Chapter Text
Penelope
I lie in bed for several minutes, psyching myself up to get dressed and go down for breakfast. If I get there before the boys do, it’ll be just Fiona and me. And I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Merlin and Morgana, this is embarrassing. I know there’s nothing wrong with having a crush. I know there’s nothing wrong with having a crush on a woman. But my best friend’s boyfriend’s aunt? The age gap alone makes it awkward, but imagine if Simon married Baz and I married Fiona. Then I’d basically be Simon’s aunt. That’s… That’s too fucked up to imagine. We’re already almost like siblings. He can’t also be my nephew. I can’t be with someone twice my age. I won’t.
So fine. I have a crush on Fiona. What of it? She’s cool and she’s funny. She’s smart and has opinions about everything from the most obscure aspects of magic to Normal pop culture. Once I get past her sharp tongue (Baz clearly got it from her) and the fact she’s a Pitch, she’d be kind of perfect. If she wasn’t twice my age. But she is twice my age.
My mum says I don’t know how to make healthy choices. She says I always run headfirst into danger. She’s wrong. I’m not going to run headfirst into Fiona. I’m not going to pursue her that way at all. I’m just going to let this crush be until it stops. With only a few days left before we go back to Watford, that’ll be no time at all before distance and lack of contact will let this fade away.
I groan and get dressed. I feel hot and itchy, but it’s too mild to be the Humdrum, so I think nothing of it. I trudge down to the kitchen. It seems I’m here first. Fill the teapot and hit it with some like it hot. I steep some Earl Gray. It’s Baz’s favourite. I’m fine with whatever. I pour myself a cup and park myself at the breakfast table.
Fiona wanders in ten minutes later. She’s wearing ripped black jeans and a band t-shirt. She’s got dark eyeliner, but otherwise doesn’t wear much makeup. Maybe foundation. I don’t know. I never really use that stuff. I twist a finger in my ponytail to distract myself.
“Morning, Fiona,” I say like I do every morning.
“Morning, kiddo,” she replies without looking away from the latte she’s frothing. That’s odd. She usually calls me by my name. Why would she call me kiddo?
I hope to Cerce it isn’t because she’s somehow noticed what I only just figured out. That would be mortifying. But how could she? I didn’t even know until yesterday. I decide it can’t be that. I’ll just ignore it.
“Sleep okay?” I ask.
“I’m never going to get the smell of dead merwolf out of my nose,” she complains.
“You could’ve into thin aired them. You didn’t have to chop them up.”
“I told you,” Fiona grumbles, “They’ll be good for the nightmares. Magickal creature meat doesn’t grow on trees. Usually.” She plonks down into the chair next to me.
I wrinkle my nose. “I think the issue is less that you can’t get the smell of dead merwolf out of your nose and more that you can’t get it out of… the rest of you.” On the bright side, maybe the stench will help with this awkward crush situation.
“Fucking hell,” she groans. “I showered for over an hour.”
I try not to picture it.
“Merlin, Fiona!” Baz says as he walks in. He’s holding Simon’s hand, which is unusual. They typically just twine their tails. This morning, they’re doing both. “Did you roll around in a pile of dead merwolves?”
“Shut up,” she snaps. “I did you a favour. Because of me, your father’s nightmares have enough rotting monster chunks to feed them for months. Who knows? He might actually like you when he gets back now.”
“Ouch,” Baz rolls his eyes and pulls Simon’s chair out for him, guiding him into it with a hand on his shoulder. “Penelope, get the whiteboard. We have things to discuss.”
Something is going on. I frown at him. “Can’t we at least eat breakfast first?” I ask.
“I’m sure I’m not hungry,” Baz’s voice is clipped.
“But I am, aren’t I?” Simon says quietly.
Baz deflates. “Fine. Let’s make it quick, then.” He doesn’t make a move to leave Simon’s side and help prepare anything. I think whatever this is goes beyond their increasing codependence. If I didn’t know them better, I’d say they’re shaken. What could have spooked them like this after yesterday?
Breakfast is an awkward affair. I’m trying not to look at Fiona and also trying not to make that fact obvious. I can feel her glancing between the rest of us. Simon’s face is flushed, and he won’t look at anyone. His lip keeps raising into a snarl before he forces it back down. His hands shake, making him eat even more messily than usual. Baz ignores it. His emotional mask is in full effect, so I have no idea what Simon’s feeling. If I had to guess, Simon is barely containing Baz’s agitation, rage even.
