Carry On Read online

  I take the paper, a photograph, and he watches me. I’m tempted to shove it in my pocket and look at it later, but curiosity gets the best of me, and I hold it up.…

  It’s me.

  Down in the crèche, I think. (Watford used to have a staff nursery and day school; it’s where the vampires struck.)

  I’m just a baby in this photo. Three or four years old, wearing soft grey dungarees with bloomer bottoms, and white leather boots. My skin is the shocking thing: a stark reddish gold against my white collared shirt and white socks. I’m smiling at the camera, and someone’s holding my fingers—

  I recognize my mother’s wedding ring. I recognize her thick, rough hand.

  And then I can remember her hand. Resting on my leg when she wanted me to be still. Holding her wand precisely in the air. Slipping into her desk drawer to get a sweet and popping it into her mouth.

  “Your hands are scratchy,” I’d say when she cupped one around my cheek.

  “They’re fire-holders’ hands,” she’d say. “Flame throwers’.”

  My mother’s hands scuffing my cheek. Tucking my hair behind my ears.

  My mother’s hands held aloft—setting the air of the nursery on fire while a chalk-skinned monster buried his teeth in my throat.

  “Baz…,” Snow says. He’s picked up the book and is holding it out to me.

  I take it.

  “I need to tell you something,” he says.

  “What?” Since when do Snow and I have anything to tell each other?

  “I need to talk to you.”

  I raise my chin. “Talk, then.”

  “Not here.” He sheathes his blade. “We’re not supposed to be here, and … what I have to tell you is sort of private.”

  For a moment—not even a moment, a split second—I imagine him saying, “The truth is, I’m desperately attracted to you.” And then I imagine myself spitting in his face. And then I imagine licking it off his cheek and kissing him. (Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.)

  I “Make a wish!” the flame out of my hand, tuck the photo into the book, and the book under my arm. “Lucky for us,” I say, “we have our own suite at the top of a turret. Private enough for you?”

  He nods, embarrassed, and gestures for me to walk ahead of him. “Just come on,” he says.

  I do.

  39

  SIMON

  I’d just caught my enemy red-handed, breaking into the Mage’s office. I could have got him expelled for this. Finally.

  And instead I gave him the thing he came to steal, then asked him if we could have some alone time—all because of a baby picture.

  But the look on Baz’s face in that picture … Smiling just because he was happy, with cheeks like red apples.

  And the look on his face when he saw it. Like someone blew a horn and all his walls crumbled.

  We walk back to our room, and it’s awkward; we don’t have any experience walking with each other, even though we’re usually headed in the same direction. We keep our distance on the stairs, then move even farther away as we cross the courtyards. I keep wanting to get my sword back out.

  Baz has worked himself up to a full-on strop by the time we get to our room. He slams the door shut behind us, sets the book on his bed, then crosses his arms. “Fine, Snow. We’re alone. Whatever you have to say—say it.”

  I cross my arms, too. “All right,” I say, “just … sit down, okay?”

  “Why should I sit down?”

  “Because you’re making me uncomfortable.”

  “Good,” he says. “You should be glad I’m not making you bleed.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” I say. I only swear like a Normal when I’m at my wit’s end. “Could you just calm down? This is important.”

  Baz shakes his head, exasperated, but sits at the end of his bed, frowning at me. He has these droopy dog eyes that always look like they’re peeking out from under his eyelids, even when his eyes are wide open. And his lips naturally turn down at the corners. It’s like his face was designed for pouting.

  I walk over to my book bag and pull out a notebook. I wrote down as much as I could the day after Baz’s mum came to see me; I thought I was writing it all down to share with the Mage.

  I sit on my bed, facing him, and he reluctantly shifts to sit across from me.

  “All right,” I say, “look. I don’t want to tell you this. I don’t even know if I should. But it’s your mum, and I don’t think it’s right to keep it from you.”

