Salisbury huffs. “It was more than that—it was a miracle. You don’t know what I was like before. I was rubbish at magic. I could only ever do really basic spells. Kids’ stuff. But Smith … He made me into a real magician.”

“That must have felt amazing,” Simon says.

“Yeah.” Salisbury nods. His eyebrows are pulled up in the middle. “It did.”

“So what happened next?”

Salisbury looks down again, crestfallen. “Well, I should have known I wasn’t a good candidate for the spell. I was practically Normal.”

“But you said Smith’s spell worked on you…”

“It did. At first. But then…”

“Then?”

Salisbury turns his face up to Simon, like he’s looking for something there. “Maybe I was meant to be Normal.”

“Jamie,” Pippa whispers, “no.”

“Magicians don’t have Normal children,” I say.

“Maybe one of my parents was Normal,” Salisbury says to me. “You never really know, do you?” (I hope he’s never suggested this to his mother.)

“Jamie, what happened?” Simon pushes.

Salisbury looks at the floor. He tangles his hand in his greasy blond hair. “My magic started to get weaker, and once it started, well—it was gone in a few hours. Gone, completely. I couldn’t even feel it in my fingertips anymore when I held my wand.”

“What did Smith say?” Simon asks.

“He was frustrated, but he said we’d work it out. I was the first person he’d ever cured. He said he’d learned from me—that the spell was already stronger. He’s going to cast it on me again once he’s made more refinements.”

“So you moved into the basement…”

“So that no one would ask questions. Or lose faith. Just because the spell wore off for me doesn’t mean it will work that way for everyone else.”

“It didn’t just wear off,” I say. “It took your magic completely.”

“We don’t know that,” Salisbury counters.

“Jamie…” Pippa leans forward, trying to look him in the eye. “Listen,” she croaks. She clears her throat and tries again: “Listen to me. Beth said she c-couldn’t cast a single—a single spell. Not—not even a ‘Dust up.’”

Salisbury shakes his head, like he literally doesn’t want to hear this. “That can’t be right, Pippa. Smith said the spell was working better than ever.”

“Why would I—would I lie to you? You’re my friend! We’ve been—been in this to-together, all along!”

“I don’t know why you’re saying all this! Is it like Evander said? Are you jealous that Smith can’t fix your magic?”

“No!” It comes out a painful squawk. Pippa leans back against the van wall, closing her eyes and clutching her throat. A tear runs down her cheek. “No,” she whispers.

I wipe my hands on my trousers. “Pippa,” I say quietly, “you don’t need Smith-Richards to fix your magic.”