Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kindlepitch) wrote2020-06-14 04:53 pm
kindlepitch) wrote2020-06-14 04:53 pm
Info from Fangirl
The Simon Snow Series
From Encyclowikia, the people’s encyclopedia
This article is about the children’s book series. For other uses, see Simon Snow (disambiguation).
Simon Snow is a series of seven fantasy books written by English philologist Gemma T. Leslie. The books tell the story of Simon Snow, an 11-year-old orphan from Lancashire who is recruited to attend the Watford School of Magicks to become a magician. As he grows older, Simon joins a group of magicians—the Mages—who are fighting the Insidious Humdrum, an evil being trying to rid the world of magic.
Since the publication of Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir in 2001, the books have been translated into 53 languages and, as of August 2011, have sold more than 380 million copies.
Leslie has been criticized for the violence in the series and for creating a hero who is sometimes selfish and bad tempered. An exorcism scene in the fourth book, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, triggered boycotts among American Christian groups in 2008. But the books are widely considered modern classics, and in 2010, Time magazine called Simon “the greatest children’s literary character since Huckleberry Finn.”
An eighth book, the last in the series, is set to be released May 1, 2012.
Publishing history
Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, 2001
Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, 2003
Simon Snow and the Third Gate, 2004
Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, 2007
Simon Snow and the Five Blades, 2008
Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, 2009
Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, 2010
Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, scheduled to be released May 1, 2012
---
There was a boy in Simon’s room.
A boy with slick, black hair and cold, grey eyes. He was spinning around, holding a cat high in the air while a girl jumped and clutched at it. “Give it back,” the girl said. “You’ll hurt him.”
The boy laughed and held the cat higher—then noticed Simon standing in the doorway and stopped, his face sharpening.
“Hullo,” the dark-haired boy said, letting the cat drop to the floor. It landed on all four feet and ran from the room. The girl ran after it.
The boy ignored them, tugging his school jacket neatly into place and smiling with the left side of his mouth. “I know you. You’re Simon Snow … the Mage’s Heir.” He held out his hand smugly. “I’m Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. But you can call me Baz—we’re going to be roommates.”
Simon scowled and ignored the boy’s pale hand. “What did you think you were doing with her cat?”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He was so focused—and frustrated—he didn’t even see the girl with the red hair sit down at his table. She had pigtails and old-fashioned pointy spectacles, the kind you’d wear to a fancy dress party if you were going as a witch.
“You’re going to tire yourself out,” the girl said.
“I’m just trying to do this right,” Simon grunted, tapping the two-pence coin again with his wand and furrowing his brow painfully. Nothing happened.
“Here,” she said, crisply waving her hand over the coin.
She didn’t have a wand, but she wore a large purple ring. There was yarn wound round it to keep it on her finger. “Fly away home.”
With a shiver, the coin grew six legs and a thorax and started to scuttle away. The girl swept it gently off the desk into a jar.
“How did you do that?” Simon asked. She was a first year, too, just like him; he could tell by the green shield on the front of her sweater.
“You don’t do magic,” she said, trying to smile modestly and mostly succeeding. “You are magic.”
Simon stared at the 2p ladybird.
“I’m Penelope Bunce,” the girl said, holding out her hand.
“I’m Simon Snow,” he said, taking it.
“I know,” Penelope said, and smiled.
—from chapter 8, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But, sir,” Simon pushed, “do I have to be his roommate every year, every year until we leave Watford?”
The Mage smiled indulgently and ruffled Simon’s caramel brown hair. “Being matched with your roommate is a sacred tradition at Watford.” His voice was gentle but firm. “The Crucible cast you together. You’re to watch out for each other, to know each other as well as brothers.”
“Yeah, but, sir…” Simon shuffled in his chair. “The Crucible must have made a mistake. My roommate’s a complete git. He might even be evil. Last week, someone spelled my laptop closed, and I know it was him. He practically cackled.”
The Mage gave his beard a few solemn strokes. It was short and pointed and just covered his chin.
“The Crucible cast you together, Simon. You’re meant to watch out for him.”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Words are very powerful,” Miss Possibelf said, stepping lightly between the rows of desks.
“And they take on more power the more that they’re spoken.…
“The more that they’re said and read and written, in specific, consistent combinations.”
She stopped in front of Simon’s desk and tapped it with a short, jeweled staff. “Up, up and away,” she said clearly.
Simon watched the floor move away from his feet. He grabbed at the edges of his desk, knocking over a pile of books and loose papers. Across the room, Basilton laughed.
