I’m still looking at the curse markings. I press my gem to his flesh. “Out, out, damned spot!”

  The spell shoots down through my arm, then seems to double back on me. I pull my hand away like I’ve been shocked, and my gem drops.

  The balcony is made of wood decking, and the gem is resting at the edge of one of the slats. Shepard carefully picks it up and holds it out to me. “Thank you,” he says. “But I don’t think there’s any un-cursing me. Some magic works on me, but nothing that would change my fate—”

  I clench my amethyst in my fist and press my hand against his neck.

  “Penelope,” he says, catching my wrist.

  “Get well soon!” I say. I feel the spell hook on him. He feels it, too. His head rocks back a bit, and he squeezes my wrist.

  I move my hand away. The vampire bite already looks a bit better. Good.

  He’s still holding my wrist.

  “Shepard, you’re not going back to Las Vegas.”

  “But my—”

  “If you mention your truck again, I’m going to turn you into a frog.” I pull my hand away. “A demon-cursed frog.”

  “I need to get back home.”

  “No.” I fold my arms. “You’re coming back to London with us. I’m taking you to my mother, and she’s going to fix you.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but this situation is beyond ma—”

  “Nothing is beyond magic!”

  Shepard snaps his mouth closed, and I hope that means he’s done arguing.

  I stand up and make a show of heading back into the flat. Like, case closed. “I mean,” I say, without turning, “I know you think you know everything there is to know about the magickal world, but I don’t even know that, and I’m smarter than you, and I’ve spent my whole life studying it.”

  “I can’t afford the airfare, Penelope.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I don’t have a passport.”

  “Oh ye of little faith.”

  “Is that a spell?”

  I stop at the sliding door, looking at his reflection in the glass. “Come to London and find out.”

  SIMON

  The Pacific Ocean is warmer than the Atlantic.

  This bit of it, anyway.

  I’m sitting out on the sand, with my boots off and my jeans rolled up. The jeans got wet, anyway. Penny will dry them. She’s been plastering me with spells since we got out of the dead spot—I came out here partly just to give her a break. And to try to clear my head.

  I had this idea about America.…

  That I’d find myself here.

  That’s why people get in a convertible and hit the road without a map. That’s the promise. That you’ll finally see yourself when you don’t recognize the scenery.

  Maybe it worked.

  I fell for the blue sky and sunshine—then this country dragged me behind it, kicking and bleeding. I failed every test. I fell. I fell short. And only someone else’s spells got me back on my feet and breathing again.

  It’s time for me to stop pretending that I’m some sort of superhero. I was that—I really was—but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story.

  Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready. I could go back to school then, or get a job—I think I’d rather get a job. Earn something for myself. Pay my own rent.

  It feels good to think about.

  It feels like—shit, I’m crying. It feels awful, but it feels clean.

  There’s a wave crashing towards me. Sometimes they start out fierce, then lose their nerve before they get to the beach.

  This one doesn’t blink.

  BAZ

  Simon’s sitting on the beach, like a boy in a music video. White T-shirt, rolled-up jeans. Head full of sun.

  There’s a wave headed for him, he must see it, but he doesn’t move until it comes up over his legs. His head falls back. I think he might be smiling.

  I take off my socks and shoes and leave them on a rock, then find my way down to him. He looks up when my shadow reaches him, closing one eye against the sun. “Hey.”

  I smile. “Hey.”

  Another wave is coming our way. I hop back to avoid it. Simon laughs. The wave breaks a few feet away from him.

  I decide to join him on the sand—I can spell myself dry later. I sit a bit behind him, on slightly higher ground.

  He glances back at me. “Oh, hey,” he says like he’s just remembered something. He leans back to reach in his pocket, and takes out a wad of blue silk.

  “That’s my mother’s scarf!” I reach for it.

  He opens his hand. The scarf threads through his fingers as I pull it away. “Sorry,” he says. “I forgot it was in my pocket.”

  “I thought I left it in the hotel room.”

  “You did.”

  I fold the scarf, gently. Snow watches for a moment, then looks away.

  “Well,” I say. “Now you can say you drove across America.”

  “Not really.” He folds his arms over his knees. “We started in the middle, and I was in a coma from Nevada to California.”

  “You didn’t miss anything.”

  He hunches forward, hanging his head. “I wanted to see those ancient trees, the sequoias.”

  “They’ll still be here when you come back.”

  He shakes his head. “Not coming back. You can send me a postcard.”

  “Me? I don’t think I’m ever leaving Camberwell after this. Possibly to visit my parents at Christmas. I’ll decide in December.”

