Disclaimer: Still not mine.
SIMON
I can hardly believe it, even though we've put all the pieces together. I'm the cause of the dead spots. I'm the greatest threat to magic there's ever been. It's me. Even Baz never suspected I was this much of a failure.
I remember how it felt, being in that dead spot, just a couple of days ago. Like sand in my eyes. Sand in my throat. Sand everywhere, and endless hunger. And it's all my fault.
Penny would say that to be my fault, I'd have to be doing it intentionally. But what does intention matter, in the end? So I'm accidentally stealing magic from places. All that really matters is that the magic is gone, and, as best as anyone can figure out, it's not coming back.
I want to put the magic back. I want to undo all the magic I've ever done, all the times I've gone off. I want to make things right. But I've never done anything right when it comes to magic. I don't think I can. Quite literally, all I do is suck.
I keep thinking like that for months, until I talk to my psychologist about it, after everything happens. She tells me that it's not my fault, which I suppose I already knew, and that I can't be held accountable for anything I didn't intend and didn't know anything about.
She also tells me to tag along with Dr Bunce when he visits the dead spots. So I do. The first time, we go to the one in Newcastle, where I've never been before. I spend the entire journey there nervous that this is going to be a mistake. When we get there, though, at first I can't feel anything. Then I notice the magicians on Dr Bunce's team rubbing their eyes a lot and clearing their throats. I realize that they feel the dryness, the sand, that I felt once. It feels strange that I can't feel everything.
I hang around the magicians while they examine the site, and I feel useless. I can't take any readings because I don't have magic. And the whole reason we're here is that I never should have had magic. What was it the Mage called me? A broken vessel? That's what I was, what I am.
Dr Bunce notices me moping and comes up alongside me. He finishes scribbling something in his notebook (he was walking while he wrote) and then says, "What do you think?"
"That the world would have been better of without me," I say before I can stop myself.
Dr Bunce looks me in the eye. I didn't know he did eye contact. It's the first time he's done something like this in the eight years I've known him. "Nonsense," he says, and his tone makes it seem like he's putting magic into the word.
He doesn't say much else, but it's the most conviction I've ever heard in his voice, and it tides me over until I can speak to my psychologist again.