Miss Possibelf nudged Simon’s trainer with her staff—“Hold your horses”—and his desk hovered three feet in the air.
“The key to casting a spell,” she said, “is tapping into that power. Not just saying the words, but summoning their meaning.…
“Now,” she said, “open your Magic Words books to page four. And Settle down there, Simon. Please.”
—from chapter 5, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha Wellbelove was the loveliest witch at Watford. Everyone knew it—every boy, every girl, all the teachers … The bats in the belfry, the snakes in the cellars …
Agatha herself knew it. Which you might think would detract from her charm and her beauty. But Agatha, at fourteen, never used this knowledge to harm or hold over others.
She knew she was lovely, and she shared it like a gift. Every smile from Agatha was like waking up to a perfect sunny day. Agatha knew it. And she smiled at everyone who crossed her path, as if it were the most generous thing she could offer.
—from chapter 15, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 Gemma T. Leslie
---
Sneaking around the castle, staying out all night, coming home in the morning with leaves in his hair …
Baz was up to something; Simon was sure of it. But he needed proof—Penelope and Agatha weren’t taking his suspicions seriously.
“He’s plotting,” Simon would say.
“He’s always plotting,” Penelope would answer.
“He’s looming,” Simon would say.
“He’s always looming,” Agatha would answer. “He is quite tall.”
“No taller than me.”
“Mmm … a bit.”
It wasn’t just the plotting and the looming; Baz was up to something. Something beyond his chronic gittishness. His pearl grey eyes were bloodshot and shadowed; his black hair had lost its luster. Usually cold and intimidating, lately Baz seemed chilled and cornered.
Simon had followed him around the catacombs last night for three hours, and still didn’t have a clue.
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Maybe I’m not supposed to have a wand. Maybe I’m supposed to have a ring like you. Or a … a wrist thingy like mangy old Elspeth.”
“Oh, Simon.” Penelope frowned. “You shouldn’t call her that. She can’t help her fur—her father was the Witch King of Canus.”
“No, I know, I just…”
“It’s easier for the rest of us,” she said, soothing. “Magicians’ instruments stay in families. They’re passed from generation to generation.”
“Right,” he said, “just like magic. It doesn’t make sense, Penelope—my parents must have been magicians.”
He’d tried to talk to her about this before, and that time it had made her look just as sad.
“Simon … they couldn’t have been. Magicians would never abandon their own child. Never. Magic is too precious.”
Simon looked away from her and flicked his wand again. It felt like something dead in his hands.
“I think Elspeth’s fur is pretty,” Penelope said. “She looks soft.”
He shoved the wand into his pocket and stood up. “You just want a puppy.”
—from chapter 21, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“I’m sorry, Penelope.”
“Don’t waste my time with sorries, Simon. If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.”
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But I don’t understand,” Simon stammered, “what is the Insidious Humdrum? Is he a man?”
“Perhaps.” The Mage wiped the grit from his eyes and swept his wand out in front of them. “Olly olly oxen free,” he whispered. Simon braced himself, but nothing happened.
“Perhaps he’s a man,” the Mage said, recovering his wry smile. “Perhaps he’s something else, something less, I should think.”
“Is he a magician? Like us?”
“No,” the Mage said severely. “Of that we can be certain. He—if indeed he is a he—is the enemy of magic. He destroys magic; some think he eats it. He wipes the world clean of magic, wherever he can.…
“You’re too young to hear this, Simon. Eleven is too young. But it isn’t fair to keep it from you any longer. The Insidious Humdrum is the greatest threat the World of Mages has ever faced. He’s powerful, he’s pervasive. Fighting him is like fighting off sleep when you’re long
past the edge of exhaustion.
“But fight him we must. You were recruited to Watford because we believe the Humdrum has taken a special interest in you. We want to protect you; I vow to do so with my life. But you must learn, Simon, as soon as possible, how best to protect yourself.”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum wasn’t a man at all, or a monster. It was a boy.
Simon stepped closer, perhaps foolishly, wanting to see its face.… He felt the Humdrum’s power whipping around him like dry air, like hot sand, an aching fatigue in the very marrow of Simon’s bones.
The Humdrum—the boy—wore faded denims and a grotty T-shirt, and it probably took Simon far too long to recognize the child as himself. His years-ago self.
“Stop it,” Simon shouted. “Show yourself, you coward. Show yourself!”
