Wayward Son (Simon Snow Series)

He’s lovely. A bit of a sad mess. Dull and pale and rough round the edges. But still so lovely.

When someone fucks up absolutely everything—that person is an absolute fuckup.

he ties his tail around his waist and hides his wings under a dreadful tan mackintosh—he looks like Quasimodo. Or a flasher. He looks like three kids in a trench coat pretending to be a complete wanker.

Baz once told him that everything was a story, and that Simon was the hero. They’d been dancing at the time. Touching. Baz was looking at Simon like anything was possible for them now, like love was inevitable.

“Where will you park it?”

“In the magickal parking spot you’ll manage for me.”

He doesn’t usually talk like that—about magic. About us. About the future. I can’t help but smile at him. I hate everything about this road trip, but if it’s going to keep drawing Simon out of his shell, I’d gladly drive to Hawaii.

I huddle close to Baz, half in his lap, while the shock of still being alive passes. He holds me there, a little too tightly. Usually I forget Baz is so much stronger than me. He doesn’t carry himself like he’s that strong. He doesn’t touch me that way. He never pulls or pushes me, not like that. Not any harder than I can push back.

I push in a little closer.

His voice is thick, strained. “You should be wearing your cross.”

“We’ve been through this—I’d rather risk a bite.”

His arms tighten. It’s a bit hard for me to breathe.

“I would never,” he says.

“I know.”

“From forth the fatal loins of these two foes.”

These sunglasses. Rubbish

Baz snorts. “She seemed pretty effusive about getting the fuck out of England and away from magic.”

“What on

earth are you drinking, Snow?”

“A Unicorn Frappuccino.”

He frowns. “Why’s it called that—does it taste like lavender?”

“It tastes like strawberry Dip Dab,” I say.

Penny’s grimacing at Baz. “For heaven’s snakes, Basil, I can’t believe you know what unicorns taste like.”