  He looks back at me. The way he’s sitting, his face tilted, he looks like a child. He looks like the Humdrum. “You don’t have to leave with us, you know.”

  “What?”

  He turns back to the sea. “I saw you … with Lamb. I heard you.”

  “Snow…”

  “He’d let you stay there.”

  “In a glam-rock hotel in Las Vegas? No, thank you.” It’s the wrong thing to say. But everything Simon’s saying is already the wrong thing. This is a wrong conversation.

  He raises his hands, frustrated. “Baz, I was there! You—you fit in.”

  “I was trying to fit in.”

  “You’re like them! And he could show you how to be more like them; you wouldn’t have to go looking for answers in books. Baz, we’ve read all the books. All mages know about vampires is how to kill them!”

  “Knowledge I have very recently put into service.”

  Simon growls and turns towards me, one leg dropping into the sand. “Baz, you wouldn’t have to hide anymore!”

  “I’ll always have to hide! So will you!”

  “Why can’t you just admit that you’d be happier here?”

  I raise my voice: “Why can’t you see that I wouldn’t be happy anywhere without you?”

  He sits back, like I’ve slapped him.

  “Simon…” I whisper.

  I wait for him to get it. To finally give in to it.

  Or maybe to say I’ve passed the test.

  Instead he shakes his head. “Baz…” His voice is barely there.

  “Baz!” someone shouts.

  Penelope’s running towards us. She’s out of breath. We both stand when we see the look on her face. I catch her by the shoulders. “What? What is it?”

  Her brown eyes are lit with horror. “Baz, there’s trouble at Watford. We have to go home—now!”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wrote this book after a hard time and during a hard time. So these acknowledgments come from a more tremulous place than usual.

  Thank you first to Thomas Smith, Josh Friedman, Michelle McCaslin, and Mark Goodman, four people who treated me with absolute respect and compassion, and never stopped listening or trying to understand.

  Thank you to my editor, Sara Goodman, who could have said, “Another Simon and Baz book?” But instead said, “Another Simon and Baz book!” Sara has never asked me to be anyone but myself, and I treasure her for it.

  I’ve been very lucky at Wednesday Books and St. Martin’s Press, where my books are treated with so much care and enthusiasm. I’m especially grateful for designer Olga Grlic, who is my favorite combination of fearless and committed to great work; and for publicist Jessica Preeg, who has been my rock.

  Writing a sequel is surprisingly tricky.…

  Sincere thanks to Bethany and Troy Gronberg, Margaret Willison, and Joy DeLyria, for helping me detangle multiple knots. To Ashley Christy, Mitali Dave, Tulika Mehrotra, and Christina Tucker, for their keen insight and attention to detail. To Melinda Salisbury, Keris Stainton, and Melissa Cox, for their endless patience and good cheer. And to Elena Yip, whose instincts are second to none.

  Thank you to my agent, Christopher Schelling. (You know that your agent has your back when they’re there for you, day after day, even when you’re not writing at all.)

  And thank you to Kai, who tells me it will be okay and means it.

  Finally, I know this is sappy, but I want to thank everyone who really got what I was doing with Carry On. (It was a weird idea; I know it was a weird idea.) Thank you to everyone who read that book and shared it, who made fan art and fanfiction and sour cherry scones on Simon’s birthday. And thank you for getting excited about this sequel, even though four years was obviously too long to wait.

  Simon and Baz walked directly out of my heart, and I’m so glad I get to keep writing their story.

  ALSO BY

  RAINBOW ROWELL

  CARRY ON

  LANDLINE

  FANGIRL

  ELEANOR & PARK

  ATTACHMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  RAINBOW ROWELL lives in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband and two sons, She’s also the author of Carry On, Landline, Fangirl, Eleanor & Park, and Attachments. You can sign up for email updates here.

  Thank you for buying this

  St. Martin’s Press ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Prologue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Rainbow Rowell

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  First published in the United States by Wednesday Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group

  WAYWARD SON. Copyright © 2019 by Rainbow Rowell. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.

  www.wednesdaybooks.com

  Cover design by Olga Grlic

  Cover images: Washington, D.C. © Cory Knowlton/Shutterstock.com; sky © primeimages/Getty Images; tress © edline96/Getty Images

  Interior illustrations by Jim Tierney

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-250-14607-6 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-250-25802-1 (international, sold outside the U.S., subject to rights availability)

  ISBN 978-1-250-61831-3 (signed)

  ISBN 978-1-250-14609-0 (ebook)

  eISBN 9781250146090

  Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  First U.S. Edition: September 2019

  First International Edition: September 2019

 

 

  Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends