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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

This was our place. Watford. Ours like no one else’s. Maybe that sounds arrogant, but it’s true. His, because his mother died here. Mine, because it was mine to protect.

His mouth opens for me …

(I don’t understand what this is. Why people do it. Why we stoke fires in each other. What are we burning?)

The shelf creaks again. I rub my cock into his hip.

How many walls? How many hallways?

What else would I have figured out, if I’d got to this sooner?

Baz turns his face away and unhooks Lady Ruth’s glasses from his ears.

“I’m sorry,” I pant.

He looks confused. The spring on one side is caught in his hair. “For what?”

I shrug. I don’t know. I hug him closer. My arms are crossed in the small of his back. “Breaking your nose. In fourth year.”

He laughs. “Oh. Well. You should be sorry about that.”

I lean forward and bite his nose, right at the crooked part.

“Crowley, Snow—don’t break it again!”

I let go of his nose. And look in his normal-sized eyes. “I’m sorry…” I shake my head. “That I didn’t figure it out sooner. I—I would have liked to have had you for a friend here.”

He sets the reading glasses on the shelf next to him and puts his hands in my hair again, smoothing my curls down and watching them bounce back.

I think Baz would have liked it, too—to have me, here, on his side—but he says, “It was probably meant to happen like it did.”

“Do you believe in that?” I ask. “Fate?”

He shrugs. His back is still against a shelf. My weight is still against him. “Not exactly. But it’s hard to argue with the timing. My mother’s ghost, the Mage’s plan … My father says that some things—that some people—are written.”

“Like Smith-Richards?”

Baz’s eyes go hard, and he shoves at my shoulder. “Not like Smith-Richards.” He steps forward, pushing me some more. “Make way, Snow. We need to get to the bottom of this nonsense.”

I step aside.

Baz puts the glasses back on and gets his wand out. He stands in front of the wall where The Magickal Record is shelved. “Fine-tooth comb—Smith!”

The entire wall of bound volumes starts trembling.

“Oh fuck,” Baz says. He grabs my arm and pulls me back, just as a hundred books shake themselves off the shelves.

When the dust clears—not a figure of speech—there are less than a dozen volumes still on the wall.

“It is a common name…” I say.

Baz just sighs.

49

BAZ