The boy just laughed.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re the most powerful magician in a hundred ages.” The Humdrum’s face, Simon’s own boyhood face, looked dull and tired. Nothing glinted in its blue eyes.… “Do you think that much power comes without sacrifice? Did you think you could become you without leaving something, without leaving me, behind?”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Fried tomatoes at breakfast. Every lump in his bed. Being able to do magic without worrying whether anyone was watching. Agatha, of course. And Penelope. Getting to see the Mage—not often, but still. Simon’s uniform. His school tie. The football pitch, even when it was muddy. Fencing. Raisin scones every Sunday with real clotted cream … What didn’t Simon miss about Watford?
—from chapter 1, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re finally going on a date with Agatha?” Penelope’s voice was soft, despite the surprise in her face. Neither of them wanted Sir Bleakly to hear—he was prone to giving ridiculous detentions; they could end up dusting the catacombs for hours or proofreading confiscated love notes.
“After dinner,” Simon whispered back. “We’re going to look for the sixth hare in the Veiled Forest.”
“Does Agatha know it’s a date? Because that just sounds like ‘Another Tuesday Night with Simon.’”
“I think so.” Simon tried not to turn and frown at Penelope, even though he wanted to.
“She said she’d wear her new dress.…”
“Another Tuesday Night with Agatha,” Penelope said.
“You don’t think she likes me?”
“Oh, Simon, I never said that. She’d have to be an idiot not to like you.”
Simon grinned.
“So I guess what I’m saying,” Penelope said, going back to her homework, “is we’ll just have to see.”
—from chapter 17, Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, copyright © 2009 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“That does it,” Simon said, charging forward, climbing right over the long dinner table.
Penelope grabbed the tail of his cape, and he nearly landed face-first on a bench. He recovered quickly—“Let go, Penny”—and ran hard at Basil, both fists raised and ready.
Basil didn’t move. “Good fences make good neighbors,” he whispered, just barely tipping his wand.
Simon’s fist slammed into a solid barrier just inches from the other boy’s unflinching jaw.
He pulled his hand back, yelping, still stumbling against the spell.
This made Dev and Niall and all the rest of Basil’s cronies cackle like drunk hyenas. But Basil himself stayed still. When he spoke, it was so softly, only Simon could hear him. “Is that how you’re going to do it, Snow? Is that how you’re going to best your Humdrum?” He dropped the spell with a twitch of his wand, just as Simon regained his balance. “Pathetic,” Basil said, and walked away.
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum bounced a small red ball in its hand.
Simon had carried that ball everywhere, for at least a year. He’d lost it when he came to Watford—he hadn’t needed it anymore.
“You’re lying,” Simon said. “You’re not me. You’re no part of me.”
“I’m what’s left of you,” the Humdrum said. And Simon would swear his own voice was never so high and so sweet.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He’d have to tell the Mage what he saw.
I’ve finally seen the Humdrum, sir. I know what we’re fighting—me.
“What’s left of you,” the monster had said.
What is left of me? Simon wondered. A ghost? A hole? An echo?
An angry little boy with nervous hands?
—from chapter 24, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha wrung her fingers in her cape miserably. (But still prettily. Even Agatha’s tear-stained face was a thing of beauty.) Simon wanted to tell her it was all right, to forget the whole scene with Baz in the forest.… Agatha standing in the moonlight, holding both of Baz’s pale
hands in her own …
“Just tell me,” Simon said, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know what to say,” she wept. “There’s you. And you’re good. And you’re right. And then there’s him.… And he’s different.”
“He’s a monster.” Simon clenched his square jaw.
Agatha just nodded. “Perhaps.”
—from chapter 18, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Do you know what the most disappointing thing is about being a magician?”
Penelope shook her head and rolled her eyes, a combination she’d gotten terribly good at over the years. “Don’t be silly, Simon. There’s nothing disappointing about magic.”
“There is,” he argued, only partly just to tease her. “I always figured we’d learn a way to fly by now.”
“Oh, pish,” Penelope said. “Anyone can fly. Anyone with a friend.”
She held her ringed hand out to him and grinned—“Up, up and away!”
Simon felt the steps drift away from him and laughed his way through a slow somersault.
When he was upright again, he leveled his wand at Penelope.
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Morgan’s grace, Simon—slow down.” Penelope held an arm out in front of his chest and glanced around the weirdly lit courtyard. “There’s more than one way through a flaming gate.”
