“That’s dead sexy,” he says.

  I point it at him. “Stone cold sober!”

  He grins. “Are you drunk, Baz?”

  I frown. “Clearly not.”

  He giggles and pushes my shoulder. “I’m immune to magic, you big plonker.”

  “Eight snakes,” I swear. “I forgot.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. “Change me into pyjamas, would you? I hate this suit so much. I can’t even breathe.”

  The suit isn’t immune to magic. I turn it into pyjamas. I let his wings fly free, and Mordelia is properly awed when she sees them—“Wicked!”

  We sit on the sofa in the family room and watch Die Hard together. Even half-bladdered, Snow knows this movie well enough to skip through all the worst violence and nudity.

  He sobers up a bit along the way.

  “This was all right, wasn’t it?” he asks, when I walk him up to the attic.

  “Yes, Snow.”

  “It’s a start, then, isn’t it?”

  “Knock on wood,” I say, knocking on his forehead.

  “I wish I could have met your mum. Like, not the ghost version. The real one.”

  “That was the real one,” I say softly. “It wasn’t a ghost. It was her.”

  “I would have liked to meet her like this.”

  I assume he doesn’t mean tipsy and wearing magic pyjamas.

  “She was even more traditional than my father,” I say. “When she was headmistress, you could get expelled from Watford for—”

  “Hey,” he says, touching my cheek. “You don’t know how she would have reacted.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Well, imagine that she would have kept growing, you know? If she’d lived. Her mind would have changed about all sorts of things.”

  I look in his blue eyes. “Perhaps,” I whisper.

  “Perhaps,” Simon whispers back, smiling. His eyes lose focus for a second, then his brows drop. “She asked me to give you something . . .”

  “What?”

  Simon holds on to my shoulders and stands on his toes to kiss my forehead.

  Then he settles back on his heels and smiles at me. “That.”

  SIMON

  Baz’s twin sisters wake me up, both of them banging on the door. “Wake up! Father Christmas was here!!”

  The door opens, and Baz peeks in. “They can’t open their presents until everyone is awake.”

  I groan.

  One of the girls pushes the door open. “Wake up, lazybones, you’re ruining Christmas!”

  Baz is grinning at me. He’s showered and dressed in fresh clothes. He’s drinking tea.

  My pyjamas smell like champagne and gravy.

  “Wake up,” the other twin says. “You’re being shocking.”

  I manage a quick shower and put on the green jumper and dark jeans that Baz packed for me. I’m only staying to open gifts; I need to get back to London. I wish someone could cast a spell on my aching head—magicians never have aspirin.

  When I get downstairs, all the Grimms and Pitches are deeply unimpressed with me. (I suppose there’s only one Pitch here. My one.)

  Baz hands me a cup of tea, and Daphne gives me crumb cake. And the girls tear into their gifts.

  Baz was right, I shouldn’t have bothered bringing them books and crayons. The little girls got an enormous dollhouse from Father Christmas, and Mordelia got an actual pony. Baz gave all the girls and women hair barrettes—which pleased them far more than I expected. He gave his father honey made by magickal bees.

  (Baz and I are exchanging gifts later. I’m giving him his own side of the room—plus a leather bracelet thing I bought from the spider-woman who makes my shirts.)

  His dad isn’t being as jolly as he was last night, but he’s in a much better mood than he was when I showed up yesterday. He’s stopped looking my way and sighing. And he seems genuinely pleased with Baz, who’s been nibbling on cake this whole time. His parents are going to stuff Baz like Hansel every chance they get.

  One of the twins brings me a gift to unwrap. “It’s from everyone,” she says. “It’s an ugly jumper.”

  “It’s a lovely jumper,” Daphne says, mortified.

  “Thanks,” I say, ripping off the paper.

  The little girl is leaning against the sofa, squinting up at me. “Delia says you have wings.”

  “Delia’s lying!” the other twin says.

  “She isn’t lying,” I say. “I do have wings.”

  “Show us!” they both shout.

  I glance over at Baz. “You have to ask your brother to cast the spell.” Baz rolls his eyes, as if I’m constantly showing off my wings, everywhere we go.

  “Do it, Basilton!” one twin says.

  “Give him wings!” says the other.

  “I’m not giving him wings,” Baz grumbles, pointing his wand at me. “I’m setting them free. Like a glove!”

  My jumper reshapes itself around my wings, and I carefully unfold them. The twins gasp, and Swithin squeals. “Bird!” he says.

  I spread my wings wide.

  Baz’s father looks dismayed again.

  But Baz is smiling at me.

  I get out while the getting is relatively good. Everyone’s in a decent mood, and I haven’t done anything to destroy their home.

  Baz’s parents thank me for coming—and they even walk me to the door (possibly to make sure I leave). It makes it awkward saying good-bye to Baz. He hands me Fiona’s car keys and my overnight bag.

  “I’ll see you back in London,” I say, “yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “Wish Lady Ruth and Jamie a happy Christmas for me.”

  “I will.”

  “Drive safely, Simon,” Daphne says.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Baz has spelled that car into a tank.”

  I step outside. And down the steps.

  “Simon!” Baz calls. “Your wings!”

