerous.
“I’m … look, I’m sorry,” Simon said. “Will you do it?”
“Fine,” Baz said. The flare of anger and energy had already faded. “Get your cloak.”
“Your madness must be catching,” Baz complained, untangling a rope.
The boats were stacked and tied off for the winter. Simon hadn’t been thinking about the
cold.… “Shut up,” he said anyway. “It’ll be fun.”
“That’s the point, Snow—since when do we have fun together? I don’t even know what
you do for fun. Teeth-whitening, I assume. Unnecessary dragon-slaying—”
“We’ve had fun before,” Simon argued. Because he didn’t know how to do anything with
Baz but argue—and because surely Baz was wrong. In six years, they must have shared some
fun. “There was that time in third year when we fought the chimaera together.”
“I was trying to lure you there,” Baz said. “I thought I’d get away from the thing before it
attacked.”
“Still, it was fun.”
“I was trying to kill you, Snow. And on that note, are you sure you want to do this? Alone
with me? On a boat? What if I shove you over? I could let the merwolves solve all my
problems.…”
Simon twisted his lips to one side. “I don’t think you will.”
“And whyever not?” Baz cast off the last of the ropes.
“If you really wanted to get rid of me,” Simon said thoughtfully, “you would have by now.
No one else has had as many opportunities. I don’t think you’d hurt me unless it played into
one of your grand plans.”
“This could be my grand plan,” Baz said, shoving one of the punts free with a grunt.
“No,” Simon said. “This one is mine.”
“Aleister Crowley, Snow, are you going to help me with this or what?”
They carried the boat down to the water, Baz swinging the punt pole lightly. Simon
noticed for the first time the silver plating at one end.
“Snowball fights,” he said, following Baz’s lead as they settled the boat in the water.
“What?”
“We’ve had lots of snowball fights. Those are fun. And food fights. That time I spelled
gravy up your nose…”
“And I put your wand in the microwave.”
“You destroyed the kitchen,” Simon laughed.
“I thought it would just swell up like a marshmallow Peep.”
“There was no reason to think that.…”
Baz shrugged. “Don’t put a wand in the microwave—lesson learned. Unless it’s Snow’s
wand. And Snow’s microwave.”
Simon was standing on the dock now, shivering. He really hadn’t considered how cold it
would be out here. Or the fact that he’d actually have to get into a boat. He glanced down at
the cold, black water of the moat and thought he saw something heavy and dark moving
below the surface.
“Come on.” Baz was already in the punt. He jabbed Simon’s shoulder with the pole. “This
is your grand plan, remember?”
Simon set his jaw and stepped in. The boat dipped beneath his weight, and he scrabbled
forward.
Baz laughed. “Maybe this will be fun,” he said, sinking the pole into the water and
shoving off. Baz looked perfectly comfortable up there—a long, dark shadow at the end of
the punt—as elegant and graceful as ever. He shifted into the moonlight, and Simon watched
him take a slow, deep breath. He looked more alive than he had in weeks.
But Simon hadn’t come out here to watch Baz—God knows he had plenty of other
opportunities. Simon turned, looking around the moat, taking in the carvings along the stone
walls and the tile at the water’s edge. “I should have brought a lantern…,” he said.
“Too bad you’re not a magician,” Baz replied, conjuring a ball of blue flame and tossing it
at Simon’s head. Simon ducked and caught it. Baz had always been better than he was at fire
magic. Show-off.
The tile glittered in the light. “Can we get closer to the wall?” Simon asked. Baz obliged
smoothly.
Up close, Simon could see there was a mosaic that stretched beneath the water. Wizard
battles. Unicorns. Symbols and glyphs. Who knew how far down it went.… Baz guided them
slowly along the wall, and Simon held the light up, gradually leaning over the side of the
boat to get a better look.
He forgot about Baz in a way he normally wouldn’t allow himself to do outside the
protection of their room. Simon didn’t even notice at first when the boat drifted to a stop.
When he looked back, Baz had stepped toward him in the punt. He was curled above Simon,
washed blue by his own conjured fire, his teeth bared and his face thick with decision and
disgust.…