I motion at his back, walking closer. “I can fix that shirt for you—” “I don’t want to ruin it.” “I don’t mind.” I don’t. Then it would be his shirt, and he might wear it again. My name on his back, my number. I’ve already got my wand out and pointed at him. Simon lifts up his hands, suddenly distressed. “Baz, no.” “Oh,” I say, looking down at my wand. “Is this bad? Do you not want me to . . . magic? Around you?” His hands drop. “No, I mean—Yeah, of course you can, you know, magic. I just—” He shakes his head, like he’s clearing it. “You know what? Go ahead. Do it. I’d like to spread my wings
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