  “What about my mother?” His arms unfold, and he leans forward, grabbing at my notebook.

  I whip the notebook away. “I’m telling you, okay? Just listen.”

  His eyes narrow.

  I’m stupidly flustered. “When you were gone—you were gone when the Veil lifted.”

  He guesses it immediately—his nostrils flare, and his eyes go a little wild—he’s so fucking smart, I don’t know how I’m ever going to get the best of him.

  “My mother…,” he says.

  “She was looking for you. She kept coming back. Here. Where were you that she couldn’t find you?”

  “My mother came through the Veil?”

  “Yeah. She said she was called here, to our room, that this was your place. And she was pretty hacked off that you weren’t here. Wanted to know whether I’d hurt you.”

  “She talked to you?”

  “Yeah. I mean—yes.” I run my hands through my hair. “She came looking for you and scared the living shit out of me, asking if I’d hurt you. And then she said that the Veil was closing.…” I look down at my notebook.

  Baz grabs it from me, scanning the page hungrily, then hurls it back at my chest. “You write like an animal. What did she say?”

  “She said that…” My voice falters. “That her killer walks. That you should find Nicodemus and bring her peace.”

  “Bring her peace?”

  I don’t know what more to say. His face is in agony.

  “But she killed the vampires,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “Does she mean the Humdrum?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me again.”

  I look back down at my notes. “Her killer walks, but Nicodemus knows. Find Nicodemus and bring her peace.”

  “Who’s Nicodemus?” Baz demands. Fierce and imperious, just like his mother.

  “She didn’t say.”

  “What else?” he asks. “Was there anything else?”

  “Well … she kissed me.” My hand jerks up, and I brush my fingertips over my forehead. “She told me it was for you, to give to you.”

  He clenches his fists at his sides. “Then what?”

  “Then she left,” I say. “She came back one more time, that same night, the last night before the Veil fell”—Baz looks like he wants to choke me—“and she was different, sadder, like she was crying.” I look down at my notes. “And I couldn’t see her that time, but she said, ‘My son, my rosebud boy.’ She said that a few times, I think. And then she called me by my name and said she never would have left you. And then: ‘He said we were stars.’”

  “Who said? Nicodemus?”

  “I guess, I don’t know.”

  Baz squeezes his fists tight, and his voice comes out of him in a tight roar. “Who. The fuck. Is Nicodemus.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I thought you’d know.”

  He gets off the bed and starts prowling about the room. “My mother came back. She came back to see me. And you talked to her instead. Unbelievable.”

  “Well, where were you? Why couldn’t she find you?”

  “I was indisposed! It’s none of your business!”

  “Well, I hope your secret trip was worth it!” I shout. “Because your mother came for you! She came and she came and she came—and you were off planning your hopeless rebellion!”

  He stops pacing, then charges towards me, his hands reaching for my neck. And I’m more scared for him than I am for myself, even though I k
now he wants to kill me. Because if he touches me, he’ll be cast out. The Anathema.

  I jump to my feet and catch his wrists. They’re cold. “Baz, you don’t want to hurt me. Do you.” He strains against my grip. He’s panting with rage. “You don’t want to hurt me,” I say, trying to push him back. “Isn’t that right? I’m sorry. Look at me, I’m sorry.”

  His grey eyes focus, and he steps back, snatching his arms away. We both glance around the room, waiting for the Anathema to kick in.

  There’s a knock at the door, and we both jump.

  “Simon?” I hear Penny say.

  Baz arches an eyebrow, and I can practically hear him thinking, Interesting. I shove past him and open the door. “Penny, what’re you—?”

  She’s been crying. She starts again—“Simon”—and rushes into my arms. I slowly put my arms around her and look up at Baz, waiting for him to raise the alarm.

  He shakes his head, like it’s all too much for him. “I’ll leave you alone,” he says, sliding past us out the door. I hate to think of how he’ll use this against Penelope, or me—but right now I’ve got Penny sobbing into my shirt.

