Any Way the Wind Blows

by Rainbow Rowell

  This is so much better than I hoped. There are hundreds of them here. All these weak wands. Perhaps some of them are powerful … That’s all right. I expected that. It isn’t meant to be a clean sweep, just a sweep. Just a winnowing.

  I’ll do Daphne first. She’ll cry. She’ll cast a spell. Another giant chocolate bar.

  And they’ll all believe it—because it’s true. They’ll believe in me.

  And then I’ll make my offer: I was only planning to help six people today, but I could help them all … I could make every one of them more powerful, no matter how powerful they are now. Imagine it …

  Who would say no?

  I’ll be standing at the altar. Daphne will be beside me in her flowered dress. There’ll be cheers. And more tears. Laughter. I wish that Evander could be here to see it. My big moment. My leap into destiny.

  That’s all right.

  I’ll tell him the story.

  It starts now, and it doesn’t slow down until the world is new.

  72

  BAZ

  There’s no good way to get to Watford fast.

  I won’t let Simon fly. And none of us have cars. I probably should have thought of something before Penelope stole this builder’s van—she’s making Shepard drive it, while she casts frantic spells on surrounding traffic.

  “I’m going to get arrested,” Shepard says.

  “I’ll break you out,” she tells him.

  “That’s not as reassuring as you think.”

  As soon as Bunce heard her father’s name, she was on her way to Watford, whether the rest of us were coming or not.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me my father was wrapped up in this!” she shouted at Simon.

  “I wasn’t sure!” he said. “Plus it didn’t seem like my business!”

  “My business is your business, Simon!”

  “I wasn’t sure it was your business either, Penny!”

  She cast a “Gentlemen start your engines” on the first van she found, and barely gave us time to climb in the back.

  We’re sitting on the floor now—there are no seats in the cargo area—Pippa and I on one side, Simon and Lady Salisbury’s son on the other. The latter is still tearing his hair out, trying to defend Smith Smith-Richards, who may or may not have cast the magic right out of the poor sod.

  Snow is still trying to sort everything out. (Smith-Richards is a villain; that’s all I need to know.) He’s sitting close to Salisbury, a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Just tell us what happened, Jamie.”

  “This is all a misunderstanding,” Salisbury says for the tenth time. He’s huddled against the wall of the van. He’s a thickset man. Broadly built. Big, open face. Heavy in a nearly-40 way. He scrubs his fingers through his collar-length hair. “Smith would never hurt anyone.”

  “So he didn’t hurt you?” Simon asks.

  “Of course not!” Salisbury looks anguished. “I don’t think you understand what Smith did for me—what he’s offering everyone.”

  “Mundanity,” Pippa rasps. (I wonder if a body can reject its own voice. Maybe I can find a spell to help it stick…)

  “Pippa, you’ve been with Smith as long as I have—you know the cure works.” Salisbury turns to Simon, his face pleading. “Smith made me into a different person. It was like being a superhero. I could cast every spell I knew.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Simon says.

  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.”

  She cracks her eyes open, but doesn’t turn her head.

  “There’s no reason you can’t do magic now,” I say, hoping that it’s true. Desperately hoping.

  “I—” She lets go of her throat and looks down at her palms. “I don’t have a wand.”

  I’ve never pulled my wand so fast. My holster kicks it into my palm as I’m reaching for her. “Take mine.”

  Pippa accepts it, fingers trembling, then looks at me for the first time since she got her voice back. She looks frightened. And angry. She points my ivory wand at me, her whole arm shaking. She looks into my eyes …

  I close them.

  “Wait!” Simon shouts.

  Just as Pippa says, “Test the waters!”

  I open my eyes when the stream hits my chest. Pippa is staring down at my wand. Simon is holding her wrist.

  “I—” he says, letting go of her. “Sorry, Philippa. Pippa. I just…”

  “Good on you, Pippa,” Salisbury says. He seems sincerely happy for her, despite everything.

  She clings to the wand, watching it spill water onto the floor of the van.

  “Baz!” Penelope is twisted around and shouting at me. “I need your help!”

  I crawl up between the two front seats.

  “Help me make the van go faster,” she says.

  I look out the window—the van might actually be flying. “It can’t go faster without the Normals noticing,” I say.

  “We could cast spells so they don’t notice.”

  We zip past a Volkswagen Golf. The driver nearly goes off the road, staring at us. “We really couldn’t, Bunce.”

