Work Text
Simone
There are at least three hundred and forty-seven bumps on the ceiling right above my bed. I know this from the nights where I give up on tossing and turning and decide counting things might get me to sleep. Or when I’m stuck on an essay and need to bore myself in order to focus (contradictory, I know). Or like now, when I need a distraction from the tapping on my window.I don’t like killing things, and I wouldn’t kill an innocent bird. But my patience, like my magic, is worn thin. I chance a glare out the window. The bird pauses and cocks its head at me, only to start tapping again. Penn sent over a raven, of course. Now I really can’t harm it. What if it remembers and goes back to its flock to rat on me?With a sigh, I get up from my bed and cross the room. The raven hops to one side to avoid me swinging the window open, then hops back in front of me on the sill.“I hope you’re doing okay,” the raven rasps at me. “You haven’t answered my texts.”“There’s a reason for that,” I say, even though I know the raven won’t go back to Penn and deliver my response. My illicit mobile that August gave me three Christmases ago is still firmly tucked under my mattress. I’ve felt the vibrations all afternoon, and I cannot be arsed to answer. Penn wants to analyze . I just want to crawl onto the next train out of Watford and go underground for the summer.Hey. Underground. Maybe I could camp out in the Catacombs. At least it’d be cool there. Better air-con than any care home.“I hope you’re still coming to the party tonight,” the raven continues.I stare hard into its beady black eyes. He can’t be serious. After the last few days I’ve had?While the eighth years get the Leavers Ball, the seventh years throw a massive unsanctioned party somewhere on the grounds at the end of spring term. A while back, the staff were a lot stricter about only letting eighth years go to the Ball – something about how they deserved it more because they’d committed to the optional year of school. The seventh years revolted by organizing their own send-off for the people who wouldn’t be returning to Watford. Nowadays, the staff really doesn’t care who goes to the Leavers Ball as long as they dress up and stay on their best behavior. Still, the Major Rager lives on.I really, really don’t want to go. Usually, I’m down for a few drinks and some silly dancing. I’ve gone in for it in the past. Despite what the Mage may think, I’m not some perfectly put-together hero all the time; I am what Baz has generously called “a hot mess.” (She’s called me worse.) Not tonight, though. I’m really not feeling it.Then again…if I don’t show up, then Penn will burst into my room, and then I will be forced to recount my recent Humdrum confrontation. Given the choice, I think I would rather deal with some drunken classmates, honestly.“I know you’re not going back to Penn. but I’m going. Just so you know.” I tell the raven. It tilts its head at me again, but doesn’t move off the windowsill. I stand there, chewing my cheek and trying to figure out how to make it leave, when I’m hit with an idea.“Bet you want a snack, don’t you?”The raven bobs its head. Understood. Everyone needs a snack for a job well done.“Hang on, mate.” I squat down and reach under Baz’s bed to where I know she keeps her stash of Walkers. “Hope you like salt and vinegar.”That earns me an awk . Not sure if that means yes or no. At any rate, I keep digging for the Walkers. Finally, I get my hands on a bag and pull it open. Crisps explode all over the floor, because somehow I manage to rip an entire seam of the bag apart. Fantastic.“I don’t do delivery!” I say, holding a big crisp up above my head. The raven swoops into the room, snatches the crisp from my fingers, and settles down on Baz’s bed, gobbling it down and spreading crumbs everywhere. When it’s done, I hand over another crisp, and another. After the fifth or sixth one, it flies off with a squawk of thanks and a single black feather sitting on Baz’s duvet.I look down at the scattered crisps. My cleaning spells are shite, and we don’t have a broom and dustpan (we did , but then Baz lent them to her dumbass cousin and never got them back). Plus, I need the energy if I’m going to this party.I sit down, crunching some of the crisps under my arse, and have a snack of my own.
Baz
“Does this shirt make me look slutty?”“Yes,” I answer, at the same time that Nellie answers “No!”Dev puts a hand on their hip. “You’re not even looking, Baz!”I spare a look away from texting Daphne to take in Dev’s appearance. “When the fuck did you get a navel piercing?”Dev shimmies in response. “About two months ago on Easter break.”“Menace. Your mother will kill you.”“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”I shake my head and turn back to my mobile. Dev has made it their goal in life to, and I quote, “get as many holes as possible.” Whether this goal is meant to be achieved through promiscuity or excessive body piercings, I haven’t yet discovered. Knowing Dev, it’s likely both.“Come on!” Dev actually stamps their foot like a six-year-old. “Opinions? I need them.” “I think you look beautiful,” Nellie gushes. It’s the same comment she’s offered on the last five things Dev has tried on. Somehow, she’s managed to surpass me in being the queerest person in this room today. Dev remains completely oblivious to their roommate’s affections, obviously.Dev then squints at me. “What is so interesting on your phone that you can’t pay attention to the cutest thing in this room? Which is me , to be clear.”“Daphne wants to know if I’ve packed my things.”“You’ve had your shit packed for three days!”“Yes, and she doesn’t know that. So I’m informing her of such.”“How long does it take you to text yes, mother dearest, I’m ready ? Gimme that.” Dev lunges for my mobile and lands in my lap. They try to climb my arm like the world’s smallest, most determined koala, but I manage to keep my mobile aloft. Then Nellie, the traitor, snatches it before I can lock the screen.“Why are you giving your mum instructions on where to pick you up tonight ?” she asks.“You must have misread. I want her to send me a pizza.” I deadpan.“Oh, hell no!” Dev punches me in the stomach with such ferocity that I cough. “You are not ditching us!” “The term is over, Devon. Did you forget the Mage canceled our exams?”“But the Rager—”“—is not compulsory.”“Like hell it’s not!”I knee Dev in the chest, and they collapse on the floor like a discarded silk scarf. The Grimms have always had a flair for the needlessly dramatic.“Read my lips, dear cousin,” I say slowly. “I’m. Not. Going.”“Why not?” They sit up from the carpet in a flounce of dark curls. “I’m serious, Pitch. Are you ill?”I debate whether I should remind Dev that, as a vampire, I am technically chronically ill. For that matter, I’m also chronically dead. But I don’t think this rationale will suffice.Instead, I decide to employ a favored conversational tactic in our extended family and answer a question with a question. “Why is my simple desire not to go inadequate for you?”“Because you never feel simple things. Everything has a deeper meaning with you.”“They’re not wrong,” Nellie says with a shrug.“So what’s the problem?” Dev waggles their eyebrows. “You don’t want to see Snow hanging off of Wellbelove’s neck all night?”I swallow. I happen to have it on good authority that no such thing will be happening tonight, or any night in the near future. Snow and Wellbelove have called it quits, and while that’s happened before, I think this time is final. If everything Wellbelove told me in the Wavering Wood last week is true, that is. “Something like that,” I mutter in response.“You do know there will be other people at the party, right?” Nellie nudges.“I’m aware.”“We have many hot people in our year,” Dev adds. “Eye candy aplenty. Have you seen Craig Stainton? Those hands could perform miracles.”“Those hands play piano, you horny idiot. Quite poorly, I might add.” Stainton gives our orchestra director fits with how incapable he is of following a tempo direction.Dev stands in front of me, hands on their hips, making a show of studying my face. “Seriously, mate. You can tell us what’s going on. We won’t…well, I definitely will judge, but at least I won’t pretend I’m not judging you. Unlike my mum.”My mind flicks through the possibilities of how to answer. Eventually, I settle on the truth, or what I know of it. “Snow and Wellbelove broke it off, and it’s because of me.”Dev and Nellie’s mouths fall open in unison.“So you want to avoid any potential drama,” Nellie manages after a moment.I nod.“Let me give you some advice, dear cousin.” Dev leans forward and places their tan hands on my knees. Their face is now mere inches from mine, and I can smell the remnants of clove gum on their breath. “You can never outrun drama.”“That’s because you always find a way to get more engrossed in it.”“I—” Dev has a finger raised, and it curls back down to their fist as they consider what I’ve said. “Maybe so. But that’s only because I’ve learned you have to face this shit head-on. Otherwise, it’ll never go away, and in my experience, it generally gets worse.”“There’s also the chance nothing will happen,” Nellie adds.“That’s true. Mostly because Snow will probably be too drunk to focus.” Dev winces. “Let’s hope she doesn’t bring that sword with her, eh?”The image of an inebriated Snow swinging the Sword of Mages around a crowded party sends my body into a full shudder (not entirely a shudder of fear, I must admit). I let it pass, then steel myself and stare Dev right in the eyes.“Fine,” I relent. “I will go. For one hour only.”“But—”“Don’t press your luck.”They frown hard at me before shoving off of my knees with a loud sigh. “Whatever. I’m done arguing. It’s time to make me look hot.” They’re halfway back to their wardrobe before they look back at me, a devious glint in their eyes. “If you set the time limit, I get to pick your outfit.”I open my mouth to argue, then decide it’s futile.
