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Chapter Text

SIMON

To Simon

Best wishes,

The Mage

The label has green glittery Christmas trees on one side and it's tied around a box the size of my palm wrapped in silver paper. It was on my desk when I came back from dinner half an hour ago and I've been sitting on my bed holding it ever since.

A Christmas present.

For me.

From The Mage.

The Mage has never given me a Christmas present. Or a birthday present or any kind of present. I mean, unless you count the Sword of Mages and my place at Watford, but those weren’t gift wrapped.

I don't get a lot of Christmas presents at all. Penny usually gives me a book she thinks I should read. Agatha always gives me clothes, fashionable stuff that makes me feel like she’s playing build-a-boyfriend, and her parents give me warm sweaters and coats like they’re taking the orphan thing in a strictly Dickensian sense. I never get presents from anyone else. A present from the Mage is the first present I've ever got in my whole life that kind of feels like it's from… family?

I know it's not really from family, but it gives me a warm feeling to pretend it is, and I want to hold onto that for as long as possible so I don't rip the paper off. I just sit there, turning it over in my hands, letting the silver wrapping catch the light, trying to imagine what might be in it.

Maybe it’s a watch. Like a pocket watch family heirloom - I am his heir. Or a pair of cufflinks like the fancy ones Baz keeps in his sock drawer. Or a new phone so I can stay in touch with him more. A bottle of aftershave? I wouldn't care if it was socks, I'd still be thrilled. It really is the thought that counts apparently.

I set it on my desk. But it's too special to sit among the clutter of pens and chocolate wrappers so I move it to the chest of drawers. But that's not special enough either. It looks like a present in a shop window, something in a Christmas display. It needs a tree to sit under and fairy lights.

But there’ll be no tree to set it under this year. Agatha just told me I can't come to hers. Fair enough, we just broke up, but still, I've been feeling pretty crappy about it.

Christmas isn't my favourite holiday at the best of times. There's nothing like family get-togethers for kicking you in the gut with the fact that you have no family. Spending it with the Wellbeloves is nice, but it’s a bit like watching a Christmas movie on TV: it looks great but you’re only an observer, it’s not yours. And this year is shaping up to be the worst yet since apparently even they don't want me. ‘I think we both know how uncomfortable that would be. It would ruin Christmas.’ Thanks Agatha. Always nice to be told your very presence is incompatible with other people’s happiness. 

But the Mage must have heard I'll be here by myself this year. Baz thinks he uses me like some sort of guard dog but he’s wrong, the Mage cares about me. The gift is proof of that.

I smile at my reflection in the shiny paper. It would have disappeared among the heaps of presents under the Wellbeloves’ tree anyway. I wish there was a tree at Watford but there isn’t because everyone goes home for Christmas.

Unless…

I draw my wand and chew my lip. I should get Penny to do this. Because I’ll aim for a neat little spruce and next thing you know the Black Forest will have flattened the school.

But think how impressed the Mage would be if he turned up on Christmas morning to open gifts with me and I'd conjured up a tree! Already, in my head, this is what’s going to happen – the two of us having snowball fights and crisp winter walks and D&Ms while a soundtrack of Christmas hits plays in the background. It’s been snowing nonstop all day so technically it’s possible.

I'm in such a good mood I decide I can handle a little interior decor so I raise my wand and point it at the corner of the room. But I point it at the corner on Baz’s side, just in case. It’s not that I’d deliberately destroy his stuff, it’s just that, if I make a mess on his side, he’ll magickally clean it up, whereas, if I do it on mine, he’ll enjoy watching me make it worse as I try to fix it.

I close my eyes, concentrate, and cast Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. It’s a song on Mrs Wellbelove’s favourite Christmas CD and I’ve always quite liked it because it’s sad, and there aren’t a lot of sad Christmas songs. Which makes no sense considering there are an awful lot of sad people at Christmas.

I can hardly bear to look, but there's no screaming so after a few seconds, I open one eye slowly.

In the corner, a five foot fir tree is twinkling merrily, bedecked in tinsel and fairy lights and glittering baubles. It smells of pine and it has strings of popcorn and a small toy train chugging its way around the base on a red track through cotton wool snow. Beside it, there’s a steaming mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows. There are candy canes and gingerbread men and a Santa hat and pair of ice skates and a snow globe and a little music box playing the song I just cast. It’s the most perfect Christmas imaginable. And the most perfect magic I’ve ever done. The angel on top of the tree even looks a bit like Baz with wings, which will annoy him no end.

I nestle my present among the fake snow around the base, where it looks just right, then grab the hot chocolate and go to meet Penny in the library, whistling all the way.

BAZ

When I get back from the catacombs, there's a Christmas tree in our room. There’s some sort of Christmas full-frontal assault in our room. On my side of the room. Taking up one entire corner. The little train running around the bottom toots at me.

Crowley, that is tragic. Not only has Snow been abandoned by everyone in his life at the most depressing time of year, he's trying to compensate by creating his own sad little Christmas, and he's learned what Christmas looks like by watching cheesy Hallmark movies because he’s never had one of his own. I could weep.

What's worse is, he'd rather have this lonely little orphan-fest than come to Hampshire with me. I was kind of hurt that he said no to be honest. Okay my father wants to kill him and the Mage would kill him for coming anywhere near us and my house is full of ghosts who could probably kill him and I'm a vampire who’s spent the last eight years trying to kill him, but still. Christmas. Maybe I've seen too many Hallmark movies myself.

I grab my leather trunk and start packing for leaving in the morning.

SIMON

‘From the Mage?’ Penny is incredulous.

‘Yep.’

‘What is it?’

‘I can’t open it yet! It’s for Christmas.’

‘But… aren’t you curious?’

‘Of course. That’s how presents work, Penny. Most people don’t thrust their present at you and say, This is Jane Austen, I can’t believe you’ve got to the age of eighteen without reading one of the greatest mages of the regency period.’

She only tuts. ‘Yeah, but… from the Mage? I mean, it’s not going to be chocolate or bath salts, is it?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s the Mage. He only gives you stuff when he wants you to kill something with it. Or to toughen you up. Or train you to use your magic better. He only talks to you when he wants stuff like that.’

‘That’s not true,’ I say, even though it basically is. ‘It’s Christmas. He’s being nice.’

‘Nice.’ Penny chews the word over. ‘The Mage? Hmm. Are you sure it’s not a curse he’s wrapped up to see if you can break it?’

‘Shut up, he wouldn’t do that.’ Then I wag my head. ‘I mean, he would, but probably not at Christmas.’

She opens her mouth to argue but I clamp a hand over her lips. ‘Penny! He did something nice for me. Something nice happened to me. Could you let me just have this one please?’

She looks dubious but drops it.

When I get back to our room, Baz is back. He’s packing (which always puts him in a foul temper because it creases his shirts) but even he can’t ruin my good mood. I throw myself on my bed and whistle at the ceiling and he glares at me. He hates whistling.

‘Snow, you know how I feel about physical manifestations of happiness.’

I stop whistling, since we’re officially having a truce, and just gaze at my present instead, still glittering in its snowy nest. Are you sure it’s not a curse he’s wrapped up to see if you can break it? Penny was only joking, he wouldn’t do that.

I’m almost certain.

‘Speaking of which,’ Baz goes on, ‘What the fuck is all this?’ He waves a hand at the tree. ‘Were you visited by the ghost of Christmas Future? Have you been possessed by a small, crippled boy?’

‘I thought you were the ghost of Christmas Future,’ I say. ‘You’re grim enough. And you’re not allowed to say crippled anymore.’

You can if you’re referencing Dickens.’

‘If you hate Christmas so much, how come you know all the Christmas movie references?’

‘Who says I hate Christmas? I love Christmas. Christmas gets me away from you for two weeks.’

‘You invited me for Christmas!’

‘That was strictly business. We have work to do, but if you’re too lazy to be bothered, then fine, I’ll do it by myself. You’d better make yourself useful here though. I want that library gone over with a fine-toothed comb for any info on anyone called Nico.’

I sigh and get up. ‘Merry Christmas to you too. I’m going to have a shower.’

I grin at my present as I bounce past, and he shakes his head at me and packs yet another floral shirt.

BAZ

I finish packing my leather trunk in the morning while Snow is still at breakfast, ready to leave as soon as Fiona gets here to pick me up. The little toy train toots again. Is it going to do that all day? I narrow my eyes at it, wondering if I can spell it to wake Snow up every hour on the hour until New Year’s.

Crowley, he's even got a present wrapped up at the foot of the tree. Just the one though. Just in case anyone was in any doubt about how pathetic this is. I pick it up and glance at the little tag. Probably from Bunce. I hope she got him something decent.

But it's not from Bunce. And it's not for Snow.

To Baz

Best wishes,

Simon

My brain shuts down for several seconds.

He got me a gift? Is that why the tree’s on my side? I know we're getting along better but this is... unexpected. I shake the box gently. Snow can't afford to buy presents. I'm not sure what to do with it. If he’d launched a curse or a weapon or an insult at me I'd have known exactly what to do but overtures of friendship? I'm stumped. I hear him coming up the stairs and panic, quickly stuffing the present into the nearest hiding place, which happens to be my trunk, because I don’t know what to say about it.

But he doesn't say anything either, just throws himself on the bed, rubbing his scone-filled stomach and groaning about eating too much. Maybe I can put it back under the tree before I leave so he can give it to me properly. Or are we just not acknowledging the present? Was I supposed to just find it? That would be like him. It would be like us.

But I'm about to leave and suddenly I feel bad that I'm leaving him here alone. I feel bad that he's alone because his girlfriend broke up with him because of me. I feel bad that he got me a present and I didn't get him anything.

So I turn and say, 'Listen Snow, about Agatha...'

SIMON

That nine-sided bastard. I’ve been ditched, at Christmas, by my ex-girlfriend who dumped me for Baz and he’s not even interested in her?

I’ve never been an option for Wellbelove, Snow.

He was just messing with her this whole time? Just to get at me? He’s basically ruined my life and my future for a laugh? And he told me all this to make me feel better! Or so he says. We’re supposed to have a truce but he just can’t help himself, can he? Any opportunity to stick the knife a little deeper. I’m sorry I didn’t blow up his half of the room.

And I’m glad I’m not going to his house for Christmas. I’ll admit, I considered it. And watching everyone get picked up this morning by their families, I reconsidered it. I thought, maybe if we were away from Watford things might be different. Maybe we’d talk instead of sniping at each other. Maybe we’d hang out like normal people instead of mortal enemies because people are just nicer at Christmas. Maybe…

Maybe nothing. I wouldn’t darken his door now if his was the only house in England.

I wanted to punch him so badly. But we were in our room and he only left when his aunt arrived for him. Just drops a bomb on me and then snaps his fancy trunk closed and pisses off to have his nice family Christmas and I’ve been lying here on my bed steaming ever since.

Whatever. Fuck him. At least I don’t have to look at his smug face for a couple of weeks. I don’t need him, and I don’t need Agatha. I’ll visit Ebb and I’ll have a nice Christmas here with the Mage, playing charades or whatever people do at Christmas. We’ll open our presents together and chat about ways to kill vampires over the turkey.

I look towards the Christmas tree, seeking the shiny reassurance of my present beneath it.

My heart stops.

I jump up and run to the tree, then the door, then the window, but outside there are only tyre tracks in the snow. That evil, twisted piece of troll turd! He nicked my fucking Christmas present!

Chapter Text

BAZ

Fiona pulls up outside the house and the Buzzcocks CD mercifully stops. She has better taste in music than Daphne but you have to be in the mood for late 20^th Century punk and I am currently not. It took ages to get here too through the snow, which got progressively deeper the closer to Hampshire we got, and it stings my face as I reluctantly get out of the car and fetch my trunk from the boot.

I don’t really want to go inside. Christmas isn’t my thing. It’s hard to get into the warm, cosy, family fun when you’re never warm or cosy, your closest family was murdered, and you’re naturally about as fun as a dose of mumps. Fiona stays outside to have a cigarette. Daphne gets on her nerves at Christmas.

I don't actually blame Snow for not wanting to come to Hampshire. I didn’t really want to come myself this year. Everyone's up in arms about the Mage’s raids on any families within sniffing distance of a decent lineage, which means I'll have to listen to them bitch about him all week. Not that I mind Mage-bashing, that’s just fine holiday fun, but it tends to come with a side of Snow-bashing that I was hoping to avoid this year.

When I get inside, Mordelia launches herself at me and I have to throw the trunk aside to stop her colliding with it.

‘Oof! Hey, little puff!’ I scoop her up and she throws her arms round my neck for a moment before commencing a tirade about how the twins were allowed to open one of their presents already and she wasn’t.

‘They weren’t allowed, Mordelia,’ Daphne says, coming into the hall behind her. ‘They tore it open when they were fighting over it and they’re going without dessert tonight as a punishment. Do you want that too?’

Mordelia crinkles her brow. ‘Is it cake or fruit?’

‘I’m not telling you.’

She chews her lips in agony, then says, ‘Ugh!’ and wriggles until I let her down before stomping off to her room.

‘Welcome home, Basilton,’ Daphne says, giving me a quick hug. She smells like cinnamon. She’s probably been knee deep in Christmas paraphernalia for a week already. The hall looks worse than Snow’s Christmas porn, and cheesy holiday hits are being crooned through the sound system, probably by a man in a piano-keyboard tie.

‘Everything looks great, Daphne.’ I shrug out of my coat and stamp snow off my boots. ‘Do you need any help?’

She waves me away. ‘I’ve got it. Just keep the twins from killing each other, would you?’

‘If I have to tie them up with fairy lights.’

‘Basilton!’ Malcolm comes from the direction of his office. ‘Two more raids yesterday! And on the Fitzsimons too! Nerve of the man.’

Merry Christmas to you too, Father. This Christmas is starting the way it means to go on then.

‘Still snowing? What’s the news at Watford? I don’t suppose the Chosen One has let anything slip?’

I repress a grimace. He lets things slip all the time. Cups. Plates. Crumbs. Apocalyptically large amounts of random magic. ‘I’m not convinced Snow is in on the plan, if there is one,’ I tell Malcolm, picking up my trunk to go to my room.

He looks disappointed. Probably in me. I bet he tells all his friends I’m only at Watford because I’m spying for our side. That I finagled a spot in Snow’s room for just that purpose.

‘Well, never mind. The man’s a fool, he’s bound to make a mistake sooner or later and when he does…’ He wanders off towards the smell of cinnamon, muttering to himself. ‘Welcome home, by the way,’ he calls over his shoulder before he disappears.

I heft my trunk and imagine his face if I’d walked in here with the Chosen One in tow. Set an extra place, Father, pour him an eggnog and you can pump him for information yourself. Whatever an eggnog is.

But he’s not in tow. He’s back in our room, probably kicking my things and cursing me. I was honestly trying to do the idiot a favour. I told him I wasn’t interested in his girlfriend. I thought that’s what he wanted to hear. I was this close to coming out to him, just to convince him! Why couldn’t he just go make it up with Agatha? Then he’d be safely tucked up at the Wellbeloves by now. But he’s too good at sabotaging his own happiness, he just can’t take the simple way out of anything and now our truce is ruined and he hates me more than ever and he’s still alone at Christmas.

My room is just as I left it. Chilly and soulless. Even the kids don’t play in my room when I’m away, it’s too depressing. But at least there’s a complete absence of Christmas in here. I think if you tried to conjure a Christmas tree the room would flatly reject it, like an unsuccessful organ donation. Tinsel would wither. Angels would cry.

I throw my trunk on the gothic four-poster bed but I can’t be bothered even to hang up my shirts. I light a fire in the grate instead. Snow may be all alone but at least our room at Watford is always warm. The fact that the heat largely emanates from Snow and his magic both freaks me out and comforts me in equal measure. Is it any wonder I’m confused and depressed?

Dinner is roasted Mage with a side of mashed Snow and several helpings of squabbling siblings. I push food around on my plate and wonder what’s happening at Watford. Has he conjured a winter wonderland in the dining hall? If Snow could actually wield his magic properly he could put a star on the top of Mummers Tower and have the Orient Express running around its base for his own personal use. I don’t think he even knows what he’s capable of. But I do. Now. When he let me tap his magic to repel the dragon even I was shocked at the force of it. The heat. The raw, chaotic charge. And the way it wants to be used. It has the same puppy dog enthusiasm Snow has himself, except it’s not a puppy, it’s a fucking leviathan.

There’s no way I’m going to beat him.

I mean, I’ve known since fifth year I wasn’t going to beat him, but I thought that was because I was too hopelessly in love with him to ever really hurt him. But now I know that even if I tried, there’s no way. He a walking Chernobyl and I’m tempted to just tell Malcolm that right now. To just say, Yes, your secret meetings with the coven and your old family allegiances and your forbidden books on dark magic are all very well but actually you’re a water balloon and he’s a nuclear reactor and all of this is completely pointless because when the Mage hits the big red SNOW button, we’re all toast, so if you don’t mind, could we just stop bitching about it and enjoy what’s left of our extremely reduced life expectancies?

But I don’t.

Instead I sit through Elf, Muppets Christmas Carol, and Nativity on a couch with three small children sprawled all over me until one by one they fall asleep and I carry them up to bed.

As I pass the snug – the tiny living room off the kitchen – I look in to see Daphne curled up on the sofa with her head on Malcolm’s shoulder, watching It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s probably the first night they’ve had away from the kids in weeks. George Bailey is standing on the bridge in the black and white snow saying I want to live again! I want to live again! and they look so cosy. They don’t even notice me, and that makes me feel lonely. Malcolm dips down to place a kiss on the top of her head and I move away quickly. It’s weird to see him being affectionate. Not that he’s not an affectionate person, it’s just that he doesn’t go around being sentimental. Or maybe that’s just with me. Maybe I’m not someone who inspires sentiment.

***

I guess it’s nice to see your parents happy. But this year it just makes me think of Mum.

I always think about her at Christmas of course, but this year is going to be especially bad. Knowing she visited and tried to find me and I wasn’t there. Knowing she needs something from me that I haven’t delivered yet.

And worse than that, since we started researching her death (and why did it take me this long to get around to doing that? Bad son). I’ve learned some things that I really don’t want to think about.

Like that fact that she was bitten.

Like the fact that she killed herself rather than be the way I am now.

Like the fact that her death was my fault.

OK, I know I didn't invite vampires into Watford and ask them to bite me but come on, why would vampires have broken in and headed straight for the nursery? And then only bitten one kid? They obviously knew I was there and they knew my mother would do anything to protect me, including die herself. If she hadn't been roasting the vampire who was holding me, they would never have got their teeth into her, she was far too powerful. I was her weakness, her kryptonite, and they knew it. The Humdrum sent them to kill her and they used me to do it. Because of me, they didn’t even have to do it, she did it herself.

I know it's not my fault and no one’s ever suggested it was, even Snow and Bunce haven’t said it out loud, but it doesn't change the fact that if I hadn't been there, she'd still be alive.

I don’t care about being hated. It’s kind of my role at Watford. I don’t care that I’m the villain. I don’t care if the Mage hates me, I don’t care if Bunce and Wellbelove and all the Mage’s little green men hate me. I don’t even care (much) that if Malcolm and Fiona knew what goes on in my head these days they’d kick me out of both sides of the family. But my mother has always loved me. In my head anyway. She died to protect me and for that reason I’ve always had this feeling of being loved and it acted as a buffer for all the hate the rest of the world could throw at me. I didn’t need to be the Chosen One. My mother chose me.

But what if I was wrong? What if she’s been watching from behind the veil all this time, disgusted at what I’ve become, fuming with anger because I’ve never been brave enough to do what she did rather than be like this, because I’ve never lifted a finger to avenge her because I’m too busy playing childish pranks on the one person who’s actually trying to defeat the monster who sent her killers?

What if she hates me too?

I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, statistically speaking, she’d be an anomaly if she didn’t. Maybe I’m not just unlovable, maybe I actively repel love. I mean, Snow did his best to be friendly and I still managed to ruin it. And I hate myself because, of all the people who hate me, he’s the one I want to set myself on fire over.

Back in my room, I finally open my trunk to unpack, and the first thing I see is the Christmas gift. Best Wishes, Simon. Fuck. With all the arguing over Wellbelove, I’d forgotten I stuffed it in my trunk. I wonder if he’s noticed I took it.

I sit on the bed and turn it over in my hands. It looks out of place in here. I should Return To Sender it back to him. Or toss it in the fire. Whatever was going on in his head when he bought it, he wouldn’t want me to have it now. But I don’t. I set it on my bedside table, like a torturous reminder that I had a tiny shot of… something with him, and I blew that too.

***

The rest of the week doesn’t get any better. My mood is as heavy and dark as the clouds outside and it doesn’t help that all anyone can talk about is the weather. Every time someone says ‘snow’ I flinch. It’s piled up against the house in drifts, and there’s no sign of it abating.

By the 22^nd I’m hiding from Daphne because if I eat one more iced, cinnamon-flavoured, orange-scented, or nutmeg-infused treat I will bleed marzipan all over the carpet. The kids are so high on sugar they’re vibrating, and every half hour there’s a ‘Christmas visit’ from one of the old families, which is basically an excuse for them to moan about the Mage and discuss convoluted plots that’ll never work. The only good thing about it is it’s an excuse to wear my best suit, a new charcoal one with pink lining that fits like it’s spelled.

‘How do you stand it, Basilton, dear?’ Lady Fawcett says. ‘Sharing a room with that imposter.’

Marginally better than he does, I suppose, though I only give her a martyred look and top up her sherry.

‘Natasha would never have stood for it. Some sort of mutant Normal at Watford.’ She shudders.

Oh great, we’ve moved on to Mum.

‘Your poor mother. I still miss her.’ She dabs her eyes. ‘The vampire raids were the only good thing that man has ever done for the magickal world. Disgusting creatures.’

Three for three! Lady Fawcett is at the top of her game this year. I give her a fang-less smile and try to go back to my room but she says, ‘Our Bunny is home from her year in Switzerland, Basilton, you should come and visit, she’d love to see you!’

Helenia Fawcett, aka Bunny (I’m told this has nothing to do with her teeth but it’s hard to believe) is the year below us at Watford but she’s been away for a year. Officially this is because she’s been at finishing school. Unofficially, she and her friends were mucking about with dark magic and Switzerland has the best magickal dermatologists in the world.

‘And don’t be shy, her father and I wouldn’t mind in the least if you wanted to ask her on a date.’ She winks and gives me a coy look and I consider asking if the Humdrum has tried recruiting her because apparently she can reduce a man to rubble with one short conversation.

‘Ah… actually, Lady Fawcett, that wouldn’t be-’

‘He’d be delighted!’ Malcolm booms, striding over with a platter of food like the Ghost of Christmas Present. ‘Always got along famously, didn’t you, Basilton?’

‘Yes, it would be lovely to see Bunny, Lady Fawcett, but a date wouldn’t be-’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll lend you the car, Basilton. Soon as the snow clears up, eh?’ He gives me a meaningful look and I give him one back which he chooses to ignore.

Seriously? We’re still doing this?

‘How’s Alexander, Lady Fawcett?’ I say, still looking at Malcolm. Alexander is Bunny’s older brother. And he must have hogged all the good genes in that family because he’s not bad looking at all. Malcolm flushes the colour of his Christmas jumper and Daphne floats over to stand next to him. It’s like she has radar for rising tension.

‘Oh, you know. Top of his class at Oxford as usual!’ Lady Fawcett says. ‘I just wish he’d hurry up and find a nice girl. I want a wedding while I still have the energy to plan one! I was engaged before I left Watford, you know. Why wait? I don’t know what you young people are thinking these days.’

‘A constant disappointment, aren’t we?’ I smile unpleasantly at Malcolm, but I don’t get any further because Daphne says, ‘Well, I married late and I think it was worth waiting for, don’t you Malcolm?’ He softens instantly and smiles a goofy smile at her, and everyone around us goes Aw. I pretend I’m going to get a drink and excuse myself.

***

‘Sickening, isn’t it?’

I’d know the voice behind me at the food table was Fiona from the smell of stale cigarette smoke if nothing else. She’s leaning against the wall, near the bottles of whiskey, watching Malcolm and Daphne, who still have their arms round each other.

‘Disgusting,’ I agree. I go to lean next to her. ‘Why don’t you get badgered to get married? Why is it just me?’

‘Must be that suit you’re wearing. If only they knew you’ll never love anyone as much as the reflection in the mirror.’

‘Shut up, Fiona.’

She snorts. ‘Anyway, who would have me?’ she says.

‘Haven’t you ever met anyone you like?’

She shrugs. ‘I did once. Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.’

‘Oh.’ I know all about not meant to be. There’s never been anything less meant to be than me and Simon Snow. So is this my future? Hovering near the whiskey at family parties pretending to be cynical when really I’m just jealous as hell?

‘Anyway, no one cares about my genes getting passed on,’ Fiona says.

‘We have the same genes,’ I remind her, but she shakes her head.

‘Nah, you have Natasha’s.’ Her face softens. ‘It’d be a fucking travesty if they died with you. They perfected the recipe when they made her.’

‘No pressure.’

She grins and goes for more whiskey.

***

The other problem with the snow is that it makes hunting more difficult. Or, not more difficult (it’s actually easier because everything leaves tracks), but more unpleasant. I don’t want to go out there and get soaked and freezing cold to drink the lukewarm blood of some poor rabbit two days before Christmas so I’ve been putting it off. Which only makes my mood worse and increases the likelihood of me baring my fangs at Lady Fawcett and telling her The Mage missed one.

I stare out the window for a while, wondering how long I can wait, decide I can’t, then lie on my bed because I deserve to be hungry.

The present from Snow is still on my bedside table.

I’m miserable enough to admit that I wish I’d never mentioned Agatha. I wish we were back in Watford and he was shyly giving me my Christmas present and I was giving him the (tasteful and thoughtful) gift I’d picked out for him (it’s my fantasy, that can happen). I wish we were opening them beside his ridiculous Christmas tree and he was saying, ‘Actually Baz, you’re not so bad, are you?’ And since this is an impossible daydream, I wish there was mistletoe involved.

But it’s not all a fantasy, is it? He did get me a Christmas present. I pick it up and gaze at it, because it’s proof. Whatever he thinks of me now, at some point in the last few weeks he liked me enough to get me a Christmas present, wrap it up and conjure a tree to put it under. And I guess I’ve been clinging to that. It’s why I haven’t chucked the present in the bin. It’s why I haven’t encouraged Malcolm in his Snow-bashing. It’s why I haven’t thrown myself in the log fire yet.

Our truce has been the best few weeks of my entire eight years at Watford. It’s been nice to hang out with him. It’s been nice just to talk to him without having to think up creative insults. I’ve been having ridiculous fantasies about the two of us having a future that doesn't involve mutual destruction. About bringing him home someday and saying, ‘Father, let me introduce you to my friend, Simon.’ Or, when I’m torturing myself, ‘My boyfriend, Simon.’

Maybe that’s why I wanted to tell Lady Fawcett exactly why I won’t be asking Bunny out on a date. Testing the waters with Malcolm. And look how well that went! He practically swallowed his tongue in his rush to pretend I’m the son he wishes I was.

Snow was right, it was insanity to invite him. It was insanity to believe we could have anything more than a temporary truce. Simon Snow and I have no future. I have no future. I don’t even deserve a future. If I manage to survive avenging Mum, the best I can hope for is to settle down with Bunny Fawcett and try not to embarrass my family too much by kissing or biting the wrong people, and if I’d any decency I’d accept that.

But I don’t have any decency so I’d still take them all on if I thought for one minute…

I slide a nail beneath the tape holding the edge of the shiny paper down. Just enough to loosen it, and a treacherous voice in the blackest corner of my dark, twisted soul says, ‘Why didn’t Snow go running back to Wellbelove? What if he wasn’t jealous in the way I thought he was? What if there is one person in the world who likes me?’

It’s not much to cling to but beggars can’t be choosers. I untie the ribbon and let the paper fall away.

Chapter Text

Inside the wrapping paper is a small yellow box with no markings. The sort that could contain anything from expensive jewellery to cute stationery. Once I open it, I can’t daydream about what’s inside anymore so I take my time. Downstairs I can still hear the music and clinking glasses and the high-pitched braying laugh of Lady Fawcett. It’s getting dark so I turn on my bedside lamp.

I’m about to lift the lid when Mordelia bursts in and gasps.

‘Muuuuuuuum!’ she wails. ‘Baz is opening his presents!!! It’s not fair! I want to open my presents! I want-’

I clamp a hand firmly over her mouth and pick her up. ‘Ssssh! Shut up! Mordelia!’

She wriggles and squeals behind my hand and I let go because she’s a biter and the last thing we need is two vampires in the family.

‘All right!’ I growl at her. ‘If I give you your present now will you shut up!’

She halts, midscream. ‘OK.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘If it’s a good one.’

‘You’re a nightmare.’ I open my trunk and take out a box wrapped in red paper. She grabs it eagerly and tears off the wrapping in a frenzy. Merlin, remind me never to have kids.

It’s a Cruella de Ville costume, which she’s thrilled with. ‘Baz! It’s just exactly what I wanted! How did you know what I wanted!’

‘Well you did steal the neighbour’s puppies last month.’

She pouts. ‘I put them back.’

‘After you were caught. Now go back to your room, and you have to leave that here, Daphne can’t see you’ve opened it or we’ll both be in trouble.’

Her lip wobbles. ‘But I want to wear it! I want to try it on! I want-’

‘Crowley, all right!’ I grab the yellow box and slip it into my pocket. ‘I have to go out anyway. You stay in here. Don’t move, you hear me?’

She grins and starts tying her fur cape on in front of the mirror and I grab a coat and head for the woods.

***

The world is completely still apart from my own boots crunching through the snow. The air is a silent chaos of white and it clings to my eyelashes, my hair, the wool of my coat. Every living thing has burrowed its way to warmth and safety already and I’m the only idiot out here in the cold.

I should feed first, there must be something out here. I’m starving, my head aches and I’m soaked already. But the yellow box is burning a hole in my pocket so instead I walk to a clearing far from the house, sit down on the first tree stump I come to and take it out.

Maybe this is the way back. Maybe his gift will be so personal and meaningful that I’ll be able to go back to Watford and say, I want this too. I’m sorry about Agatha, I’m sorry about everything, and I want us to be… well, if not friends, at least not enemies. And then we’ll go and avenge Mum, and Malcolm will be so grateful for Snow’s help he’ll welcome him into the house and wink at him and say, ‘Don’t be shy, his mother and I wouldn’t mind in the least if you wanted to ask Baz on a date.’

It's a lot to ask of a small Christmas gift but maybe this is the moment it all turns around.

I prise off the lid with frozen fingers.

For a second, I think it’s empty, and then something small and yellow zips out of the corner, buzzing loudly, aiming straight for me, and stings me, dead in the centre of my forehead.

***

Aleister Fucking Crowley.

I should have known. Simon Snow give me a Christmas gift? What kind of moron falls for that? How fucking desperate am I? Of course it was a joke. A taunt. A vicious attack. A reminder not to get too comfortable.

Fuck, I am an idiot. A pathetic, desperate, needy idiot. I imagine him sitting in our room at Watford right now. Eating scones on my bed and giggling because I fell for it.

My forehead is throbbing and there’s a lump there already. The wasp zips by my ear again and I pull my wand out and blast it so hard with Buzz Off! it explodes in a puff of smoke. Evil little fucker. Where did he even get a wasp in December?

I sit there, gently probing the lump with my fingers. I’m going to look like a complete fucking numptee all Christmas. And Daphne takes a million photos on Christmas Day. I try Get Well Soon and Down Boy on it but it doesn’t feel any better. Maybe I’m too hungry to concentrate.

Ugh. Could this Christmas get any worse? Could my life get any worse? I put my throbbing head in my hands and let the snow settle on me.

He did this before our fight about Agatha. That’s the worst part. My little fantasies about us bonding were all in my head and now I have to face it. We’re never going to be friends let alone anything more. He really does hate me. Just like absolutely everyone else on the planet. Including me.

And why shouldn’t he? It occurs to me that my mother and Malcolm aren’t the only ones whose lives would have been vastly improved if I hadn’t been in them. Snow, for example, probably spends quite a lot of time thinking about how much better his life would be if I wasn’t around. Apparently even a lonely Christmas is preferable to the misery of his life with me.

Crowley, everyone would be better off without me. Everyone’s lives would be easier. Because no matter what I do, I hurt people. I hurt and irritate and embarrass and occasionally kill them and I’ve been doing it since I was five years old. I can’t stop. Even doing the honourable thing and setting myself on fire now would hurt them! I guess it would be better if I’d just never been born in the first place. 

Merlin, wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be the best Christmas present I could give them all? I honestly would if I could. I wish I had never been born.

***

When I get up to go back to the house the snow has finally stopped. My head has stopped throbbing too, but I’m too tired to hunt and the snow is too deep. I toss the yellow box under a hedge and trudge back slowly. The house is in darkness, I must have been out longer than I thought, and all the visitors’ cars have gone. I pat my pockets.

Fuck. No keys.

The door is locked already and the living room is empty when I peer through the windows. I don’t want to wake anyone. Mainly because I don’t want to talk to anyone. So I go around the back and check the doors to the kitchen and the sun room. Locked. But one of the French doors to the dining room has a dodgy lock because Mordelia likes to swing on the handle. Malcolm’s been meaning to get it fixed. If you jiggle it the right way, it’ll open.

Of course it’s piled high with snow that I have to scrape away first. My gloves are soaked through and I can’t feel my face. When I get it clear, I rattle the doorhandle and tug but it must be frozen shut. I rattle it harder. The glass shakes in the frame but the lock holds. Did he get it fixed already? I’m sure it was still broken this morning. I give it one last shake, one last pull, and then kick the frame in frustration. At which point, a floodlight turns on, an alarm starts screaming in my ear, and the house lights up like Blackpool illuminations.

***

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing! Get off my property!’ Malcolm’s voice booms from an upstairs window at me and I stagger back, trying to see through the floodlight.

‘It’s me!’ I shout. ‘Forgot my keys. What the… when did you get an alarm?’

But he’s gone inside again. After a moment he reappears on the other side of the French doors, looking warily out at me. His right arm is slightly extended and I know he’s got his wand tucked up his sleeve.

I rap the glass. ‘It’s me! Let me in.’

The alarm stops, but Malcolm only reaches for the phone in his pocket and starts dialling. Then he turns and calls behind him. ‘Stay where you are, I’m calling the police.’

‘The police! Father, it’s me!’ I rap the glass harder, press my face to it, and he takes a step backwards.

‘No, stay upstairs, dear, I’ll handle it,’ he calls again. Then he speaks to someone on the phone while I watch in consternation.

‘Father! Malcolm! What’s going on?’ I keep rapping the glass, as if that will change anything. Can he not see me properly? Can’t he hear me? ‘Let me in, it’s freezing out here.’

I hear him say, ‘I don’t know if he’s armed. What do you mean an hour! The weather’s not that bad!’

Oh for Crowley’s sake. Should I Hear Ye Hear Ye him? I go to shake my wand out of my sleeve but it’s not there. Fuck, did I leave it in my room? No, I definitely had it in the woods, I toasted that bloody wasp with it. Did I leave it there! Merlin and Morgana, did it fall out on the way back?

‘Malcolm!’ I stretch a hand out towards the window and light a small fire in my palm to illuminate my face.

He stops midsentence, then says to the phone, ‘It doesn’t matter. False alarm. I’ll handle it.’ Then he slowly sets the phone down. Thank Seuss. But he doesn’t come to unlock the door. Instead he produces his wand and points it at me.

‘I can have half the coven here in minutes.’

‘What!’

‘What do you want?’ he says.

‘Want? I want in, obviously!’ I rattle the doorhandle again and he starts.

‘Get your hands off the door!’

I gape at him. What the ever-loving fuck is going on? I take a breath, step close to the glass. ‘Malcolm, it’s me. Baz. Just let me in.’

‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’

‘Who am I?’ I throw my hands up.

‘Why didn’t you come to the front door?’

‘I forgot my keys!’

His eyes narrow. ‘Who sent you?’

‘Sent me? What are you talking about?’

He turns to speak to someone in the hall and I hear snatches. ‘I said stay upstairs! …could be others… I’m not sure but… trying to break in…’

Am I dreaming?

Someone walks into the kitchen behind him, a woman, saying, ‘Well whoever he is, he’s not making a very good job of it obviously, so I’m sure I can handle it.’

And then I know I am dreaming. Because it’s my mother.

***

She walks right up to the glass, wand first, and stares coldly out at me. It’s like every dream of her I’ve ever had. Her and me with a glass wall between us, unable to talk, unable to touch, just staring helplessly at each other. Except she looks older. The same long, thick rope of hair but it’s beginning to grey. The same intelligent grey eyes, but with fine lines at the corners. I’d assume it’s another visitation but I doubt she’d come through the veil wearing Malcolm’s dressing gown and a pair of trainers.

‘What do you want?’ she says.

‘Mum,’ I breathe.

‘I saw off an entire squad of goblins last month singlehanded, I don’t know why you think you’ve got a shot.’

I can’t move. Can’t speak.

‘Are there others?’ She glances around the garden behind me, then casts Come Out Come Out Wherever You Are. Nothing moves. She lowers her wand and turns back to Malcolm. ‘Are we sure he’s not just lost?’ she says.

‘He was trying to break in!’ Malcolm sputters.

‘And he’s definitely…’

‘He cast fire.’

She purses one corner of her mouth and looks me over, decides I’m not much in the way of a threat, and reaches down to unlock the door.

‘Natasha! Don’t!’ Malcolm says.

‘We can’t let him freeze on the doorstep.’ She turns back to me and says, pointedly, ‘If he tries anything, he’ll regret it.’

***

Ten minutes later I’m still sitting mutely at the kitchen table while they pace up and down in front of me, firing questions. Mum has cast Getting Warmer and my clothes have completely dried out already. She also conjured me a cup of tea but I’m afraid to drink it. I’m afraid to move in case this all vanishes.

‘So you were just walking around in our woods in the snow?’ Malcolm looks highly suspicious.

‘No, I was… you know. Hungry.’ I peer at Mum, as if my eyes might suddenly shift focus and she’ll turn into someone else. ‘How are… you’re here, how are you here?’ I reach out a hand towards her and Malcolm practically growls at me.

They glance at each other. ‘And your name is Bass?’ Malcolm says.

‘Baz. Basilton. Tyrannus Basilton. Father, what the-’

‘Why do you keep calling me that?’ he snaps.

Mum only frowns. ‘Hmm. I had an uncle Tyrannus. Well, Mr Basilton, if you’re not here to kill me-’

‘Kill you!’

‘Then I suggest you go home. Where do you live? Do you have a phone?’

I sputter at them. ‘I live here!’ I pat my pockets for my phone but that’s gone too.

‘Where? In the neighbourhood? I don’t recognise you.’

‘No, here! In this house! With you! Well… with Malcolm and…’ I’m getting confused now. ‘Where’s Daphne?’

Dad starts. ‘Who?’

‘Where’s Mordelia? And the twins? Where’s the baby?’

They look at each other. Mum finally lowers her wand. ‘Mr Basilton, what’s the last thing you remember?’

‘Huh? I… I mean, I…’ I rub my temples. This is insane, and dream or not, I’m starting to wish it would stop. ‘I was opening presents. With Mordelia. I gave her a Cruella De Ville costume. Then I went out to… for a walk and I… I got stung.’

‘Stung?’

‘By a wasp.’

Mum raises an eyebrow. It’s a mirror for mine. ‘In December?’ She looks at Malcolm. ‘I think he’s had a head injury,’ she says quietly. ‘Do you remember falling, Mr Basilton?’ She speaks louder, as though I might be deaf. ‘Did you have an accident?’

‘What? No! I mean I… I don’t think so.’ But at this point anything is possible. It would explain a lot, I guess.

She sits down and pushes the tea towards me. Then she says, more gently, ‘I’m Natasha Pitch, this is my husband Malcolm Grimm. I think perhaps you’ve had an accident. I’ll cast some general healing spells but without knowing precisely what’s wrong, I wouldn’t want to do anything more advanced.’ She tries Get Well Soon and Picture Of Health but nothing changes.

‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘We’ll be going to the Wellbeloves’ tomorrow, you can come along and see Dr Wellbelove. He’ll know more.’

‘The Wellbeloves? Why are you going there?’

‘You know them?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good, perhaps they can tell us where you’re from then. In the meantime, I suggest you get some sleep. You can stay the night.’

Malcolm looks deeply uncertain about this but Mum just leads me up the stairs and I follow meekly. I can’t take my eyes off her. I have to stop myself throwing my arms around her but I get the feeling I wouldn’t get two inches before one of them torched me.

The house looks different. No Christmas greenery festooning every fireplace and banister, no fairy lights. The walls are darker, the furniture heavier. She leads me to a door, saying, ‘You can have the guest room for tonight.’ Before she opens it, she turns and says, kindly, ‘Sleep well. And don’t worry, I’m sure things will be much clearer in the morning.’ Then she adds, ‘But be warned, Mr Basilton, if you’re lying to us, you won’t see the morning.’

She opens the door and waves me inside the guest room.

Except it’s not the guest room. It’s my room.

***

OK, if I’m not dreaming, then I am clearly having some sort of mental breakdown.

It’s no wonder. I’ve been living at close quarters with my arch-nemesis for eight years. And I’ve been in love with him for three of those. The mental strain is incredible. Not to mention losing my mother at a young age and being… well, dead myself. Anyone living under those conditions would eventually lose it.

Being in my room, but not my room, is a surreal experience. The wardrobe is the same, but it’s empty except for blankets, pillows, and towels. The bathroom is the same but the toiletries aren’t mine. The bed is the same but the mattress is lumpy in the wrong places.

And my mother is just down the hall.

My mother is alive. She’s making tea and wearing pyjamas and she’s in her late 40s. Maybe the last 13 years were the dream, maybe I’m waking up now to everything that should have been.

Except, she doesn’t seem to know who I am.

If I had my wand she’d recognise it, it belonged to my great grandfather. Or if I had my phone I could show her pictures of me and Malcolm, posing stiffly next to each other at some Old Family function or other. But my pockets are empty. Nothing here is mine. You’d think I’d never been here before.

I lie back on the bed, and notice the large black trunk on top of the wardrobe.

Aha! That’s mine. I’ve had it forever, I’ve taken it to Watford every year! I scrabble up on a chair to pull it down, expecting to find the twins’ Christmas presents still inside. It’s empty, but it’s here, and that proves I belong here, doesn’t it?

When I shut the lid again I realise how stupid I’m being. My father’s initials stare back at me from the embossed handle. This was his trunk before it was mine. ‘Built to last,’ he said when he gave it to me. My initials were added, but they’re not here now, and it looks like the trunk hasn’t been used in years. The leather is cracking.

What the fuck is going on? I stand at the window and stare out, because the view is comfortingly familiar. Actually no, on closer inspection, the view now has a taller wall around the grounds, and extra layers of magickal protection shimmering on top of them like barbed wire.

For Merlin’s sake. This is the sort of thing that happens around Snow. I’d blame him if he wasn’t miles away. Although if there’s anyone who could manage to curse you from miles away…

I inhale sharply and put a hand slowly to my forehead, which is smooth and unblemished.

‘Worked it out, have you?’ a voice says from behind me.

Chapter Text

There’s a kid in my room. Standing in the shadows in the corner. Has he been here the whole time?

‘Who are you?’

He steps towards me, and when the light from the lamp falls on him I step back.

‘S- Snow?’

But it’s not Snow. Or not the Snow I left at Watford this week anyway. It’s the Snow I met on our first day of first year, when the crucible cast us together. He’s wearing the same grubby jeans and t-shirt, he has the same bargain-basement haircut, he’s bouncing the same red ball. He’s eleven years old but he’s…

‘Snow?’

‘Hi, Baz.’ He gives me a cheery wave. Then he wanders off to examine my room. Whatever’s going on, it’s a relief to find someone who seems to know who I am.

‘What the fuck is going on? Did you do this?’

‘He did this.’

‘Who?’

‘Simon of course. Isn’t it always him?’

It is, yeah.

‘But… but how? And why are you a kid?’

He shrugs. ‘Dunno. It’s kind of annoying actually. I’d like to be taller.’

‘What have you done, you nightmare?’ I demand. ‘Why does no one know me?’

‘I didn’t do that.’ He looks offended. ‘You did.’

‘Me!’

‘You got your wish.’

‘My-’ I put my hand to my head again. To the wasp sting. ‘No,’ I breathe. ‘That wasn’t… They’re not… They don’t even exist.’

‘Well, neither do you technically, but,’ he spreads his hands, ‘here we are.’

‘That was a wishp? No way. I thought they were a myth.’

‘They’re definitely rare.’

‘Where the hell did he get a wishp?’

‘Amazing, isn’t it? The lengths he’ll go to to annoy you. I admire that.’

‘It stung me. It-’

‘It granted you a wish. I hope you performed the ritual dance of gratitude.’

‘I blasted it.’

‘Oh. That wasn’t very grateful.’

I blasted it and then I sat in the woods in despair for a while and then I… I wished I’d never been born.

‘No. No. No, this is not happening.’ I head for the door, because I am getting out of here. I am going back to Watford and I’m going to wring Snow’s neck and then… But I won’t be able to get in at Watford. Because I don’t exist. And if I leave this room there’s a fair chance that my father will decide I am some sort of assassin after all and set fire to me. Or my mother will.

My mother.

I sit down heavily on the bed. Merlin’s beard, I was right. I said if it wasn’t for me she’d still be alive, and I was right. I was never born and so she never died defending me. She’s alive because I don’t exist.

I fall backwards, hands in my hair. This is too much to take in. My brain hurts.

Mini-Snow leans over me from the other side of the bed. ‘I’m bored. This is a terrible bedroom. Have you got any boardgames?’

I reach up to grab him by the front of his t-shirt. I want to chuck him out the window. But my hand only swipes right through him and then I retch as a sickening feeling washes over me. A familiar feeling. The dry, hot, sandy, empty feeling you get around dead spots. The feeling you get anywhere near…

I bolt upright and reach reflexively for my wand, but it’s not there so instead I hold out a fireball between him and me. He snorts at it and tosses his red ball in the air.

‘You’re the Humdrum,’ I breathe. ‘You’re him. It.’

‘That’s such a stupid name. If I had a wishp, I’d wish for a better name. Like Aloysius. Or Jim.’

‘Get out. Get away from my family or so help me Merlin I will-’

‘But they’re not your family. Not anymore. You’re like me now. You’ve got no one. That’s why…’ He shuffles a worn trainer and looks almost shy. ‘I thought we could be friends.’

‘Friends!’ I breathe. ‘You… you killed her. You killed my mother.’

‘Um… your mother is downstairs?’

‘Here, she is. But in the real world she’s dead and you killed her, you fucking-’ I hurl the fireball at him, and when it fizzles out as it passes through his chest, I hurl myself after it. There’s a clatter as I crash one shoulder into a heavy chair, snapping one of the legs. But I don’t even feel the pain. All I can feel is the sickening, retching, gut twisting nausea of passing right through him.

He stands over me, looking down questioningly as if I confuse him. ‘I thought you were the smart one,’ he says.

‘What do you want? Why are you here?’

He shrugs. ‘I’m not really here. If I was here you wouldn’t be able to do that.’ He nods at the new fireball I’ve conjured. ‘I’m just observing. I wanted to see what happens. People do that at Christmas, you know. They watch other people having problems and then working them out while eating a lot of really amazing food. There’s usually a snowball fight and gifts and kissing involved. I’m looking forward to the snowball fight but I’m not bothered about the kissing.’ He glances around the room. ‘They usually have better decorations and soundtracks though. Can you put some music on? Something with bells.’

I’m just gaping at him, the way Snow does when you use big words at him. ‘This is not a fucking Christmas movie! This is my life!’ I say as I struggle to stand up.

‘So the stakes are pretty high then,’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Should be a good show.’

***

I never thought I’d fall asleep in the presence of the Humdrum, but I’ve had a hell of a day and he just sits in the corner bouncing his red ball and eventually I have to extinguish my fireball because I’m going to drop off and set myself alight otherwise. So I lie down and sleep. If he kills me, would that really be so bad?

In the morning, all this will have gone away. I’ll wake up with a headache and then I’ll drive to Watford and murder Simon Snow and all will be right with the world once more.

***

‘Mr Basilton?’ Malcolm’s voice filters through from the hall, accompanied by three sharp knocks on the door. ‘We’ll be leaving for the Wellbeloves’ in an hour. Breakfast is in the kitchen if you’re hungry.’

I sit up, confused. Why is my father calling me Mr Basilton?

‘Mr Basilton? Are you all right?’ Then he says, more quietly, ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have left him alone all night. Head injury and all.’ And my mother’s voice says, ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

‘I’m fine!’ I call out before they come in to check. ‘Um… I think. I’ll… I’ll be down in a minute.’

They go downstairs and I collapse on the bed again.

‘I hope there’s pancakes for breakfast. And scones. And waffles. Do you like syrup?’

‘Ugh. Get out of my room.’

‘It’s not your room, it’s-’

‘I know, I know. Shut up, you little bollocks. Let me think.’

‘But what about breakfast?’ he whines.

‘I’m not hungry, I’m-’ And then I sit up and stare at him. ‘I’m not hungry,’ I say again.

‘No. Fun.’ He pouts.

‘No, but… I’m not hungry.’ I haven’t eaten in a couple of days. I haven’t… fed. But I’m not hungry. I’m not thirsty. More than that, the idea of sucking down a pint of rat blood makes me feel nauseous. And the waffles sound great.

‘Mother of Merlin,’ I breathe. ‘I’m not a vampire anymore.’

The Humdrum eyerolls. ‘Well, duh,’ he says.

‘I’m alive.’ I stare at my palms, as if they might look different. They do. They’re pinker. Warmer. I look in the mirror and my face is a healthy tan, a little lighter than my mother’s. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m sweating and I’m not hungry. In all the madness last night I didn’t even register it, but I should be ravenous by now. I should be ready to suck on the leather upholstery. And there’s… nothing.

The Humdrum drums his fingers on the windowsill. ‘Come on,’ he moans. ‘I smell French toast!’

‘I wasn’t born,’ I whisper. ‘And so I didn’t die.’ I’m alive. Simon Snow’s stupid prank has stolen my existence, and given me back my life.

***

Apparently the Humdrum doesn’t eat, he just wants to watch me eat, while giving me the sort of pathetic, baleful looks Dickensian orphans trade in.

‘Are you going to put honey on that?’ he says, licking his lips as I take a waffle from the loaded plate in the centre of the table. I vaguely remember now that my mother was a terrible cook but brilliant at food magic, and at Christmas she’d magic up all the food because Vera was away with her own family.

The Humdrum practically drools over the fried bacon.

Apparently I’m the only one who can see or hear him. Lucky me. I don’t know if I should freak my parents out with the news that the Humdrum is sitting at their breakfast table ogling the muffins. Besides, the weirder things get, the more I’m starting to give this whole head trauma idea some credence. I’m almost certain wishps are mythical creatures. Which means he can’t be the real Humdrum, he’s just a product of my brain-damaged, Snow-obsessed, masochistic imagination.

I’m gawping at Mum again, and she shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Malcolm is eating with one hand and I know the other one is clutching his wand under the table. Why are they so paranoid?

‘Have you remembered anything else from last night, Mr Basilton?’ she asks.

‘Um… no, I don’t think so.’ I consider trying to explain, again, that I live here, but they’re just not going to believe me, are they? As far as they know, they have no son.

No other kids either, from the looks of things. I guess I’ve stopped noticing the toys and baby paraphernalia that’s strewn our house since Daphne arrived but now that it’s gone the place looks darker. There’s none of her cheerful watercolours on the walls or the modern scandi furniture she occasionally sneaks in to replace something priceless. My room is the only room that seems to look exactly the same in both… worlds? Realities? I don’t even know. Maybe Daphne thought I’d want to hang on to everything in my room because my mother chose it. That was considerate of her and I never even realised she was doing it. I also wish she hadn’t though because I hate my room.

‘Is that all you’re eating!’ the Humdrum wails as I push my plate away. ‘You haven’t even tried the pancakes!’

‘That was delicious, thank you,’ I say, ignoring him.

‘Dr Wellbelove will have you sorted out in no time,’ Mum says, giving me a smile that makes me swallow hard and barely refrain from crawling into her lap. ‘He has spells for maladies you’ve never heard of.’

I smile, because she’s my mother and I’m ridiculously happy just to be sitting here with her, not because I have any faith in Dr Wellbelove to fix this.

Whatever Snow’s done to me, it’s going to take more than a healing spell to put right.

***

It turns out my parents go to the Wellbeloves’ for Christmas every year. They tell me this in the car on the way there and I wonder if it’s because they have no kids themselves. Christmas is just weird without kids around, I guess.

‘Holidays are auspicious,’ Mum says. ‘It’s a good time for mages to be together. All the Old Families gather at the Wellbeloves’ for Christmas.’

‘Oh. OK. So there’ll be others there?’

‘Yes, there’s bound to be someone who knows you.’

‘Wait! Will there be Watford students?’ It’s suddenly hit me that in this reality, Snow probably isn’t having his flatpack Christmas back in our room. He’ll still be with Wellbelove, because I didn’t break them up. So he’ll be at her house for Christmas. Which means I can get my hands on the little rat. And, vampire or not, I’m going to drain the little bastard.

‘Yes, why do you know any?’ Mum says.

‘Of course, I go to-’ But no. I don’t. And Mum would know that because she’s still the headmistress. I almost laugh. Crowley, this gets weirder and weirder. The thought of Watford still under her rule. It must be fucking amazing. I wonder how Snow’s handling that. And where’s the Mage? Wouldn’t it be fucking delicious if Snow had managed to wipe him out too somehow with this little prank?

‘Um… no, I mean, I think I was there once. For an event, that’s all. It’s nice.’ I wish to Godiva I could study at a Watford ruled by my mother.

I must look wistful because she gives me a sympathetic smile in the rear view. ‘You know, I always say, Watford may be the best school in the world but there’s absolutely no reason why a person can’t do well no matter what school they go to. In fact they’re more likely to excel if they stay… in their own lane, as it were.’

Crowley, she thinks I’m some low-powered mage who didn’t even go to Watford. It would explain my lack of a wand, I guess. And the stupidly blank expression that seems to be fixed to my face since last night. And the fact that she has no idea who I am.

I rest my head on the seat and think about ways to kill Snow when I see him. Maybe I should just let the Humdrum have him. Though the Humdrum seems to have gone. He went off in a strop after breakfast because I wouldn’t eat more and I haven’t seen him since. Does that mean that whatever’s happened to me is wearing off? I’m still not convinced this isn’t just a huge wasp-allergy-induced hallucination and in reality I’m freezing to death beneath a hedge in my parents’ garden.

‘Hey, where’s… I mean… are the rest of your family coming to the Wellbeloves?’ I have a sudden longing to see Fiona. Surely she’d know me. Surely curses just bounce off her impenetrable shield of I really can’t be arsed with this bollocks. 

‘Yes, Malcolm’s cousins will be there of course.’

‘And… your family?’

‘I don’t have any other family,’ she says.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, I thought you mentioned a sister?’

She glances sharply in the rear view mirror. ‘You know Fiona?’

‘Um… by reputation.’

Dad snorts and Mum cuts him some side-eye. ‘My sister is working abroad. She’s doing important work for the coven. But I’m afraid it’s confidential.’

‘Wow, that’s… great.’ Someone else doing better in a world without Baz. I guess when you don’t have to put your life on hold to watch out for your dead sister’s emotionally stunted kid, you can pack a lot more into your day.

The car swings into a narrow country lane and we bounce over the snow for another few miles.

***

When we pull up outside the Wellbeloves’ enormous country house the lawn’s pristine blanket of snow is already being ploughed by a dozen kids with new sleighs and the lane outside is lined with cars. The trees are hung with fairy lights and the windows are warmly lit against the dark sky. I’ve been here plenty of times, though never at Christmas. It’s just the same as always except, as with my parents’ house, there’s a new gate. A huge iron thing with electronic locks for Normals and some complicated spellwork which Mum casts to get us through.

Once inside she turns back to face the gate and adds some more spells to it. The gate absorbs them with a slight hum and from here I can see that the whole boundary wall is lit up with protective magic.

‘We all add a little extra security when we arrive,’ Mum explains.

‘Ahem. I’m sure Mr Basilton isn’t interested in the details.’ Malcolm mutters. He still doesn’t trust me so I don’t ask any more questions.

***

Another two families are just arriving as we get to the front door, and the Wellbeloves’ housekeeper (was her name Helen?) is taking their coats in the palatial front hall. By the time we get to the door she’s carrying a pile that obscures her head and shoulders and all we can hear from behind it is a muffled, ‘Welcome! Merry Christmas! Please go through to the lounge where drinks are being served.’

Mum throws her coat on top of the pile and sweeps past but Malcolm fusses with his jacket and scarf, putting his gloves in his pocket then taking them out again. I linger, not sure where to be. I’m surrounded by people I know – all old families – but they only look at me to narrow their eyes suspiciously and it’s clear none of them recognise me.

‘You could start a clothes shop with all that!’ Malcolm says to the pile of coats and there’s a muffled giggle from behind it. ‘Let me help you, you’ll trip and fall.’

‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you, Mr Pitch.’

‘You’ve dropped a hat. A beret, I think.’ He lays it back on the pile. ‘But you’re doing beret well otherwise!’

There’s another giggle. ‘Oh, beret good, Mr Pitch!’ Helen says.

‘It’s Malcolm, please.’

Circe, what the fuck is going on? Is Malcolm blushing?

‘Here, let me levitate it for you.’ He takes his wand out and I wince automatically. Malcolm is powerful in his own way, but he’s one of those magicians who can lift the roof off a building but can’t cast a cleaning spell without messing it up. It’s like being a chef who can’t boil an egg because it’s too simple.

Sure enough, he points his wand at the pile of coats and casts I Have Slipped The Surly Bonds Of Earth (an unnecessarily complicated spell from a poem when a simple Up Up And Away would have done) and a second later the pile of coats has exploded all over the hall and poor Helen is looking dazedly at him.

Except it’s not Helen. It’s not the housekeeper who was here last time I visited. But I do know her.

It’s Daphne.

Chapter Text

My mouth falls open, but neither Malcolm nor Daphne notice me, they’re too busy gathering the coats, apologising at each other, getting in each other’s way, accidentally touching hands and then jumping like they’ve been electrocuted.

I’m so-

No, no, I can-

Is this-

Oh, I-

Can I just-

Oh, excuse me-

Daphne is the Wellbeloves’ housekeeper? What the fuck is going on?

Finally they get it all gathered into a pile and Daphne calls over one of the waiters circulating with trays of champagne. He looks vaguely familiar but I can’t place him. Together they cart all the coats away to another room while Malcolm looks distractedly after them, still wringing his hands.

He notices me still standing there with my mouth hanging open, clears his throat and gestures towards the main room. ‘Yes. Well. Shall we?’

***

‘Are you one of the Devon Basingstokes, dear?’

‘Or the Bassington-Halls?’

‘It’s Basilton, Althea.’

‘He looks like one of the Trevelyan boys.’

‘They moved to Sweden.’

‘You’re not that Bellweather child who went missing, are you?’

‘He’d be fifty years old by now, Mother!’

This is the most surreal experience I’ve ever had in my life. I’m surrounded by people who’ve known me since I was I was born and they’re all looking quizzically at me and asking if I’m distantly related to the Burnley-Smythes or whatever. I’d point out that I know all of their names, but Malcolm already thinks it’s suspicious that I know so much about them. He seems to think I’m some sort of spy.

The Wellbeloves’ house is packed with Old Family stock. It’s like a wedding. Everyone in their finest, everyone well on their way to being pissed. The reek of magic in the air is stultifying.

‘Have you tried Remember Remember The Fifth Of November?’

‘That’s too specific, Miranda.’

‘Well if he knew where he was on the 5^th of November, he might know where he lives.’

‘What about I Remember You.’

‘Wrong direction, Chester.’

‘Try Memories Are Made Of This.’

‘Refresh My Memory.’

‘Rings A Bell.’

‘An Elephant Never Forgets.’

They fire spells at me until I’m zinging with magic. I can taste it. It feels like being intimately groped in a packed football stadium.

‘I don’t think this is going to work,’ The Humdrum says, appearing at my elbow. ‘The first thing you try never works. And I think the main character has to be the one to break the curse, not other people.’

‘I’m not a character,’ I hiss beneath a polite smile for Drusilla Fitzgerald who’s trying to read my mind by staring ferociously at me and making a humming noise.

‘It is funny though,’ he goes on, ignoring me and watching Drusilla. ‘It’s like you’re a pinata full of memories and they’re trying to break you open. Have you ever had a pinata? Those things look brilliant.’

‘Oh, leave the boy alone!’ Mitali Bunce pushes through the crowd and I almost hug her. Surely she’ll know me. And if her daughter is here, I’m saved.

But she doesn’t know me, of course. ‘You’ll fry his brain before Welby can even examine him,’ she says.

Wait a minute. What are the Bunces doing at an Old Family function? It’s not that they’re not solid mage stock, but they tend to distance themselves from all this. They’ve always been supporters of the Mage. Or they were until he started raiding people’s libraries.

‘Penny, take Mr Basilton up to Welby’s office, will you? I’ll find Welby and send him up.’

‘Of course, Mother.’ A girl who looks remarkably like Penelope Bunce steps forward from the background. Penelope Bunce if Penelope Bunce stood quietly in backgrounds wearing chic little cocktail dresses, full makeup, hair straightened to a high shine and smiling demure smiles while carrying out the bidding of her elders without question.

‘Won’t you come with me, Mr Basilton?’ She offers me her arm and a smile worthy of a future society hostess. She reminds me of someone but I can’t think who. I follow her wordlessly out of the room and the guests fall to twittering about the mysterious Mr Basilton.

In the hall as we move towards the stairs she says, ‘Such appalling weather, I hope it doesn’t stop people getting here.’

‘Weather, Bunce? You’re talking to me about the weather?’

‘Um… Yes?’ She blinks prettily at me and gives a little laugh. Then she tosses her hair and says, ‘Sorry, I’m so silly! It’s just that my father and my boyfriend are flying back from America today and I’m a little preoccupied. Hoping they aren’t delayed. But you must have had such a trying morning and here I am going on about myself! Can I get you a drink before we go up?’ And suddenly I know who she reminds me of. Agatha Wellbelove. She’s spreading that thick layer of gloss over everything the way Wellbelove does. The one that looks transparent as champagne but is actually as impenetrable as lead. Wellbelove’s mother does it too. Daphne can even do it when she wants to. It’s like a cure-all spell that deals with any awkward situation, difficult guest, controversial topic, personal question, or embarrassing silence.

‘Bunce, what are you wittering about? How the fuck do I fix this? I’m relying on you.’

‘On me!’ She laughs nervously as we start up the stairs. ‘Goodness, I wouldn’t know much about healing spells. We’re only just covering medieval poetry this term.’

‘This term? Since when do you stick to the curriculum?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is your head very sore?’ She looks pityingly at me. Crowley, she thinks I’m raving.

‘Never mind. What do you know about wishps then?’

‘Wishps? You mean the insects? Aren’t they extinct?’

‘Extinct? I thought they were mythical.’

‘Oh no, I think they were real. Hunted to extinction though. You can understand why. I believe they caused a lot of mayhem in the 16^th Century. That’s where the phrase Careful What You Wish For comes from.’

‘It does?’

‘Well. People tend to wish for silly things, don’t they?’

‘Tell me about it,’ I mutter. I bet Snow knew that. I don’t know how he got hold of a wishp but I bet he knew they were dangerous. Let’s face it, he wasn’t sending me a wishp with the intention of making my every dream come true, was he? Best Wishes, Simon. The memory of that snide little tag makes my blood boil now. The only person I’m more furious at is myself. Why wasn’t I wishing that he was helplessly in love with me? I’ve been wishing it for three years, why did I choose that moment to wish something else!

At the top of the stairs there’s another long hallway lined with heavy doors. Bunce leads me to one and tries the handle. It’s locked. ‘I’m sure he’ll be along in a minute.’ There’s a pause while we smile awkwardly at each other, then she says, ‘Well. Such a nice party. Any New Year plans, Mr Basilton?’

Merlin, I can’t take this.

‘You know what, I can wait by myself, why don’t you go back to the party. I don’t want to keep you.’

‘Oh, it’s no-’

‘Really. I’m fine.’

She tosses her perfect hair (spelled. Got to be) and heads back down the stairs and I lean back against the wall and exhale.

‘She’s something, isn’t she?’ a voice mutters from the far end of the hall.

I hadn’t even noticed but there’s someone curled up on a small sofa beneath the window, hidden behind a book and a bunch of cushions.

‘Oh. Hello.’

She waves a hand but doesn’t bother lowering the book. All I can see is a close cropped head of spiky pink hair and a black baggy jumper.

‘I’m just waiting for Dr Wellbelove,’ I say, though she didn’t ask.

‘Whatevs. I’m not here.’

‘OK. Seems a lot like you are here but fine.’

‘If my mother asks,’ she growls.

‘All right. Don’t you want to go to the party?’

‘I am at the party.’

‘Um…’

‘I am not in my room. I promised I wouldn’t stay in my room. I did not promise I wouldn’t stay near my room.’

‘I see. I admire your precision.’

‘Who are you anyway?’ She lowers the book suddenly, and I almost jump out of my skin. There’s a lot more eyeliner, a lot more naked irritation, and a lot less elocution on display, but the angsty emo bookworm glaring at me is definitely Agatha Wellbelove.

***

‘I’m… er… that’s what we’re trying to ascertain actually. They think I may have lost my memory. And no one here seems to know me. I don’t suppose you do?’

She looks blankly at me. ‘If they don’t know you I’m surprised you got through the gates.’

‘Apparently they were feeling charitable. It is Christmas.’

‘Exactly. Dangerous time to be talking to strangers.’

‘Is it? Well, apparently I don’t seem like much of a threat.’

She doesn’t argue.

‘So you don’t know who you are?’ she says.

‘You could say that.’ You’d be wrong, but you could say it.

‘And they don’t know who you are?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re just… no one.’

‘I prefer the term identity-challenged, but thanks for the recap.’

But she just looks at me almost… wistfully. ‘What’s it like?’ she says.

‘What’s what like?’

She just turns to look out at the snow, and before I can ask her where her liability of a boyfriend is, Dr Wellbelove comes huffing up the stairs.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Basilton, to have kept you waiting. I was chatting to Lady Salisbury. Do come in.’ He unlocks the office door and leads me inside. I don’t think he noticed his daughter at all and she’s gone back to her book. It’s hard to imagine Agatha Wellbelove ever being inconspicuous, or fading into any background, but she’s managing it beautifully here.

The office is the standard book-lined, leather-couched affair and Dr Wellbelove directs me to sit while he examines my head.

‘No bumps or bruises,’ he says. ‘Could you have been cursed, do you think?’

Yes, I bloody do think. But what can I say? Yes, I made a wish on an extinct/mythical insect and right now you and the whole world you know are just a product of my imagination? Please cure me so you can stop existing. If he even believed me, he wouldn’t help me.

He tries all the spells everyone’s already tried on me, then a few even I didn’t know, while The Humdrum wanders around his office saying, in a singsong voice, ‘Won’t work!’ And he’s right. All the spells focus on my memory, and there’s nothing wrong with my memory so they don’t work.

Then he tries some that undo any decisions I’ve made in the last 24 hours, then some finding spells that should point out the direction I was born, but nothing has any effect. Because I wasn’t born. And I’m starting to suspect that even if he had the right spell to undo the curse it wouldn’t work because the curse wasn’t cast in this world. Magic has to balance. Undoing spells have to have something to undo.

‘Told you,’ The Humdrum says. ‘You have to figure it out yourself. That’s the whole point of the story.’ I glare at him.

After an hour or so Dr Wellbelove is more exhausted than I am and he says, ‘I think we may just have to wait and see if it wears off. I’ll do some research in the meantime but maybe it’ll fade in a day or two anyway. You can stay with us until we figure something else out.’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry to have intruded on your Christmas.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, we’re used to a full house at Christmas. One more won’t make any difference, we’ll squeeze you in somewhere.’

‘I appreciate it, I-’

‘Ah! They made it!’ Dr Wellbelove is looking out the window, where more cars have pulled up. When I glance out, Bunce’s father is climbing out of the driver’s seat of one of them. ‘Our Americans,’ Dr Wellbelove says. ‘Well, Penny and Mitali will be pleased. Let’s go down and join the party shall we?’

Dr Wellbelove leads me back into the hall and down the stairs, completely failing to notice his daughter again. Mitali Bunce is at the front door already and Penelope Bunce is politely detaching herself from a group of elderly women and heading there too.

‘Such a sweet couple,’ one of the ladies says, watching her go.

‘She played a good game, certainly,’ another says wryly.

‘Oh, you’re just bitter, Crustacea. You know your girl’s too old for him.’

‘I just think it’s unfair. It’s not as though the Bunces want for social standing. Things should be more evenly distributed.’

‘Hush, dear, you sound like one of those grubby people who preach at one outside Coven meetings. That girl is the Bunces’ stock in trade and if you had a daughter that talented you’d do exactly what they’ve done.’

‘My Fellopia is hugely talented, I’ll have you know, she just…’

The argument is lost in the kerfuffle as several newcomers make their way into the hall, stamping snow off their boots and throwing coats and scarves at Daphne, who’s directing one of the waiters to deal with their trunks. Mitali Bunce throws her arms around her husband and he swings her into the air, saying, ‘Thought we’d be turned back over Heathrow, weather’s ridiculous! Merlin for a proper cup of tea. Daphne, would you be a dear?’

There are several more people behind him being greeted by family and the last one in must be Bunce’s American boyfriend, Micah, because she rushes over as soon as he’s through the door and throws her arms round him in a perfect imitation of her parents.

‘Hey, hey!’ he crows, sweeping her up, while the assembled onlookers either melt or put on smiles that would sour milk.

Bunce knocks his furry, ear-flapped hat off as she plants a kiss on his lips. It lands at my feet and I bend to pick it up. When I reach out to return it to him, I realise I’m staring straight into the beaming, suntanned face of Simon Sodding Snow.

Chapter Text

‘Snow,’ I breathe, trying to decide which of the overwhelming emotions battling for dominance in my body to go with. Relief? Shock? Joy? Homicidal rage?

‘Dreadful isn’t it!’ Professor Bunce says, sticking his hand out at me.

‘Appalling,’ I agree wholeheartedly.

‘And there’s more forecast for tomorrow unfortunately.’

‘What?’

‘Snow. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Professor Bunce, how do you do?’

‘Oh. Uh… Baz. Basilton.’ I shake his hand blankly, still staring at Snow, who’s standing there with his arm around Penelope Bunce while she gazes adoringly up at him.

He looks the same. Except maybe more tanned. And better dressed. Much better. He’s peeling his coat off to reveal a suit that’s at least as nice as mine. And he’s a little chubbier? His hair is tipped with sun-kissed highlights and he’s grinning like all’s right with the world.

‘After Florida it comes as a shock, I can tell you!’ Professor Bunce is still wittering about the weather while Daphne tries to deal with everyone’s coats and luggage and direct them into the main room. A few of the newcomers appear to be Americans Professor Bunce must have brought back here for Christmas so they have to be introduced to everyone and it's hard to hear anything over the chaos. But I just stand there, getting in everyone's way and gaping at Snow.

‘Simon, this is Baz Basilton,’ Bunce says, pausing to introduce me to her… boyfriend? I fucking hope I’ve had a head injury. Is Snow determined to date every student at Watford except me?

‘Pleasure,’ Snow says. He holds out a hand smoothly to shake mine and I get flustered and thrust the hat at him again. ‘Oh, thanks,’ he says, taking it and tossing it towards Daphne, who drops several coats to catch it.

‘Simon’s been visiting some mages in America with Daddy and some of the others from the Coven,’ Bunce says. ‘How did it go, sweetheart?’

He shrugs (at least that hasn’t changed). ‘Oh, you know. I turned on the charm, they signed the treaty. Same old same old.’

Charm? What charm?

‘Simon and Daddy and the Coven are on a mission to improve international diplomacy in the world of mages. We’ve signed peace treaties and alliances with thirteen countries, haven’t we dear?’

‘Fourteen now,’ Snow nods smugly.

‘America was a big one too! Well done, darling.’ They wrinkle their noses disgustingly at each other and he squeezes her tighter.

‘So, are you… new here?’ Snow turns to me and looks at me for all the world like he hasn’t spent the last eight years glued to me like a shadow.

‘Mr Basilton has lost his memory,’ Bunce says. ‘Or something. We’re not quite sure, but he doesn’t know who he is and no one seems to know him. You don’t know him, do you sweetums?’

Sweetums? Stake me.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Snow says, looking me over quite carefully just in case. His gaze travelling over the length of my suit makes me squirm slightly, and when he reaches my face again he says, ‘I’m sure I’d remember.’

I’m still gawping at him like a halfwit, and he leans sideways to say, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Is he… all right, Pen?’

‘Yes!’ I finally manage to sputter. ‘I mean… considering… I mean… I’m… that is…’

A grin tugs at his lips and he says, ‘Use your words, Baz.’ Penny stifles a giggle while I go purple. The minute I get my hands on a wand I am going to ram it so far up his-

‘Simon! Simon do come through, we want to hear all about your adventures!’ Mrs Wellbelove comes out to usher us – or Snow anyway – through to the party. Bunce and I follow.

‘So… that’s your boyfriend,’ I say.

She smiles and nods. ‘Since last year.’

‘I see. Congratulations.’ I gaze wistfully at the roaring fireplace as we pass it. Turns out there are downsides to not being flammable.

When we get to the main room, the guests are all listening, spellbound as Snow stands in the centre, already regaling them with the highlights of his trip like some sort of raconteur. They laugh at his jokes, clap at his tales of derring-do in the front lines of international diplomacy.  

‘Of course, there was hesitancy at first, Mitali but you know what Americans are like.’

Mitali?

‘But once they understand how well things are run here, how much better organised things can be, well…’ Someone hands him a glass of something sparkling and he takes it without breaking his stride.

‘It just makes sense for them to form an alliance with us, they can see that. They always understand in the end. And when we...’

What the fuck is this? Snow doing public speaking? And doing it quite well actually. Where are the ums and ahs? Where’s the rambling? Where’s the blustering? Where’s the blushing, neck-rubbing, stammering, mumbling case of verbal incontinence I know and (unfortunately) love? Where is Simon Snow?

‘…can’t get a decent scone to save your life of course, but they are very good at pizza...’

There he is.

They start questioning him about American mages I’ve never heard of and I make my way to the back of the room, so no one can watch me have a breakdown.

‘Of course we’ve offered to oversee their restructuring. They’ve no idea what they’re doing and it’s such a big country, they’ll need the help so…’

‘This is boring,’ a voice says beside me. ‘Although the tree is good. Will there be mince pies soon?’

I have to refrain from trying to grab him by the throat again. ‘Where did you go?’ I hiss. ‘And what the fuck is going on?’ Someone turns to frown at me, apparently hissing at thin air and I cough to cover it.

‘I flicked to another channel. There was a very stupid story about a boy crying because someone stole his only Christmas present. Boo hoo. I laughed and laughed. Have I missed anything good?’ He tosses his ball in the air. ‘Oh, it’s him.’ He eyerolls at Snow. ‘Did he get taller! That’s so unfair.’

I don’t think he is taller, it’s just that, standing in the middle of the room while everyone gazes adoringly at him, he seems taller.

What in seven halls of magic is going on? Snow at an Old Family party? Snow being fawned over by Old Family Lords and Ladies who wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire in the real world. I spot Lady Fawcett trying to look like she’s not pushing through the crowd to get her daughter Bunny closer to him.

‘…and of course all you have to do really is mention Professor Pitch and they’re falling over themselves to make alliances. Isn’t that right, Natasha?’

NATASHA?!

We’re going with homicidal rage then.

My mother emerges from the crowd to stand next to him, protesting modestly. ‘Now, now, you’re very sweet, Simon, but the reputation of Watford is a thing built by the whole community. Our community.’ She sweeps her hands around the crowd, applauding everyone and they beam back at her.

‘You’ve done a marvellous job, as always, Simon. We are living in a safer and more peaceful world thanks to your efforts, and those of the Coven, of course.’ The guests applaud again and Snow blushes prettily while Bunce beams at him. ‘Now why don’t you young people go and enjoy the festivities!’ Mum says. ‘While Professor Bunce and I go over the boring details.’

‘Oh, surely that can wait until after Christmas, dear,’ Malcolm says from somewhere in the crowd.

‘No, no, these things have to be attended to, it’s important.’

‘So selfless,’ Lady Fawcett croons at Malcolm, and he smiles a tight smile at her.

‘Mr Basilton?’ Mrs Wellbelove scoops me up with a herding instinct sheep dogs would envy. ‘Why don’t you join Simon and Penny in the conservatory. I’ll just chase up Agatha and send her down. I believe a few of the Watford students are out there already.’

‘Yes, come with us,’ Bunce says, offering me her other arm.

‘I’ll just sort out somewhere for you to sleep tonight,’ Mrs Wellbelove continues. ‘Perhaps in with the Rolston boys?’

‘He can share with me,’ Snow says, downing his champagne and taking another glass from a passing tray. ‘No one else in my room.’

‘Oh, but Simon you know you sleep better in your own room, are you sure?’

‘It’s fine. You don’t snore, do you, Baz?’

Not as loud as you, I want to say. But I just smile weakly. Is there no universe in which I escape sharing a room with Simon Snow?

‘It is Christmas after all,’ he says, and Mrs Wellbelove beams at him like he’s just taken in a load of homeless orphans. ‘Shall we?’ He points us towards the back of the house.

***

The conservatory runs right along the back of the house so it’s massive, double height, and filled with tropical plants. Little nooks among the greenery hold benches and sofas, so it’s hard to see who’s here but I spot my cousin Dev right away, plus a few others from my year and more from other years.

None of them seem to recognise me and it takes me a moment to realise some of them aren’t guests, they’re serving the drinks. Fraser Crawford, a boy Dev has spent several summers with, offers him a tray of canapes and Dev takes a handful without once looking at Crawford. Ester Sharp, a girl in Wellbelove’s lacrosse team offers us drinks just as Wellbelove stomps into the room and throws herself into a wicker chair beside Bunce. Wellbelove takes a drink for each hand and Sharp drifts away to serve someone else. I suddenly realise that most of the staff are Watford students.

I can’t take my eyes off Snow. I mean not just in the normal way I can’t take my eyes off Snow. He’s different here. The way he’s sprawled in the centre of the sofa, an arm lazily thrown behind Bunce, legs spread and an easy expression on his face. He’s so… comfortable. In his own skin, I mean. I’ve never seen him so at ease with himself. But maybe this is what he’s always like when I’m not around. Maybe it’s just me who makes him uncomfortable.

‘Penny my room smells like a branch of Boots,’ Wellbelove complains.

‘It’s only perfume, Agatha. You’re welcome to borrow it. Oooh, let me give you a makeover for Christmas Day! Honestly, Ag, you could look so pretty. Don’t you think so, Mr Basilton? I’m always telling her she doesn’t make the most of herself.’

Wellbelove just glares daggers at her and I tactfully avoid the question.

‘It’s Baz, please. No one calls me Mr Basilton.’ Literally no one.

‘How do you know?’ Wellbelove narrows her eyes at me.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Like, how do you even know that’s your name? If you can’t remember anything?’

‘Well.’ I shift in my wicker chair. ‘Obviously I remember some things. I remember how to walk and talk and eat and if you produced a violin I could probably play it. I guess my name comes under that category.’

‘I don’t think it’s that he can’t remember, Ag, I think it’s more that he’s… confused. Would that be right, Mr- Baz.’

‘Confused? Yes. Incredibly. I think that’s probably the most accurate thing anyone’s said yet.’ Beside me, the Humdrum snorts, then goes back to watching the plates of circulating canapes. Why can’t they see him? And why am I sitting here with two Simon Snows? Neither of whom is the real Simon Snow. I want to grab the older Simon Snow by the lapels of his well-fitting suit and demand to know what the fuck is going on. Why the Humdrum looks like him. Why he did this to me. Who’s buying his clothes now.

Is he pretending? Is this all part of the joke? I narrow my eyes at him, but the Snow I know couldn’t pull off this level of refinement to save his life.

No, this is all in my head. It’s got to be.

‘A few of us are going down to the pub in the village tonight for a Christmas drink, you’re welcome to join,’ he says.

‘Sure, why not?’

‘Are you coming, Pen?’

‘Maybe for one. I need an early night. Are you coming Ag? Oooh, I’ll do your makeup!’

‘Good luck with that,’ Wellbelove mutters, but she’s had so many glasses of wine already Bunce could probably take her.

‘So, you all go to Watford?’ I ask.

‘I don’t,’ Wellbelove says.

‘Really? Why not?’

Snow and Bunce react like I’ve asked an indelicate question about personal hygiene or personal finances but Wellbelove just shrugs. ‘Same reason you don’t, I expect. Didn’t get in.’

Didn’t get in? There’s no entry requirements for Watford, you just need to be magickal. Since the Mage took over they’ll let anyone… Ah.

So does that mean no magickal creatures at Watford either? Is Bunce’s pixie roommate still there?

‘And em… you all share rooms at Watford, don’t you?’ I ask, trying to sound casual. ‘Who do you share with, Bu- Penelope?’

‘I’ve got Allegra Minton. She’s on my lacrosse team. Decent player but she has terrible sleep apnoea.’

‘You play lacrosse?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what about you, Snow?’ I can’t bring myself to call him Simon. ‘Who do you share with?’ Who are you torturing with your nightmares and your scone crumbs and your mouth breathing?

‘Oh, well, I come and go a lot. Coven work and such. It would be very disruptive to a roommate.’

He got his own room? Unbelievable. I lose my identity and he gets his own room.

‘Simon’s the prince at the top of the tower, aren’t you sweetie?’

Wellbelove eyerolls and grabs another glass of fizz.

He got our room?

‘Mummers Tower? You’re at the top of Mummers?’ I ask.

‘Yes. It’s quieter up there. I work better when I can concentrate.’

Snow doesn’t concentrate. Snow doesn’t work.

‘So, do you live at Watford all year round?’ I persist, still fishing for the detail that will make this world make sense without asking where the Mage is or who plucked Snow from obscurity at the age of eleven.

‘Just term time,’ he says. ‘The holidays I spend with Natasha and Malcolm.’

My glass hits the tiled floor and smashes into glittering splinters.

He got my room and my fucking parents?

Is that what this is? Did he create this whole nightmare just to steal everything I have?

One of the waiters rushes over with a cloth, but Bunce waves him off and spells the mess away herself.

‘Thank you. I’d have done it but… no wand,’ I say.

‘Well of course not.’ She frowns at me. ‘Why would you have a wand?’

I draw myself up. ‘Um… because I’m a mage?’

‘Yes but you’re not a Watford mage.’ She smiles pityingly. ‘Merlin, you really are confused, aren’t you. Never mind. If you want any magic done just ask me.’ She pats me on the knee like I’m five.

‘Or me,’ Snow says. I automatically flinch as he starts to pull his wand from his pocket.

‘Oh, that’s all right, Sweetie, you’ve had a long day, I’ll take care of Baz,’ Bunce says, and he shrugs and puts the wand back. But not before I’ve got a good look at the handle. He’s got a new wand in this world too. It’s not the one the Mage gave him but I recognise it all right.

He got my fucking wand too.

***

Mrs Wellbelove shows me up to Snow’s room after a buffet dinner no one was hungry enough to eat. Except Snow apparently. He inhaled half a turkey and enough roast potatoes to feed a small nation while the Humdrum trailed after him, half glaring, half drooling. Then Bunny Fawcett played carols on the piano and all the Watford Choir old-boys joined in with harmonies.

‘This is more like it,’ The Humdrum said, gleefully clapping along out of time. ‘Will the snowball fight be soon?’

‘If I had my wand you’d be in worse shape than that turkey carcass,’ I said under my breath. He just scoffed.

‘I’m not the one who wished for this. I’d have wished for a party with a bouncy castle.’

‘I’ll bounce you,’ I muttered.

Snow’s room – our room now – is about the same size as our room at Watford, but more tastefully decorated. The Wellbeloves’ house is big but from what I can see, everyone else is being squeezed into nooks and crannies all over the house. Whole families are sharing a room and the younger kids are having a sleepover in the conservatory. But Snow has an ensuite room to himself with a double bed, a couch and a fireplace.

I don’t have anything to unpack, but Mrs Wellbelove supplies me with pyjamas and toiletries and a clean shirt then leaves me alone to freshen up for going to the village pub.

It’s dark outside already. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I should be at home with my family. The family who remember me anyway. Not carolling with the fucking Humdrum.

I sit on the couch, massaging my aching head.

That wand belonged to my grandfather. And his grandfather. It’s a Pitch family heirloom and it should not be casually jammed in the pocket of some orphan nobody who isn’t even a proper mage.

I can’t believe she gave it to him.

I can’t believe he lives with them. Have they adopted him or something? Is he The Pitch’s Heir now? The Chosen One. Chosen by my mother.

‘They make a cute family, I guess.’ The Humdrum is sitting on the floor by the unlit fire, staring into the empty grate.

‘Shut up.’

‘I mean, if you were going to have a kid, I guess he’s the kind of kid you’d want. All golden and special and stuff.’

‘I said, shut up.’

‘Hey, I’m on your side. I hate him. I’m just saying, they looked really happy together. I wish I’d had parents like that. Or parents at all. I bet you wish they were still yours. I suppose you’re the orphan now. Maybe you should challenge him to a snowball fight!’

‘Crowley don’t you have an off switch?’

He eyerolls. ‘I’m just saying, this story is never going to get going unless you do something. You’re supposed to figure out how to break the curse. And probably punch someone along the way. It would be super cool if it was Simon. That’s like the entire point of the story.’

‘Would you stop? This is not a Christmas movie! I’m not here for your entertainment! This is not It’s a Wonderful fucking Life and you are not my guardian angel! Just shut up!’

‘Um… I didn’t say anything.’ Snow is standing in the doorway behind me. The real (ish) Snow.

‘Oh. Sorry. Talking to myself.’ I glare at the Humdrum, who grins delightedly at me and mouths Snowball fight!

‘Riiiiight.’ Snow walks into the room, keeping his eyes on me, and plucks a stunning mauve jumper from the wardrobe. ‘Just going to change for the pub. Feel free to borrow something.’

I look down at the suit I’ve been wearing for two days now. ‘Thanks.’

He shrugs off his own jacket, loosens his tie, and starts to unbutton his shirt. I’ve seen Snow change a million times, but usually he only takes off his outer layers before ducking into the bathroom, and he does that with his back turned, occasionally glancing behind him to check I’m not about to stab him between the shoulder blades. This time he chats casually to me while lazily disrobing down to his skin, before even starting to hunt around in drawers for his underwear, giving me a feature-length, full-frontal show that makes me fully aware of just how much more effectively I could have used that bloody wishp. The muscles. The freckles. The soft downy hair and the smooth skin. The… well.

He tosses me a pair of trousers and grey jumper and I change in the ensuite because I am not in a fit state to be seen.

‘Looks good on you,’ he says, eyeing me critically when I get back, and I flush the colour of his jumper. I’m not used to compliments from Snow. I'm not used to him smiling at me. I'm not used to us being able to talk to each other without eighteen years of backstory getting in the way.

I’m not saying it’s worth losing my wand over but… I’m not saying it’s not nice either. It occurs to me that my not existing might be the best thing to ever happen to our relationship. 

Chapter Text

‘Merry Christmas!’ Snow bellows at the whole pub as the barman delivers our third round.

‘Merry Christmas!’ they bellow back. It seems Snow is something of a favourite here. Is there anywhere in this world Snow isn’t a favourite? Half the party has decanted to the pub, even my father and Dr Wellbelove are here. Plus some of the catering staff, leaving only the kids, the oldies, and the senior members of the Coven back at the house. My mother was still huddled in a corner with them when we left. I thought my father would stay too, he never misses Coven business, but he’s sitting on a stool at the bar, nursing a whiskey while I’m crammed into our booth between Bunny Fawcett, who keeps flashing her braces and touching my leg, and Dev, who keeps calling me Chaz.

Snow and Bunce are opposite us, playing with each other’s fingers and giggling, and Wellbelove didn’t come down at all. It's impossible to be heard over the Christmas hits playing on the speakers so I down my whiskey and waggle the glass at the barman. I don’t usually drink much, but I think today is an exception to all the rules.

‘Well, I need my beauty sleep, I’m going to go back,’ Bunce says after her third shandy.

‘By yourself?’ Bunny Fawcett says. ‘Is that wise?’ But she looks at Snow like she’s quite enjoying visualising all the terrible things that could happen to Bunce on the way home.

‘I’ll walk with you,’ Snow says, but Bunce pushes him back into his seat.

‘I’ll be fine, it’s not far.’

It’s really not far. It’s like two hundred metres of the quietest country village in England. And Bunce is a mage. A really good one.

‘Why is everyone so paranoid?’ I ask. ‘All the protection spells. You’d think we were in some dodgy city ghetto.’

‘But it’s Christmas,’ Bunny says, quietly stroking my thigh under the table. I clear my throat and shift towards Dev, who frowns at me.

‘Yes, everyone keeps saying that, what does it mean?’

‘Christmas is auspicious.’

‘And…?’

She lowers her voice. ‘It’s a good time for enemies to attack. Why do you think we’re all gathered together?’

‘Um… festive goodwill?’

Around the table, eyebrows raise.

‘It’s different for… families like yours, I expect,’ Bunce says tactfully.

‘Like mine?’

‘Well, you’re obviously not quite as… privileged as us. I’m not complaining about being so fortunate, but it is quite a heavy burden of responsibility. And it certainly makes us a target.’

‘A target for whom?’

‘For the rebellion. Merlin, you remember how you take your whiskey but you don’t remember the rebels?’

‘I guess it’s the selective kind of amnesia. So, tell me about this rebellion? Who’s in charge?’

‘Ugh, that tiresome little man,’ Bunny says. ‘Publishing his little pamphlets and leading his little protests. Always trying to undermine everything we do. Do you know he sent his minions to block the roads to the annual Coven Ball this year? A whole crowd of them with stolen wands casting their weak little ‘You Shall Not Pass’ spells. We were stuck in traffic for half an hour! Mummy nearly ran over one of them!’

‘Never mind, she’ll get them next time,’ Bunce says, and everyone laughs.

‘Why were they protesting the ball?’ I ask. I mean, it’s a snore-fest but hardly worth getting run over.

‘Oh, something about how it should be open to all mages. I mean, can you imagine? How awkward. Anyway, I’m sure they have their own parties to go to, they probably wouldn’t be comfortable in a room full of proper-’

Bunce clears her throat and looks pointedly at me and Bunny says, ‘No offence,’ and squeezes my knee.

‘None taken. But who are they?’ I ask, though I suspect I already know. I glance at Snow to see what effect this conversation is having on him but he’s only sipping his brandy contentedly (brandy!).

‘Calls himself The Mage. The nerve of the man.’

‘He’s the only real mage they’ve got,’ Bunce says.

‘I hear his numbers are growing though. Thanks to the Humdrum,’ Dev says.

‘The Humdrum!’ I have to stop myself from glancing over to where the actual Humdrum is watching people play pool and crowing when they lose. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Well there are so many dead spots now,' Bunny says. 'So many families brought low. I heard the Feldsteins lost almost everything when their place was hit in the summer. Only the son, Roderick, has any real power left but one wand is hardly enough to sustain their position.’

‘A lot of old families have gone that way. It’s sad,' Dev agrees.

‘Well it’s not sad for The Mage. He’s recruiting them,’ Bunce says. ‘He’ll take anyone. Magickal creatures, low powered mages, mages stripped of their wands.’

‘Stripped of their wands?’ I ask.

‘Well, you can’t have low powered mages running around with wands, can you? They could cause all kinds of havoc. Power needs to be managed.’

‘So he has a bunch of mutants and weaklings, spreading propaganda and smuggling wands they can’t wield, that’s hardly anything to be afraid of.’ Bunny says.

‘So why are you all gathered together for Christmas then?’ I ask, and they all look uncomfortable.

‘I heard he sent Goblins to attack Professor Pitch last month,’ Bunny says. ‘Is that true, Simon?’

Snow waves a hand lazily. ‘When is he not sending something to attack Natasha?’

‘He’s attacking my- Professor Pitch?!’ Of course he is. He wants Watford.

‘I can protect her,’ Snow says with an arrogant air that reminds me of someone. Me, probably. He pats his wand (my wand) and Bunce beams up at him.

‘Of course you can, Sweetie.' She turns to me. 'Simon defeated a dragon at Watford recently. All by himself!'

I frown. 'Defeated?'

'That's one way of putting it,' Dev smirks. 'You can still see the scales embedded in the wall of Mummer's Tower.'

'He was so brave!' Penny gushes.

But Snow just waves a hand, and this time I think his modesty is actually genuine. In fact, it's the first time I've seen him look uncomfortable. 'It was a lucky shot. I'm not sure it really meant any harm, you know, but...'

'You had no choice, sweetie! Anyway, no one’s really worried about The Mage. Not with Simon around. I’d better go back to the house, I don’t want to keep Agatha up too late. Goodnight everyone!’

In the reshuffling as we all move to let her out, let people go to the bathroom, and others to the bar, I end up between Bunny and Snow and opposite Dev.

‘So what do you think about The Mage?’ I ask Snow quietly, leaning closer to him to exclude everyone else and also because Bunny is pressing against my leg and trying to tell me she’s ‘very open minded when it comes to relationships.’ I get the feeling she’s slumming.

Snow looks confused, which is comfortingly familiar. ‘What’s to think about? He’s a nuisance. If he’d show his face in a straight fight, I could deal with him in no time. But it’s all sneaky attacks and sending henchmen and creatures. He’ll use anything. He’d probably send vampires if they still existed.’

‘Still- what? What do you mean if they still existed? How can they not exist?’

‘I mean, I hear they still have some in America but the new treaty will take care of that. Natasha insists we always insert that clause, of course.’

‘She- She wiped out the vampires? All of them?’ I start to feel nervous, until I realise I’m not one anymore. That’s a nice feeling.

‘Natasha destroyed the last one in Britain herself. I was there. Guy called Nico, I think.’

‘Nico?’ My brain freezes. It can’t be. Nico was a vampire? I store the information away for later.

‘It was an impressive campaign. But they brought it on themselves. You don’t attack Watford and expect no consequences.’

Merlin. No vampires. And even The Mage is just a vague annoyance on the outskirts of life. It really is a safer world.

‘I hear the goblins are next,’ Dev says, leaning across the table. ‘I want to get in on that. Can’t stand those guys.’

‘They’ll have to wait their turn. We’ve got a situation with merwolves in The Thames,’ Snow says.

Dev shudders.

And then I shudder. Because Bunny’s hand is pushing it now (‘it’ being something I really don’t want pushed by Bunny Fawcett). I sit back sharply and turn towards her, but the hand is gone and she’s turned away, talking to someone else. Was it her hand? But there’s no one else near me except Snow and he’s sharing merwolf slaying tips with Dev.

‘Excuse me.’ I get up and head to the bathroom, feeling a little unsteady. I’ve lost count of the whiskeys.

The pub toilet is a long, thin room of uncertain hygiene with three cubicles and a row of urinals. A couple of Watford boys are in there but they leave as I lock myself in a cubicle and try to clear my head. Drinking was a bad idea. 

What do I do tomorrow? What happens when everyone finally decides that my amnesia can’t be cured? I’m homeless, school-less, jobless, family-less, friendless. Wand-less.

Someone comes in, whistling. I know that whistle.

‘You OK?’ he says.

I make a non-committal noise while I listen to him pee, still whistling. I reluctantly leave the cubicle and we wash our hands and then stare at each other in the mirror.

‘It’s nice here,’ I say miserably.

He frowns at the shabby bathroom.

‘I mean here. This town. This… world.’

‘Um… yeeeaaaah?’

‘And you. You’re… happy. Aren’t you?’

He throws an arm around my shoulder. ‘Think you should lay off the whiskey now, Baz.’

‘No, but you are, aren’t you? You’re happy.’

He shrugs. ‘Sure! Why wouldn’t I be?’

And that’s the problem. I’m homeless, school-less, jobless, family-less, friendless and wand-less, but Simon Snow is happy for the first time in his miserable existence. I once said I’d let him end me rather than harm him. Does that include accepting this world for his sake?

‘Listen, I think I’ll go back to the house. You might be right about the whiskeys,’ I say.

He grins, but his arm stays around my shoulders. My skin prickles as I turn to look at him. He’s looking at me, the real me, not me in the mirror, and our faces are very close. He says, ‘Sure. I’ll be along soon.’ His gaze trails over my face, thoughtful, pausing at my lips for just a fraction of a second, before he adds. ‘Why don’t you wait up for me?’ Then he saunters out, whistling.

***

Was that…?

That wasn’t…?

He didn’t…

He wouldn’t…

What the Mother of Merlin just happened?

Dev stumbles into the bathroom then and I nod at him and leave. Back in the bar Snow is laughing loudly at something and the others are hanging on his every word. He doesn’t glance at me.

I’m drunk. I’m drunk and I’m brain damaged and I’m seeing things that aren’t there.

My father is sitting next to Daphne at the bar, she must have finished work. The two of them are lost in animated conversation about something or other. What happened to Daphne? Is she one of the low powered mages with no wand? Did her family lose everything to The Humdrum? Is that why she’s working for the Wellbeloves now?

I perch beside my father and ask the barman for some water. I need to think. The trouble with fantasising obsessively about something for 3 years is that you’re rather at risk of reading too much into things. This is crazy. He couldn’t possibly have meant… He might be a modified version of Snow but having a nicer life doesn’t make you gay. So either I’m reading this wrong, or the Snow back in my Watford is… I’m definitely brain damaged.

‘Another?’ I look up to see Malcolm nodding at my empty water glass. Before I can stop him he’s ordered two whiskeys and slid one down the bar towards me. Daphne’s gone to talk to some people at another table and he looks after her with a wistful expression.

‘You didn’t want to stay at the house with the Coven?’ I ask as he clinks my glass. He’s much friendlier towards me now he’s a bit pissed.

‘It’s more Natasha’s thing,’ he says. The words are slurred. ‘She doesn’t need me.’ I’ve never seen my father drunk. He looks older.

He snorts a laugh. ‘Doesn’t need me for anything apparently.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Can’t even keep potential spies and assassins out of the house.’ He looks pointedly at me.

‘I’m neither of those things.’

‘How do you know? You don’t know who you are.’ He narrows his eyes at me. ‘Do you?’

‘I know I would never hurt Natasha. Or you.’

‘What about Simon? Are you here for him?’

‘Wh-what do you mean?’ I must look guilty because the eyes narrow further.

‘We know The Mage wants him. Merlin, what the man could do with a weapon like Simon. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Snow’s not a weapon. He’d never harm anyone.’

‘People with power can’t help harming others. When everyone wants a piece of you, someone’s going to be disappointed.’

I think of Bunce, back at the house, probably brushing Agatha’s hair and gushing about what a dreamboat her boyfriend is while he propositions strange men in pub toilets. Does he do that a lot? He seemed good at it.

‘And sometimes you wish they wouldn’t choose you to disappoint,’ Malcolm is saying. ‘Sometimes you think you should be a little higher up the pecking order but it’s hard to argue with Peace in the World of Mages and blah blah blah.’

Somehow I don’t think we’re talking about Snow anymore. He takes another swig of whiskey and looks over to where Daphne is laughing with some of the catering staff. I suddenly realise that all of them were fairly low-powered mages at Watford. Nigel Crooks couldn’t cast the seeds off a dandelion and Umelia Longe injured someone every time she took her wand out. Well, I guess she doesn’t have a wand now. And she’s serving drinks to support herself. It never occurred to me before how tightly power and money are bound up in my world but I guess power is a commodity like anything else. People vie for jobs and relationships and the most powerful people get the best of both. No wonder Lady Fawcett is desperate for Snow to notice Bunny. No wonder they’re all jealous of the Bunces. Penny and Snow will have the most magickal babies the world has seen since… well, since Snow I guess. I think The Mage diluted that effect somewhat in my world. Getting into Watford wasn’t such an elite thing when kids like Umelia and Nigel could get in, so maybe power wasn’t everything. But here, it really is.

‘Let me give you some advice Mr Basilton,’ Malcolm slurs at me. ‘Never marry a woman who’s better than you at everything.’

‘There’s not much risk of that,’ I assure him.

‘People need to feel needed,’ he goes on, ignoring me, his words slurring more and more. ‘People need to have a purpose. Beyond taking the bins out.’

‘Yes, but… I mean… you love her, don’t you? She’s doing important things. Your job is to support her work. This isn't the 1950s.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he murmurs drunkenly, but he’s staring at Daphne while he says it.

Crowley, was it always like this? My memories of my mother are few and vague and they don’t really include my father. It’s always just me and her. I don’t know what they were like together. I just assumed they were happy. Maybe they were once.

He waves an arm at the barman and I say, ‘Maybe that’s enough for tonight.’

Daphne appears at his side and says, ‘I think it’s time to turn in, Mr Pitch.’

‘Malcolm, please.’ He smiles softly at her.

‘Would you walk me back to the house?’ she says. ‘I’d feel safer.’ I suspect she just knows that if Malcolm leaves on his own we’ll find him in a ditch in the morning but he leaps gallantly, if unsteadily, to his feet and I smile gratefully at her as she helps him pull his coat on and leads him out.

‘Now are you going to break the curse?’ The Humdrum hops onto Malcolm’s vacated stool. He looks tousled and sleepy like a kid up past his bedtime, which he basically is.

‘Go away,’ I growl at him.

‘But he looked so sad!’

‘So they’re having some problems. They’ll go on a second honeymoon, everything will be fine. You know what sad looks like? Widowers. They’re sad.’

The barman glances at me and I realise I’m talking to thin air again. I look over to Snow’s table and he meets my gaze for a second. I swear he winks and a shiver goes through me.

I push my way out through the crowd and head back through the snow. The cold air is sobering. I’m not used to feeling heat and cold like this. I find myself listening out for animals, but if they’re here I can’t hear them or smell them and the last thing I want to do is drink them.

It’s so peaceful. It’s hard to imagine The Mage lurking in the shadows, ready to spring an army of pixies and weak spells at us. No wonder he wants Snow. My mother must have detected Snow’s existence and got to him before The Mage. Rescued him from whatever plans The Mage had for him. Of course she did, she rules the world of mages and she's good at her job. A source of power like Snow could never have escaped her notice. I guess it was pretty lucky for The Mage that she wasn't around in my world.

That thought niggles, and I stash it away for later.

I always knew The Mage was bad for Snow. With a decent family behind him, he’s thriving. He’s doing well at school, he’s working for international diplomacy, he’s confident, and he has loads of friends. He’s well dressed, well spoken, well educated, well thought of, and he certainly knows what he wants from life, the cocky little winking git. He’s a Snow even my father approves of. A Snow worthy of a Pitch maybe. All the annoying little habits I’ve been ribbing him about for years have just gone, all his insecurities and weaknesses, all his doubts and worries.

I wonder how many of those insecurities were because of his childhood and how many were because of sharing a room with a toxic wanker who was richer, taller, more talented, and vicious enough to rub his nose in it at every possible opportunity?

But as I approach the house I find myself walking slower and slower, realising that the annoying little habits were maybe my favourite things about him. So OK, the plan is, kiss him, break up his relationship, then mentally destroy him until he’s the anxious, blustering, impulsive, insecure nightmare I fell in love with? And I thought I was done with being a monster.

As the gates swing open to admit me I hear furtive noises from behind the wall. Could be animals, could be The Mage. But I’ve a horrible feeling it’s Malcolm and Daphne so I don’t look and hurry on towards the house.

I have my own rendezvous to keep. I avoid everyone and go straight to Snow’s room, my heart pounding in a way I’m really not used to.

Chapter Text

The Humdrum is in my bed. Not the version of Snow I was picturing there.

‘Get out.’

He sits up and yawns, rubbing his eyes. ‘M’tired.’

‘I don’t care. Go sleep somewhere else. And if you show up in our room tonight I’ll… I’ll…’ But you can’t threaten incorporeal people so I just say, ‘No snowball fights!’ and his eyes widen in alarm.

‘But where will I sleep?’

‘You can sleep in the septic tank for all I care, just get out of here, I need some privacy.’

‘Why?’ His eyes narrow.

‘None of your business.’

He glances at the double bed, at me, at the bed again. Then his eyes grow huge. ‘Are you going to-!’

‘NONE of your business!’

‘Eeeeeewwwww!’ he crows, then he giggles. ‘Ugh, I hate the kissing part.’

‘Well then you’d better clear off, hadn’t you? Because if I have anything to do with it, there’s going to be lots of it. Lots and lots. Special, extended version, director’s cut kissing.’

He mimes vomiting. ‘Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?’ he says.

That sobers me a for a second.

‘So what? He has a girlfriend in my world too. People break up. Happens all the time. The heart wants what it wants and apparently Snow wants me.’

The Humdrum makes a face. ‘Does he though? I mean, he doesn’t really know you.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I know him.’ I toss a fireball into the grate and create a blaze worthy of any good Christmas romcom, (low-powered mage, my ass), then I turn the lights out. Should l light candles? 

The Humdrum makes another face. ‘Do you know him? He’s not like the other Snow. He’s way cooler. So you still don’t get to kiss that Snow.’

‘Shut up, you are not ruining this for me.’ I wave his words away. So what if he isn’t the Snow I fell in love with. They’re the same people, they’ve just had different life experiences. Deep down he’s essentially the same person. In fact, he’s better. He doesn’t hate me. He isn’t trying to kill me. We’re not sworn enemies bound to destroy each other. This is the fresh start we never could have had in the real world. We can start over. We can be friends. And he fucking fancies me.

‘I don’t think kissing him will break the curse,’ The Humdrum says. ‘It’s not that kind of curse. Not unless one of you is a princess.’

‘Will you shut up about the curse! I don’t care about the curse! And this isn’t a movie. What do you want? You want me to run around realising everyone’s life is terrible without me in it? You want me to break down in the snow and wail I want to be undead again, I want to be undead again? Because I have news for you. I don’t want to be undead again. Who would! And as far as I can see everyone is better off in this world! My mother is alive! My father isn’t a widower! Fiona’s got a great job abroad! Watford is thriving, The Mage is a harmless pest! Bunce’s hair is incredible!’ I start pacing the room. ‘You heard them. It’s a safer and more peaceful world. Thanks to Snow. Who isn’t a sad charity case at the beck and call of the Mage anymore. He’s got a family! Mine! And decent clothes! He’s got a girlfriend who actually seems to like him! He’s not fighting any wars, he’s making peace! He’s in excellent shape!’ I stop and turn to point at him.

‘That’s why I can’t break the curse, isn’t it? Because I was right. They are all better off without me. The Mage couldn’t take over Watford so the world isn’t at war. Bunce hasn’t spent her adolescence battling dark magic and look! She has a life and friends and a boyfriend! Snow didn’t spend eight years sharing a room with a vampire and surprise, surprise! He’s not an angsty little fuckup with anger management issues. As far as I can see, this world is a million times better for everyone! Even me! I’m alive and I’m about to get everything I’ve been dreaming about for the last three years! So no thanks, Clarence. I’m not even going to try to undo this curse. I’m just going to let everyone go ahead and have their nice Baz-free life. The credits can go ahead and fucking roll.’

The Humdrum, who hasn’t taken his wide-eyed gaze off me, slowly lifts his hands and then applauds enthusiastically. ‘Wow! That was great! That’s the bit they’ll play at the Oscars.’

I stride across the room until I’m standing over him. ‘You think I don’t know what you want? You want the curse broken because you know that this Snow is more than capable of beating you. You want us to go back to Original Flavour Snow because he’s a mess and you might have a shot at destroying him.’ He glowers at me like I’ve made him share his toys. ‘You think I’m going to let that happen? Forget it.’

He just grabs his red ball and vanishes with a face like thunder. Because it’s true. It’s galling that this is all because of Snow, that he’s such a fucking golden boy hero that even when he intends to pull a mean prank he can’t help making the world a better place, but it’s true. He’s managed to create a world that’s better for everyone in it, even me, and in the process, he’s maybe even finally foiled The Humdrum.

***

An hour later Snow comes in, making no attempt to be quiet. In fact, he’s whistling again. This time it’s that same Christmas song he was whistling back in Watford and the memory tugs at my chest, as if he's doing it on purpose to remind me that The Humdrum was right and he's not my Snow.

‘Are you awake?’

I couldn’t be otherwise, with all the noise he’s making, so I say, ‘Yes,’ and he sits on the end of my couch. The fire is crackling on the other side of the room and his curls shine in the warm light like they’re used to high quality haircare products, not the standard issue Watford shampoo.

‘This thing can’t be too comfy,’ he says, looking at the stiff back of the couch.

‘It’s fine.’ My voice is breathy and I clear my throat. ‘It’s fine.’

He glances at his watch. ‘2am. I’m not even tired. It’s only about dinner time in Florida. I miss the food already.’ He gazes wistfully into the flames. ‘They fry everything.’

He chatters on about deep fried onions and the fact that no one walks anywhere, but one of his hands has come to rest on the banket over my ankle and his thumb is moving absentmindedly, stroking the soft wool.

I shimmy up the couch so I’m sitting. My mouth is suddenly dry. ‘If you’re hungry, there’s probably leftovers.’

He waves a hand dismissively, and it comes to rest on my knee. He might be different here but it’s the same hand, same freckles, and that tiny mole above his knuckle is still there. The nails are less chewed I guess. Why am I fixating on his hand? This is it, Baz, this is what you’ve been dreaming about for three years, it cannot be a coincidence that Simon Snow is sitting on your bed letting his hand drift lightly up your fucking thigh, just kiss him!

‘Hey, I just wondered…’ I hear myself say. ‘Someone said something about you being an orphan? Or something. Is that true?’

He sits back, surprised by the change of topic, I guess. His hand goes with him and I instantly miss it. Why am I talking rubbish at him? But you can’t just fantasise about these things for three solid years and then rush into them. And much as I hate to admit it, the Humdrum’s words are buzzing in my head like a swarm of wishps. The Snow back in my world never cheated on Agatha, to my knowledge. And he definitely didn’t fancy me. Or did he? He certainly never groped me under a pub table.

‘Yeah. Something like that. I mean I don’t know who my parents were so I guess I might as well be.’

‘Oh. That must be… tough, I’m sorry.’

He shrugs. ‘I’ve been lucky. The Pitches are great, Watford is great, The Coven are great. I guess I landed on my feet.’ The cocky swagger is all gone now and he even rubs the back of his neck briefly, a movement that catches me off guard and makes my chest ache.

‘Still, it must be hard not to know. It must make you angry sometimes. I think… I think you must have to be pretty strong to carry that around.’ It’s nice to be able to be kind to him. To be able to say, in some form, I’m sorry you’ve had a shit childhood and I wish I could give you all the good things I’ve had and I wish you didn’t believe that you’re not good enough because some idiot tossed you away like garbage. I could never say that at Watford. He’d have thought it was a trick.

He nods. ‘I guess it does. But my friends help me deal with it.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’ I relax back onto the pillows and nestle my toes just under his thigh. ‘Well, I guess I don’t have a family either at the moment. To all intents and purposes anyway.’

‘Hey, you’ll be fine, don’t worry.’ He smiles, and it’s that easy-going, open smile he generally reserved for his friends and which I’d watch from a distance and envy. The one I never thought he'd smile at me. ‘You’re one of us, the World of Mages looks after its own, right? Whatever happens, you’ll be OK.’

‘Thanks.’

His hand is back on my ankle, underneath the blanket now, and when it reaches the top of my sock it keeps going up the inside of my pyjamas. My breathing deepens. His breathing deepens. I swallow reflexively.

‘This OK?’ he says quietly. His blue eyes are just gleams of light.

‘Um… sure?’ My voice is weirdly high. What is wrong with me? I’ve been fantasising about exactly this for three years.

Well. Not exactly this. Because in the fantasies it was always sort of… shy and impulsive. And Snow was blushing, not running his hand up my leg while I squeak and squirm like something from a Carry On movie.

‘Not barking up the wrong tree, am I?’ he says.

‘Um… not… I mean… you’re certainly in the right forest.’ I clear my throat again.

He leans forward, running his other hand up my chest so he’s leaning over me and I can feel his breath on my face. Last time he was this close to my face we were wrestling over an amulet the Mage sent him to go fetch and Bunce was firing spells at us like a machine gun.

Which reminds me.

‘What about Penny,’ I say breathlessly as he gently pushes the hair back from my face.

He draws his head back and looks confused. ‘I think she’s asleep.’

‘No, but… I mean… you have a girlfriend?’

‘And?’ His lips move closer again, I swear I can feel their warmth in the few centimetres of air between us. Crowley, he smells good.

‘So are you… breaking up?’ I murmur.

He snorts. ‘No, why would I do that? Me and Pen are solid.’

I blink up at him. ‘Yeah, you seem pretty solid.’ I push him back and struggle to sit up.

‘Look, it’s cool,’ he says.

‘It is? So Bunce knows all about it?’

He wags his head. ‘I don’t bother her with this stuff. It’s… separate. It’s nothing to do with her and me.’

‘Are you serious?’

His face hardens. ‘It’s nothing to do with you either. You don’t know her. Believe me, she’d rather I kept it quiet. It’s harmless and she doesn’t have to know. She’s happy, I’m happy, it’s win-win.’ Then he leans forward slightly and his jawline hardens. ‘And you’re not going to mess that up, are you?’

It’s not really a question.

‘No. I’m sure you’re capable of doing that yourself,’ I mutter. I push his hand away from my leg and he eyerolls and goes back to his side of the room and starts to strip off, direcly in the firelight, smirking like he’s getting a kick out of torturing me.

What the hell am I doing? Simon Snow just tried to get into bed with me and I turned him down? And for what? Some moral principle in a world that might not even be real?

I’m too tired to think about it. He gets into bed in his boxers and I sink back into my uncomfortable couch, trying not to think about that double bed, those freckled arms.

I listen to his breathing across the room as the fire dies in the grate. It’s just the same as always. It's an odd feeling. Lying here looking at someone, missing them at the same time.

***

By the time I wake up on Christmas Eve, Snow is dressed and gone, and even more mages have descended on the Wellbeloves’ house. All of them adding their own protection spells to the gate. I hope a fire doesn't break out because it’ll take half an hour to undo them all and get out.

Breakfast is another buffet laid on by a small army of catering staff, marshalled by Daphne, who looks exhausted. Snow just sits in a corner while various girls bring him plates of pastries. No wonder he’s a bit chunkier in this world.

I take a seat beside Agatha Wellbelove, who’s found a hiding place practically behind the enormous Christmas tree.

‘Still identity challenged?’ she says through an unattractive mouthful of scrambled eggs. She's reading The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness and she doesn't look up from her page.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Maybe it’s not a bad thing to not remember who you are. Plenty of people wish they could forget.’

We watch as Bunce elbows her way through the gaggle of girls around Snow and sits possessively beside him.

‘Aren’t you interested in him?’ I ask Wellbelove. ‘Every other girl here seems to be.’

‘Merlin, no.’ She makes a face. ‘I want a life. Penny says he wants to start a family as soon as they leave school.’

‘Makes sense, considering he never had one of his own.’

‘Yeah, but can you imagine being pregnant with his baby? Imagine how powerful the offspring of Simon Snow could be. It could kill me before it was even born. I think Penny’s nuts.’

I never thought of that but she could be right.

Wellbelove watches them for a moment, her cynical expression softening. ‘She’ll spend her life wondering if he’s coming home,’ she says sadly. ‘And when he doesn’t come home, if he’s dead or…’ she glances at me and the eyebrow arches again, ‘distracted.’

We look at each other. ‘Does he get… distracted a lot?’

‘Let’s just say he has the attention span of a goldfish.’

Well, that was always true.

Someone suddenly screams, right in my ear, ‘It’s Chriiiiiissssstmaaaaaaassss!’ and I drop my whole plate of eggs and bacon, causing everyone to turn and stare and wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

‘I heard that in a song,’ The Humdrum says, delighted with himself. ‘Do you like it? Shall I do it again?’

‘No!’ I growl.

‘You OK?’ Wellbelove frowns at me as I scoop up the mess, but someone tuts and spells it away for me.

‘Fine. Sorry.’ Then I look right at The Humdrum and add, ‘I’m not hungry anyway,’ and enjoy the way his face falls.

‘I’m starved,’ she says, shovelling in more eggs.  

Across the room, I hear Snow’s voice. ‘These scones are cold. Hang on, I’ll just…’ Then an odd thing happens. He starts to draw his wand, presumably to warm the scones, but simultaneously, a bunch of nearby mages draw theirs, almost in a panic. It’s like a dragon’s flown into the room and everyone instantly goes on the defensive. The plate of scones are hit by a dozen You’re Getting Warmers all at once and the poor server who’s holding them drops the plate and starts blowing on his hands.

‘I was going to do it!’ Snow complains, and Bunce soothes him by saying, ‘We just want you to save your energy, hun, for later. Just in case.’

Beside me, Wellbelove snorts into her coffee.

‘What was that?’ I ask. ‘Why won’t they let him use his wand?’

‘Because he’s a liability,’ she mutters.

I guess he never was much good with a wand. And he’s using mine, so Merlin knows how it reacts to him. But he’s never needed it because he has the Sword of Mages. Had the Sword of Mages. Of course he wouldn’t have that here. The one weapon he could actually wield.

‘So how’s he going to fight this rebellion then?’

She shrugs. ‘They don’t need him to fight it,’ she says. ‘They just need him to end it.’

But before I can work out what that means, she gets up and takes her plate to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

After breakfast they start playing parlour games like charades and Pictionary. Which is always my cue to disappear to my room. But I don’t have a room here, I have a couch. In Snow’s room. He’s acting like nothing happened last night and he’s so disturbingly good at that I’m starting to wonder if I imagined it. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve imagined in the last 24 hours.

I’ve been trying to spend some time with my mother, but she disappeared soon after breakfast. I think the Coven are holed up in Dr Wellbelove’s office. Malcolm’s looking hungover and I wonder if he even remembers much of last night. I’ve hardly seen Daphne, she’s probably in the kitchen.

‘Don’t you like charades, Baz?’ Bunce says, finding me in the conservatory between two plants with monstrously large leaves.

‘I feel like I’ve been playing charades for the last two days. I’ve had rather enough of it,’ I tell her.

‘Poor thing,’ she pouts. ‘I’m sure we’ll get you sorted out after Christmas. Everyone’s a little…’ she glances back at the house, ‘distracted over the holidays.’

‘What are they doing? The Coven.’

‘Oh, you know. Magickal politics are so complicated. I don’t understand much of it myself.’ She perches on the edge of a wicker sofa, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

‘Really? You seem pretty intelligent to me. It couldn’t be that hard to follow.’

She blushes. ‘Well we only need one politician in the family. Simon’s the one everyone listens to.’ She smiles proudly, but I can’t help thinking there’s something stiff about her expression. Or maybe that’s just because I can’t imagine the Penelope Bunce I grew up with being content to be any man’s arm candy. I wonder if she’s secretly just a tad resentful. She’s always been his sidekick, but here she’s not even that.

‘They do seem to respect him,’ I muse. ‘He must have quite the razor sharp political brain.’

Even she must know I’m being sarcastic because she says, ‘Well, he’s more of a… figurehead. He’s very good at diplomacy, you know? I suppose you don’t have to understand the finer points to win people over.’

‘So basically, they point him at the issue, wind him up and let him go?’

She shifts uncomfortably. ‘He’d be terribly bored by all the details.’

‘I see.’ Well that makes more sense. Snow thinks he’s a politician but really he’s just the frontman. The pretty face that looks good in the publicity shots of men in suits shaking hands. The real work is being done in Welby’s office right now while he mimes movie titles in the drawing room.

‘If he doesn’t really understand what he’s doing, how can the Coven trust him to act in their interests?’

Bunce just smiles that tight smile again. ‘Oh, he’d never do anything to harm the Coven. If there’s one thing I know about Simon, it’s that he’s utterly incorruptible. I’d trust him with my life. I trust him every day. With my heart.’ She gives me a sweet smile that comes with a rather direct gaze and I swallow and wonder if the hardness behind her expression isn’t about Snow at all. Maybe it’s about me. Maybe it’s about last night. Maybe Bunce knows a lot more about Snow than she’s letting on.

‘You certainly seem like a great couple. Are you… officially engaged or…?’ I’m not sure I want the answer to that actually.

Bunce waves a hand. ‘We’ll work out the details when we leave school,’ she says. It sounds like they’re finalising a business contract. Maybe they are. Maybe Snow was right last night and Bunce doesn’t care about his nocturnal habits as long as he keeps up the façade in public. She must be aware there's something not quite right about their relationship. I can't deny they seem fond of each other but there's absolutely nothing you could call chemistry between them. Maybe I've blown the opportunity to be with him for no good reason.

‘Simon’s so busy at the moment. They’re heading to Australia after New Year’s.’

‘Another treaty?’

‘Yes. The Australians have been… intractable. But Simon will convince them.’

‘Why do they need to be convinced to sign peace treaties? Surely peace benefits everyone.’

‘Exactly! That’s what the Coven keep telling everyone. But you’d be surprised how stubbornly people hold on to old traditions. They’re reluctant to adopt our regulations, but if you want international cooperation then you have to standardise the way things are done. Everyone has to fall in line.’

It sounds like Bunce knows a lot more about politics than she lets on too.

‘When you say fall in line, you mean they have to adopt our ways of doing things.’

‘Of course. It just makes sense. The magickal system in the UK just runs better. We’re more organised, we have better legislation, better control over magickal creatures, lower magickal crime, minimal magickal waste-’

‘And a rebellion in the wings?’ I can’t help adding, because she’s starting to sound like a party political broadcast.

She gives me her hostess-gloss smile again. ‘No system is perfect, of course. But if the whole world has to adopt one system, then ours is the obvious choice.’

‘But… does the whole world have to adopt one system?’

‘They do if they want our protection.’

‘Protection from what?’

‘Simon!’ she calls, spotting Snow coming down the conservatory. ‘We’re over here. Did you win at charades, sweetie?’

‘Yes, although your brother gave me a run for my money.’

‘He’s been practising since June, poor lamb. After last year’s The Remains of the Day debacle.’

‘Nearly got me on It’s a Wonderful Life. How do you act that out?’

‘Oh, I love that movie! Have you seen it, Baz?’

‘I’m familiar with it, yes.’ I wonder what time they start serving the alcohol.

‘So what are you two gossiping about?’ Snow says, sitting down beside Bunce and giving me a look with a distinct edge to it.

I give him one right back. ‘Politics. You know, lies, betrayal, sex scandals... all that stuff.’

‘Great. Always up for a good sex scandal.’ His lip curls in amusement and my eyebrow twitches in response. Speaking of chemistry.

There’s a giggle from behind a potted palm. I don’t know why he’s bothering to hide, no one can see him except me. But he’s eleven so I guess hiding is funny. As is the word 'sex'.

‘He’s kidding, sweetie,’ Bunce says.

‘What about The Humdrum?’ I say suddenly. They look startled at the change of subject. ‘Sorry, Penelope and I were actually talking politics,’ I explain. ‘And I just wondered, what’s being done about The Humdrum?’ Shouldn’t Snow be out there waging war on The Humdrum, not jetting around the globe making peace with countries who I’m starting to think may not actually want to be made peace with?

‘The war on The Humdrum is central to Simon’s work, of course,’ Bunce says, patting Snow’s knee. He’s sprawled on the sofa beside her, one arm around her, and looking at me the way I used to look at raw steak. It’s unsettling.

‘It’s really his battles with The Humdrum that convince other countries to ally themselves with us,’ she goes on. ‘The Humdrum may be UK based now but it’s a global threat. When they see how powerful Simon is, how he’s the only one who can defeat The Humdrum, well, it just makes sense for them to join us.’

‘I guess so,’ I say. Snow tries to smile modestly but he looks uncomfortable.

‘Let’s not talk shop, he says. ‘Come on, the others are going out for a walk. Dev and Bunny have a sled!’

***

We grab our coats and follow him out. Bunny makes a proprietorial show of pushing a woollen hat onto my head and winding a scarf around my neck, despite my protests, then we all head off down one of the narrow country lanes around the edge of the village, cutting across fields to find little hills so Dev and the others can take turns whizzing down them on a heavily enchanted sled, which The Humdrum is very excited about.

It’s good to be out of the over-heated, cinnamon infused tension of the house, and the crisp cleanness of everything is cheering. Everyone seems to be affected by the new lightness in the atmosphere, and soon they’re larking about, laughing and chasing each other, singing Christmas songs. Bunce conjures up some roasted chestnuts because it’s not enough like a 1980s Wham video, but I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel the cold air on my face and know I’ll be warm again when we go back indoors. It’s nice to be able to smell the chestnuts instead of the blood of the person handing them to me. It’s nice to be able to hear Snow’s laughter and not his heartbeat. It’s nice to know I can wish my mother a Merry Christmas in the morning.

We stop to watch the sledders take turns rocketing down a small incline while the others cast Like A Bat Out Of Hell at them. The sled produces huge leathery wings and Bunce turns the snowdrift at the bottom into a soft cloud of feathers.

Snow and I find ourselves walking on a little way from the bottom of the hill, the crunch of our boots falling into step.

‘Hey, I want to apologise,’ he says eventually. ‘About last night.’

‘Oh.’ I wasn’t expecting that. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘No, really. You were having a bad enough day.’

‘Well. When you put it like that, I guess hitting on someone with a head injury is kind of dubious,’ I say, but I let my lip curl and he grins.

‘Merlin, I’m an asshole. Sorry.’

I laugh. ‘Maybe you’re just too used to getting what you want.’

He thinks about that, like it’s something he hasn’t considered before. Behind us the shrieks and laughter are growing fainter.

‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘But I guess you can’t really complain because people are nice to you.’

I guess you can’t. Snow’s a black and white kind of guy, and in my world that was easy because the bad guys followed a very simple set of rules. Rule number 1: Be extremely mean to Simon Snow. I’d know. I practically invented it. It’s easy to know how to react to meanness. It’s probably a lot harder to see what’s going on when people are nice. But I’m starting to think that things are more complicated than Snow realises.

‘Don’t you think it’s strange?’ I ask him. ‘That you get everything you want. The best of everything. That everyone worships you. I mean, has anyone ever said no to you?’

‘You did, last night,’ he says, giving me a look that makes me seriously reconsider that decision.

I blush slightly.

‘OK, but I’m just a random guy from the pub. And possibly an idiot,’ I add, and he gives me a look that makes me blush even harder. ‘But you’ve got entire countries who apparently can’t say no to you.’ And I’m starting to wonder if they literally can’t say no.

I remember what Bunce said. When they see how powerful Simon is, how he’s the only one who can defeat The Humdrum, well, it just makes sense for them to join us. I wonder if it’s less that it ‘makes sense’ and more that ‘if you can’t beat ‘em…’ She said they’re offering protection. But is that from The Humdrum or from the only thing in the world that’s potentially more powerful than The Humdrum?

I don’t want to think these thoughts. Because the Coven isn’t just a bunch of politicians, it’s my mother. It’s the Bunces and the Wellbeloves and a lot of other families I grew up around. But I’m used to seeing Snow being wielded like a weapon by someone he trusts and I know the signs. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe they’re doing their best but someone with that much power just has to be ‘managed’ in some way. People with power can’t help harming others. When everyone wants a piece of you, someone’s going to be disappointed. Malcolm was drunk, but he was probably right too.

‘I don’t think too much about the politics,’ Snow says. ‘I try to save my energy for The Humdrum.’

‘The Humdrum?’ I glance behind us to where he’s watching the sledding like an excited little kid and not the biggest threat the magickal world has ever known.

‘Every attack gets bigger and bigger,’ Snow says, rubbing the back of his neck beneath his scarf and frowning at the ground in front of us. He stops walking and looks back at the sledders. ‘I have to protect everyone. I have to be ready. All the time.’

‘I guess that’s a lot of pressure.’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah, but what choice do I have?’

I don’t know. But it makes me sad that there’s no one in this world who’d step between him and The Humdrum, even if it wouldn’t do any good.

‘It’s just…’ he says.

‘What?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m not complaining, it’s just kind of exhausting. Summoning that kind of power all the time.’

‘You mean controlling it?’

He frowns. ‘No, I don’t even try to control it. There’s no point. Natasha says the important thing is to be able to produce it when I need it.’

‘You don’t even try to wield it? To direct it?’

‘I’ve never been much good with a wand. Don’t tell anyone that.’

I nod, like it’s not clear everyone already knows.

‘Don’t you have other weapons? What if you had a sword or something?’

He just looks confused. ‘What use would that be? No, I’m the weapon. Natasha says if I just keep practising going off then when the time comes I’ll be able to-’

‘Wait. They make you practise going off? Practise it? Shouldn’t you be learning to stop it? To control it?’

‘No, Natasha says the more I do it the bigger the power surge will get.’

‘My point exactly.’

‘But that’s what we need. When I get the chance to face The Humdrum, I’m going to need all the power I can get. It’s just that…’

‘What?’

He sighs. ‘I get so tired. The more power I channel, the more I feel… used up afterwards. Wrung out. And I get worse and worse with my wand because every time I try to cast, more and more power comes out, with less and less control. And the dead spots just keep getting bigger and bigger and The Humdrum gets more and more powerful. It feels like an endless circle and I just want to get it over with before…’ He kicks at the snow with his boot. ‘Before there’s nothing of me left.’

We stare at each other as the snow starts to fall softly between us.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’

‘It’s OK. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers.’

‘I guess. Although… I don’t know, you don’t really feel like a stranger.’ He tilts his head and looks me over while my living, beating heart crashes amateurishly around in my chest. ‘Weird, huh?’ he says.

‘Weird,’ I agree. ‘Hey, Simon-’ I don’t even know what I was going to say, but I don’t get to say it because at that moment I’m hit slap in the back of the head by a huge icy snowball.

Before I can react, it’s followed a second later by one that hits Snow in the chest. ‘You dirty…!’ he yells, immediately bending to scoop up some snow while Dev runs off laughing and already ducking a snowball from someone else.

A childish voice in the middle of it all crows, ‘YEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!’ but I don’t even care. Snow grabs my arm and we dive behind a tree, peeking out to retaliate, covering each other as we run from tree to rock to hedge. I don’t have the speed or strength I used to but it doesn’t matter because this fight is only for fun.

Dev hits me again but I get him twice. Bunny and Bunce team up and take on the Rolston boys, using the sled as cover. Everyone’s laughing and screaming and rolling each other in the deep drifts. Snow is an excellent snowball thrower – fast, strong, reflexes like a cat, directing his team like a general. And he steps in front of me more than once to take a shot in the chest. I knew he was the same person deep down.

The Humdrum is having the time of his life, cheering us on, laughing when anyone gets hit in the face, the little git.

It’s interesting that Snow and I have automatically teamed up. That would never happen back in my world. We hunker down behind a group of rocks, panting, building our pile of ammo.

‘Dev’s slow. Too many mince pies. And Chris Rolston has dodgy knees. Go for Bunny’s hair, she freaks out if it gets wrecked,’ he barks out. I can’t help laughing.

‘What?’ he says, mystified.

‘Sir, yes sir!’ I salute sharply and he grins and lets his shoulders relax.

‘Point taken,’ he says. ‘Too much training.’

A snowball whizzes over, just above us, and we both hit the deck like seasoned soldiers. Then laugh at ourselves.

‘Merlin,’ I breathe, rolling over to stare up at the sky. Yes, too much training. Too much fighting. Too much war. Not enough fucking fun. In every world.

But at least in this war we’re not fighting each other. In this one I wasn’t born into one side of the argument because I wasn’t born at all. Here, I get to choose which side I’m on. 

Snow is lying next to me, watching me. He props his head up on one elbow. The sky behind him is almost indistinguishable from the snow, we could be in a cloud or an avalanche. ‘Don’t you wonder who’s waiting for you back home?’ he says. ‘What if you have a family you’ve forgotten? A boyfriend?’

‘Or a mortal enemy,’ I suggest. ‘I could be better off here.’

‘So why do you look so depressed all the time?’

I grimace. ‘Maybe I miss my mortal enemy.’

‘You’re kind of confusing,’ he says, but he’s smiling, and his gaze travels over my face, to my lips, and my eyes lose focus as he leans towards me. He’s so close I can feel the heat from his skin when someone shouts, ‘Simon?’

We reluctantly sit up, to see the others sitting around on the snow, out of breath. Bunce waves at us. ‘We’re going back. Lunch will be ready.’

We clamber out and walk towards them, brushing snow off ourselves, not meeting each other’s gaze. Snow gives Bunce his arm and she gives me a long look before pulling him away.

Chapter Text

The Coven emerge for lunch and I manage to grab a chair beside my mother when she sits down in the drawing room with her plate. I still have a minor heart attack every time I see her. I still want to weep and hug her and apologise and tell her I love her and basically fit 13 years of childhood into every conversation with her, but instead I have to summon my very Pitch-iest qualities, give her a brief nod and comment on the appalling weather.

The house seems to have naturally divided itself up so that the young people all hang out in the huge conservatory while the parents are in the various reception and drawing rooms. My mother is on a sofa near the largest of the house’s Christmas trees and I head off Lady Fawcett to sit down next to her.

‘Not hungry?’ I ask, looking at her plate. There’s even less on it than on my plate. I guess neither of us have big appetites and I squirrel this information away in that place where the children of dead parents keep their scraps of information and torn photos and tenuous links to the people they’ve lost.

‘Not really,’ she says. ‘Too much on my mind.’

‘Anything I can help with?’

‘Oh, just Coven business.’ She waves her fork vaguely. ‘Things are always a little tense in the hours before midnight.’

‘Midnight?’

‘Christmas,’ she clarifies. She nods at the TV, which is currently showing The Muppets Christmas Carol. The Humdrum is glued to it. ‘The thing about a holiday that’s so old and widespread and cliché-ridden,’ she says, ‘is that clichés have enormous power. There’s more raw energy in a Merry Christmas spoken at midnight on Christmas Eve than in most spells put together. If you know how to use it.’

‘And you’re worried that The Mage does?’

She looks sharply at me. ‘One thing I am not silly enough to do, Mr Basilton, is underestimate my enemy.’

‘At least Snow is here,’ I say.

She smiles and goes back to her plate. ‘Yes. I suspect this weather is not strictly natural, but it didn’t stop them getting back from America, thank Seuss.’

‘I guess some people have to work over the holidays. Snow included.’

‘The enemy does not sleep, Mr Basilton. So we can’t afford to.’

‘Seems unfair though.’

She gives me a questioning look.

‘I mean, on you. It must take a toll on your personal life. Working so much. Being under attack constantly. Having to run the school, the Coven, and now governments in other countries. Is that… is that why you never had children? Did you think they might interfere with your work?’

She waits a beat, examining me for a moment before saying, ‘You ask a lot of questions for someone with no answers of his own, Mr Basilton.’

‘Can you call me Baz? Please.’ Just once, before you tell me how relieved you are that you never had any kids.

‘Baz. I didn’t decide not to have children, if you want to know. It just never happened. I wish it had but there’s no point thinking about it now.’ She sets her jaw and pushes the food around on her plate. ‘And as for my personal life, I admit, that comes second to my work. It has to. We have to make the world safe or no one can have a personal life. So maybe it's for the best that I never had children.’

‘But don’t you think… I mean, not underestimating your enemies is all very well, but wouldn’t it make life simpler if they weren’t your enemies in the first place? All those low powered mages and magickal creatures. Surely the most effective way to break up The Mage’s army is to lure his troops in this direction. Give them a place here.’ A place that isn’t serving drinks and cleaning toilets.

‘You know, Baz, I’d suspect you of being one of them except a spy would never be so obvious. Besides, you’re too intelligent.' I swell with the pride of a five year old, until she adds, 'Naïve, but intelligent. Compromising on the quality of the thing you’re trying to protect, is no way to protect it.’

‘The quality? You think a bunch of pixies and dryads are going to sully the world of mages?’ To be fair, that’s exactly what I used to think. But I wasn’t used to being on the excluded side of that argument and I have to admit, it changes things.

‘There is nothing to be gained by diluting power. We want to build the world of mages up, not water it down.’

‘I guess.’ I wanted a conversation with my mother, not a political debate and certainly not an argument. But I’m prone to arguing, and maybe she is too. Maybe we have that in common as well as our appetites and our eyebrows and our deep-seated snobbery.

‘It’s been interesting to talk to you, Baz. It can be difficult to make mages of your… class, understand our position, but I hope you see that everything we do benefits the country as a whole. When our position in the world rises, we all rise with it. Can you understand that?’

I give her a tight smile. ‘I think I can get my head around it.’

‘Good.’ She gets up and hands her untouched plate to Umelia Longe, who scurries away with it. 

But before she can head back up to Dr Wellbelove’s office, I can't help saying, 'Hey. You say your personal life comes second but I think... for what it's worth, I think if you'd had kids, you'd have been a great mother.' She frowns at me, understandably confused, and I blush, but ramble on, 'I just mean...You're so dedicated to everything you do. You give it your all. I bet if you'd had kids, you'd have done that. Put them first. Made sacrifices. Big ones. And I bet... I bet they'd have... I mean, I bet they'd have been... grateful.'

Still confused, she opens her mouth to reply, but Dr Wellbelove comes along and hurries her away, which is probably just as well.

***

Agatha Wellbelove finds me sitting on a bench in the garden my cheeks still flushed with embarassment despite the cold. The kids are all watching movies in the basement so at least it’s quiet out here. She offers me a cigarette and when I refuse she shrugs and lights one for herself. I flinch automatically at the lighter, before remembering that the worst it can do is give me a blister.

'Party's going well,' I say politely, because I'm still an emotional jelly from talking to Mum and I can't handle real conversation.

She snorts and mutters, 'If you enjoy being shoved at every single man under 30.'

I hitch an eyebrow. 'Seriously?'

She hitches one back. ‘I miss Fiona,’ she moans, taking a long drag. ‘The men were all scared of her. And she used to smoke with me at these things.’

‘Fiona? Do you mean my- Fiona Pitch?’

‘Yeah. Do you know her?’

‘I… I think I met her once.’

‘She was always fun. Actually I think it was her got me started smoking.’

I snort. ‘Sounds like her. I hear she’s working abroad now.’

Wellbelove snorts right back. ‘Working,’ she says, putting the word in air quotes.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, no one’s heard from her in months but she was in no shape to work last time I saw her.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with her? Natasha said she was working on something confidential.’

‘Oh, it’s confidential all right. They can’t have the world knowing that a Pitch had a breakdown and tried to drink herself into a coma.’

‘What? Are you serious?’ This can’t be true. Wellbelove must be mistaken. Maybe she just heard some stupid rumour. People are always keen to spread gossip about anyone they’re jealous of. But on the other hand, Wellbelove doesn’t seem the type to trade in gossip. Not in this world. And she doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s ‘side’. Actually, she seems like she doesn’t give a goblin’s curse for the whole world of mages.

‘Well she was never very stable, was she? Must be hard. Having a perfect sister.’ She rolls her eyes and says, ‘It’s hard enough having a perfect best friend. Not that Penny is my best friend, she just decided she was and she’s hard to argue with. Do you know, she threw out my best hoodie this morning because it had one tiny egg yolk stain on it?’

‘Yes, but what about Fiona? What happened?’ I press her.

‘Oh. Well, it was because of Nico, I guess.’

‘Nico?’ I look up sharply.

‘The last vampire. Fiona hid him for years, but Natasha sniffed him out of course. Her and Simon.’

‘Yes. He said he was there.’ And if this is the Nico who had something to do with my mother’s death, then I’m glad she torched him.

‘Hard enough having a perfect sister. But when she kills your boyfriend right in front of you…?’ Wellbelove sucks through her teeth.

‘Boyfriend?’ My heart goes still. No way. Fiona and a vampire? No fucking way. Never. Not in a million years. Not when they killed… But they didn’t. Not here. They tried, but they didn’t. Is that why my Fiona’s been alone all these years? Did she give up this Nico guy because the vampires killed her perfect sister? Crowley.

‘And then the whole world practially gives her a medal for doing it?' Wellbelove goes on. 'They had to send Fiona away to… recuperate. I think she was in rehab for a while but I don’t know where she is now.’ She flicks her lighter on and off. ‘Shame. She was the only person I looked forward to seeing at these things.’

She grinds out her cigarette and goes back indoors and I sit outside watching the sky get darker as the afternoon wears on. The clouds are heavy with snow, the sun is low on the horizon, and midnight is well on its way.

***

OK, so maybe this world isn’t as perfect as it first appeared. But the fact remains, my mother is alive, Snow had a great childhood, The Mage is no more than an excuse for a Christmas party and the vampires are gone. Fiona’s a mess but then Fiona was always a bit of a mess, and I’m not sure that shacking up with a vampire was really a good idea anyway. Mum was obviously trying to protect her from herself. I’m still sure that not breaking the curse is in everyone’s best interests. And I’m pretty sure that decision has very little to do with the fact that I have apparently created a world where Simon Snow wants to kiss me.

OK, the Bunce thing is also fucked up. But he won't marry her, that’s just insane. He’ll realise it’s insane and call it off, he’s not that stupid. Already, in my head, I’m turning up at the wedding and rattling the doors, yelling, ‘Simon!’ Why should he call it off for me though? He barely knows me.

Back in the conservatory I watch him push the furniture out of the way so everyone can gather on the floor to play spin the bottle under a sprig of mistletoe they’ve suspended from the ceiling. Everyone’s obviously cheating, wands hidden up their sleeves, because the bottle keeps landing on him but he just laughs and kisses girl after girl after girl until I want to set myself on fire, except that’s no longer a quick and painless way to go.

‘Bunny, you’ve had three goes already!’ Freya Cleethorpes complains.

‘I have not!’

‘Have too!’

Snow glances over at me, as if to say, the irony, and I repress a smile. The boys here would kill to be him right now. Bunce takes it all in good humour, and kisses a few boys herself. Maybe she knows how little it all means to Snow. She doesn’t give Bunny Fawcett the hard look she gave me earlier.

I’ve barely digested lunch when everyone disappears to dress for dinner. It's black tie, but Mrs Wellbelove has produced a spare for me, and Snow lent me another of his shirts. I think I’ll explode if I eat another bite, but the others all rush out to dress.

I thought Snow would be leading the charge but he stays behind to push the furniture back into position and I stay to help him.

‘Is this the mistletoe part?’ The Humdrum says, a sly look on his face.

I narrow my eyes at him. Because frankly I was rather hoping it was the mistletoe part and he’s ruining it.

‘Didn’t you get a turn?’ Snow says.

‘With the bottle or with you?’

He laughs. ‘Those girls are nuts. Penny won’t let me drink anything unless she hands me it herself. Love potions.’

‘Merlin.’

‘They don’t mean any harm.’

I wouldn’t be so sure about that but I say nothing. At least he has someone with a bit of sense looking out for him.

He takes out his wand, my wand, and points it at the enchanted mistletoe, hanging high above us, then he hesitates.

‘Better not, I suppose,’ he says. ‘Could blow up the whole house. Penny will take it down later.’

I hate the sudden uncertain look on his face. The dent in his confidence. The way he looks sadly at the wand before starting to tuck it back in his pocket. He was never great with a wand, but he used to try, and you could see on his face how much he loved magic, even when it wouldn’t cooperate with him.

‘Here. Let me try,’ I say, holding out my hand for the wand.

‘Oh. You’re not- I’m not supposed to-’

‘Just for a second.’ I step towards him and put my hand over his on the wand. He draws it back out of his pocket but doesn’t let go.

‘You’re not supposed to let anyone else use your wand,’ he says.

‘I’m not using it. You’re using it.’ I lift our hands together and point the wand at the mistletoe. ‘When Gravity Calls, Something Falls,’ I say quietly, and the mistletoe starts to spin and descend gently, slowly, until it’s within reach, just over our heads.

Snow smiles at it, delighted, then at our hands still clasped around the wand. ‘Not bad,’ he says. ‘Maybe you should have gone to Watford after all.’

‘Maybe I should.’

He meets my gaze and says, ‘I wish you had.’ His thumb strokes my hand softly. Crowley, everytime he looks at me there's so much tension between us I'm surprised people can't see it. And I mean, there always was, but in our world it was hostility and naked aggression, not sexual tension. Or I thought it was. What if that was just what we called it?

I guess I'll never know now. The mistletoe spins gently and neither of us moves to take it down. My breathing deepens, my lips part.

But the fucking Humdrum is still sitting there, pretending to vomit, and Bunce is upstairs and I just can’t do it.

‘No,’ I say, dropping his hand and stepping back. ‘No, you don’t wish I’d gone to Watford. We’d probably have hated each other.’

He frowns. ‘Why would you think that?’

I shrug. ‘I’m pretty hateable.’ I pluck the mistletoe out of the air and toss it at The Humdrum, and then go upstairs to dress.

Chapter Text

For dinner, they’ve set up marquees on the lawn for a sit-down meal with all the Christmas trimmings. Outside it’s dark already and the marquee is lit by fairy lights and Christmas trees. Inside it's an ostentatious display, tables glowing with candles and silverware, a string quartet playing in the corner, catering staff in uniform, guests in black-tie.

The place settings are laid out like a wedding and I’ve been squeezed in, clearly as a last minute addition, beside the Bunces, Snow, and the Fawcetts. But at least I’m not next to Bunny. She's wearing a low cut, backless dress and more diamonds than a branch of Tiffany's, but I barely notice her because Snow is sitting next to her wearing a tux. It's classic black but with a deep blue silk bow tie that brings out his eyes, and shoulders so broad and reassuring I could weep. He's tamed his curls somewhat (I can only assume he threatened them with violence), but one keeps escaping and springing over his forehead, making him look like a mischievious kid.

Speaking of which, The Humdrum’s eyes lit up like all his Christmases had come at once when he saw the marquee. There’s something truly pathetic about The Humdrum. He’s as selfish, cruel, and demanding as a child, but just as easily pleased as one too, and I wonder if the reason he’s so immature is only that he’s never had an adult to teach him any manners. Maybe he’ll be eleven forever just because nobody cares about him.

Despite the opulence, dinner is a smorgasbord of small talk and tension and no one is really listening to anyone else. Someone keeps brushing my ankles with their foot under the table but I'm not sure if it's Snow or Bunny and either way I'm terrified to respond.

By the end of the main course it’s after 10pm and people are starting to glance at their watches and check the location of their wands.

‘Has anything ever… happened before? At midnight?’ I ask Bunce quietly over dessert. She's wearing a knee-length black cocktail dress that shows off her figure. I didn't know Bunce had a figure.

‘Nothing major,’ she says. ‘But they like to launch petty attacks to annoy us. Just to remind us not to get too comfortable, I suppose.’

‘I doubt you could get more comfortable than the people in this tent,’ I note, looking around at the jewel-encrusted women and the men covertly loosening their belts.

Bunce just gives me a curious look and says, ‘Is that a comment on their morals? You know what they say about judging others, don’t you Baz?’ Then she frowns and reaches out to pluck something from my hair. A small green leaf.

‘Mistletoe, I believe,’ she says, holding it up between us and blinking innocently at me. ‘How did that get there?’

I swallow, and turn red, but I'm spared from answering because the catering staff descend on us and start clearing the plates while some of the tables are moved to make a small dancefloor.

Bunce pours Snow another glass of champagne and says, ‘Last one, Sweetie, we need you on top form tonight,’ then, before I can escape, she holds her hand out to me and says, ‘First dance is always ladies choice. Shall we?’

***

Couples spill onto the floor so it’s soon hard to do more than just sway with your partner and murmur in her ear. Snow is dancing with Bunny, who must have nabbed him pretty sharpish. My parents are dancing together, which is nice to see, although I can’t help noticing they’re not murmuring in each other’s ears, they’re watching the perimeter of the tent. Wellbelove is reading in a corner while Dev watches her, chewing his lip. I can't help noticing she's wearing trainers beneath her floor-length gown. Even without makeup or any discernible traces of a hairbrush, she looks beautiful. Why can no one here see she's beautiful? Apart from Dev, apparently. Because she's poor, I guess. Not in financial terms, but she's power-poor, and the Wellbeloves can schmooze the upper classes with posh parties all they like, it's not going to win them a good match for their very ineligible daughter. She's being pushed at these people like meat past its sell-by, how does she stand it? 

The Bunces are dancing with the Wellbeloves, Lady Salisbury is dancing with her son. Lady Fawcett is dancing with Lord Gilbert. It’s almost midnight and everyone’s tense but determined to pretend they aren’t. As if it would be letting the side down to admit that a bunch of scruffy rebels has them rattled.

The Penelope Bunce in this world is as excellent at dancing as she is small talk. And she isn’t inclined to let me lead.

‘Shouldn’t we be watching the grounds?’ I suggest. Anything to get away from her penetrating gaze. She's still tiny, but the five inch heels she's wearing mean she's closer to eyeballing me than she's ever been in my world. ‘I mean, if we’re expecting something to happen tonight.’

‘We have people on guard,’ she says. ‘You seem very interested in what’s going to happen tonight, Baz.’

‘Well. If we’re going to be attacked. Makes sense to be interested.’

‘Or maybe you’re worried that your own plans for tonight are going to be disrupted?’ she says.

My collar suddenly feels tight. Despite the fact that it’s Snow’s collar and much too big for me. Bunce looks at me like she can see right inside my head to the little scene that’s been playing on repeat there all day. The one where Snow comes to our bedroom tonight and this time I have the willpower of a heroin addict.

But is it just jealousy? I’m beginning to think there’s a lot more to Penelope Bunce than great hair. And really, I should have known that all along because I’ve known Penelope Bunce for eight years and not once have I ever seen her even brush her hair. In fact, it occurs to me that my superpower in this world is that I know these people inside out. Penelope Bunce falling helplessly in love with Simon Snow? It's just not credible. If it was, it would've happened back in my Watford, they spend enough time together. So what the fuck is really going on here?

I look down at her, peering shrewdly up at me through what must be very strong contact lenses. I’ve been feeling guilty all day about flirting with her boyfriend but maybe he’s not her boyfriend. Maybe he’s her puppet. Bill to her Hillary. Maybe she's been pushed at him by her parents, the way Wellbelove gets pushed at more powerful men, or maybe she's engineered it all herself. She always did like to compete with me for academic prizes. Maybe Snow is just one more trophy.

‘Look, you should know, nothing’s actually happened,’ I tell her. ‘I wouldn’t. I’m not… I mean, I’m trying not to… But come on, it’s not like you… I don’t believe you actually care about him. Not like that.' I glance around the marquee. 'In fact I’m not sure anyone here cares about him,' I mutter. 'Not more than they want to use him anyway. You can’t deny you gain a lot of status from being his girlfriend. Your whole family does. At least I don’t want anything from him. Well. Besides the obvious. But that’s-’

‘Baz?’ she interrupts. ‘What in the name of Austen are you talking about?’

‘Um… tonight?’

‘Precisely,’ she says. I notice that she’s danced us to the edge of the dancefloor, and now she takes my arm and leads me outside. She was right, there is an armed guard lined up at the edges of the property, they must be taking it in shifts. We crunch over the snow, away from the house to a quiet area of the garden, and she says, ‘Let’s level with each other Mr Basilton, I've seen the way you look at Simon.'

'I don't-!'

'And I can tell you don’t approve of them.’ She nods back towards the tent.

‘I didn’t say-’

‘And you see right through their peace treaties.’

‘What? What are you-’

‘Look,' she hisses. 'I don’t know what your plan is or what faction you’re with, or how you managed to infiltrate the party, but for your own sake, you should join with us now.’

Hang on, what the fuck is going on? And why are we suddenly speaking in Us and Them language?

‘Join with whom?’

‘Tonight is going to be big. Decisive. There’s no point in factions anymore, we have to be united. And we can use you. The more people we have on the inside, the better.’

‘On the inside…’ I step back. ‘Wait. You’re not… You’re not with…’

She holds up her ring between us and for a second the purple stone glows emerald green.

***

‘Crowley,’ I breathe.

‘It’s not too late. You don’t owe them anything,' Bunce says urgently. 'They’ve denied you a wand, an education, your basic rights as a mage. Join us. Help us to overthrow them.’

