I feel his magic.

At first it’s a buzz in my fingertips, then a rush of static up my arm. I try not to squirm.

“Okay?” he asks. His voice is soft.

“Fine. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Opening? I guess?”

The static in my arm settles into a heavy thrum, like electrical sparks catching into flames. The discomfort goes away, even though the licking, flaming feeling gets stronger. This I know what to do with: This is fire.

“Still okay?” he asks.

“Grand,” I say.

“What does that mean—does that mean you could use it?”

I laugh, and it comes out more good-natured than I mean it to. “Snow. I think I could cast a sonnet right now.”

“Show me,” he says.

I’m so full of power, I feel like I can see without opening my eyes. Like I could go nova if I wanted to and have my own galaxy. Is this what it’s like to be Simon Snow? To have infinity in your chest pocket?

I speak clearly: “Twinkle, twinkle little star!”

By the time I get to the end of the next phrase, the room around us is gone, and the stars feel close enough to touch.

“Up above the world so high!”

Simon grabs my other hand, and my chest opens wider. “Merlin and Morgana,” he says. “Are we in space?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Is that a spell?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

We both look around us. I don’t think we’re in space; I can breathe just fine. And I don’t feel like floating away—though I am teetering on the edge of hysterical. So much power. So many stars. My mouth tastes like smoke. “Are you holding back at all?” I ask him.

“Not consciously,” Snow says. “Is it too much?”

“No. It’s like you completed the circuit,” I say, gripping his other hand. “I feel kind of drunk, though.”

“Drunk on power?” he asks.

I giggle. “Shit, Snow. Stop talking. This is embarrassing.”

“Do you want me to pull back?”

“No. I want to look at the stars.”

“I’m pulling back,” he says.

And then he does. It feels like the tide going out—if the tide were made of heroin and fire.

I shake my head. I don’t let go of Snow’s hands.

“All right?” he asks.

“Yeah. You?”

“Fine.”

Now we’re just sitting on my bed, holding hands, Simon Snow and I. I can’t look at his eyes, so I stare at his cross.

“Your mother…,” he says. “When she came back, she said that thing about stars. ‘He said we’d be stars.’”

“I think that’s a coincidence,” I say.

“Yeah.” Simon nods. “Do you have any of it left? Like, did it stay with you? My magic?”

“Residually?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I shake my head. “No. A feeling. A hum. Not power.”

“Can you do it on your end?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re still touching,” he says. “Try to tap into it.”

I close my eyes and try to be open, try to be a vacuum or a black hole. Nothing happens. I try to pull at Snow, then. To suck at him with my own magic … Still nothing.

I open my eyes. “No. I can’t take it from you. I’ve never heard of a magician taking someone else’s magic. Can you imagine? If there were a spell for that? We’d tear each other apart.”

“We’re already tearing each other apart.”

“I can’t take it,” I say again.

“Do you think it hurt you, my magic?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So we could do it again.”

“We just did, Snow.”

He looks uncharacteristically thoughtful. I wonder if he’s forgotten that he’s holding my hands. Or if he’s forgotten what it means to hold hands. Or if he’s forgotten who I am entirely.

I think again about pulling my hands away—but Snow could light fires in my palms at this point, and I wouldn’t pull away. It feels like he has.

“Baz,” he says, and it’s not unprecedented for him to say my name, but I know he avoids it. “This is stupid. If we’re going to be working together, you can’t keep pretending that I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what,” I say, yanking my hands back.

“Don’t know about you. What you are.”

“Get off my bed, Snow.”

“It won’t change anything—”

“Won’t it?”

“Well, it would make things easier,” he says. “How can we discuss what we know about vampires when you won’t even admit that you are one?”

“Get off my bed.”

Snow stands up, but doesn’t stand down. “I know. I’ve known since our fifth year. How’re we supposed to help you if you’re still keeping all these secrets? Like, why did you start school late this term? And what happened to you? And why are you limping?”

“That’s none of your business,” I hiss. “None of it.”

“You’re right, but you said you wanted my help. So you made it my business.”

“I’ll tell you whatever I think is relevant.”

“We’re supposed to find out who sent blood-sucking vampires to kill your mother, and you are a blood-sucking vampire. You don’t think that’s relevant?”

As if I can just admit that. Out loud. On the record. As if every other magician wouldn’t gladly light me up if they knew it to be true.

As if Snow himself hasn’t been trying to expose me every day for seven years.

I clamp my jaw shut.

I should leave. Go back to the Catacombs. But Snow’s magic has wiped me out—I’m not sure I could stand now. So I just close my eyes.

“I’m done with you today,” I say. “I’ve been struck by lightning twice in the last twelve hours, and now I’m just done.”

49

SIMON

Agatha wants to talk to me after our Magic Words lesson.

She hasn’t said a word to me since we broke up—she hardly even looks at me—so when she approaches me now, my initial response is to look at the floor and try to walk around her. She has to grab my sleeve to get my attention, which is awkward for both of us.