Simone
I swear nearly everyone who lives in Mummers House has emptied out already. Everyone except Penn. I don’t have a clue what’s taking him so long. August always took forever to primp before we went out, but that was August. Only boy I know who keeps both a compact mirror and a comb in his back pockets, and he uses them multiple times a day. Meanwhile, I’m doing well if I remember where my comb even is.That prompts me to rake a hand through my hair. Then I keep doing it, just to give myself something to do. By the time Penn comes down, I’m sure I look like I’ve wandered through the razz-berry bushes in the Wavering Wood (they’re like raspberries, but with sharp barbs and even sharper insults that they whisper as you walk by).“Oh good. You got my raven,” Penn says, stepping down onto the grass. He’s got on a paisley shirt in endless shades of purple and dark blue tucked into neat dark jeans. All of this coordinates with the tiny purple stones he has embedded in the points of his thick-framed glasses. More put together than I’ve ever seen him, honestly. “Did you forget to charge your mobile?”“No,” I answer bluntly.He lets out a sigh that sags his shoulders. “So you were ignoring me.”I look down at the filthy toes of my trainers.“Simone, you can’t—” Another sigh. I don’t have to look up to know Penn’s pushed his glasses up and is rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know you need time to…I dunno…work through what happened. But you can’t—shouldn’t—shut me out like that. I was worried about you.”“There’s nothing to work through.”“You got snatched—”“I don’t want to talk about it!” I snap. My magic flares up from deep in my chest, searing hot and heady. The few people trickling out of Mummers hurry past, and they can’t help but stare at me, the freak who can’t control her power.Penn holds up his big, square hands in a sign of surrender. His ring glints in the fading orange sunlight. “All right. We don’t have to.”“I want to have fun tonight,” I insist. Maybe if I say it enough times, both in my head and out loud, I’ll start to believe it.“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Penn’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something in his fist. “I brought something for you.”I wrinkle my nose when I see the chunky cross necklace in his palm. Baz would take one look at the mishmash of studs and rhinestones and call it gaudy or something equally judgmental. “What’s that for?”“It’s a statement necklace. Mum had it in the nineties during her Madonna phase. Supposedly there’s a glamour embedded in it that will change your outfit.”“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”Unlike most people at Watford, I don’t have an extensive collection of weekend clothes. While Baz lounges around in cashmere jumpers and perfectly pressed trousers, I usually stay in my school uniform. I’ve got a rotation of T-shirts and trackies I wear for pajamas or sword practice, and one pair of expensive jeans and a jumper the Wellbeloves gave me for Christmas last year. I happen to be wearing those jeans now, and I glance down and realize the cuff on my right leg is starting to fray. Dammit. “You deserve to wear something nice is all,” Penn answers diplomatically.“So you’re the Fairy Godmother to my Cinderella.”“Precisely. Now turn around.”Penn drapes the necklace in front of me and does the clasp behind my neck. I’m grateful – I’ve never been one for necklaces, and I have no patience for those tiny clasps. As soon as he’s done, a tingling feeling rushes down into my chest like I’ve swallowed half of a mint Aero bar in one go. This thing was definitely charmed by Penn’s mum; the whole family has herbal signatures to their magic. When the tingling fades, I look down and see my outfit really has transformed. My jeans have split and stitched together into a long denim skirt, and my T-shirt has grown long, flowy bell sleeves and studs all along my sides. “Is the neckline supposed to be this low?” I ask. “I feel a little…naked.”Penn shrugs. “I’m not sure how the necklace works, exactly. I assume the glamour works with your body to dress you in the best possible way.” “But I don’t usually show this much…cleavage.” Usually I do my best to forget I even have boobs. All they do is get in my way. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can try Cover it up to pull the neckline higher.” Penn frowns. “But that might give you a cardigan instead.”“It’s fine,” I sigh. Might as well try something different. Who knows, maybe I’ll want to fight all my battles shirtless from now on. “Now, where’s the party?”
Baz
Whoever thought it would be a good idea to host a party in the Weeping Tower is an idiot. No amount of strobe or fairy lights can banish the general dankness of the place, and the central spiral staircase is a disaster waiting to happen for anyone who gets completely pissed. Oh, and the drinks table is on the third floor. Who fucking puts the drinks table on the third floor?I suppose someone paid attention when Miss Possibelf reminded all of us in class about the drunken student who swan-dove off the roof of the Cloisters three years back and spent their summer vacation in a cam boot and cervical collar. Any prospect of an unchaperoned rooftop party was dampened then. Still, the Weeping Tower of all places? I’d sooner party in the Wavering Wood.On second thought, no. Fuck the Wavering Wood.The music is so pounding that I barely hear Dev sidle up to me and press a drink into my hand.“What the fuck is this?” I yell. The plastic cup smells like the unholy union of cherry cough syrup and furniture polish with a kiss of petrol.“Just try it!” Dev yells back.Whatever the concoction is can’t possibly make me more undead, so I tip my head back and pour it down my throat. Strangely, it doesn’t taste as foul as it smells, though there’s still a distinct burn searing into my stomach as it goes down. Dev, ever the embodiment of bad decisions, is sipping from their cup as though it’s filled with the elixir of life.“How did you…?” The question dies on Dev’s lips. “You want another one?”I glare at them and hold the empty cup out in response. They glare back and reach out to take it, only for their face to shift into a wide grin as they look behind me. “Oh hi, August!”Every nerve in my body ices over.“Hello, Devon,” August says, polite as ever. “Baz. You look lovely tonight.”I school my face into something approaching impassive and turn my head toward him. “I know. Thank you,” I say coolly.August doesn’t flinch, because he’s a good English boy with unflappable manners. My father would call him well-bred . “I was wondering if maybe we could chat. Just the two of us.” “You could chat now if you want!” Dev pipes up. “I was just leaving.”I grab their forearm and will enough fire magic into my palm to drive home a point. If you try to leave, I will fucking immolate you . Sweat beads on their forehead, but they also don’t flinch. Good show, Devon. “Maybe later.” I hope to Circe he gets the hint to leave me alone.August nods with a placid smile. Hint taken. “Of course. I’ll be around all night.” And then he drifts off into the room toward the staircase.“What the shit is wrong with you?” Dev hisses as soon as August is out of earshot. They yank their forearm out of my hand and pore over their skin, searching for a burn mark. “Were you trying to scorch me?”“Oh please, I have better control of my power than that,” I snap back.“All he wanted to do was talk to you!”“He doesn’t just want to talk.”Dev’s face relaxes for a second, then their thick eyebrows push together with worry. “Did he…you know? Out in the Wavering Wood? With you?”I shake my head. Whatever Dev is imagining is likely far worse than what actually happened. It is ridiculous to be unnerved at the prospect of being alone with August Wellbelove, but in truth, it’s not really him I’d like to avoid. It’s the third person in this absurd love triangle he’s decided to create.Speak of the devil. Here she comes now.
