“Fire. Warm. You promised.”
They’re pressing closer again. “You promised.”
I restart the fire in my hand, but instead of backing off, they crush closer to it; I can’t even see my wrist.
“Get back!” I yell. My left arm is sucking away from my shoulder, and my wand arm is pressed up against my ear. “Back off!”
“Cast Paper beats rock,” someone shouts. Not a numpty—a man!
“What?!”
“Paper beats rock—do it.”
I call out, “Paper beats rock!” And then a specific kind of chaos erupts:
There’s someone hopping on top of the numpties, slapping them with sheets of newspaper like he’s playing whack-a-mole. They try to heave away, but when he thumps them, they go still. Actually still. The pressure around me stops.
I look up and see none other than Nicodemus himself standing on top of the biggest numpty, catching his breath.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask him, my mouth surely hanging open.
He sneers. “I came to save you from numpties.”
“Did you just put them to sleep with The Guardian?”
“I did. Why didn’t you?”
Nicodemus is wearing a cheap blazer over a white T-shirt, black jeans with a wallet chain, and ancient steel-toed Doc Martens. It’s clear what my ridiculous aunt saw in him.
He reaches down and takes my wrist, pointing my wand at the rock wall that’s trapping my other arm. “Have a break, have a Kit-Kat,” he says.
“What?”
“Say it.”
“Why?”
He pinches my wrist.
“Have a break, have a Kit-Kat!” I cast, and the rock crumbles around my arms. “That shouldn’t work,” I say, shaking my hand free.
The numpties don’t wake up, despite me breaking pieces off them.
“Stop complaining,” Nicodemus says, “and come on. The newspapers won’t hold them forever.”
He’s holding out his arm, so I take it, even though he smells like sour blood and cider. He hauls me up until I’m standing on the numpties, too.
We hop from one to the next, then onto the ground. “This way,” Nicodemus says, switching on a big flashlight.
I follow him up the mud pathway and out into the daylight. As soon as we’re above ground, I push him away from me.
“Watch it,” he says. “I just saved your life!”
“You just ruined my plan—they were about to tell me who kidnapped me!”
“They already told you,” he snarls. “It was the Mage!”
The Mage. The green man. The headstone. The Mage?
Nicodemus curls his lip, so I can see his missing eyeteeth. “It was the Mage who had you kidnapped,” he says. He keeps moving forward, and I keep stepping back. “And the Mage who let the vampires into Watford.”
“What?” I stumble in the snow, and catch myself.
“He made a deal with them,” Nicodemus says, inches from my face. “If they attacked Watford and gave everyone a good scare, he’d let them live in London, unbothered. He wanted me to make the deal, but I wouldn’t, so he found someone else.”
“The Mage sent vampires to kill my mother?”
“I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t believe Merlin’s oath coming from me.” Nicodemus shrugs. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think the Mage meant for your mum to die—but I don’t think he minded much. Made everything else easier, didn’t it?”
I take another step back. “Why are you telling me this now? Why not before? And why are you even here—did you follow me?” I whip my head around, looking for more vampires. Is this a trap?
“I couldn’t tell you,” Nicodemus says. “He would have killed me! But now it doesn’t matter what he does. He went and arrested my sister, didn’t he? Your Mage. He’s got Ebeneza now. And I need your help getting her back.”
It was the Mage. It was the Mage all along.
I mean, I always thought it was him, but I never really thought it was him. How could he? He’s the Mage. How could he just—?
I make a noise like Snow, a growl that starts in my stomach and triggers my fangs. Then I turn and run for my car.
Nicodemus runs after me. He grabs my arm. “Wait! I’m coming with you!”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“I told you—he has my sister!”
“What do I care?”
“I’m going to help you fight.”
“I don’t want your help, you monster.”
“Too bad,” he says, yanking me. “You’ll have it!”
We’re interrupted by desperate yelping: A Normal is out walking his dog, a cross-eyed Cavalier spaniel, and it’s taken an interest in Nicodemus and me, barking madly.
“Come along, Della.” The Normal pulls on her chain, and the dog nearly chokes herself jumping at us. Bark, bark, bark.
I could swear it’s saying, “Baz! Baz! Baz!”
I turn away from Nicodemus and look more closely at the spaniel. “Are you saying my name?”
“Baz!” the dog barks. “Thank magic! It’s me, Penelope!”
“Bunce?” It does sound like her. In a yelpy, canine way. “Who turned you into a dog?”
“Am I a dog?” she yaps. “The spell’s never worked that way before. Baz, you have to come get me!” The Normal is leaning over to pick up his dog, as if I’m a threat to her.