Any Way the Wind Blows

by Rainbow Rowell

“You used to get so thin over the summers…” He traces his fingertips over my heart.

  I shiver and cover his hand with mine, stopping him. “I could never keep up with the magic.”

  He looks up at me.

  I try to explain: “I think the magic took a lot out of me. It was always there, even when I wasn’t using it. They didn’t starve me in the care homes, but it wasn’t pot roast and all the scones you could eat. I’d come back to Watford so hungry, I could hardly think. One year, I went straight to the dining hall, and sat there eating from lunch to dinner.”

  Baz turns his face to kiss my chest. “You’re not fat. I like you like this.”

  “Is there a way you don’t like me?” I say it like it’s a joke. But I bite my lip.

  He looks up through his eyelashes and shakes his head. Christ, he makes me feel warmed through. It’s so good, I can hardly stand it. It makes me want to bash my head into a wall, just for the distraction. Maybe he can tell. He doesn’t kiss me again, and his hand stays motionless.

  “Is your aunt still in jail?” I ask.

  “No, I bailed her out—didn’t you get my texts?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I—”

  “Was ghosting me, your boyfriend of eighteen months, hoping I’d get the message and silently fade away?”

  I sigh. “It’s like you don’t want me to forget even for a second that you’re merciless.”

  Baz tweaks my nipple. “I don’t want you to think this is all a dream.”

  “Hey!” I squirm and squeeze his hand. “Hey … I’m sorry. About the texts, specifically.”

  “I bailed Fiona out,” he says. “She was trying to steal something from Watford, I still don’t know what.”

  “So she could come back to the flat at any minute?”

  “Not likely. I think she has a boyfriend.”

  “I did read the texts about your stepmum. I’m sorry. How’s your dad holding up?”

  Baz rolls his face into my shoulder.

  I let go of his hand, so I can touch his hair. It’s dark and thick, and it falls past his shoulders when it’s wet. “That bad? Is there another man?”

  He pushes himself up onto an elbow. I shift my wing out of the way.

  “You’re not going to like this,” he says.

  “Why would I like it?”

  Baz pinches the bridge of his nose.

  Then he tells me the whole story.

  21

  PENELOPE

  I got a series of texts from Simon in the middle of the night:

  * * *

  “pen, call me”

  * * *

  “something weird going on, a magickal thing—you’ll prolly think it’s interesting, could use yr brain. + prolly yr wand”

  * * *

  “call me”

  * * *

  “or baz.”

  * * *

  I saw them when I woke up at nine.

  “Simon,” I texted back. “This is exactly what you said you didn’t want to do anymore. And I think you were probably right. Who are we to investigate ‘interesting’ magickal problems? If you really think something is amiss, you should tell my mother.”

  Then I shoved my phone off my bed and went back to sleep.

  When I wake up again, my room smells like a Greggs. Shepard is sitting next to my bed. He’s hauled in a chair from the kitchen.

  “I brought you breakfast,” he says, “even though it’s technically lunchtime. And even though I’m pretty sure you didn’t eat dinner last night. Did you know there’s a place down the street that sells every sandwich you could imagine? I literally couldn’t choose. An entire wall of sandwiches.”

  “Are you talking about Pret?”

  “So I brought you this instead. It looks bad, I know. But trust me, it’s delicious—and vegan. I’ve already eaten three.”

  I sit up to see what he’s set on my lap. “That’s a sausage roll.”

  “It’s like a very mushy pig in a blanket.”

  I glare at him. “I’ve eaten a sausage roll before.”

  “Oh, good, then you know the drill. I brought you orange juice, too. If I’m going to be bringing all of your meals to you, you should probably give me a heads-up about your allergies, dietary preferences, and religious beliefs.”

  I rub my eyes. I still feel just as terrible as I did when I fell asleep. And just as clueless about my life. But significantly hungrier … I can’t believe I’m going to give Shepard the satisfaction of eating this sausage roll he brought me. I take a bite. “Have you been wandering around London again?”

