Carry On (Simon Snow, #1)

by Rainbow Rowell

Penny just watches me. Agatha is her friend, too, but Penelope’s much more judgemental of her than I am. It’s not my job to judge Agatha; it’s my job to be her boyfriend.

The Insidious Humdrum is the greatest threat the World of Mages has ever faced. He’s powerful, he’s pervasive. Fighting him is like fighting off sleep when you’re long past the edge of exhaustion.

Why did I have to fight the Humdrum? The Mage has answered that question a dozen different ways over the years: Because I was chosen. Because I was prophesied. Because the Humdrum won’t leave me alone. But none of those are real answers. Penelope has given me the only answer that I know what to do with … “Because you can, Simon. And someone has to.”

“And we all make sacrifices at wartime.” “But we’ve always been at war,” I say. “As long as I’ve been here. We can’t just stop living because we’re at war.”

“Go away. Stay safe. Train.” She folds her arms. “On a mountain. With ninjas. Like Batman.”

I thought it was a myth.” “One would think, after seven years, you’d stop saying that out loud.” “Well, how am I supposed to know? There isn’t a book, is there? All the Magickal Things that Are Actually True and All the Ones that Are Bollocks, Just Like You Thought.”

As soon as I’m settled—eyes closed, willing myself not to cry again—Snow clears his throat. Awake, then. I won’t cry. “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.”

He has long hair for a bloke. When he plays football, it falls in his eyes and on his cheeks. But he slicks it straight back after a shower, so he always looks like a gangster first thing in the morning—or a black-and-white movie vampire, with that widow’s peak of his.

I’ve wondered whether Baz gets away with being a vampire by looking so much like one. Like, it would be too much to call him out for it—a little too on the nose. (Baz has a long thin nose. The kind that starts too high on someone’s head and practically gets in the way of their eyebrows. Sometimes when I’m looking at him, I want to reach out and yank it down half an inch. Not that that would work.) (His nose is also a little bent towards the bottom—I did that.)

“what are you going to do with yourself now that you don’t have Baz?” “I still have Baz.” “Not as an enemy.” “We’re just having a truce,” I say. “A magic-sharing truce.”

“You can’t sit on my bed,” I say as he sits on my bed. “And neither can Bunce. My bed reeks of intensity and brownies.”

“Or a vampire named Gampire,” I say. “Gampire isn’t even a proper name, Snow. You’re terrible at this game.”

“Stop showing concern for my well-being, Snow. It’s making me ill at ease.”

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.

But what does it even matter if my intentions are never good? My road to hell isn’t paved with good intentions—or bad—it’s just my road.

I don’t actually want him to get so frustrated that he leaves. (I never want Snow to leave.)

I keep my hand on his chest because I feel like he still needs to be held back, but I can’t believe he’s letting me do it. His hand flies up and closes over my wrist. (As if he’s read my mind.) (Is that a vampire thing?) “Fine,” he says, shoving my wrist down.

But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started.

“Good. Go home and study.” “I’m on break.” “Go home and figure out how to take down the Mage.” “I told you. I’m going dancing.”

We have time to kill after we leave his aunt’s, so we go to a library—the big one—and then to the reading room at the British Museum, where Baz steals at least a half dozen books. “You can’t do that,” I argue. “It’s research.” “It’s treason.” “Are you going to tell the Queen?”

I swear he gets less ruffled the more that he’s threatened. (When I’m the one threatening him, that’s infuriating. But it’s kind of cool now.)

“I’m a vampire, Snow! Are you happy?” “You’re not,”

“You’re not a monster,” I say. His face is cold as a corpse in my hand. “I was wrong. All those years. You’re a bully. And a snob. And a complete arsehole. But you’re not one of them.”

“This is what I deserve,” he says. I shake my head. “Well, it isn’t what I deserve.” “Then go.” I see the fire flickering in his eyes, which means it must be all around us. “I won’t,” I say. “I’ve never turned my back on you. And I’m not starting now.”

