How am I supposed to operate like this? How do wrong people do it? (I am a wrong person now. I’m one of them!) How am I supposed to make even basic decisions now that I know how little I know?

I mean—I believed I was in a healthy relationship with a person who had already dumped me; that is a staggering thing to be wrong about.

What other false things do I believe in?

Am I delusional? Am I hearing voices?

“You are definitely not getting your security deposit back.”

“Be quiet, Shepard, I’m trying to think.”

Talk about a giant mistake—this Normal, sitting in my living room. Still completely cursed. And now an illegal immigrant, to boot. Throw another bad decision on the bonfire. I should make a list of them …

It took me sixteen spells, but I’ve finally magicked our living room wall into a giant blackboard.

“You know, there’s a paint,” Shepard says, still not being quiet, “that turns any wall into a chalkboard.”

“Sorry I don’t know where to buy magic paint.” Ah, there’s my chalk. Excellent.

“No, it’s a regular paint…”

I write What we know in big letters on one side of the wall and What we don’t know on the other.

“Penelope, this might not be my place to say—”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t say it.”

He does, of course: “Maybe you should consider getting some sleep.”

I shake my head. “Every time I fall asleep, Simon slips past me.”

“He said he had an appointment.”

“You don’t understand—Simon never has appointments! He never even leaves the flat!”

“I did meet him in America…”

I rub my eyes. They won’t stop watering. “You don’t know anything, Shepard.”

“Better add that to your chalkboard.”

“Oh, I’m planning to.”

He takes the chalk from my hand and writes The human body requires sleep on the left side of the wall.

“I’m fine,” I snap. “I’ve cast the appropriate spells.”

I told Mum that I spelled Shepard stupid and left him at the American embassy. I think she believed me.

It’s more plausible than the truth—that I smuggled a Normal into the country and have been letting him sleep on my sofa for days. I never planned on this. I really thought I’d have Shepard fixed up and headed home within a few hours. But Mum sent me packing, and I can’t even approach my dad—he’ll go straight to my mum.

I stare at the blank blackboard and groan. “Where is Simon? I can’t do this without him.”

“Do you need Simon because he knows about demons?”

“Morgana, no. I need him here to listen to me think.”

“Maybe Baz knows where Simon went?”

“Baz is in the middle of a ‘family crisis,’ apparently.”

“Oh—does he need our help?”

“I don’t know. He’s being cagey.”