“You’re lying,” Penny replies.

“Ahhhh!” Ginger is saying. It turns into “Ahhhh-gatha!”

I look up. Ginger is shaking her phone at me like it’s a lottery ticket.

“What?”

“Josh got us into that NowNext retreat!”

“Ginger, nooo.…”

“He said he’d cover our room and everything.” Josh is 32. He invented something that lets you use your phone as a thermometer. Or he was on a team that invented it. Anyway. He’s always covering something. The room, the check, the concert. Ginger never gets over it.

“Ginger, we’re going to Burning Lad that week!”

“We can go to Burning Lad next year; the desert will still be there.”

“And Josh won’t?”

She frowns at me. “You know how exclusive this retreat is.”

I stir my tea. “Not really.…”

“Only vested members get to bring guests. And usually only one guest. I begged Josh to get you in, too.”

“Ginger…”

“Agatha—” She pauses to bite her bottom lip and squish up her nose, like she’s about to tell me something big. “—I think I’m going to level up. At the retreat. And I really want you to be there.”

Crowley, of course. Level up. Josh and his friends are obsessed with “levelling up” and “maximizing potential.” If you suggest brunch, they’ll be like, “Let’s change the world instead!”

“Let’s climb a mountain!” “Let’s get VIP seats for the U2 concert!”

NowNext is their social club. It’s like Weight Watchers for rich men. They go to meetings and take turns saying how “activated” they are. I’ve gone to a few meetings with Ginger; they were mostly a bore. (Though there are always first-rate nibbles.) At the end of every meeting, the vested members go into a locked room and do their secret handshake or whatever.

Ginger can’t believe her luck with Josh. He’s successful, he’s ambitious, he’s fit.

(“My last boyfriend was a barista, Agatha!”

“You are also a barista, Ginger. That’s how you met.”)

She doesn’t know what Josh sees in her. I’m a little worried that he doesn’t see anything in her. That all he sees is what there is to see. That she’s young, that she’s beautiful. That she looks good on his arm.

But what do I know? Maybe they’re good for each other. They both seem to like talking about phytonutrients. And, like, meridian tapping. And Ginger really does seem at least 80 per cent activated these days.

I don’t think I’ll ever level up.

But if that’s what Ginger wants, I guess I can go along for it. She’s the best friend I’ve made here. She’ll be my friend even if I’m only ever 15 per cent activated (and less than 15 per cent magic). I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Ginger squeals. “Yes! It’s going to be so good!”

My phone vibrates, and I look down at it. Penelope, again:

“I’m going to call you, so we can discuss details.”

I slip the phone into my purse without replying.

5

BAZ

We’re meeting at the airport, and Snow’s already there when I arrive. At first I don’t recognize him—or it’s more like I recognize him from another time. He’s wearing jeans and Agatha’s old Watford Lacrosse sweatshirt. (I need to casually leave one of my old football shirts at his flat; he’ll wear anything he finds on the floor.) The sweatshirt is slit down the back for his wings, but there’s nothing there. Really nothing. Other spells only hide Simon’s wings; you can still see a shimmer or a shadow. Today, there’s nothing. I reach up to touch the space between his shoulder blades, but he spins around before I can.

“Hey,” he says when he sees me. He’s pulling on his hair, nervous.

My hand’s still stretched out, so I pat his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Penny’s checking us in. Or something. I didn’t have a passport.” He leans closer and whispers: “She stole someone else’s passport and magicked it.”

As if Bunce wasn’t already in deep water; we all know she used magic to buy these plane tickets. It’s one of the only laws we live by in the World of Mages—no magickal counterfeiting. We’d throw the world economy into chaos if we used magic for money. Everyone bends the rules now and then, but Bunce’s mother is on the Coven. “I hope she realizes her mother will happily surrender her to the authorities.”

Snow’s anxious: “Do you think we’ll get caught? This whole thing is stupid.”

“No.” My hand’s still on his arm, and I squeeze it. “No. It will be fine. If somebody looks suspicious, I’ll distract them by being a vampire.”

He doesn’t try to pull away from me. Perhaps because he’s out of his element, away from his worst habits. Bunce might be on to something with this change-of-scenery idea.…

“Speaking of,” Simon says, “will you be okay on the flight?”

“Do you mean, will I lose myself to bloodlust somewhere over the Atlantic?”

He shrugs.