And his lips are hanging open (mouth breather) and his eyes are alive, alive, alive. You’re so alive, Simon Snow. You got my share of it.

I just want him to shut up and stop talking like this. I just want him to get up and follow me out of here. I just want to be back at Watford in our room, knowing he’s there, and that he isn’t hurting anyone, and no one is hurting him.

I am going to die kissing Simon Snow. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

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

“Because we’re friends now?” “Because we’re more than that.”

“Fat chance.” He sounds sleepy. “Trying not to think about you … S’like trying not to think about an elephant that’s standing on my chest.”

Maybe she feels like a jerk about leaving him at Pitch Manor on Christmas Eve. I know I do. The vibe here is very, Let’s kill a virgin and write a great Led Zeppelin album. (Though the library is lovely, and Baz’s stepmum seems very nice.) (I wonder, is Simon still a virgin…) (Surely not.) (Maybe?)

Currently I’m pretending that I don’t care that Snow left. I’m pretending I don’t even notice he’s gone.

“Why’d you come back?” I say—softly, just in case Mordelia is lurking around. “I can leave if I’m not welcome.” “That’s not what I meant.” “I thought you’d be happy that I came back.” I step closer to him, and my voice drops to a menace. “Why? So we can tumble around and kiss and pretend to be happy boyfriends?” He shakes his head, like he’s at his limit, then rolls his eyes mightily. “Yeah … I guess so. Yes. Let’s do that, okay?”

“Take off your shoes. I’ll find you something to wear. You’ll make us late to dinner.” * * * Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

“We aren’t conspiring against the Mage!” Penny argued. “We’re conspiring … apart from him.”

“Now, there’s an interesting concept,” Penny said. “Magickal law enforcement. I’d like magickal social programmes, as well. Plus a department of health and wellness.”

“Simon,” Penny said seriously, “what’s this about?” I opened the door. “I need to go back and make sure that Baz is okay.”

I put my hand on the door and bent over so I could see them. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.” “He isn’t!” they both said. “I should keep an eye on him.” I stood up again. “We’ll drive you back,” Agatha said. “No. No. You’ll be late for Christmas Eve. Go.” I shut the door, turned around, and immediately started to run.

“I like you,” I say. “And I don’t even care that you don’t like me—I’m used to it, I wouldn’t know what to do if you did. But I like you, Baz. I like this. I like helping you. I like knowing that you’re okay. When you didn’t come back to school this autumn, when you were missing … I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“You thought I was plotting against you,” he says. “Yeah,” I say. “And I missed you.”

But I still want this, if you’ll let me have it.” Baz finally turns to look at me. “What’s this, Snow?” “This,” I say. “I want to be your boyfriend. Your terrible boyfriend.”

If we were in a movie, one of us would have to die while Simon watched. That’s all we’re good for.” “Speak for yourself!” she shouts. “I will!” I shout back. But neither of us speaks for the rest of the trip.

“Then you know that the only answer is revolution.” “I know that things will only get better if good people fight for what’s important.”

So much of this is his fault—I want you to be angry with him. But I never asked to leave. I never asked him to let me go. I thought … I thought that whatever was coming would be better if I was there with him. I thought it helped him to be tied to me. Like a kite with a string. I thought that as long as I was there, he’d never get carried away completely.

“I’m so hungry,” he whines. “And you’re so full.” “You can have it,” I say, trying to look in his eyes. “Baz. You know you can have it.”

I close my eyes, and my head drops forward. “He used you. He used you against me.” “Everyone does,” Baz says softly. I feel his arm slide, slowly, gently, back around my waist. I slouch into him. “I’m sorry.”

“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.”

“Maybe he evolved,” Priya said from the bathroom doorway, “like a Pokémon.”

“Come on, we’re still on truce. Make haste!”

I saw you. I held you. I wanted you. That’s what I came back to tell you. I loved you before I met you, and I loved you more the moment I held you. And I never meant to leave you so soon. I never would have left you. Simon, Simon. My rosebud boy.