  I turn back, and he’s coming down the steps with his wand out. I pull my wings in tight and wait for him to cast the spell.

  “Cover your back!” he casts.

  Then he touches my chest and leans in to kiss me. Quickly. On the mouth.

  BAZ

  I couldn’t let him leave without a kiss good-bye. I’d only regret it later.

  You can read more about Simon and Baz in the Simon Snow Trilogy

  In Waiting

  ANNA DIDN’T SEE HIM APPEAR. HE WAS JUST THERE all of a sudden, walking around, looking disoriented.

  “Hey,” she said. “You’re new.”

  “Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess so.” He laughed. Nervously. Like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. He’d probably never laughed before.

  “Hey,” she said, more gently. “It’s okay. Sit down.” She scooted over on her bench. “Get your bearings.”

  He sat down next to her. He was older than usual. Solidly built. With broad shoulders and a wide face. His hair fell soft and strawberry blond over his forehead.

  Everything about him was carefully rendered. Even his sweater had a pattern—a Fair Isle knit.

  He pushed his hair off his face again and swallowed. “Am I . . . Is this . . . the story?”

  “No. Not yet. This is like . . . the waiting room. You haven’t been written yet.”

  “Okay . . .” He nodded. Then winced, shaking his head. “But I feel written.”

  “I know. It’s weird. You’ll get used to it—or maybe you won’t. You might get drafted right away. That happens all the time.”

  “It does?”

  “Oh, yeah. Usually, even.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  She smiled at him and shrugged. “A while.”

  The man—he really was a full-grown man—kept looking at her. He was looking at her clothes. Her shoes. Her hair. He was trying to figure her out. He was frightened.

  “We haven’t had a redhead for a while,” she said.

  “Yeah?” He breathed out another nervous laugh. “I think I look like someone on a TV show she likes . . .” He shook his head. “But less handsome. Why would she make me less handsome?”

  “Ah, don’t worry.” Anna nudged her shoulder into his. “You look very nice. I think if you were any handsomer, you’d be too handsome.”

  “You’re being kind.”

  “No, I’m serious. ‘Too handsome’ isn’t any good at all. If anything, it’s creepy.”

  The man laughed. More naturally.

  She went on—“When I see the aggressively handsome ones coming, I know they aren’t meant for anything interesting. They can barely hold a conversation.”

  He was smiling at her. “You’ve really got the lay of the land here, huh?”

  Anna smiled back at him and decided to be honest. She could tell this one was built for conversation—for banter, probably. His eyes were thoughtful, and he had a little smile constantly tucked in the corner of his mouth. It was disarming. Inviting. She should enjoy it while she could. “I’ve been here years. Since high school, if you can believe it.”

  “Since you were in high school?”

  “Since she was in high school.”

  “That long . . .” He gave her a sad look. He’d been alive for three minutes, and he already pitied her.

  “There’ve been a few close calls,” Anna said. “She’s gotten me ready a few times. Like, all wrapped up and ready to go. I’ve got incredible substructure—I even have parents.”

  “You have parents?”

  She nodded. “They’re kicking around here somewhere. I’ll introduce you.”

  “But you’ve never . . .” He waved his hand out and vaguely down. “. . . gone in? Not all the way?”

  “No,” she said, and because she knew what the next question would be, she added, “I’m not sure why.” She looked away from him. At the park they were sitting in. It was a lovely spring day. The trees were in bloom. The irises were up. There were people everywhere, if you looked for them. “It’s been all teenagers and magicians around here for the last few years. She’s hardly thought of me.”

  “Ah,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Anna looked back at him, smiling broadly. She had small, even teeth and shallow dimples. Her eyes were a specific shade of blue, and her hair parted on the right. “Don’t be. It’s not a bad life. I mean—it could be worse. It’s not like she writes horror stories. She doesn’t even write villains, really.”

  “No villains?”

  “Nope. Every once in a while we get what my dad calls a ‘complicated character’ . . .”

  The man’s eyebrows pulled up a bit in the middle. It was an advanced expression. Disbelief plus compassion. “I still can’t believe you have parents.”

  “I have a best friend, too! And a career—I even have a cat!”

  He grinned. “You’re like Barbie.”

  “Ha!” She elbowed him. “That’s something you’ll like about this place. We all get each other’s jokes.”

  He looked away from her. At the park. The pathways. The figures moving in the trees. “It never even occurred to me that I’d be here long—certainly not for years.”

  “Well. Not much has occurred to you, right?”

  He turned back to her and settled against the bench, folding his ankle over his knee. “I guess you’re right. Still . . . I sort of took shape feeling like I was about to go straight in.” He held his hand flat and pushed forward.

  “Right into battle.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Well, maybe you are!” Anna didn’t want to drag him down into the weeds with her. “She’s always on deadline. There could be something brewing. You don’t seem to be a teenager . . .”

  “I’m thirty-two,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?” She turned toward him, sitting sideways on the bench. “I’m thirty-four. Do you have a birthday?”

  “Sometime in February.”

  She leaned forward. “That’s a really good sign! I mean, if you’re hoping to be a main character.”