/>   Shepard is holding the steering wheel with both hands. “Penelope—are you steering, or am I steering?”

  “You’re steering, Shepard!” she says. “Obviously!”

  “Do the brakes still work?”

  “Obviously not. Why would the brakes work on a flying car?”

  “You really shouldn’t be allowed to use the word ‘obviously,’” he murmurs under his breath. “That should not be in your vocabulary.”

  Penelope turns back to me. “Are you absolutely certain my father is caught up in all this?”

  “Pippa says he is, and Simon saw him at a meeting.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t get it. My dad’s at peace with his magic—he’s a perfectly capable mage.”

  “Not compared to your mother.”

  “Baz!” She looks up at me, outraged. “What a thing to say!”

  “I’m not insulting your father, Bunce. I just think it’s easy for us to say he should be happy. That Daphne should be happy. We have all the power we’ve ever wanted. We don’t know what it’s like—”

  “Shepard, here!” She points out the window. “Get off!”

  “Where?”

  “This exit! The one that says Watford—get off now!”

  “I can’t, there’s a car!”

  Bunce holds out her fist. “Sent to Coventry!”

  Shepard veers onto the Watford exit ramp at the last possible moment. We’re still flying over the road. “Tell me you didn’t just disappear that car,” he says.

  “I just moved it…”

  “What’s wrong?” Snow has come up to crouch beside me.

  “Nothing new,” I say, taking the opportunity to touch his arm.

  He’s antsy. He took off his coat, and he keeps spreading his wings out, then drawing them back—like someone clenching his fists. I don’t say anything when they bump into me.

  Bunce is navigating Shepard around the city of Watford and into the countryside. We’ve slowed down a bit … The wheels seem to be on the ground again. (Does Bunce really have a flying spell?)

  “We’re almost th-there,” Pippa says. She and Salisbury have crept up behind us.

  “Is that it?” Shepard asks. “Up on the hill?”

  “You won’t be able to see Watford from outside the gates,” Penny says automatically.

  “What’s that thing up there? That kinda looks like a walled city?”

  I look out the front window. At the fortress walls and the top of the Weeping Tower. Normals can’t see Watford. It should sting Shepard’s eyes even to look in that direction.

  Simon is looking over my shoulder. “I can see it, too.”

  “This is—This is Smith’s doing,” Pippa says.

  I turn to Snow. “Or is it the goats?”

  “What goats?” Penelope asks.

  “The Goats of Watford?” Salisbury chimes in.

  “Just park the van,” Simon says. “We have to get inside.” There are more than a hundred cars already parked along the lane. Smith-Richards has apparently drawn quite a crowd.

  “Fuck that,” Penelope says, “take us through the gates!”

  Shepard does just that. He drives right up through the Great Lawn.

  “Over the drawbridge!” she commands.

  “Your mother’s going to kill you,” I say.

  The van goes tearing over the moat.

  “Park here,” she says, once we’re in the courtyard. “Where’s this meeting?”

  “The Weeping Tower,” Simon says. “The lecture room at the top. Jamie and I will stay here; we can’t help you.”

  “Snow—” I squeeze his arm. I always want Simon’s help. Even without magic, he’s invaluable in a fight. But … now that my spells bounce off him, I wouldn’t be able to heal him if he got hurt.

  “Go,” he says.

  Bunce is already out the door. “Come on, Baz! You, too, Shepard!”

  “I’ll stay with Simon,” Pippa whispers hoarsely. “Please—stop Smith!”

  “I will,” I say.

  I will.

  73

  AGATHA

  We find the goats in the hills behind Watford, almost completely scattered and in bad temper. They refuse to be herded, even with spells. They run from me and charge at Niamh—one of the old billy goats knocks her off her feet.

  Niamh sits up, but doesn’t get off the ground. “I don’t know if we should bother rounding them up or just look for the doe.”

  “Let’s look for the doe,” I say, wiping my neck with a handkerchief and walking towards her. “I think they’re all upset about her.”

  “Is that another of your ‘feelings’?”

  I cross my arms. “Do you want me to share my instincts with you or not?”

  “Share them,” she grumbles. “I don’t have any instincts at all.”

  “Everyone has instincts, Niamh.”

  “Not me. I have … a university education.”

  “Oh, shut up.” I’m standing over her, looking down. Her cropped hair looks even better brown than it did platinum. “I’ve seen you play lacrosse.”