Simone
The bass is thudding through the thick stone walls of the Weeping Tower as Penn and I push through the front door. Immediately, I start to sweat from the heat radiating off of so many people inside. Penn reaches for my hand, and I grasp it like a lifeline as he pulls me through the crowd.“Dunno why everyone is at the door when there are multiple floors here,” he huffs as I draw level to his side. “Do you want a drink?”It probably won’t cool me off at all, but it can’t hurt. “Sure, why not?”After surveying the room and finding not so much as a punch bowl, Penn pushes his way toward the spiral staircase. He’s not the biggest in our year, but he’s perfected an intimidating look that could part the sea, so the people who’ve camped out on the stairs shift over without question. I follow him, still holding his hand.I’m a bit more than halfway up to the first floor when I get the feeling I’m being watched. Getting in more than a few scrapes with magical creatures and fellow care home kids will hone that sense in you. I glance down, and of course it’s her. Baz. She’s a vision, obviously. Looks like she’s fresh out of a London nightclub, except without so much as an eyeliner smudge. Her deep red dress (I swear she just dares people into the vampire accusations) has one of those fluttery bits around her waist. I dunno why she hid her legs under those black stockings—maybe bruises from football practice? And because it’s not enough to tower over almost everyone in our year in flats, she’s got high heels on. Unfair.Baz usually saves her most dramatic eyebrow raises for me, usually when she’s winding up for an insult. I don’t get one of those, though. Instead, she tilts her head like a curious bird, mouth frowning on one side. Her minion, Dev, is next to her, doing their best to look bored as always. Whatever. I shake my head and follow Penn.“The drinks appear to be a lost cause at the moment,” he says once we get up to the next floor. Unlike most people, Penn has the ability to project his voice without yelling or spelling his throat with can you hear me now or your attention, please. “Wanna dance?” The bass has worked its way into my bones, and my skin is buzzing. “Yeah! Hell yeah!” I call back. Here’s the thing: I don’t know how to dance. Not properly, with step sequences to remember and you-lead-I-follow. The Wellbeloves signed August and I up for ballroom lessons over winter holiday break two years ago, probably so Mrs. Wellbelove could make a show of us on New Year’s Eve. After one lesson, August had bruised toes, and I wound up with a sprained ankle. At least I got to sit around for most of that party instead of pacing around on August’s arm like Mrs. Wellbelove wanted.So, I may not know how to dance, but I do know how to fight. I pretend that there’s some beast in front of me and the Sword of Mages is in my hand. Not as much tucking and rolling as I would in a normal fight (did that one time—floor was sticky), but otherwise it’s mostly the same. Penn has never once questioned me on this, thank Merlin. I think it’s because he’s too busy waving his arms around like he truly doesn’t care.With the bass being so loud, I’m not really sure when one song ends and another begins. What I do know is after a while, my feet start throbbing and my throat itches. Drinks, now.I tap Penn on the shoulder to let him know I’m leaving, but I don’t think he really notices. By tapping on a few other shoulders, I find out that I have to climb up another two floors, which means braving the packed stairs again. Up, up, and away would probably work, but with my luck, I’d blast myself through the roof of the Tower. Like third year with the gates all over again.I manage to push my way up past one floor without much issue (thankfully, stepping on someone’s hand with a jelly sandal isn’t that painful for the other person). Midway to the third floor, though, I run into a problem. Mainly in the form of an achingly familiar chest. “Hey, Si,” August breathes. We’re close enough to each other that he doesn’t have to speak above a whisper.“You don’t get to call me that anymore,” I say, not looking him in the eyes.“Sorry.”“Can you move? I’m trying to get—”“Do you know why Baz won’t talk to me?”Now I do look him in the eyes. He’s tall enough, and we’re close enough, where I have to tilt my head back to see him fully. It makes me jut my chin out, which Penn says I do when I’m about to square off against someone.“Why would I know anything about what Baz thinks?” My magic swirls in my gut, threatening to climb higher.August sighs. “You two are roommates.”“We don’t talk.” Not like that, anyway. He should know this after all these years. “Maybe you two said everything you needed to say in the Wavering Wood the other night.”His brown eyes tighten at the outer corners. “Look, Si, what you saw—”“—is everything I needed to see,” I finish for him. “Please move.”“You need to let me explain!”“I don’t need to let you do anything .” I’m dangerously close to going off—I can tell by our classmates who have pasted themselves against the railing or backed up a few steps behind August. If I wanted to, I could probably snort out smoke like a dragon. “Now, for the last time, move .”I don’t intend for that last word to be imbued with magic. August shunts to the side like a chess piece anyway, and I pass him without any more trouble. The murmuring of my classmates hums low in my ears, but I ignore it. They can invent all the stories they want. None of them will measure up to the basic, unforgiving truth: August Wellbelove doesn’t want me. He wants her .Rhys is manning the drinks table by himself when I approach him.“’Lo, Simone,” he says with a crooked smile. “What can I get for you?”“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Baz