  He cocked a reddish-blond eyebrow. “Don’t most people want that?”

  “God, no.” Anna laughed. “Not even the ones who get chosen. Lots of nervous types around here.”

  He frowned. “I don’t feel very nervous . . . I mean, not constitutionally.”

  “Really? Hmm. You might not be a main character, then. You could be a romantic lead. Would you like that?”

  He seemed to think about it. His chin got all rumply. “Maybe. I mean . . . I’m not against it. Everyone needs a little romance, don’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  His eyes jumped back up to her. “Oh God, sorry.”

  “Ha.” She poked his arm. “I’m just teasing.”

  “Oh.” He looked relieved. “Good. I mean. You know . . . you don’t seem very nervous either.”

  “It’s funny you say that.” Anna folded her legs, crisscross applesauce. “I was once. I was really high-strung. But I’ve been here so long that there isn’t much to be nervous about anymore. Plus I think I’ve sort of drifted . . .”

  He lowered his eyebrows. “From what?”

  “From who I was meant to be.”

  “Out of character?” He sounded shocked.

  “I suppose. My mom says I’ve kind of taken on a life of my own.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “I mean—” She shrugged. “—who’s going to stop me?” She held out her hand. “I’m Anna, by the way.”

  He took her hand. His had heft. It was warm. “I’m James.” “You’ve got a name!” she exclaimed, shaking his hand. “I didn’t want to ask. That’s an extremely good sign.”

  “Are there people here without names?”

  “Loads! Some of us don’t even have faces. There’s a guy walking around who’s barely a haircut.”

  James frowned again. “That sounds gruesome.”

  “Oh no—it isn’t. It’s a really great haircut. But, still . . . a name. That’s the last thing she gets to. You’re ready to go, buddy. You’re the complete package.”

  “I wonder where I’m headed . . .” He looked around him, then down at his open hands. “It’s strange, not knowing.”

  “Hmm.” Anna narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted to help. “Let’s think about this. You’re thirty-two . . . Can you do magic?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Are you a vampire?”

  “No,” James said, affronted. “I’m a sociologist.”

  “You could be both.”

  He laughed. “I appreciate the encouragement. But I’m just a red-haired man with an overbearing mother and a Scion xB.”

  “James! You have a mother? You have a car?”

  “I guess I do . . .” he said, surprised.

  “You are not long for our world, friend—I shouldn’t even bother getting to know you!”

  His face fell. Compassionate again. “Anna, I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” she groaned. “I’m still just teasing. I’m happy to get to know you. I mean, I don’t mind teenagers—or vampires, for that matter. But it’s nice to talk to someone my own age.”

  She smiled at him. He smiled back.

  His eyes were a very specific blue. Pale. Almost icy.

  “Are you feeling any better?” she asked. “We could take a walk.”

  “Don’t I need to stick around? In case she . . .”

  “She won’t call your number or anything. She’ll just take you.” He was concerned, careful. “And she’ll be able to find me? Even if I walk around?”

  “Oh yeah, this is all the same place. You can’t really hide from her.”

  “Okay, then, yeah. Let’s walk.”

  Anna hopped off the bench, and James followed her. She led him along one of the paths, through oak trees. There was water flowing somewhere, but Anna had never been able to find it. It must belong to someone else.

  James was quite a bit taller than her. He walked with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing faded green cotton pants and sensible leather shoes. He could be in any sort of story. He was stolid and reassuring. His face was freckled, and there were laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth.

  “Do you usually stay around here?” he asked. “On the bench?”

  “Oh no, I get around. I have a house.”

  “You have a house? I don’t think I have a house . . .”

  “At first, I just had a room,” Anna said, “but there’s a whole house now. Do you want to see it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all. Come on.”

  She led him along the path. She could get to the house by deciding to get there, and it only took as long as she wanted it to.

  She decided to give it a few minutes. She liked walking with James. She wasn’t in any hurry. There was only so much she could show him anyway. There was only so much here.

  The farmhouse appeared in the distance. They turned down the gravel driveway.

  “You live on a farm,” he said.

  “Yeah, I think it’s one of the places she lived when she was a little girl. I was a little girl when I first got here.”

  He stopped to look at her. “Wait, you grew up here?”

  “Sorrrt of . . .” she said, cocking her head. “It’s more like she grew me up. Revised me up. Over the years.”

  James smiled gently. His eyebrows were raised in the middle again. “Anna, that’s so weird.”

  She goggled her eyes. “I know.”

  “How long have you been thirty-four?”

  “A decade at least.” She reached out and tugged on his forearm. “Come on.”

  She pulled him through the yard. There were chickens out pecking in front of the coop. There were goats, too, in the back. There’d been a horse for a while, but not anymore.

  The front door wasn’t locked. Anna took James through the old kitchen. There was a pump by the sink and a big table instead of counters.

  She showed him the living room with the antique sofa and the television . . .

  She never told anyone else about the television—they’d be so jealous. The house always made people jealous at first. Then, over time (it usually took longer than three minutes), they saw it as something pitiful. And then, over more time, it scared them. The older ones wouldn’t come anywhere near it. They acted like it was haunted. Like Anna was the ghost.