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Simon stepped toward the Humdrum. He’d never been this close. The heat and the pull were almost too much for him; he felt like the Humdrum would suck his heart through his chest, his thoughts from his head.
“I created you with my hunger,” Simon said. “With my need for magic.”
“With your capacity,” it said.
Simon shrugged, a Herculean effort in the presence and pressure of the Humdrum.
Simon had spent his whole life, well, the last eight years of it, trying to become more powerful, trying to live up to his destiny—trying to become the sort of magician, maybe the only magician, who could defeat the Insidious Humdrum.
And all he’d ever done was stoke the Humdrum’s need.
Simon took the last step forward.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
—from chapter 27, Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, copyright © 2012 by Gemma T. Leslie
From Encyclowikia, the people’s encyclopedia
This article is about the children’s book series. For other uses, see Simon Snow (disambiguation).
Simon Snow is a series of seven fantasy books written by English philologist Gemma T. Leslie. The books tell the story of Simon Snow, an 11-year-old orphan from Lancashire who is recruited to attend the Watford School of Magicks to become a magician. As he grows older, Simon joins a group of magicians—the Mages—who are fighting the Insidious Humdrum, an evil being trying to rid the world of magic.
Since the publication of Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir in 2001, the books have been translated into 53 languages and, as of August 2011, have sold more than 380 million copies.
Leslie has been criticized for the violence in the series and for creating a hero who is sometimes selfish and bad tempered. An exorcism scene in the fourth book, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, triggered boycotts among American Christian groups in 2008. But the books are widely considered modern classics, and in 2010, Time magazine called Simon “the greatest children’s literary character since Huckleberry Finn.”
An eighth book, the last in the series, is set to be released May 1, 2012.
Publishing history
Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, 2001
Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, 2003
Simon Snow and the Third Gate, 2004
Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, 2007
Simon Snow and the Five Blades, 2008
Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, 2009
Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, 2010
Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, scheduled to be released May 1, 2012
---
There was a boy in Simon’s room.
A boy with slick, black hair and cold, grey eyes. He was spinning around, holding a cat high in the air while a girl jumped and clutched at it. “Give it back,” the girl said. “You’ll hurt him.”
The boy laughed and held the cat higher—then noticed Simon standing in the doorway and stopped, his face sharpening.
“Hullo,” the dark-haired boy said, letting the cat drop to the floor. It landed on all four feet and ran from the room. The girl ran after it.
The boy ignored them, tugging his school jacket neatly into place and smiling with the left side of his mouth. “I know you. You’re Simon Snow … the Mage’s Heir.” He held out his hand smugly. “I’m Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. But you can call me Baz—we’re going to be roommates.”
Simon scowled and ignored the boy’s pale hand. “What did you think you were doing with her cat?”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He was so focused—and frustrated—he didn’t even see the girl with the red hair sit down at his table. She had pigtails and old-fashioned pointy spectacles, the kind you’d wear to a fancy dress party if you were going as a witch.
“You’re going to tire yourself out,” the girl said.
“I’m just trying to do this right,” Simon grunted, tapping the two-pence coin again with his wand and furrowing his brow painfully. Nothing happened.
“Here,” she said, crisply waving her hand over the coin.
She didn’t have a wand, but she wore a large purple ring. There was yarn wound round it to keep it on her finger. “Fly away home.”
With a shiver, the coin grew six legs and a thorax and started to scuttle away. The girl swept it gently off the desk into a jar.
“How did you do that?” Simon asked. She was a first year, too, just like him; he could tell by the green shield on the front of her sweater.
“You don’t do magic,” she said, trying to smile modestly and mostly succeeding. “You are magic.”
Simon stared at the 2p ladybird.
“I’m Penelope Bunce,” the girl said, holding out her hand.
“I’m Simon Snow,” he said, taking it.
“I know,” Penelope said, and smiled.
—from chapter 8, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But, sir,” Simon pushed, “do I have to be his roommate every year, every year until we leave Watford?”
The Mage smiled indulgently and ruffled Simon’s caramel brown hair. “Being matched with your roommate is a sacred tradition at Watford.” His voice was gentle but firm. “The Crucible cast you together. You’re to watch out for each other, to know each other as well as brothers.”
“Yeah, but, sir…” Simon shuffled in his chair. “The Crucible must have made a mistake. My roommate’s a complete git. He might even be evil. Last week, someone spelled my laptop closed, and I know it was him. He practically cackled.”
The Mage gave his beard a few solemn strokes. It was short and pointed and just covered his chin.
