BooksBarbecue
Back Any Way the Wind Blows
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

“Where is it, Fiona!” I’m throwing shit out of her closet. Shoeboxes. Tights. Cut flowers that have never wilted.

“It’s still at Watford! I couldn’t find it!”

“At Watford?” I look over my shoulder. Fiona has followed me into the room. “The tape recorder?”

She looks pissed off and confused. “The tape recorder? No—what tape recorder?”

I go back to her closet. Vials of oil. Boxes of herbs. Bras. A wand I’ve never seen before. A bong made out of a lamp. A lamp made out of a bong. She’s pulling at the back of my shirt. I ignore her.

“What are you looking for, Baz!”

I wheel on her, pushing her off. “The tape recorder you gave me in fifth year!”

“Why would I give you a tape recorder? That’s a shit gift.”

Of course she doesn’t remember. Of course she doesn’t. “The one you gave me to steal Simon’s voice!” I yell.

Fiona puts her hand on her forehead. “Ohhhhhhhhh, the tape recorder. Fuck, that took a lot of magic—and it didn’t even work.”

“It worked.”

“Mmm.” She clicks her tongue. “Don’t think so. Your man was just here, and I heard him talk.”

“It stole a girl’s voice, remember? Philippa Stainton’s.”

“Philippa Stainton … She’s not one of ours, is she?”

“FUCK!” I shout, kicking Fiona’s bong. It shatters. “Just—where is it!”

She laughs. “Where’s a tape recorder I gave you ten years ago?”

“It was five years ago.”

“Well, I don’t know, what did you do with it, Baz?”

“I gave it back to you, Fiona!”

She shrugs. “What was I supposed to do with some girl’s voice?”

“Why…” I fall back against the wall, leaning over and holding my stomach. I think I’m going to be sick. “Why did you ever give it to me…”

“You know why—it was meant for Simon.”

“I didn’t know what it would do to him!”

“You knew we were at war!”

I look up at her. “He was fifteen, Fiona…”

“And the Mage was already using him against us!”

“I was fifteen, too!”

“Yeah, and you were five when they killed your mother!” She puts her hands on her hips and her tongue in her cheek and laughs one cold syllable: “Hnnh. Don’t try to make me feel guilty about this … We were at war.”

“I wasn’t at war, I was at school.”

“You wanted to help.”

“I wanted to make you happy, I wanted to be a good Pitch! Whatever that means…”

“You know what it means, Basil. You always have, even when you were small. I could always trust you to keep an eye on the Mage.”