“It wasn’t me.” I take a step towards him. “You saw the Humdrum.”

“You touched me,” he says. “I leaned down and you put your hand on my face.”

“It isn’t me,” I say.

“And then you pushed it into me.” He stumbles backwards, staying a step away from me. “Like you do, Simon. But it wasn’t magic this time. It was a void. You pushed a void into me, and everything else left to make room.”

“Baz, stop. Let me help you.”

He keeps shaking his head. He reminds me for a moment of the red dragon, swinging her head back and forth.

“It’s easy with creatures,” the Humdrum says. He’s standing behind Baz now. He reaches out and presses a hand onto Baz’s hunched spine. “I just take what I got and give it to them.”

Baz whines and unfolds until his back is arched.

“What?” I demand. “What do you give them?”

The Humdrum shrugs. “Nothing. I give them some of my nothing.”

Baz lifts his face to me, all pupil and fang. He takes a step forward. “Get away, Simon. I’m hungry.”

“I give them some of my nothing,” the Humdrum says again, “and then they’re drawn to the biggest of all somethings—you. And then you give me more nothing. It’s a great game.”

Baz keeps coming for me. I stand my ground.

“Get away, Simon! I’m hungry!”

“What are you hungry for, Baz?”

“For you!” he shouts. “For magic, for blood, for magic—for everything. For you. For magic.”

He’s shaking his head so fast, it blurs.

There’s a tree between us, and Baz rips it from the ground and tosses it aside.

“Wicked,” the Humdrum says. “I’ve never tried it with one of these before.”

Baz ploughs into me like a steel gryphon. I catch him in my arms and roll to the ground.

He’s much stronger than I am—but I’m made of magic right now, so there’s no crushing me. We thrash around on the ground. I hold his head in both my hands, pushing his jaw away.

“I’m so hungry,” he whines. “And you’re so full.”

“You can have it,” I say, trying to look in his eyes. “Baz. You know you can have it.”

I push on his chin and grab at his hair, holding him back—but I let my magic go.

I let it flow into him from my every pore. Baz sobs and abruptly stops fighting. It feels like I’m pouring water into an empty well.

It goes.

And it goes.

Baz’s body sags against mine.

“Wow…” the Humdrum says. “That’s even better than fighting.” He feels close. I look up, and he’s standing right over us, rock solid in the moonlight. “When did you learn to do that? It’s like you turned on a tap.”

“Did you take his magic?” I shout at the Humdrum.

“Did I take his magic?” he repeats, like it’s a hilarious question. “No. I don’t take anything. I’m just what’s left when you’re done.” He grins, like the cat with the canary, and it’s an expression I’ve never seen on my own face.

“Simon!” Baz is shouting beneath me. I look down—he’s glowing now, too. His fangs are gone, but he still looks like he’s in pain. He’s squeezing my triceps. “Enough!”

I let go of him and roll away. But the magic is still pouring out of me, through me. It is like a tap. I concentrate on turning it off. When it feels like the magic’s staying inside me again—when I stop glowing—I get up on my hands and knees. “Baz?”

“Here,” he says.

I move towards his voice. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He’s lying on the ground. “I just feel a bit … burnt.”

“Are you on fire?”

“No,” he says. “No. Burnt on the inside.”

I look around, but I don’t see the Humdrum. Or hear him. Or feel him sucking at my breath.

“Is he gone?” Baz asks.

“Seems like it.” I collapse next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Baz gropes for me with his arm, and when he feels me, he wraps his arm around my neck and shoulders, weakly pulling me towards him. I move closer until my head falls on his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You?”

“Tip-top.” Baz coughs, and I push my face into his chest. “What was that?” he asks.

“The Humdrum.”

“Simon, are you the Insidious Humdrum?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

BAZ

I feel burnt out.

Incinerated.

That kid—it was Simon—emptied me somehow. Like he pressed my magic out or down.…

And then Simon filled me up again with fire.

I feel like a phoenix rebirthed itself in my lower intestines.

Simon’s hiding his face in my chest, and I hold him tighter.

It was Simon. Like seeing him again for the very first time. Crap jeans and dirty T-shirt. That rawness in his skin, that hunger in his eyes. When I saw him step out from between the pines tonight, I wanted to kick him in the knees—it was definitely Simon.

Simon—the grown one—is trembling, so I wrap my other arm around him, too. My arms feel hollow, but Simon feels solid through.

Simon Snow is the Humdrum.

Or … the Humdrum is Simon Snow.

SIMON

“Did I take his magic? No. I don’t take anything. I’m just what’s left when you’re done.”

I’m lying on Baz, and he has both arms around me. And I keep trying to shake the Humdrum’s face out of my head. (To shake my face off his head.)

“I give them some of my nothing … and then you give me more nothing.”

I sit up and rub my eyes. “Do you still need to hunt?”

“No,” Baz says. “I was finishing up when he found me.”

I move into a crouch, then stand, holding out my hand to him. “Did he say anything? Before he attacked you?”

Baz takes my hand and pulls himself up. He doesn’t let go. “He said, ‘You’ll do.’”

I close my eyes, and my head drops forward. “He used you. He used you against me.”