  “Hey,” I say, patting her back. I’m not good at hugging, she knows that, but she must not care right now. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She pulls back and wipes her face on her sleeve. She’s still wearing her coat. “My mum…” Her face is all crumpled. She wipes it on her sleeve again.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s not hurt—nobody’s hurt. But she told me that Premal came yesterday.” Penny’s talking too fast, and still crying. “He came for the Mage with two more of his Men, and they wanted to search our house.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The Mage sent them. Premal said it was a routine search for banned magic, but Mum said there’s no such thing as a routine search, and she’d be damned to Slough before she let the Mage treat her like she was an enemy of the state. And then Premal said it wasn’t a request. And Mum said they could come back with an order from the Coven”—Penny’s shaking in my arms—“and Prem said that we’re at war, and that the Mage is the Mage, and what did Mum have to hide, anyway? And Mum said that wasn’t the point. The point was civil liberties, and freedom, and not having your 20-year-old son showing up at your house like Rolf in The Sound of Music. And I’m sure Premal was humiliated and not acting like himself—or maybe just acting more like his tosser self than usual—because he said he’d be back, and that Mum had better change her mind. And Mum said he could come back as a Nazi and a fascist, but not as her son.” Penny’s voice breaks again, and she covers her face in her arms, elbowing me in the chin.

  I pull my head back and hold on to her shoulders. “Hey,” I say, “I’m sure this is just something that got out of hand. We’ll talk to the Mage.”

  She jerks away from me. “Simon—no. You can’t talk to him about this.”

  “Pen. It’s the Mage. He’s not going to hurt your family. He knows you’re good.”

  She shakes her head. “My mum made me promise not to tell you, Simon.”

  “No secrets,” I say, suddenly defensive. “We have a pact.”

  “I know! That’s why I’m here, but you cannot tell the Mage. My mother’s scared, and my mother doesn’t get scared.”

  “Why didn’t she just let them search the house?”

  “Why should she?”

  “Because,” I say, “if the Mage is doing this, he has a reason. He doesn’t just hassle people. He doesn’t have time for that.”

  “But … what if they found something?”

  “At your house? They wouldn’t.”

  “They might,” she says. “You know my mum. ‘Information wants to be free.’ ‘There’s no such thing as a bad thought.’ Our library is practically as big as Watford’s and better stocked. If you wanted to find something dangerous in there, I’m sure you could.”

  “But the Mage doesn’t want to hurt your family.”

  “Who does he want to hurt, Simon?”

  “People who want to hurt us!” I say. I practically shout it. “People who want to hurt me!”

  Penny folds her arms and looks at me. She’s mostly stopped crying. “The Mage isn’t perfect. He’s not always right.”

  “No one is. But we have to trust him. He’s doing his best.” As soon as I say it, I feel a pound of guilt settle in my stomach. I should have told the Mage about the ghost. I should have told Penny. I should have told them both before I told Baz. I could be spying for the wrong side.

  “I need to think about this,” Penny says. “It’s not my secret to tell—or yours.”

  “All right,” I agree.

  “All right.” A few more tears well up on her, and she shakes her head again. “I should go. I can’t believe Baz hasn’t come back with the house master yet. They probably think he’s lying—”

  “I don’t think he’s snitching on you.”

  She huffs. “Of course he is. I don’t care. I have bigger worries.”

  “Stay for a bit,” I say. If she stays, I’ll tell her about Baz’s mum.

  “No. We can talk about this tomorrow. I just needed to tell you.”

  “Your family will be safe,” I say. “You don’t have to worry about it. I promise.”

  Penelope looks unconvinced, and I half expect her to point out how worthless my words have been so far. But she just nods and tells me she’ll see me at breakfast.

  40

  BAZ

  I could watch Bunce swing for this.

  (I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to get past the residence hall’s gender barriers. Trust Bunce to find a way. She’s incessantly fiendish.)