We eat quickly. Simon pushes his plate away only half-finished. Baz doesn’t push him to eat more. When we’re all done, I fetch the whiteboard. Baz stands jerkily (since when did Baz move jerkily?) and flicks his wand out of his sleeve. He casts a slew of finding spells. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! Show yourself! Scooby-Doo, where are you? It's show time! Olly, olly, oxen free!” Then he starts rattling off protection spells. “Silence is golden! Safe as houses! Intruders beware! A magician never reveals his secrets! Without a trace! Now you see it, now you don’t! Hey, you've got to hide your love away! Keep it secret, keep it safe! Mum's the word! No trespassing! Cloak and dagger!”
“Whoa,” I say. “Paranoid much?”
“We’ve been watched.” Baz’s voice is clipped. “This whole fucking time. We don’t even know how much.”
“Slow down,” Fiona frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s two of them.”
“Two of what?” I ask.
“The Insidious Humdrum!” Baz snaps. “Or shall we say the Insidious and the Humdrum.”
I feel my jaw drop. “What?”
“You’ve seen the Humdrum. Looks like Simon.” In the What We Know column, Baz writes, Humdrum: and then under it, Looks like Simon aged 11. “This morning, Simon and I met another one. He calls himself the Insidious.” He leaves some space and writes, Insidious: and under it, Looks like Baz aged 18.
“There’s another creature like the Humdrum who looks like you now, Basil?” Fiona says.
“Yes.”
“How?” I ask.
“I don’t fucking know!” he says.
Baz is on the war path, and Simon is barely keeping it together. His tail is lashing back and forth under the table, whacking into chair legs. He’s scowling and his hands are still shaking. Whatever Simon’s feeling is making tears well up behind Baz’s mask.
“Okay, maybe just tell us what happened.”
“The Insidious showed up in our room this morning. He looked like me from when I was in the coffin.” He writes, No wings. No tail. Dirty tennis whites. No rebar injury. “He said he was stuck that way. Stuck as a version of me who hadn’t gotten together with Simon. He claimed he and the Humdrum were both stuck as versions of us before our lives got better.” He writes, MANIPULATIVE BASTARD and underlines it.
He’s so focused on his rant that I’m not sure he’s noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks. I move around the table to sit next to Simon and wrap an arm around him, pulling his head onto my shoulder. Baz pauses when a sob forces its way out of him.
“What did he do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I know Baz can hear me.
“He said a bunch of things to make us feel sorry for him,” Simon says. “He was already crying when he first appeared out of nowhere.”
“He said he hadn’t even meant to become corporeal,” Baz adds. “He admitted to watching us while invisible. I don’t know when or how often or for how long. He could’ve heard anything! He could’ve seen everything!”
“He got Baz to pity him,” Simon’s voice is shaking with rage. “He said he’d answer our questions if… If I…” He drops to a growl. “If I kissed him.” He’s raking his hands through his hair.
I gasp. “You didn’t…”
Simon only nods. Baz sit back down beside him and sobs into his shoulder while Simon twines their tails tightly and rubs his back roughly between his wings.
“Did he hurt you?” Fiona asks. Her eyes are hard. Her voice is steel.
Simon nods again.
“What did he do?”
“Give them a minute, Fiona.” I say. I dread to think about what will happen if they go off right now.
“I don’t know,” Simon says. “It felt like my magic was leaking into him.”
“Simon had sparks all over him,” Baz chokes out. “They all came from him and flowed into the Insidious.”
We all fall silent.
Simon
We tried to calm down before we came downstairs. We thought we’d succeeded. But I’m not feeling calm. Baz isn’t calm. I’m angry and scared and violated and paranoid.
I did this to him. I’m so fucking gullible. Baz let me do it. He gave me the nudge. But I actually did it. I kissed a monster pretending to be Baz right in front of Baz. I told him I was sorry. He said that I had nothing to be sorry for, but I know that’s bullshit. I know I hurt him. I don’t know how he can still touch me.
Baz
Simon’s emotions in my head are a confused, swirling mess. I can barely make out whether this is sorrow or embarrassment or shame. Whatever this is is tinged with heartbreak. I’m crying his tears into his shoulder while he seethes my rage.
I don’t know how, but the next time I see the Insidious, I’m going to kill him, whatever it takes. I won’t let him break us.
