Thank magic Bunce came back when she did. Snow is soaking her up like sunshine. It’s going to take them two weeks to catch up on the week they spent apart. After an hour or so, I excuse myself from the merry reunion to hunt. Simon attempts to come along, but I don’t want to pull him away from Penelope. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

I don’t have to go far. Snow lives near a canal now, and the rats are abundant. I may even catch an otter. I decide to stuff myself while I’m out here. Sometimes, if I fill myself to the brim, I can skip hunting for a whole day. I can pretend I’m still human.

It doesn’t really mean anything that Smith-Richards’s spell failed … We don’t even know what his spell does or how it works. This isn’t conclusive proof that Simon was never a mage …

As much as he’d like that, I think. It would help him settle into this Normal life he’s trying to build for himself. He’s got me playing Normal, too. I’ve already stopped offering to cast spells around the flat.

Bunce hasn’t got the memo yet. She’s had her gem out every five minutes since she arrived. She tried to spell the pizza delivery person, but I insisted on paying. (“Thank God,” Shepard said. “She’s gone full Butch Cassidy this week.”)

When I get back to Snow’s flat—after seven rats and a badger—Bunce has spelled the floor soft and conjured up sleeping bags. “Penny and Shepard are staying over,” Simon says. Shepard is already curled up in the corner sleeping the sleep of the recently uncursed.

“I think I’m going to bed,” I say. “I’m clapped out.”

“Oh, so you stay the night now…” Penelope teases.

I cock an eyebrow. “Oh, so you fraternize with Normals now…”

“I—”

“We’re not blind, Bunce.” She’s been blushing at Shepard all night, and he’s clearly had a crush on her since Colorado.

Simon grins. “Wait, really?” he whispers. “You and Shepard?”

Apparently, I’m not blind. I leave them to it. I take a quick shower, then spread Simon’s new striped sheets on his bed. He’s not in here to feel oppressed by my magic, so I cast a spell to quickly wash them. It takes me three tries. My hands are trembling, and I can’t say the spell with any conviction … Maybe it’s good that Simon doesn’t want me casting spells in his flat. I’m too rattled to get one out.

I crawl into bed, pulling the sheet up over me.

I’m cold. And unpleasantly full. And I feel like there’s a car parked on my chest.

Since we left America, I’ve been trying to decide what I’m culpable for …