  “I considered sitting alone in your living room for another day, but—”

  “You can’t just walk around. You’re an illegal immigrant.”

  “I really don’t plan on immigrating…”

  “You didn’t talk to anyone, did you?”

  He tilts his head at me.

  Right, that’s a stupid question. I need to get him out of here. I’ve been licking my wounds since Simon left, ignoring Shepard completely. I can only confront a limited number of my mistakes at once—there are too many for me to cope with concurrently. But this has got out of hand.

  “Thank you for breakfast, Shepard.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he says. “I took money from the kitchen table. I hope that wasn’t your rent. It was either that or steal your gem and try to Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo us some breakfast. I’ll pay you back. Unless it was more fake money.”

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “This is such a great neighbourhood. There’s a family of either/orcs living downstairs, have you met them?”

  “In this building?”

  “Yeah, the young couple? With the schnauzer? I’ll introduce you later.”

  “You talked to my neighbours?”

  He tilts his head in the other direction.

  Right. Completely out of hand.

  I haven’t even been trying to help Shepard. I erased the blackboard. I’ve been watching Norwegian soap operas and reading fanfiction and occasionally heating up Cup Noodles. Meanwhile Shepard’s been doing magic-knows-what with magic-knows-who.

  I can’t let Shepard set up shop in my living room. What will he bring home?

  “Shepard, I’ve been thinking.”

  “So have I.”

  “When I brought you here—”

  “Penelope, I have been so ungrateful.”

  “What? No, you haven’t.”

  He nods, emphatically. “I have. To be honest, I didn’t really think you could fix my whole demon situation.”

  My head is hanging forward. “Shepard, you were honest. You told me you didn’t think I could fix it.”

  “But I still came home with you,” he says. “Just to see what would happen. You and your friends are the most interesting people I’ve ever met—and that’s saying something. I came along because I wanted to see what would happen next.”

  “Shepard—”

  “But the other day, after Simon left, and you broke all your chalk, it got me thinking…” He pushes up his wire-framed glasses. “I have met so many magickal creatures. And none of them have ever offered to help me before.”

  “I’m not a creature—”

  “I showed my tattoos to a genie once—”

  What? “Where did you find a genie?”

  Shepard grins. “In a lamp.”

  “You found a genie trapped in a lamp?”

  “I found a genie who lived in a lamp. In South Sioux City. The point is, he didn’t offer to help me. He said, ‘I’ve got two rules: You can’t wish for more wishes, and I don’t fuck with demons.’”

  “Morgana preserve us.”

  Shepard’s grin goes warm. “But you didn’t say that, Penelope.”

  “That’s true,” I groan. I put my face in my hands. My fingers are greasy from the sausage roll.

  “You immediately offered to help.”

  “I did.”

  “You insisted I accept your help.”

  “Yeah…” />
  “Because you are a good person. A heroic person. You’re, like, who I’m out here trying to be in the world.”

  “What?” My head jerks up. How can he say that with a straight face? With a sincere face?

  “I accept your help, Penelope.”

  I groan again, loudly. “Shepard, nooooo. You were right all along.”

  “No. You were right. I should trust you. I do trust you!” He’s gesturing broadly with an unopened bottle of orange juice. “You’re a wise and powerful witch, and I’m grateful for your help.”

  “No! No, no, no. I’m none of those things. I’m an idiot!”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve known you for two weeks, and I’ve seen you make one daring escape after another. I watched you kill three vampires, Penelope. Single-handedly!”

  “Shepard, you only saw me get out of terrible situations because I had put myself—and my friends—into those situations. I only make bad decisions. It’s even worse than you realize! The day before we met, I got dumped by someone who had apparently already dumped me multiple times. I was just too thick to figure it out! I’m the reason we were on that disastrous road trip. And it wasn’t wise of me to kill those vampires. It’s probably on YouTube!”

