“But…,” I say. There must be more “but’s.” “Why does the Humdrum keep trying to kill me? Why send every dark creature in the UK after me?”

“He isn’t trying to kill you,” Baz says. “He’s trying to get you to go off.”

“And use more magic,” Penny says.

Baz holds his hand up to the maps behind him. “To make a bigger hole.”

I stare at them.

They stare at me.

They still seem so proud of themselves—and excited—as if they’re not staring at the greatest threat the magickal world has ever known.

“We have to tell the Mage,” I say.

Baz’s face falls. “Over my dead body.”

75

BAZ

“If this is true,” Snow says, “if even a little bit of it is true—we can’t keep it a secret. We have to go to the Mage.”

I knew this was coming.

I knew this would be his solution.

I’ve known from the beginning that Simon would go running for the Mage when things got serious.

“The fuck we do,” I say. “We have to go to the numpties.”

“The numpties,” Snow says. As if he can’t believe what I’m saying. “You just told me that I’m destroying the World of Mages, and now you want to go numpty hunting?”

“We have an agreement,” I remind him. I try to sound urgent, not desperate.

Snow looks at me funny—like maybe I’m talking about how we’re boyfriends now. As if that even matters anymore.

I sigh bitterly. “Not that agreement, you twit—you promised to help me find my mother’s killer.”

“I will help you find your mother’s killer,” Snow says, “after we figure out how to stop this.” His head falls back. “Maybe. I mean. If I’m still alive then, if the Mage doesn’t decide the answer is just ending me.”

“Simon,” Bunce admonishes.

“He’ll have to get in line,” I say, “once my family finds out what’s happening—once the whole World of Mages finds out. The Old Families already think you and the Mage are scheming to take their magic. The person who takes you out will be given a crown.”

“Baz,” Penny says.

“I suppose you think it will be you,” Snow says, narrowing his eyes.

“We have a truce,” I say, my voice rising. “The shit has already hit the fan, and if we don’t solve my mother’s murder now, we never will. And you promised, Simon. I promised.”

“There are more important things to worry about right now!” Snow shouts at me.

“Nothing is more important than my mother!”

76

BAZ

I only remember where the numpties live because Fiona said, “Christ, what a mess, and right under Blackfriars Bridge—this city has gone straight to hell,” when she was dragging me to her car.

It doesn’t take long to get to Blackfriars from Hounslow. It’s Christmas Day, and there’s no one out. I park the car and clear a path in the snow to the head of the bridge.

I’m starting to feel a bit panicky.

I know I shouldn’t have come alone, but anyone I could have asked for help would have dragged me back to the matter at hand—the fact that my family is now magickally homeless. Even Fiona wouldn’t have listened to me today.

Simon and Penny are back to saving the day. Or destroying it. Maybe both. That’s all right; I always knew where I stood with Simon—just below the rest of the world. And far, far below the Mage.

All right. It’s all right.

I’m afraid—but that’s reasonable. You try going back to the place where you were kept in a coffin until you couldn’t remember what light looked like.

But I’m in a better position than I was last time. I’m conscious, for one. I have my wand. And my wits about me.

The door to the numpties’ lair is easy to find—it’s basically just a hole in the pilings. I slide down some mud, and my stomach churns at the smell. Wet paper and decay. I’m in the right place.

It’s too dark down here even for me to see, so I hold my hand and start a fire in my palm, illuminating a circle of nothing around me.

I let the flames grow larger … and see a lot more nothing. I’m in a chamber full of debris. Hunks of pavement. Large stones. None of it’s familiar; I was unconscious when I was brought here and mostly unconscious when I left. I don’t even really know what the numpties look like.

I clear my throat. Nothing happens.

I clear it again. “My name is Basilton Pitch,” I call out loudly. “I’m here to ask you a question.”

One of the big rocky things starts to tremble. I hold the fire in its direction. And my wand.

The big rocky thing opens like a Transformer into a bigger rocky thing that seems to be wearing a giant oatmeal-coloured jumper. “You,” it rumbles in a voice like roadworks.

It’s a familiar rumble. I feel the walls closing in on me, and my mouth tastes like stale blood. (Blood’s thicker when it stales; it clots.)

“You,” the thing says. “You killed some of us.”

“Well, you kidnapped me,” I say. “Remember?”

“Didn’t kill you,” it says. There are more of the things now, ca-runching around me. I don’t see where they’re coming from, but there does seem to be less debris lying around. I try to make out their faces—everything about them is yellow-grey on yellow-grey. They’re like piles of wet cement.

“You were well on your way to killing me,” I say, “but that’s not why I’m here. I came to talk to you.”

I’m surrounded by them now. It’s like standing inside a stone circle.

“Don’t like talk,” one rattles out. It might be the one in the jumper again. Or it might be this one, right next to me, wearing an electric blanket, the plug dragging behind it on the ground.

“Too cold to talk,” another growls. “Time to rest.”

That’s right, I forgot. Numpties hibernate. I must have woken them. “You can rest,” I say. “I’ll leave you. Just tell me this one thing.…”

They rumble to themselves.

“Who sent you after me?”

The numpties don’t answer. I feel like they’re moving closer to me, even though I can’t see it happening.