“I still don’t understand how this is a game.”“’S very simple,” an alarmingly drunk and stunningly patient Gwen explains, an arm thrown loosely over my shoulders. “Spin the bottle to get who kneels on the floor. Spin the bottle again, you see who’s the pourer. First person kneels and opens their mouth, second person pours—glug-glug-glug—right down the throat. Kneeler lasts more than ten seconds, they get a prize.” Gwen rattles the absurd number of shiny plastic bead necklaces she has on her free arm.“So it’s an endurance competition.”“’ Zactly .” Gwen presses a finger to my chest. “You’re very smart, Pitch.”“I know. Thank you.”“You also have very nice tits.”“Pardon?”“They’re smallish, but then they don’t get in the way, do they? Me, I can’t jog down the hallway without getting a black eye, but—” “Right. Again, thank you.” I extricate myself from Gwen’s hold and try my best to fade into the gathering crowd. Why this silly game has attracted attention now is beyond me. Then again, it seems people will invent any number of means and reasons to drink. At least I don’t have to invent a reason.It’s been a while since I was properly drunk. Starting when I was fourteen, Daphne has got me mulled wine at winter holidays because I patently refuse to engage with eggnog (I don’t care how much nutmeg gets dumped in it, it’s a vile beverage). Sometimes, with the warm drink and the roaring fireplace and the tendril of Christmas cheer which worms its way into my being, my head gets a bit floaty and the outlines of furniture blur. Not a feeling I chase down, but not one I object to. Tonight, I’m torn. I’d want nothing more to crawl into a bottle or five and spend tomorrow morning nursing a headache the size of Wales whilst riding home in Daphne’s car. At the same time, I absolutely do not want to be caught alone with August, and I fear being anything over buzzed will allow that to happen.It’s settled, then. I’m aiming for tipsy. Once the crowd is large enough for Gwen’s liking, the game begins. I’m impressed by her ability to spin a wine bottle with such finesse using her foot, though that might be because she’d fall on her nose if she bent down. The first pair of players manage less than three seconds before the kneeler starts retching like a cat with a stuck hairball. The second pair goes a bit farther, but still not enough to earn cheap strings of beads.I pull out my mobile, mostly because my drink cup is empty and I’ve got nothing better to do with my hands. To my horror, I realize I’ve already been at this party for well over the hour I’d promised to Dev and Nellie. If I wanted to, I could leave. Might have to slip off the heels first to avoid detection, though. I glance down to evaluate how sticky the floor is when I catch sight of a run in my tights going straight up my right leg. Merlin and Morgana, these were brand new.Suddenly the crowd around me starts cheering. I hear Gwen call my name, and I jerk my head up.“C’mon! It’s you! It’s all you!” she bellows.I find myself getting shoved forward into the circle of partygoers. Gwen claps me on the shoulder, presses in close to my ear, and asks, “Do you feel thirsty?”“What?”“You’re kneeling, mate! Go on!”“Not until I know who I’m up against,” I reply. No way I’m going to let some boor pour booze down my throat.Gwen shrugs and spins her wine bottle again. The green blur seemingly takes years to stop. When it does, it’s pointing at a pair of sparkling jelly sandals, the likes of which I haven’t seen since I was a child. Above those sandals (by about five and a half feet) is a glowering and achingly familiar face.Maybe I am thirsty, after all.
Simone
I don’t want to play any fucking games. The few cups of whatever Rhys passed to me didn’t calm me down. Alcohol doesn’t usually piss me off, so I know it’s August that’s got me wound up.He doesn’t love me—I can cope with that. What I can’t cope with is the supposed new target of his affections. I can lose, but not to her.No, that’s a fucked line of thinking. August isn’t a possession. We’re not alley dogs fighting over a bone. But that’s how it is with Baz and I, isn’t it? Always a fight, whether we mean it or not.Gwen presses a bottle of dark red wine into my hands and tells me to pour. I keep looking around for a glass, only for Gwen to touch me on the arm and point to Baz, who’s already kneeling on the floor, hands spread across her thighs. It takes my brain far too long to process what it is I’m supposed to do. Jesus Christ. “Are you serious?” I hiss at Gwen. She shrugs, grins, and fades back into the circle surrounding us. Then I turn to Baz, who glares back up at me. “Try not to spill too much wine on me, Snow,” she sneers. I’m sorely tempted to dump the whole bottle out over her head and walk away, but no. She doesn’t get to psych me out like this. “Hope you remember how to swallow,” I snap back, then wince. That sounded a lot cooler in my head than it did out loud. I hold the bottle high, willing my hand not to shake so much, and start pouring. Turns out Baz doesn’t have much of a gag reflex. Wine splashes out of the bottle and onto her tongue, and she takes down every mouthful like it’s nothing. I’m vaguely aware of a camera flash somewhere in front of us, but I ignore it. All that matters now is counting to ten in my head and watching the rivulet of red wine tracing out of Baz’s mouth and down along her pale neck.I dream about Baz a lot. One dream that keeps coming back, though, is the one where she’s feeding on me. Sometimes it’s after our final flaming confrontation, the one that decides the World of Mages’ fate, and sometimes it seems to be an ordinary night. There’s always a bit, though, where she throws her head back to swallow a mouthful of blood, and a tiny bit runs out the side of her mouth. Sometimes she swipes it back with her thumb in slow motion. Other times, I…I…Heat surges into my face. Magic is smoking out of my ears.“TIME!” Gwen yells. How could ten seconds have lasted so long?I need to get out. Now .