“The Crucible cast you together, Simon. You’re meant to watch out for him.”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Words are very powerful,” Miss Possibelf said, stepping lightly between the rows of desks.
“And they take on more power the more that they’re spoken.…
“The more that they’re said and read and written, in specific, consistent combinations.”
She stopped in front of Simon’s desk and tapped it with a short, jeweled staff. “Up, up and away,” she said clearly.
Simon watched the floor move away from his feet. He grabbed at the edges of his desk, knocking over a pile of books and loose papers. Across the room, Basilton laughed.
Miss Possibelf nudged Simon’s trainer with her staff—“Hold your horses”—and his desk hovered three feet in the air.
“The key to casting a spell,” she said, “is tapping into that power. Not just saying the words, but summoning their meaning.…
“Now,” she said, “open your Magic Words books to page four. And Settle down there, Simon. Please.”
—from chapter 5, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha Wellbelove was the loveliest witch at Watford. Everyone knew it—every boy, every girl, all the teachers … The bats in the belfry, the snakes in the cellars …
Agatha herself knew it. Which you might think would detract from her charm and her beauty. But Agatha, at fourteen, never used this knowledge to harm or hold over others.
She knew she was lovely, and she shared it like a gift. Every smile from Agatha was like waking up to a perfect sunny day. Agatha knew it. And she smiled at everyone who crossed her path, as if it were the most generous thing she could offer.
—from chapter 15, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 Gemma T. Leslie
---
Sneaking around the castle, staying out all night, coming home in the morning with leaves in his hair …
Baz was up to something; Simon was sure of it. But he needed proof—Penelope and Agatha weren’t taking his suspicions seriously.
“He’s plotting,” Simon would say.
“He’s always plotting,” Penelope would answer.
“He’s looming,” Simon would say.
“He’s always looming,” Agatha would answer. “He is quite tall.”
“No taller than me.”
“Mmm … a bit.”
It wasn’t just the plotting and the looming; Baz was up to something. Something beyond his chronic gittishness. His pearl grey eyes were bloodshot and shadowed; his black hair had lost its luster. Usually cold and intimidating, lately Baz seemed chilled and cornered.
Simon had followed him around the catacombs last night for three hours, and still didn’t have a clue.
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Maybe I’m not supposed to have a wand. Maybe I’m supposed to have a ring like you. Or a … a wrist thingy like mangy old Elspeth.”
“Oh, Simon.” Penelope frowned. “You shouldn’t call her that. She can’t help her fur—her father was the Witch King of Canus.”
“No, I know, I just…”
“It’s easier for the rest of us,” she said, soothing. “Magicians’ instruments stay in families. They’re passed from generation to generation.”
“Right,” he said, “just like magic. It doesn’t make sense, Penelope—my parents must have been magicians.”
He’d tried to talk to her about this before, and that time it had made her look just as sad.
“Simon … they couldn’t have been. Magicians would never abandon their own child. Never. Magic is too precious.”
Simon looked away from her and flicked his wand again. It felt like something dead in his hands.
“I think Elspeth’s fur is pretty,” Penelope said. “She looks soft.”
He shoved the wand into his pocket and stood up. “You just want a puppy.”
—from chapter 21, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“I’m sorry, Penelope.”
“Don’t waste my time with sorries, Simon. If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.”
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But I don’t understand,” Simon stammered, “what is the Insidious Humdrum? Is he a man?”
“Perhaps.” The Mage wiped the grit from his eyes and swept his wand out in front of them. “Olly olly oxen free,” he whispered. Simon braced himself, but nothing happened.
“Perhaps he’s a man,” the Mage said, recovering his wry smile. “Perhaps he’s something else, something less, I should think.”
“Is he a magician? Like us?”
“No,” the Mage said severely. “Of that we can be certain. He—if indeed he is a he—is the enemy of magic. He destroys magic; some think he eats it. He wipes the world clean of magic, wherever he can.…
“You’re too young to hear this, Simon. Eleven is too young. But it isn’t fair to keep it from you any longer. The Insidious Humdrum is the greatest threat the World of Mages has ever faced. He’s powerful, he’s pervasive. Fighting him is like fighting off sleep when you’re long
past the edge of exhaustion.
“But fight him we must. You were recruited to Watford because we believe the Humdrum has taken a special interest in you. We want to protect you; I vow to do so with my life. But you must learn, Simon, as soon as possible, how best to protect yourself.”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum wasn’t a man at all, or a monster. It was a boy.
