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Back Any Way the Wind Blows Save as PDF
Chapters (100)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. EPILOGUE
  96. AGATHA
  97. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  98. Also by Rainbow Rowell
  99. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  100. Newsletter Sign-up

“I’d love to meet him,” Simon says earnestly.

“Yeah”—Smith-Richards looks excited—“I’d love for you to meet him, too.”

Simon scoots even farther off the sofa, ready to spring up. (Directly into Smith-Richards’s lap.)

“Should we call for him?” I ask.

“Oh…” Smith-Richards sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry. Jamie doesn’t live here. But I could text him? And arrange something? Maybe at the next meeting?”

“That’d be great,” Simon says.

There’s a knock at the open door. We all look up. That same girl is standing there, still looking scared of Simon.

“Hey, Pippa,” Smith-Richards says. “Is dinner ready?”

She nods.

“Thanks. I’ll be right down.”

She hurries away.

“You really ought to stay for dinner,” Smith-Richards says. “Daphne would be glad to see you.”

“Thank you,” I say, “but I don’t want her to think I’m checking up on her.”

“All right.” Smith-Richards reaches for my hand again, then claps Simon on the shoulder. “Let’s exchange numbers, in case something comes up.”

“Sure,” Simon says, getting out his phone.

Smith ends up doing the typing. “I’ll see you at the next meeting, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Simon says, “for sure.”

“And Simon—let yourself be comfortable. If you want to keep the wings put away, I get it. But we’re all magicians here. You don’t have anything to hide.”

Simon is blushing. “Okay, um … thanks.”

Smith-Richards walks us to the door.

44

SMITH

Simon Snow.

Here.

Like someone out of a story.

A fallen angel. A prodigal son. A returning hero, Achilles tendon sliced in the war.

He looks the part.

(Can he see how people look at him? Can he see how they see him?)

The wings were a genius twist. Scarlet wings, what a visual. He’s a stained-glass window waiting to happen—I’m almost jealous.

I mean, I am, a little … jealous.

But I’ll get there. Who knows what destiny holds for me? Who knows how my legend will build? There will be windows someday and statues. Full-colour plates in gilded books.

One day at a time, Evander always says. One chapter.

My godfather raised me with all the old stories. We travelled the world, but he kept the World of Mages alive in me. What a world! What glory! I hardly recognized it when he brought me home to London …

This is how magicians live now? Among the Normals? Like the Normals? Afraid of them?

What’s the point of being magickal if you have to fill your days with mundanity?

(Can they even see themselves? Do they see how they look?)

In the stories, there are castles. There are feats of power. Dragons!

In the World of Mages, there’s almost nothing. A school. A few clubs. Dishwashing spells.

I give them a lifetime’s worth of power, and they make chocolate bars. (Maybe I should just hand out chocolate bars…)