Baz
I’ve watched Snow play rugby many times, but even I didn’t know she could run that fast. She barrels a hole through the crowd, a contrail of magic behind her.“What a fucking show!” Gwen tosses a string of metallic green beads around my neck. “Swear to Stevie, I did not make that pair-up happen, but still—”“Yes, quite,” I cut in after a final swallow. I know we’re students and all that, but evidently no one else in this school has any taste for wine. That was the cheapest filth I’ve ever let touch my tongue.“All right, who’s next? Let’s see, let’s see…”I rise to my feet, and considering I’m wearing stilettos and I’ve drunk an inadvisable amount of alcohol in a short amount of time, I don’t wobble too much. The crowd graciously parts for me to leave. Once out of the circle, I scan the room for bronze curls while sniffing the air. Knowing Snow, she probably bolted outside.A tiny voice in the back of my mind reminds me, ever so helpfully, that I could leave. Or I could find Dev and Nellie, get properly tanked up, dance away tonight, and store away what just happened as a forbidden and precious memory. But Snow seems genuinely distressed. My antagonistic streak wants to see if I can make it worse; my curiosity wants to know what’s going on. Both of these things push me toward the edge of the room, next to the windows.It's generally inadvisable to cast when you’ve been drinking. Doubly so if your spell involves moving your body from one physical space to another. But I’m no ordinary magician, and I’m not thoroughly pissed (yet). I pull my wand out from underneath my peplum (there’s a hidden pocket there) and steady myself.“ Don’t go where I can’t follow ,” I whisper to the window, followed by, “ Lead me to your door .”In a blink, I’m standing in the grass at the foot of the Weeping Tower. I survey the darkness (superb night vision is a perk of vampirism I will admit to enjoying) and don’t spot Snow. Strange. Maybe my spell didn’t quite catch my intention.Then Snow comes jogging around the corner, winded and puffy-eyed, absurd bell sleeves flapping, and freezes when she sees me.“Baz,” she says. Not a question, but a simple acknowledgement. Like commenting that the moon is waning.“Snow.” “What— You—”“Use your words,” I chide her.“Oh, fuck off.” She lumbers over to the stone wall of the Tower and drops into the grass. Leave it to Snow to figure out how to seem ungraceful in jelly sandals.I totter over, spikes sinking into the dirt, and sit down next to her. Then, partly because I need one and partly because I want to irritate Snow, I pull out a cigarette.“Do you mind?” I ask. I may be an asshole, but I try not to be impolite.Snow shrugs and gestures vaguely around her. “ I’m already smoking, so…”It takes a moment to register what she’s said. And then I burst out laughing, because Simone Snow has actually cracked a joke.
Simone
Baz should laugh more often. Her whole body gets into it, and she’s actually smiling, a proper open grin across her face. I don’t think I said anything all that funny, but Baz clearly thinks so.After a while, she sighs out the last of her laugh, puts the cigarette in between her lips, and calls up a flame by snapping her fingers. It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen her do.“You’re flammable,” I point out.“So is everything else,” she counters.“Yeah, but you’re like…lamp oil. Or a candle wick.”Baz cuts her eyes over to me and takes a long drag before responding. “Honestly, Snow. It’s like you think I’m completely unpracticed.”“Like me.”“You’re not—” She huffs and takes another drag. “What’s got you in such a strop?”“I’m not in a strop!” We both know that’s a lie, but I have to put up some kind of defense.“Snow…”“I went up against the Humdrum and it didn’t go well, all right?”Baz’s eyebrows push together. “You went—when did this happen?”“Right after I caught you and August cavorting in the Wavering Wood. The fucking Humdrum found me and just,” I raise one hand up and clamp it down around my fist, “yanked me out to Lancashire.”Baz stares hard at me, cigarette balanced between her fingers.“Come off it. I know you saw me.” Baz I did see Snow the other night in the Wood. Or at least I thought I saw her. One second her glaring blue eyes were peeking above the bushes, and the next they weren’t. I’d assumed that she ducked away and I somehow missed it, but evidently not.“What do you mean the Humdrum yanked you?” I ask slowly. The Humdrum isn’t supposed to be able to do that; it rolls in like a thunderstorm to wherever it wants to go. “And we weren’t cavorting .” “You were holding hands like you were about to burst into a West End number!”“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I rub my forehead. “Wellbelove grabbed my hands! He started it.”“And I’m supposed to believe you?” Snow’s magic starts smoking again. “After all the times you’ve made moves on him?”“That was to get you worked up, you idiot!” You look so pretty when you go all pink , my traitorous brain adds. “He caught me out in the Wood. Hunting. And he thought it was the perfect time to accost me with his romantic advances.”It strikes me a moment too late that I’ve more or less just confessed to being a vampire. Snow could run right to the Mage, and the Coven would have my head on a pike by noon tomorrow. But Snow doesn’t react to this admittance. Instead, her eyes flick back and forth over my face as though I’m broadcasting a tennis match. All at once, she slumps against the stones behind us.“I don’t care,” she says, low enough that I don’t think I’m supposed to hear her. “I really don’t fucking care.”