Simon stepped closer, perhaps foolishly, wanting to see its face.… He felt the Humdrum’s power whipping around him like dry air, like hot sand, an aching fatigue in the very marrow of Simon’s bones.
The Humdrum—the boy—wore faded denims and a grotty T-shirt, and it probably took Simon far too long to recognize the child as himself. His years-ago self.
“Stop it,” Simon shouted. “Show yourself, you coward. Show yourself!”
The boy just laughed.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re the most powerful magician in a hundred ages.” The Humdrum’s face, Simon’s own boyhood face, looked dull and tired. Nothing glinted in its blue eyes.… “Do you think that much power comes without sacrifice? Did you think you could become you without leaving something, without leaving me, behind?”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Fried tomatoes at breakfast. Every lump in his bed. Being able to do magic without worrying whether anyone was watching. Agatha, of course. And Penelope. Getting to see the Mage—not often, but still. Simon’s uniform. His school tie. The football pitch, even when it was muddy. Fencing. Raisin scones every Sunday with real clotted cream … What didn’t Simon miss about Watford?
—from chapter 1, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re finally going on a date with Agatha?” Penelope’s voice was soft, despite the surprise in her face. Neither of them wanted Sir Bleakly to hear—he was prone to giving ridiculous detentions; they could end up dusting the catacombs for hours or proofreading confiscated love notes.
“After dinner,” Simon whispered back. “We’re going to look for the sixth hare in the Veiled Forest.”
“Does Agatha know it’s a date? Because that just sounds like ‘Another Tuesday Night with Simon.’”
“I think so.” Simon tried not to turn and frown at Penelope, even though he wanted to.
“She said she’d wear her new dress.…”
“Another Tuesday Night with Agatha,” Penelope said.
“You don’t think she likes me?”
“Oh, Simon, I never said that. She’d have to be an idiot not to like you.”
Simon grinned.
“So I guess what I’m saying,” Penelope said, going back to her homework, “is we’ll just have to see.”
—from chapter 17, Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, copyright © 2009 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“That does it,” Simon said, charging forward, climbing right over the long dinner table.
Penelope grabbed the tail of his cape, and he nearly landed face-first on a bench. He recovered quickly—“Let go, Penny”—and ran hard at Basil, both fists raised and ready.
Basil didn’t move. “Good fences make good neighbors,” he whispered, just barely tipping his wand.
Simon’s fist slammed into a solid barrier just inches from the other boy’s unflinching jaw.
He pulled his hand back, yelping, still stumbling against the spell.
This made Dev and Niall and all the rest of Basil’s cronies cackle like drunk hyenas. But Basil himself stayed still. When he spoke, it was so softly, only Simon could hear him. “Is that how you’re going to do it, Snow? Is that how you’re going to best your Humdrum?” He dropped the spell with a twitch of his wand, just as Simon regained his balance. “Pathetic,” Basil said, and walked away.
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum bounced a small red ball in its hand.
Simon had carried that ball everywhere, for at least a year. He’d lost it when he came to Watford—he hadn’t needed it anymore.
“You’re lying,” Simon said. “You’re not me. You’re no part of me.”
“I’m what’s left of you,” the Humdrum said. And Simon would swear his own voice was never so high and so sweet.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He’d have to tell the Mage what he saw.
I’ve finally seen the Humdrum, sir. I know what we’re fighting—me.
“What’s left of you,” the monster had said.
What is left of me? Simon wondered. A ghost? A hole? An echo?
An angry little boy with nervous hands?
—from chapter 24, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha wrung her fingers in her cape miserably. (But still prettily. Even Agatha’s tear-stained face was a thing of beauty.) Simon wanted to tell her it was all right, to forget the whole scene with Baz in the forest.… Agatha standing in the moonlight, holding both of Baz’s pale
hands in her own …
“Just tell me,” Simon said, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know what to say,” she wept. “There’s you. And you’re good. And you’re right. And then there’s him.… And he’s different.”
“He’s a monster.” Simon clenched his square jaw.
Agatha just nodded. “Perhaps.”
—from chapter 18, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Do you know what the most disappointing thing is about being a magician?”
Penelope shook her head and rolled her eyes, a combination she’d gotten terribly good at over the years. “Don’t be silly, Simon. There’s nothing disappointing about magic.”
“There is,” he argued, only partly just to tease her. “I always figured we’d learn a way to fly by now.”