  But I don’t even care.

  I find my way down to the Catacombs and hunt mindlessly.

  My mother’s tomb is here. I hate to think that she might be watching me. Can souls see through the Veil? Does she know I’ve become one of them?

  I wonder sometimes what would have happened if she’d lived.

  I was the only child in the nursery who was Turned that day. The vampires might have taken me with them if my mother hadn’t stopped them.

  My father came for me as soon as he heard. And he and Fiona did everything they could to heal me—but they knew I was changed. They knew the blood lust would manifest itself eventually.

  And they just …

  They went on acting like nothing had happened. Crowley, they’re lucky I didn’t start devouring people as soon as I hit puberty. I don’t think my father ever would have mentioned it, even if he’d caught me draining the maid. “Basil, change into some new things for dinner. You’ll upset your stepmother.”

  Though he’d much prefer to catch me disrobing the maid.… (Definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.)

  My father never acknowledges that I’m a vampire—besides my flammability—and I know he’ll never send me away because of it.

  But my mother?

  She would have killed me.

  She would have faced me, what I am, and done what was right.

  My mother never would have let a vampire into Watford. She didn’t.

  I end my walk at the door to her tomb. At the stone in the wall that marks it.

  She was the youngest person ever to lead Watford—and one of three headmasters in history to die defending it. She’s kept here, in a place of honour, part of the school’s foundation.

  My mother came back.

  She came back for me.

  What does it mean that she couldn’t find me?

  Maybe ghosts can’t see through coffins.

  Maybe she couldn’t see me because I’m not fully alive. Will I get to see her when Simon finally finishes me?

  He will … Finish me.

  Snow will do the right thing.

  * * *

  I stay in the Catacombs until I’m done feeding. Until I’m done raging. Until I can’t stand staring at that photograph of myself anymore. (Chubby, lucky bag of blood.)

  Until
I’m done crying.

  You’d think that’s something you’d lose in the change—tears. But I still piss, and I still cry. I still lose water.

  (I don’t really know how it all works, being a vampire; my family won’t let me near a magickal doctor—and it’s not like I get colds or need vaccinations.)

  The flowers I’ve laid outside my mother’s tomb have wilted. I cast “April showers!” and they bloom again. It takes more magic than I can afford right now—flowers and food take life—and I slump forward against the wall.

  When I’m tired lately, I can’t keep my head up. And my left leg isn’t quite right since the numpties; it goes numb. I stomp it into the stone floor, and some feeling shoots up my heel.

  If my mother came back through the Veil, that means she hasn’t completely moved on. She isn’t here—she can’t see me—but she isn’t in the next place. Her soul is stuck in the in-between.

  How am I supposed to help?

  Find this Nicodemus? Is he the one who sent the vampires?

  I’ve always been told that the Humdrum sent the vampires. Even Fiona thinks the Humdrum sent the vampires. The Humdrum sends everything else to Watford.…

  My leg’s so numb when I get to our tower, I have to lead with my right and drag my left behind me, all the way up the stairs.

  Bunce is gone from our room. Snow’s in bed, and the windows are open. He’s showered. Snow uses the soap the school provides—he smells like a hospital when he’s clean.

  I don’t bother rinsing my face or changing. Just strip to my undershirt and pants, and climb in my bed. I feel like death. Death not even warmed over.

  As soon as I’m settled—eyes closed, willing myself not to cry again—Snow clears his throat. Awake, then. I won’t cry.

  “I’ll help you,” he says—so softly, only a vampire could hear him.

  “Help me what?”

  “I’ll help you find whatever killed your mother.”

  “Why?”

  He rolls over to face my bed. I can just see him in the dark. He can’t see me.

  He shrugs. “Because they attacked Watford.”

  I roll away.

  “Because she was your mother,” he says. “And they killed her in front of you. And that’s—that’s wrong.”