Simone
The truth of it is, August had been drifting away from me for a long time. He was an untethered punt, and I was the dock with the rope left trailing into lake water. In all fairness, I had drifted away from him, too. I had just convinced myself that we should stay together because it made for a better story. The Chosen One and her golden boy.We don’t live stories, though. We live lives. August said as much when we sat together on the roof that night, holding hands and letting the tattered remains of our relationship flutter away on the breeze. He was right, of course. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. When I saw August out there in the Wavering Wood with Baz, I’d assumed she was pursuing him. At school dances and in the hallways, she’d always be lurking, looking to get in between us. Never did I think it was about me and not him.“I turned him down,” Baz says. She takes in a deep breath and sucks the cigarette down to a stub, then spits it out delicately into her hand.“Why?” He’s August Wellbelove. I’m sure Baz’s parents would have been thrilled at that match-up.“I’m gay.”Oh. “Good.”I didn’t think Baz’s eyebrows could push that close together, or squiggle in so many places. “Good?”“I mean, good for you, that you know that about yourself.” I shrug. “Like, at least you know now so you don’t set yourself up for pain later, right? By being with the wrong person and all.”Baz’s left eye twitches. She runs her tongue underneath her upper lip and across her gums like when she’s deep into studying for exams. Ever since I first suspected she was a vampire, I figured she was sucking on her fangs. Kind of cute in a dark creature sort of way.Baz isn’t a creature, though, or a monster. She’s just a girl.“Tell me about the Humdrum,” she says abruptly. A second cigarette appears in her hand, and she lights it with another snap of her fingers.“The Humdrum?”“The thing must have had a reason for kidnapping you. Usually it sends droves of magical pests into the school or sucks holes in the magical atmosphere.”My stomach churns. I haven’t even told Penn about what happened in Lancashire. The past week has been me trying very, very hard not to think about it, failing, and leaking magic everywhere. Baz hasn’t even slept in our room because the smell has been so potent (I think she slips in for a change of clothes whenever I manage to get down to the Great Hall to eat). But I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. So I decide to let it out.“The Humdrum is me.”
Baz
For the first time in my life, every word in every language I’ve ever known flees my mind. This is beyond speechlessness. I’ve been struck by lightning down to the core, leaving a smoking husk behind.“Hyunck?” I squeak out. A horrible portmanteau of huh and what the fuck . My mother would be so proud of my verbal prowess.Snow’s tugging at her curls with both hands. The motion is making her clipped-up hair threaten to fall off the back of her head. “I know, I know, it doesn’t make any sense! But I’m telling you: I got to Lancashire, finally got my feet on the ground, looked in front of me and,” she throws a hand out in front of her, “there I was. How I looked when I was eleven.” My mind may be devoid of words, but it can still conjure images. I think back to the night the Crucible cast us together. Snow, with her shaved head thanks to a fellow care home kid putting bubble gum in her hair while she slept. Cheekbones that jutted out far too much for someone so young. A galaxy of freckles and moles spanning her face and arms. And that stupid red ball that she never quit bouncing until I took it one day (it’s still in the back of my wardrobe). When we shook hands, I was worried I’d crush hers because it was so thin and small.“They tried explaining,” Snow goes on. “Something about how they were what’s left after I’m done – didn’t make any sense to me. But I finally got the Humdrum to fuck off after I gave it some magic—”“What?” I cut in.“I just like…” She puts her hands together like she’s cradling a bird in her palms and thrusts out. “Gave it? I don’t know. There was so much noise with the wind and everything else, I couldn’t – it didn’t – I did what I had to do to make it stop. And then I flew back to Watford.”I squint. “You…flew?”“Grew a pair of fuck-off huge wings like a swan. Think I said something like I wish I could fly , and they appeared.”That explains the handful of snow-white feathers I found in the en suite. Snow’s always had a habit of dragging home souvenirs from her missions, but these were a novelty. “I assume you told the Mage all this,” I say after a long pause. “No.” Snow sighs. “Only that the Humdrum got me, and I fought back. Except the Mage wasn’t fucking there , so I had to leave a note about it. And you know how shit I am with writing on a normal day…”The Mage has been missing in action for most of this school year, off to Merlin knows where. Watford might as well not even have a headmaster. The Mage must have come back just long enough to read Snow’s note, send out the edict to cancel examinations, and then leave again. What a prick. Didn’t even bother checking in to see if Snow was all right.