  “You don’t remember me playing lacrosse…”

  “I’ve told you, I remember now. Do you need help getting up?”

  She pushes herself up and brushes grass off her thighs and behind. She’s very thick, is Niamh. In her cuffed jeans and her tighter-than-usual T-shirt.

  I turn away from her—away from the school and the hills—and look out into the Wavering Wood. I start walking. I can hear Niamh following me.

  “The goats don’t like the Wood,” she says. “I never find them there.”

  “I just have a—”

  “I’m not arguing,” she says.

  “Good.”

  I find myself hesitating at the threshold of the forest. I don’t like the Wood either. The last time I was here, I saw Baz drinking a deer. I wasn’t frightened—I mean, I was a little frightened. But mostly I was excited. To share a secret with him. To be close to something thrilling and forbidden. He held my hand that day. I wanted him to kiss me.

  It’s mortifying to think about now, the way I felt torn between Baz and Simon …

  I was just standing between them. And not even in a romantic, dramatic way. I was like a dead badger lying in the middle of the road, something they had to drive around to get to where they were eventually going.

  I don’t like the Wood. It’s dark and full of magic. It makes me feel like I’m about to be kissed. And like I’m a fool to want it.

  I walk into the trees. Between them. There isn’t really a path.

  “I’ve never been in here before,” Niamh says. “It’s darker than I expected.”

  “I thought you said you’d looked for the goats here.”

  “I said I’d never found them here.”

  I roll my eyes; Niamh must make an effort to be this difficult. “You never came to the Wood when you were at school?”

  “No,” she says, “the Mage always said there was dangerous magic here.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s true.” I get out my wand. I don’t have a spell to cast, but I feel more in tune with … something when I’m holding it.

  “Why did you come to the Wood?” Niamh asks.

  “Oh, you know … adventures, Chosen One dogshit.”

  “You really didn’t like it?”

  “What, the Wood?”

  “No. You know … Being the future Mrs. Simon Snow.”

  I tense my shoulders up around my ears and clench my fists at my side. I think Niamh makes an effort to be offensive, too. “Well … I liked Simon. You’d like him, too, if you gave him a chance.”

  “I never said that I didn’t like him…”

  “But I didn’t like being the centre of attention all the time. I didn’t like being stared at.”

  Niamh makes a disparaging noise in her throat. “He’s not the reason people stared at you.”

  I spin around, and she nearly walks into me.

  “What does that mean?” I demand,
even though I know very well what it means. I know why people stare at me. Of course Niamh would find the meanest possible way to say, “You’re beautiful.” It’s another thing I can’t help that she holds against me.

  At least she has the decency to look embarrassed. “I mean…” She looks at the ground. “I don’t know what I mean…”

  I step closer to her. “Don’t you?”

  “Sister golden hair,” something says—something with a voice like crushed leaves, hardly a voice at all.

  Niamh and I both freeze.

  “Is that you…” the thing asks, lingering on every consonant.

  I slowly turn towards the heart of the Wood. A nymph is floating there, half in darkness.

  “It is you,” she says. “The golden one.”

  She moves closer to us. Into the light.

  I know this dryad. She’s followed me through the Wood before. Watching, never speaking. She used to look very smart—in a yellow velvet jacket and green petticoats, her mossy hair pinned up with yellow ribbons.

  Her skirts have turned to rags now, and the ribbons are long gone. Her hair hangs in her face and creeps down her chest and arms. She looks overgrown. Forgotten. More like a tree than a person.

  “Golden one, golden one,” she whisper-sings, “what do you seek?”

  I walk closer to her.

  Niamh catches my arm and tries to hold me back—I shake her off.

  “I’m looking for a goat,” I say.

  “The Goats of Watford,” the dryad says.

  “Yes.” I step closer.

  She’s hovering in the air. Trembling. The shadows of a thousand leaves dance over her. Her eyes used to glow, I think. But not now. Her face is scabbed over with bark. “The Goats of Watford are lost.”

  “Not yet,” I say.

  “Yet and yet,” she singsongs. “They wander and roam … and fly.”

  “We’re looking for them. We’re looking for a doe.”

  The dryad is holding a parasol. She twirls it onto her shoulder and opens it. The silk is rotting away from the ribs. “Sister golden hair…” she says. “Your friends were here. I don’t like them.”