I touch his arm. “Baz . . .” He turns on me, eyes flashing. “Simon. She hasn’t had magic. For five years. And it’s my fault. I can’t talk until I fix this. I can’t even breathe . . . All right?” I take in his wild eyes, his bloodless fists. “Yeah,” I say. “All right.” I squeeze his arm. “Let’s go, then. Let’s fix it.”