Fiona
Penelope stands up and takes the marker from Baz. She starts writing questions on the whiteboard on the What We Don’t Know side without drawing the boys’ attention to herself. How did the Insidious form? What could this tell us about how the Humdrum formed? Why now? Could any mage be copied this way? What does he mean when he says they’re “stuck” at age 11/18? Why didn’t the Humdrum do this before? Can he? Does all touch steal magic or only kissing? What does the Insidious want with Simon’s magic? Can he cast with it? Does he make dead spots? Is that why there’s more this summer? How long have we been watched? How can we tell when he’s watching? Do our protection spells work?
Clever girl. These are all great questions. Penelope holds the marker out to me and nods at the board. I get up and take it from her to add my own: Why imitate Baz? Does the Insidious have Baz’s condition? Do the Insidious and the Humdrum have the same motives? Are they working together? Can they be turned against each other?
Penelope frowns and nods as I write, silently approving of my additions. She gives me a tight smile when I’m done, but blushes and looks away when I nod back. Right. Teenage crush. Merlin…
Simon
I let Penny and Fiona keep working the problem while I try to comfort Baz. I try taking deep breaths, but my lungs won’t fill up properly. I wrap my wings around Baz. I smell his hair. It feels like nothing is working.
I’m still seething.
I feel hatred taking root in Baz’s heart. This isn’t self loathing. This isn’t the flimsy veneer of hatred he used to hide his love for me. This is an unabashed, ugly derision. It’s the kind of hatred that will go to any length to destroy.
This is all my fault.
Baz
Simon is spiraling and I don’t know what to do. His feelings are a cyclone. They’re an ocean of pressure on my heart. I don’t even know what this feeling is other than overwhelmingly bad.
“Please don’t hate me,” he whispers into my hair.
I pull back so I can see him. “Simon, what the fuck?”
He grinds his teeth. “Please.”
I curtain us in my wings, hoping the dimmed light through the dark blue membranes help calm at least one of us down. “I could never hate you,” I whisper, my hand on his heart. “You know I love you. You can feel it.”
“There’s hate here too, now,” he says, putting his hand over mine.
“Not for you, love,” I assure him. “For the Insidious. I’m going to tear him to shreds for what he did to you.”
“He’s you.”
I shove back from my chair and jump to my feet. “He isn’t me!” I shout. “Do you think the Humdrum is you?”
“Of course not!” Simon bellows back.
“Then why do you think he’s me?”
Simon crumples and lays his forehead on the table, his shoulders shaking. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I feel flashes of guilt, fear, and shame bubble to the surface of the roiling intensity. The smell of smoke is in the air.
I sit back down next to him and ignore Penelope and Fiona’s stares. “Can you give us a minute?” I ask them without taking my eyes off of Simon.
They don’t say anything, but I hear their footsteps and the whiteboard’s wheels leave the room.
I bury my face in Simon’s curls. “We have to calm down,” I say.
“You’re right,” he says again. “I’m sorry. I broke us. I don’t know what to do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t believe I kissed him, Baz.”
“He played us both. It’s not your fault.”
Simon looks up so he can stare at my face. I don’t know what he’s trying to find since the only feelings I have to express with it are his own. I try to send him a dose of calm. I let my eyes roam his face following meandering paths from freckle to freckle. Finally, the inferno in my head shrinks to embers. “Okay,” he says. “I’m not sure I believe you that it isn’t my fault. But I believe that you think it isn’t.”
“That’ll have to do for now,” I concede and then cup his face in both hands as I lean in to kiss him. His skin is clammy, and his lips are salty, but I don’t mind. I wrap him in my wings and start to pull him into my lap, but he breaks the kiss and keeps us apart with a hand on my chest.
“He could be watching,” Simon whispers, and I feel a fresh dose of shame in my heart and tears in my eyes.
“Let him. I don’t care if he fucks of and cries or fucks off and dies.”
Simon makes intense eye contact with his knees. “You think we can just carry on like nothing’s happened? Like we don’t know he could be watching us at any moment?”
“No. But we can’t let the Insidious come between us either. If he wants to watch and make himself jealous, that’s his problem.”
He thinks about that for a few moments, and then whatever feeling has been constricting my lungs releases. “Okay.” I take deep breaths. Simon kisses me, lingering for a few moments before pulling back again. “We can talk about this later.”