Carry On Read Online Free PDF

tie …
    Penelope sighs loudly behind me. I walk back to my bed and flop down, facing her, trying not to smile from ear to ear.
    Her face is twisted into a pout.
    â€œWhat can possibly have got under your skin already?” I ask.
    â€œTrixie,” she huffs. Trixie’s her roommate. Penny says she’d trade Trixie for a dozen evil, plotting vampires. In a heartbeat.
    â€œWhat’s she done?”
    â€œCome back.”
    â€œYou were expecting otherwise?”
    Penny adjusts Baz’s pillow. “Every year, she comes back more manic than she was the year before. First she turned her hair into a dandelion puff, then she cried when the wind blew it away.”
    I giggle. “In Trixie’s defence,” I say, “she is half pixie. And most pixies are a little manic.”
    â€œOh, and doesn’t she know it. I swear she uses it as an excuse. I can’t survive another year with her. I can’t be trusted not to spell her head into a dandelion and blow.”
    I swallow another laugh and try hard not to beam at her. Great snakes, it’s good to see her. “It’s your last year,” I say. “You’ll make it.”
    Penny’s eyes get serious. “It’s our last year,” she says. “Guess what you’ll be doing next summer.…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHanging out with me.”
    I let my grin free. “Hunting the Humdrum?”
    â€œFuck the Humdrum,” she says.
    We both laugh, and I kind of grimace, because the Humdrum looks just like me—an 11-year-old version of me. (If Penny hadn’t seen him, too, I’d think I’d hallucinated the whole thing.)
    I shudder.
    Penny sees it. “You’re too thin,” she says.
    â€œIt’s the tracksuit.”
    â€œChange, then.” She already has. She’s wearing her grey pleated uniform skirt and a red jumper. “Go on,” she says, “it’s almost teatime.”
    I smile again and jump up off the bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and a purple sweatshirt that says WATFORD LACROSSE. (Agatha plays.)
    Penny grabs my arm when I walk past Baz’s bed on the way to the bathroom. “It’s good to see you,” she whispers.
    I smile. Again. Penny makes my cheeks hurt. “Don’t make a scene,” I whisper back.

 
    4
    PENELOPE
    Too thin. He looks too thin.
    And something worse … scraped.
    Simon always looks better after a few months of Watford’s roast beef. (And Yorkshire pudding and tea with too much milk. And fatty sausages. And butter-scone sandwiches.) He’s broad-shouldered and broad-nosed, and when he gets too thin, his skin just hangs off his cheekbones.
    I’m used to seeing him thin like this, every autumn. But this time, today, it’s worse.
    His face looks chapped. His eyes are lined with red, and the skin around them looks rough and patchy. His hands are red, too, and when he clenches his fists, the knuckles go white.
    Even his smile is awful. Too big and red for his face.
    I can’t look him in the eye. I grab his sleeve when he comes close, and I’m relieved when he keeps walking. If he didn’t, I might not let go. I might grab him and hold him and spell us both as far away from Watford as possible. We could come back after it’s all over. Let the Mage and the Pitches and the Humdrum and everyone else fight the wars they seem to have their hearts set on.
    Simon and I could get a flat in Anchorage. Or Casablanca. Or Prague.
    I’d read and write. He’d sleep and eat. And we’d both live to see the far end of 19. Maybe even 20.
    I’d do it. I’d take him away—if I didn’t believe he was the only one who could make a difference here.
    If I stole Simon and kept him safe …
    I’m not sure there’d be a World of Mages to come back to.

 
    5
    SIMON
    We practically have the dining hall to ourselves.
    Penelope sits on the table with her feet on a