“Oh, pish,” Penelope said. “Anyone can fly. Anyone with a friend.”
She held her ringed hand out to him and grinned—“Up, up and away!”
Simon felt the steps drift away from him and laughed his way through a slow somersault.
When he was upright again, he leveled his wand at Penelope.
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Morgan’s grace, Simon—slow down.” Penelope held an arm out in front of his chest and glanced around the weirdly lit courtyard. “There’s more than one way through a flaming gate.”
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Simon stepped toward the Humdrum. He’d never been this close. The heat and the pull were almost too much for him; he felt like the Humdrum would suck his heart through his chest, his thoughts from his head.
“I created you with my hunger,” Simon said. “With my need for magic.”
“With your capacity,” it said.
Simon shrugged, a Herculean effort in the presence and pressure of the Humdrum.
Simon had spent his whole life, well, the last eight years of it, trying to become more powerful, trying to live up to his destiny—trying to become the sort of magician, maybe the only magician, who could defeat the Insidious Humdrum.
And all he’d ever done was stoke the Humdrum’s need.
Simon took the last step forward.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
—from chapter 27, Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, copyright © 2012 by Gemma T. Leslie
Re: Fanfiction
He picked up the sword and wiped it clean on his cloak. “You all right?”
Baz licked his bloody lips—like they were dry, Simon thought—and nodded his head.
“Good,” Simon said, and realized that he meant it.
Then a plume of flame shot up behind Baz, throwing his face into shadow.
He whipped around and backed away from the rabbit. Its paw was well and truly on fire
now, and the flames were already crawling up the beast’s chest.
“My wand…,” Baz said, looking around him on the floor. “Quick, cast an extinguishing
spell, Snow.”
“I … I don’t know any,” Simon said.
Baz reached for Simon’s wand hand, and wrapped his own bloody fingers around
Simon’s. “Make a wish!” he shouted, flicking the wand in a half circle.
The fire sputtered out, and the nursery fell dark.
Baz let go of Simon’s hand and started hunting around on the floor for his wand. Simon
stepped closer to the gruesome corpse. “Now what?” he asked it.
As if in answer, the rabbit began to shimmer, then fade—and then it was gone, leaving
nothing behind but the smell of pennies and burnt hair.
And something else …
Baz conjured one of his blue balls of light. “Ah,” he said, picking up his wand. “Filthy
bugger was lying on it.”
“Look,” Simon said, pointing to another shadow on the floor. “I think it’s a key.” He
stooped to pick it up—an old-fashioned key with fanged white rabbit’s teeth on its blade.
Baz stepped closer to look. He was dripping with blood; the smell of gore was
overwhelming.
“Do you think this is what I was meant to find?” Simon asked.
“Well,” Baz said thoughtfully, “keys do seem more useful than giant, murderous rabbits.
… How many more of these do you have to fight?”
“Five. But I can’t do it alone. This one would have murdered me if—”
“We have to clean up this mess,” Baz said, looking down at the stains on the thick-piled
rug.
“We’ll have to tell the Mage when he comes back,” Simon said. “There’s too much
damage here to handle ourselves.”
Baz was silent.
“Come on,” Simon said, “we can at least get ourselves cleaned up now.”
The boys’ showers were as empty as the rest of the school. They chose stalls at opposite
ends.…
Simon finished first and put on fresh jeans. When he looked back at Baz’s stall, the water
was still running pink at the other boy’s ankles.
Vampire, Simon thought, allowing himself to think the word for the first time, watching
the water run.
It should have filled him with hate and revulsion—the thought of Baz usually filled him
with those things. But all Simon could feel right now was relief. Baz had helped him find the
rabbit, helped him fight it, had kept both of them alive.
Simon was relieved. And grateful.
He shoved his singed and stained clothes into the trash, then went back to their room. It
was a long time before Baz joined him. When he did, he looked better than Simon had seen
him look all year. Baz’s cheeks and lips were flushed dark pink, and his grey eyes had come
out of their shadows.
“Hungry?” Simon asked.
Baz started laughing.
The sun hadn’t quite broken the horizon yet, and no one was about in the kitchens. Simon
found bread and cheese and apples, and tossed them onto a platter. It seemed strange to sit
alone in the empty dining hall, so he and Baz sat on the kitchen flagstones instead, leaning
back against a wall of cabinets.
“Let’s get this over with,” Baz said, biting into a green apple, obviously trying to seem
casual. “Are you going to tell the Mage about me?”