  “Oh, it’s definitely on YouTube. I’ve watched it.”

  “I’ll probably lose my ring over it!”

  “Penelope—” he says, as if I’m just now getting out of hand.

  I keep getting there: “And what happened after that? I got captured by a skunk! And a dragon! And more vampires! And I did nothing to get myself or anyone else out of it. Nothing!”

  “You saved Agatha.”

  “Agatha saved Agatha! I was along for the ride!”

  “Penelope, I watched you—”

  “That’s a problem, too, Shepard. Magicians aren’t supposed to do magic in front of Normals. Our entire culture depends on secrecy. I should have wiped your memory a dozen times over.”

  He smiles again. “To be fair, you did try.”

  “Argghhhhhhhh.” I fall back against the headboard.

  Shepard leans closer. “I know you’re a good witch,” he says gently. “Your friends treat you like a Jedi Master.”

  “My friends?” I know Shepard doesn’t mean to be cruel, but that was a low blow. My voice drops away from me. “You mean, Simon? He broke up with me, too. Because I kept getting him in trouble. You heard my mother: I make problems.” I shake my head. “I don’t solve them.”

  Shepard finally stops arguing.

  I can’t face him. I stare at my lap instead.

  After a few minutes, I hear him sigh. “So, that’s it? You’re going to send me home?”

  I look back up. He’s got his lips twisted to one side. Like he can’t quite fathom that his powers of persuasion have failed.

  “Yes,” I say. “I can send you to Las Vegas if you want. And give you money to get your truck back.”

  “Would it be counterfeit money?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can just send me back to Omaha.”

  “All right.”

  His shoulders are slumped, and he (finally) looks sad. Maybe he isn’t thinking about how his charm failed him; maybe he’s thinking about how I did.

  “I am sorry that I dragged you here,” I say.

  He lifts up his chin. “It’s okay, Penelope. It was fun. I got to see a little bit of London. And a little bit of magic.” He smiles. “I met some either/orcs.”

  “Let me get cleaned up,” I say. “Then I’ll figure out your ticket.”

  Shepard hands me the orange juice he’s been holding. “I’m sorry you got dumped,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

  “Me neither, apparently.”

  He gathers the sausage roll trash and stands up. “Anyone who would break up with you multiple times isn’t playing with a full deck.”

  “That’s not true, but thanks.”

  Shepard walks away. His hair nearly brushes the top of my doorway.

  “I do wish I could have helped you,” I say.

  He pauses and shrugs. “It’s okay.” Then he walks out of the room and turns back to me. “You really were the first person to ever give me any hope of getting my soul back. I’m still grateful for that.”

  22

  AGATHA

  Someone puked in Exam Three. Dad says I don’t have to clean it up, but I’m keeping a low profile anyway, restocking the paper towels in all the other exam rooms and wiping down the counters. I’m just finishing Exam Five when Niamh barges in.

  “Oh. Miss Wellbelove,” she says. “There you are.”

  I keep wiping the counter. “Dad says he’ll take care of it. My cleaning spells are pants.”

  “What?”

  “Exam Three.”

  Niamh frowns at me for a moment. “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Your … friend.”

  “Oh.” I throw my paper towel in the bin and click my tongue. “Of course. You want to talk about Simon.”

  “Yes, I—Well, I wanted to apologize. You were—Well, you are correct. My bedside manner isn’t ideal. I’m better with things that can’t talk back or … walk away. I think it’s my fault that Mr. Snow spooked.”

  She’s standing there, with her head down, looking surprisingly pitiful. Part of me appreciates it very much. Niamh is awful and should feel awful. But another part of me …

  “Niamh. It isn’t your fault.”

  “It is,” she tells the ground. “If your father had been presiding, the wings would have come right off, and everyone would be happy.”

  “Ha!”

  She lifts her head. To frown at me.

  “Honestly. Niamh. You can’t blame yourself for anything Simon Snow does. You can’t try to influence him at all. It’s like trying to influence a mad dog.”

