Carry On (Simon Snow, #1)

by Rainbow Rowell

Nobody knows why my magic is the way it is. Why it goes off like a bomb instead of flowing through me like a fucking stream or however it works for everybody else.

“Candle in the wind” is a dangerous spell. The boys at school say you can use it to give yourself more, you know, stamina.

Let the Mage and the Pitches and the Humdrum and everyone else fight the wars they seem to have their hearts set on.

I have so much to tell you. But time is short. And the Veil is thick. And it takes magic to speak, a soul full of it.

You like to demand explanations and then tell everyone why their explanations are crap.”

“It’s not just politics.” Simon leans towards her, pointing. “It’s right and wrong.”

You have to carry on like you will; otherwise, you can’t carry on at all.)

Baz’s eyes are usually the kind of grey that happens when you mix dark blue and dark green together. Deep-water grey. Today they’re the colour of wet pavement.

We’ve got the dance all worked out, after so many years. Moving around the room without touching or talking or looking at each other. (Or at least not looking at each other while the other is paying attention.)

And when I felt myself slipping too far, I held on to the one thing I’m always sure of— Blue eyes. Bronze curls. The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me. That Simon Snow is alive. And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

Sharing a room with the person you want most is like sharing a room with an open fire.

He’s constantly drawing you in. And you’re constantly stepping too close. And you know it’s not good—that there is no good—that there’s absolutely nothing that can ever come of it. But you do it anyway. And then … Well. Then you burn.

Those were my fifth-year fantasies: kisses and blood and Snow ridding the world of me.

“I’ll help you,” he says—so softly, only a vampire could hear him. “Help me what?” “I’ll help you find whatever killed your mother.” “Why?” He rolls over to face my bed. I can just see him in the dark. He can’t see me. He shrugs. “Because they attacked Watford.” I roll away. “Because she was your mother,” he says. “And they killed her in front of you. And that’s—that’s wrong.”

“Mistress Mary, the nursery manager, said that one of the beasts attacked Grimm-Pitch from behind, clamping its fangs onto her neck after she neatly decapitated another who was threatening her very own son. ‘She was like Fury herself,’ Mary said. ‘Like something out of a film. The monster bit her, and she choked out a Tyger, tyger, burning bright—then they both went up in flames.…’”

“Then I won’t stop!” he says, like he’s the one who should be angry. “Is that better? I’ll damned well marry her, and we’ll have the best-looking kids in the history of magic, and we’ll name them all Simon just to get under your skin.”

Marry her. Give her the keys to whatever she wants keys to. Then find a thousand men who look exactly like Simon bloody Snow and break each of their hearts a different way.

“It’s death,” I say, looking back down at my book, “because you look at other people, living people, and they seem really far away. They seem like something else. The way that birds seem like something else. And they’re full of something you don’t have. You could take it from them, but it still won’t be yours. They’re full, and … you’re hungry. You’re not alive. You’re just hungry.”

“It’s good to have a life that passes the Bechdel test.”

“Brilliant. She was powerful.” Her eyes light up at that word. “And strong. She played rugby, I remember, with the boys. I had to mend her collarbone once out on the field—it was mad. She was a country girl, with broad shoulders and yellow hair, and she had the bluest eyes—

Nicodemus laughs like nothing matters; Ebb laughs like everything does.

“And when they bit her, she killed herself. It’s the last thing she did. If she knew what I am … She would never have let me live.”

I’m going to die kissing Simon Snow.… Simon Snow is going to die kissing me.

Snow kissed me last night until my mouth was sore. He kissed me so much, I was worried I’d Turn him with all my saliva. He held himself up on all fours above me and made me reach up for his mouth—and I did. I would again. I’d cross every line for him. I’m in love with him. And he likes this better than fighting.

“I give them some of my nothing,” the Humdrum says again, “and then they’re drawn to the biggest of all somethings—you. And then you give me more nothing. It’s a great game.”

“What you are is a fucking tragedy, Simon Snow. You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.” He tries to kiss me, but I hold back—“And you like that?” “I love it,” he says. “Why?” “Because we match.”

“He isn’t trying to kill you,” Baz says. “He’s trying to get you to go off.” “And use more magic,” Penny says. Baz holds his hand up to the maps behind him. “To make a bigger hole.” I stare at them. They stare at me. They still seem so proud of themselves—and excited—as if they’re not staring at the greatest threat the magickal world has ever known.

He is the greatest mage.