“He already thinks you’re a nasty git,” Simon said.
“Yes,” Baz said quietly, “but this is worse, and you know it. You know what he’ll have to
do.”
Turn Baz over to the Coven.
It would mean certain imprisonment, perhaps death. Simon had been trying for six years
to get Baz expelled, but he’d never wanted to see him staked.
Still … Baz was a vampire—a vampire, damn it. A monster. And he was already Simon’s
enemy.
Simon looked at Baz and tried again to summon the proper amount of horror. All he could
manage was some weary dismay. “When did it happen?” he asked.
“I already told you,” Baz said. “We’ve just left the scene of the crime.”
“You were bitten in the nursery? As a child? Why didn’t anyone notice?”
“My mother was dead. My father swooped in and swept me back to the estate. I think he
might have suspected.… We’ve never talked about it.”
“Didn’t he notice when you started drinking people’s blood?”
“I don’t,” Baz snapped imperiously. “And besides, the … thirst doesn’t manifest itself
right away. It comes on during adolescence.”
“Like acne?”
“Speak for yourself, Snow.”
“When did it come on for you?”
“This summer,” Baz said, looking down.
“And you haven’t—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Baz turned on him. “Are you kidding me? Vampires murdered my mother. And if I’m
found out, I’ll lose everything.… My wand. My family. Possibly my life. I’m a magician.
I’m not—” He gestured toward his throat and his face. “—this.”
Simon wondered if he and Baz had ever been so close, had ever allowed each other to sit
this close, in all their years of living together. Baz’s shoulder was nearly touching his own,
and Simon could see every tiny bump and shadow on Baz’s admittedly very clear skin. Every
line of his lips, every flare of blue in his grey eyes.
“How are you staying alive?” Simon asked.
“I manage, thanks.”
“Not well,” Simon said. “You look like hell.”
Baz smirked. “Again, thank you, Snow. You’re a comfort.”
“I don’t mean now,” Simon said. “You look great now.” Baz raised one eyebrow and
lowered the other. “But lately…,” Simon pressed on, “you just seem like you’re fading away.
Have you been … drinking … anything?”
“I do what I can,” Baz said, dropping his apple core onto the plate. “You don’t want to
know the details.”
“I do,” Simon argued. “Look, as your roommate, I have a vested interest in you not
wandering around in a bloodlust.”
“I’d never bite you,” Baz said, locking on to Simon’s eyes.
“That’s good,” Simon said. “I’m glad you still plan to kill me the old-fashioned way—but
you have to admit that this is hard on you.”
“Of course it’s hard on me.” He threw a hand in the air in what Simon recognized as a
very Baz-like gesture. “I’ve got the thirst of the ancients, and I’m surrounded by useless bags
of blood all day.”
“And all night,” Simon said softly.
Baz shook his head and looked away again. “I said I’d never hurt you,” he muttered.
“Then let me help.” Simon moved just an inch, so their shoulders were touching. Even
through his T-shirt and through Baz’s cotton button-down, he could feel that Baz wasn’t
freezing anymore. He was warm. He seemed healthy again.
“Why do you want to help?” Baz asked, turning back to Simon, who was close enough
now to feel the soft heat of Baz’s breath on his chin. “You’d keep a secret from your mentor
to help your enemy?”
“You’re not my enemy,” Simon said. “You’re just … a really bad roommate.”
Baz laughed, and Simon felt it on his eyelashes.
“You hate me,” Baz argued. “You’ve hated me from the moment we met.”
“I don’t hate this,” Simon said. “What you’re doing—denying your most powerful urges,
just to protect other people. It’s more heroic than anything I’ve ever done.”
“They’re not my most powerful urges,” Baz said under his breath.
“Do you know,” Simon said, “that half the time we’re together, you’re talking to
yourself?”
“Ah, Snow, I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I notice,” Simon said, feeling six years of irritation and anger—and twelve hours of
exhaustion—coming to a dizzy peak between his ears. He shook his head, and he must have
leaned forward because it was enough to bump his nose and chin against Baz’s.… “Let me
help you,” Simon said.
Baz held his head perfectly still. Then he nodded, gently thudding his forehead against
Simon’s.
“I notice,” Simon said, letting his mouth drift forward. He thought of everything that had
passed over the other boy’s lips. Blood and bile and curses.
But Baz’s mouth was soft now, and he tasted of apples.
And Simon didn’t care for the moment that he was changing everything.