  She’s still frowning—I think this one indicates confusion. What a spectrum of frowns this woman is capable of. Fifty shades.

  “Don’t feel bad about this,” I say. “Simon will have his wings off when he wants them off. Or he’ll saw them off himself with a dull blade. Or lose them in a run-in with a harpy.”

  She looks truly appalled with me. Which is fine. Let her spend eight years of her life with Simon Snow, and then she can judge.

  “My point is,” I say, “this isn’t on you. Or me. We’re just bystanders.”

  The door to Exam Three opens again. It’s my dad. Niamh frowns at him.

  “Oh, Niamh,” he says. “And Agatha. Niamh, are you still heading out to Watford this afternoon?”

  “Yes, Doctor. But I can stay if you need me.”

  “No, no, go ahead. Nice day for it.” My dad glances over at me. “Say, you should take Agatha with you. I’m sure you could use an extra wand.”

  “No,” I say, before I’ve thought it through. Niamh and my father look at me, waiting to hear why not. “I … I told Janice I’d cover the phones for her while she goes on break.”

  “Pish,” Dad says. “She’ll manage somehow without you. Niamh, Agatha had planned to study veterinary care herself.” He looks back at me, and I can hear him thinking, But who knows what she’s planning now?

  Niamh is looking at me, too, trying very hard to smile like a normal person. (Close but no cigar, Niamh!) “Of course,” she says. “I’d be glad of the help.”

  “Grand,” my dad says. “Have a good time, Agatha. Say hello to Mitali if you see her.” The door closes behind him.

  Niamh is still grimacing at me. “I’ll come find you when I’m ready.”

  “Great.” I nod.

  Grand.

  23

  PENELOPE

  I try to pull myself together in the shower. It helps to have a plan. Next step: Get Shepard home.

  I buy him a plane ticket for this evening. Don’t tell my mother, but I can pay for almost anything online with “A penny for your thoughts.” (I think it works so well for me because of my name.) I’m not going to worry about getting c
aught for this. If anyone figures out I’ve been kiting plane tickets, this won’t be the one that seals my fate.

  The only real risk is that the magic will fail somehow before Shepard gets home. I don’t want him to get into any more trouble. (Though I’ve never met anyone with such a nose for it, not even Simon.) (I’m trying not to wonder about the “interesting” thing Simon was texting about. I am not falling back into this routine with him. Not if he hates me for it.) (Evidently Baz was less easily dismissed than I was. Fine. Let Baz be the one who gets repeatedly dumped.)

  When I walk out into the living room, Shepard is pulling on a fresh T-shirt. His denim jacket is lying on the back of the sofa. It’s rare to see his arms—he wears that jacket even indoors, even in June. The tattoos trail out from his shirt sleeves, all the way down to his wrists. They’re so ornate, they almost seem to move.

  No. They are moving.

  I think they’re really moving!

  I walk over to Shepard and grab his arm, staring down at the symbols.

  “They do that sometimes,” he says softly.

  “What does it mean?” I ask.

  “Don’t know,” he says. “Can’t read Demon.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No. Sometimes it sort of flashes—like, tingles—before things start to change.”

  I watch the symbols shift and turn, winding around his arm. There must be some rhyme, some reason …

  “It’s kind of cool-looking, huh?”

  I look up at him. “No. Shepard. It isn’t cool. It’s horrid. I lament your inability to tell the difference.”

  He flashes a smile at me, pulling his arm away and sliding it into his jacket. “I’m going to miss your lamenting, Penelope Bunce. And your derision. And the way you occasionally threaten to turn me into a frog. Will you threaten me by text every once in a while? So I know you’re doing okay?”

  I fold my arms and watch him shove the T-shirt he was wearing into his backpack. His watch has three dials on it, and there are crystal bracelets on his wrists. I’m not sure I can let him walk out of here, knowing everything he knows.