“So that’s why you’ve been leaking magic so much,” I say in a low voice. “You haven’t recovered.” Snow nods miserably. Guilt washes over me. I should have been in the room this whole week instead of hiding out with Dev and Nellie, if for no other reason than to offer a bit of comfort in the form of a familiar presence. We’re meant to be enemies, but we’ve also been living together for nearly half our lives at this point.“Stay with me,” I blurt before I can stop myself.“What?”“This summer. Come home with me.”“But the Mage—”“First of all, fuck the Mage . Second of all, you’re supposed to be eighteen in June. You’ll be an adult, and the care system will throw you out anyway. Third of all, if the Mage asks any questions, you can say you’re doing reconnaissance work deep in the bowels of the Old Families.”“I really don’t want to get into anyone’s bowels,” Snow objects.“It’s a turn of phrase, you menace.” I pause. “You may have to tolerate some of my siblings on the ride to Hampshire, though. It’s fine, you can ride in a suitcase.” “Don’t you mean on a suitcase?”“No, in . I intend to spring you out when we get in the house like a jack-in-the-box.”That makes Snow laugh. It’s a beautiful sight: all the tension in her face melts, and she opens up wide before the world. Simone The stone that’s been sunk low in my guts for a week has been broken apart by Baz, and now I feel light. So incredibly light. I don’t have to ship out to yet another care home tomorrow if I don’t want to (I really don’t want to). For the first time, I can have a summer of freedom if I want it (I do).“D’you want to dance?” I offer, because right now I feel like anything is possible.Baz considers me with narrowed eyes, like a cat who’s just got comfortable in their spot. “With you?” she asks slowly.“Yeah? Who else?” “I suppose I’m intoxicated enough at this point to make your usual flailing look graceful.” Baz wobbles to her feet, using her hands to press back on the Tower wall to steady herself.“Fuck’s sake, Baz, would you take those heels off? You’re gonna break an ankle.”“Absolutely not. They’re Louboutin.”I assume that means they’re expensive. “You can barely move in them!” “I am not dancing on that godforsaken sticky floor with no shoes on.”Is it mad that I’m looking forward to a summer of bickering like this? “If you fall because of those things, I’ll be sure to catch you in a dramatic dip, all right?”“I’d expect nothing less.” We walk back inside the Tower – well, I walk, and Baz hobbles but tries not to look like it. I feel her cool fingers wrap around my wrist as I push through the initial crowd of people just inside the door. Not tightly, but firmly. As if I have any intention of wandering off or losing her.Under the pulsing multicolored lights, I catch sight of a familiar mass of blond hair, slightly bent over someone else. I pull up short, and Baz runs into me.“Is that…August?” I ask over my shoulder. Baz cranes her neck (as if she needs to be any fucking taller). “It is,” she confirms after a moment, “with his arms around one of his fellow lacrosse players.” “Huh.” “I do believe I just saw some tongue there.”“All right, I don’t need a play-by-play—”“Crowley, Wellbelove, you don’t need to eat his face off—”“Come on.” I jerk my arm forward so that Baz runs right into my back. “We’re dancing, remember?”“And I can’t admire two boys kissing along the way?” She clicks her tongue. “Don’t be a homophobe, Snow.”I roll my eyes and search out an empty spot for us on the floor. Baz is still wobbling in those heels, so I glare at her until she finally takes them off. I don’t know why she was complaining about a sticky floor when she’s wearing tights that cover her feet. Maybe Baz just enjoys complaining.“If I lose these, you owe me a new pair,” she says, tossing her heels against a nearby column. “I’ll pawn the Sword of Mages for you.”It could be a trick of the momentary lighting, but I swear Baz’s face goes a little pink at that.“Right, so what the fuck am I doing?” I ask.Baz tugs me closer, shows me where to place my hands. It’s not that much different from those ballroom lessons I took with August, but it somehow feels a lot easier. Maybe it’s the passage of time. Maybe it’s the lack of expectation to impress anyone. Or maybe I’ve just got the right partner.The music clicks over to a newer pop song I heard on one of Penn’s playlists.
Oh, don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me
I said, “You’re holding back.” She said, “Shut up and dance with me!”
Baz and I have circled around each other for years as enemies. Never turning our backs. Staying close. Watching the other’s eyes for hesitation. Maybe we should have spent our time dancing instead - it’s more or less the same thing. This woman is my destiny. I already knew that. I’ve always known that. We spin. We whirl around each other. I even throw in a couple hand claps during the pre-choruses, which makes Baz roll her eyes. She’s smiling, though, with the barest hint of her fangs peeking out from under her upper lip. Wicked. Even though she took her shoes off and didn’t fall, I still dip her at the end. Because I can.