Merlin’s beard, I am an idiot. It's like the real Penelope Bunce just stood up. She goes on and on, ranting about the injustices of the system, how we can make a difference, how we have to try. I half expect her to produce a whiteboard from her tiny clutch purse. I should have known that in no universe would Bunce not be crusading about something or other. The hilarious thing is, she's trying to recruit me. For the rebellion. For The Mage.

‘Whoa! I did not see this coming!’ The Humdrum says from behind me. I resist the urge to turn around. ‘I think things are about to get exciting. Should I get popcorn?’

‘All right, all right, ’ I steady my voice and address Bunce. ‘You have my attention. What’s the plan?’

Her lip curls. ‘I’m not an idiot, Baz. If that’s even your name. You don’t need to know the plan, you just need to do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it.’

‘There’s no way you can defeat them,’ I hiss. ‘The most powerful people in the world of mages are in that tent.' 

'I’ve always been prepared to die for my principals, Baz. Are you?’

'You can't do this on your own and the place is like a fortress with protection spells. You’ll never get anyone in here.’

She smiles. ‘Oh, we’re not trying to get anyone in.’ She glances towards the tent, where we can just see Snow detaching himself from Bunny Fawcett. He looks drunk already. I remember Malcolm saying Merlin, what the man could do with a weapon like Simon. Doesn’t bear thinking about.

‘Snow? You think you can kidnap Snow and smuggle him out of here? Are you insane? He’ll incinerate you.’

She scoffs. ‘No, he won’t.’

Crowley, she’s right. He won’t. He’s too bloody decent.

‘Well he’ll never turn on Natasha or the Coven. You said it yourself, he’s incorruptible. Loyal as a dog. You can’t use him against them.’

‘We don’t want to use him. We just want to make sure they can’t use him. He’ll be kept safe.’

I step towards her and give her a pitying look. ‘Is that what he told you? The Mage? You’re going to hand him the most lethal weapon the world has ever seen and he’s going to do what? Put it on a high shelf out of everyone’s reach? And you believe that?’

Her composure falters for a split second but she holds her ground, and I notice her ring is still pointed at me. ‘When everyone has equal standing in the world there’ll be no need for weapons. We can do this. And you can be on the right side of history. You know what they’re doing is wrong. Their peace treaties are nothing more than dictatorships. Their protection is a cheap veneer over their threats. Their purity is racism and exclusion and murder.’

I shake my head. I don’t want to hear this. Because maybe she’s right about the Coven. But she can’t be right about my mother. My mother’s not like that. But a tiny voice in the back of my mind keeps reminding me that I don’t know my mother at all. 

Even if she’s right about the Coven, she’s wrong about The Mage.

I need to think. I knew there was more to her and Snow than a bloody teen romance. I knew because I know both of them. So what else do I know? I know she's like a pitbull when it comes to social justice and that she really would die for her principles, but also that the only thing she values more is her friends. She won't hurt Snow. She must honestly believe that The Mage will free him along with the rest of the magickal world. But I also know that she doesn't know the Mage like I do. She doesn't know what he'll do with Snow because she hasn't seen it. But I've already watched this history play out.

It's too late for strategy. At the end of the day, I don’t care what the Coven want or what The Mage wants. The only one I care about is currently staggering across the lawn towards us, whistling. I wonder what Bunce thinks she can do to incapacitate him. Even drunk, he’s dangerous. He may not hurt her, but he won’t let himself be tied up and stuffed in a sack either. I don’t know how many of them are in here with her. She'd need an army. I look around, waiting for the surprise attack, the raising of a wand. Wondering what they’re going to do.

And then Snow stumbles over his own feet and laughs, and I remember him saying Penny won’t let me drink anything unless she hands me it herself. And I remember her pouring him a glass of champagne just a few minutes ago and saying, Last one, Sweetie, we need you on top form tonight. And I realise, it’s already done.

***

‘What did you give him?’

‘Nothing dangerous. He won’t even have a headache.’

I grab her shoulders and shake her. ‘What was it? How do I undo it?’ It won’t be an ordinary drug, it’ll be something magickal. And magic has to balance. If it was done, it can be undone.

‘Hey! Hey!’ Snow slurs, tripping towards us. ‘Leave her alone!’

‘It’s over,’ she hisses. ‘They’ll be here any minute. Help me get him out and I guarantee your safety. And his. The Mage-’

‘Fuck The Mage! You’re not delivering him to that bastard.’ Snow is trying to wrestle us apart but he’s weak and stumbling and he keeps stopping to shake his head and blink at nothing.

‘What are you going to do?’ Bunce hisses. ‘You don’t even have a wand. It’s too late, Baz. Join us, you know it’s the right thing to do. You think you have a place with them?’ She jerks her head towards the marquee. ‘They’ll toss you out as soon as Christmas is over. And I don’t think you have anywhere to go, do you? Is that what happened? Did your family lose their power to The Humdrum? The Mage will take care of you, he’s-’

‘Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know him.’ I let go of her and step back. ‘And you don’t know Simon Snow.’

I look at him, staggering between us, holding his head. ‘Snow. Give me your wand.’

‘Huh?’

‘Come here, Sweetie. Baz is just being silly,' Bunce croons. 'Come here, you’ve drunk too much, I’ll look after you.’

‘Don’t, Snow! Listen to me, you’re being used. You know you’re being used. Give me your wand.’

‘I think Baz is with The Mage, Simon. He’s trying to steal your wand!’

‘It’s not even his fucking wand! Snow, trust me!’

‘Trust him! We don’t even know him, do we Simon? He’s a stranger. He could be anyone. I’m your fiancé.’

Snow looks between us, confused and bleary. ‘I don’t…’ he mumbles. ‘I don’t feel so good.’

‘Oh, honey, I’ll take care of you,’ Bunce pouts. ‘Come for a walk with me. We’ll clear your head.’

He lurches towards her but I grab his arm. ‘Snow. She’s lying to you. They’re all lying to you. You’re being used. I’m the only one you can trust.’

‘Simon!’ Bunce says sharply. But he blinks at me, frowning.

‘Remember?’ I hiss at him. ‘Remember, you said it felt like you knew me. That’s why. That’s why you should trust me.’

‘I…’ He pulls his wand slowly from his pocket and the tip waves between me and Bunce and we dodge its aim while trying to stay close to him. If we spook him, he could blow us to smithereens.

‘He’s not even a proper mage, Simon,’ Bunce says. ‘He’s not allowed a wand.’

‘Yeah, but Pen,’ he slurs. ‘He’s pretty good at… he made the mistletoe…’

‘That’s right, Snow. We cast that spell together. Let me help you again.’

‘It was… nice.’ He smiles a dopey smile at me and Bunce gives an exasperated huff.

‘Oh for Merlin’s sake,’ she says, and then she points her ring at him and casts, ‘Homeward Bound!’

***

And that’s her mistake. Homeward Bound returns any object to it’s rightful owner. I guess she expected Snow's wand to make its way to Natasha Pitch, since it was only ever lent to him, leaving him wandless for long enough to let her do whatever she plans to do. If he was in a fit state to cast, he could easily counter it with a Possession is Nine Tenths of the Law, but he’s not and the wand easily detaches itself from his limp grip.  

But the thing is, wands never really belong to anyone. Because they’re inherited. So it only makes its way to the latest Pitch in the Pitch family tree. I may never have been born, but I’m a Pitch through and through and I guess no curse can change that.

My hand rises automatically to snatch the wand from mid-air as it charges towards me. It slots into my pincer grip like a missing finger and it feels good. It feels like getting myself back. I swing round to point it at Bunce with a practiced flourish that makes her flinch.

‘Call. It. Off.’

‘It’s too late,’ she says. ‘They’re coming.' She glances at the boundary wall. 'They’ll be here any minute.’

‘Call it off!’ I raise the wand, ready to strike. ‘Call it off or I’ll-’

‘Stop! Stop it!’ Snow launches himself at me, knocking me off balance. I stumble slightly and push him out of the way.

‘Trust me, Snow.’

‘No! You’ll hurt Pen!’ He throws himself in front of Bunce and I throw him aside again. He’s unsteady and easy to overbalance and he lands on the ground, growling.

‘Go on, make him go off,’ Bunce says, grinning dangerously. ‘If you kill me he’ll blow a crater big enough to swallow England.’

Snow launches himself at me again.

‘Calm down, Snow!’

‘No! Stop! Stop fighting!’ I can smell his magic in the air, hot enough to melt the snow.

‘Snow! Calm down! This is what they want! Trust me!’ He staggers uncertainly, wincing at me and shaking his head in confusion.

‘I… I do trust you,’ he says. He frowns but doesn't move to stop me as I point the wand at Bunce again, flick my wrist back, open my mouth to cast.

‘Drop it.’ The quiet, steady voice behind me is accompanied by the tip of a wand directly between my shoulder blades. I raise my hands slowly.

‘Wellbelove? Seriously? You’re part of this?’

***

‘You were right, Ag, we can’t trust him,’ Bunce says, moving forward to take my wand and jam it into her pocket. ‘We’ll have to do this on our own. Are my parents in place?’

‘They’re undoing the gate spells now.’

‘Ag… Pen… wha?’ Snow’s knees buckle and he can’t even get back up off the ground now. But the commotion has finally drawn the attention of the guards at the walls and the people in the marquee and they’re coming out to see what’s going on.

I guess there's one more thing I should have remembered about Penelope Bunce. Whatever she's involved in, she can't help dragging Agatha Wellbelove with her.

Wellbelove keeps her wand trained on me while Bunce keeps her ring trained on Snow and the crowd are afraid to come any closer. I’m well aware that it’s not because they’re bothered about my safety.

Crowley, what do I do now? So much for a world that's not at war. I guess the war just started, and I can’t let either side get hold of Snow. What did Wellbelove say? They don’t need him to fight the rebellion. They just need him to end it. That’s what all the practice at going off is about. They just want him to detonate and take as many of the enemy with him as he can. They don’t care if he dies and they don’t care how he’ll feel about himself if he survives. And The Mage only wants to use him, Bunce is deluded if she thinks he’ll keep Snow safe.

No, I have to get him out of here. But I’m the only one without an army, without a plan. Without a wand.

‘I think you should probably punch someone now,’ The Humdrum says. He has actually managed to magic up some popcorn and he’s sitting on a tree stump munching it and watching the standoff avidly.

‘How will that help!’ I snarl at him, not even caring now that everyone’s watching me talk to thin air.

‘It’ll be really cool!’

‘Shut up. I need to think.’ Every wand from the marquee is trained on Bunce and Wellbelove, but Bunce’s ring is still trained on Snow so no one dares move. Snow is flat on his back on the ground now, whistling contentedly. That song he was whistling back at Watford. Have yourself a merry little Christmas… Back when he left that bloody wishp under the tree for me and started this whole nightmare. I should just let them take him.

‘Is it time to break the curse yet?’ The Humdrum says.

‘What? No!’ Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how. And I’m not going back to a Watford without my mother. With The Mage in charge. With Snow hating me enough to curse me at Christmas. And he may look like a waif but I have to remember, this is The Humdrum. I can't trust him. The more he seems to want me to break the curse, the more reason to suspect it’s the wrong thing to do.

‘Step away from him, Penny.’ My mother has reached the front of the crowd, and is pointing her wand at Bunce.

‘Stay back!' Wellbelove screams. 'Take one more step, Natasha and we’ll end him!’

‘You won’t hurt him, Wellbelove,’ I say. ‘He’s your friend!’

‘He’s a threat! He’s the reason none of us can be free!' she says, but they both look rattled now. 'He’s propping up their entire system! I don't want to hurt him but if you think I won’t sacrifice one life for the good of everyone, you’re mistaken!’

‘Then you’re no better than them!’

On the ground, Snow groans suddenly in pain and I instinctively kneel beside him, ignoring Wellbelove’s ‘Don’t move!’

‘Snow? Are you OK?’ I look up at Bunce. ‘What did you give him?’

‘He’s fine,’ she says, but she looks uncertain. He groans again and clutches his stomach. Now every wand is trained on me, but I scoop his head and shoulders up into my arms, away from the cold beneath him. He screws his face up in pain.

‘It’s OK, Simon,’ I whisper. ‘I’m going to fix this. It’s OK, love. Hang on.’

The Humdrum glances at his watch. ‘Um… I think this is where you’re supposed to pull it out of the bag.’

‘Shut up!’

Bunce and my mother are still yelling threats at each other, but I can see Mitali approaching Mum from behind. They don’t know she’s working with The Mage.

‘Mum! Behind you!’

She turns just in time to see Mitali raise her wand. She disarms her with one spell and someone grabs Professor Bunce who’s further back in the crowd.

Mum turns back and frowns at me like she’s never seen me before. ‘Who are you?’ she says.

‘I’m…’ Crowley, I want to tell her. ‘I’m…’ But I shake my head, it’s no use. ‘I’m no one.’ It’s the truth, I guess. Here, at least. ‘And I’m sorry.’ Tears are brimming now. ‘I’m so sorry for what happened to you. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t been there…’

‘Baz,’ she says gently, ‘I know you’re nothing to do with this. Just bring Simon over here and we’ll take care of both of you.’

‘But…’ I glance at Bunce and Wellbelove. Mum’s right, I could help him over towards the crowd. Bunce won't hurt him and if there are others they won’t risk harming him unless it’s a last resort. Their orders are to take him alive.

'I'm sorry,' I whisper. He whimpers in my arms, and I hold him closer, wrapping one arm around his chest and holding my wandless hand out between us and everyone else, as if my empty palm can stop anything. 'I'm sorry, Simon.'

Then I inhale, summon every shred of magic in me, and produce a fireball the size of a car.

***

There are screams as everyone backs away instinctively, shocked. Probably not what they expected from a low-powered mage. The fireball hovers between us, obscuring Snow so no one can aim a spell at him, and then I stretch it into a ring, so we're surrounded on all sides. It won’t stop them, it just buys us a little time.

‘Simon, I’m sorry,’ I whisper, leaning my forehead against his. I can feel the magic draining out of me like a burst pipe. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to get you out of here.’ Crowley, is there no universe where I don’t make a mess of things and make things worse for everyone? The Humdrum is waiting for the main character of this story to fix things, but what he doesn’t understand is that I’m not the main character. I never was. I’m the villain. It’s my job to ruin things. To hurt people. It’s all I’m capable of. Snow is the hero, not me. He’s the one who’s supposed to pull it out of the bag now. He’s supposed to think of something at the last minute. He’s supposed to save everyone.

But he’s just moaning softly in my arms. Mumbling.

‘What? I can’t hear you, what?’ I lean close to his lips, but he’s delirious with pain and he just murmurs, ‘Wish… wish you had gone to Watford.’

I almost laugh. ‘I wish I had too.’ But wishing won’t fix this. Wishing is what got us here in the first place.

The Humdrum has abandoned his popcorn now and drawn closer to watch, walking right through the fire towards us. There’s a light in his eyes that’s nothing to do with the flames, and a darkness to his expression that chills me despite the heat.

‘Actually, this is a great ending,’ he says, fixing his eyes on Snow, helpless on the ground.

‘He’s not going to die! I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘Of course he won’t die,’ The Humdrum snaps. ‘What use would that be? But when he comes round, he’s going to be so pissed off,’ he says gleefully.

He’s right. When Snow wakes up, wherever he wakes up, he’ll go off like he never has before. The Humdrum looks at him the way he looks at stacks of pancakes and piles of scones. Like he’s hungry. Starving. Like he’s a hole longing to be filled.

Through the wall of fire I can see everyone edging closer, wary of each other, eyes on Snow. The flames are weakening and I feel lightheaded, drained. If I break this curse, all this goes away. But that can’t be the answer. Because that’s what The Humdrum wants, he keeps telling me to…

I close my eyes briefly. Crowley, I am thick.

‘You!’ I turn to snarl at The Humdrum. ‘You did this! That wishp was nothing to do with Snow, you planted it!’

‘Duh,’ he says.

‘Why? Why did you do this?’

‘Uh… because it was fun? Merlin, grownups are so boring.’

But I shake my head. ‘No. This wasn’t a prank, you always have a reason. One reason.’ I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Everything you do is about Simon Snow.’

His obnoxious expression falters for a moment, and then his face darkens and he glowers at us. ‘Everything everyone does is about Simon bloody Snow!’ he yells. ‘Why does he get to be the centre of the universe!’ He stamps his mucky trainer. ‘I hate him! I hate him! Why does everyone love him so much! Even you love him and he’s mean to you all the time!’

‘You never wanted me to break the curse! That’s why you kept telling me to do it! So I’d think it was a bad idea. You want this universe because it’s the only one where you have a shot at defeating him.’ I stand up and move towards him and he steps back.

‘That’s not true. I could beat him any day of the week!’ he blusters.

‘No you can’t. Not in my world. Because there he’s a fighter. Here…’ I glance back at Snow, pale and unresponsive. ‘Here he’s just raw energy to be used by them.’ I point at the crowd watching me yell at nothing, too confused to try anything in case I engulf myself in a fireball and take Snow with me.

‘Snow’s not a fighter here, he’s a fucking politician!’ I say. ‘He’s a soft, spoiled, untrained, undisciplined, useless idiot! Because he hasn’t had to fight for everything he has. Because he’s never suffered. Because he’s never come across anything that didn’t lick his arse! He’s not a fighter because he hasn’t spent eight solid years sharpening his blade against…’ I stop, look back at him lying on the ground. ‘Against me,’ I breathe.

‘That’s not true!’ The Humdrum screeches. Which can only mean it is true. He has the emotional control of a three year old. ‘Stop it! You’re ruining it!’

He’s right, the air around us looks strange. Thin and wavery. The voices shouting at each other seem distant.

‘No!’ I reach out in panic towards my mother. But she’s not looking at me, she’s advancing on Snow, where I’ve left him on the ground amid dying flames. Bunce steps into her path and Mum blasts her with something I can’t make out. Bunce slumps motionless to the ground and Wellbelove screams. Spells start zinging through the air, the crowd are in uproar, the fire is just embers and someone runs through them to get to Snow.

No. No, I don’t want this, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. This isn’t what I wished for.

But it is. Wishps only give you what you ask for.

Mum is standing between Snow and everyone now. Exactly the way she once stood between me and the vampires. Fearless. Uncompromising. Midnight strikes from the village church and an army of people with green-tipped wands are flowing through the breached gates towards her. Among them, I think I spot Fiona.

People are going to die tonight. Lots of them.

I look back at The Humdrum. ‘It’s over,’ I tell him gently, like you'd tell a child it's bedtime.

‘No!' He stamps his mucky trainer. 'You’ll be dead again! You’ll be a monster!’

‘I don’t care! That’s the least I’d do for him!’

‘You can’t save him!’

I only smile at him. ‘Duh,’ I mimic his obnoxious tone. ‘I don’t need to. None of this is real.’ I don’t even need to break the curse. Because it wasn’t a curse. It was only a wish.

Magic has to balance. To undo a wish that you were never born, all you have to do is realise that even when you’re no George Bailey, even when you’re a mess, a monster, a villain, even when you’re a prickly, emotionally-stunted fuck up, even when you hurt people and trail catastrophe in your wake, the world can still be a better place with you in it than not.

I train my eyes on my mother until the last, as the screams and shouts fade to the whisper of the wind through leafless trees, as the flashes of zinging spells dim to moonlight on snow, as the embers turn to ice beneath me.

And then I wake shivering on the ground outside my house, confused and aching. Thirsty.

Chapter Text

‘Baz? Where have you been? You've been gone for hours!’ Daphne says as I burst through the front door. Lady Fawcett is just putting on her coat, and the twins’ advent calendar still says the 22^nd. Mordelia’s says the 24^th but that’s because she has no self-control.

‘Daphne!’ I throw my arms round her, then around Malcolm, who looks a bit stunned but hugs me back. I almost hug Lady Fawcett.

‘Are you all right? What happened to your head?’ Daphne says. I put my hand to the lump in the centre of my forehead. It stings.

‘You look like a cyclops,’ Fiona drawls from the kitchen doorway and I run over to scoop her up and swing her around, laughing.

‘Crowley, lay off the booze, Baz,’ she complains, touching her hair where I’ve mussed it. ‘Have some dignity.’

‘You’re soaked.’ Malcolm casts a drying spell that makes the Christmas tree behind me immediately drop all its needles and Daphne pats his arm. ‘Never mind. It was in the way anyway.’

‘Mum, can you set an extra place for Christmas dinner please? I’ll be back soon.’

‘Back? Where are you-?’

‘Dad, can I borrow the car?’ I’m already grabbing the keys from the hall table.

‘Where are you going?’ he says.

‘Watford.’ I throw open the front door and say, ‘I’m going to get Simon Snow.’

SIMON

The Christmas-ruining, girlfriend-stealing, present-nicking prick does not deserve my help, I tell myself as I stomp back to Mummers from Ebb’s cottage. I should let him figure out who Nico is on his own. No, I should tell him I know who Nico is, but refuse to tell him. I should make him fight me for the information. Or grovel. On his knees. Confess every mean plot he’s ever plotted and admit he’s a blood-sucking monster. And that his hair is spelled because come on.

Back in our room, I swear at the little train puttering around the Christmas tree and kick the music box. It just isn’t the same without the present. What if The Mage turns up on Christmas Day and says, ‘Did you like your present?’ and I have to admit that I lost the bloody thing before I’d even opened it. How ungrateful does that look? He’ll never give me a present again.

If he does turn up on Christmas Day. But I keep wondering why he left the present early if that was his intention. And Miss Possibelf said she thought he was heading to Wales for Christmas. I told myself she was mistaken but… I guess if he wanted to spend Christmas with me, why would he dump me on the Wellbeloves every year?

I fling myself down on Baz’s bed, because he hates that, and stare at the ceiling, arguing with myself in my head.

At what point do I admit that I’m going to be completely and utterly alone for Christmas?

Baz’s bed smells like his magic. And his salt and vinegar crisps, which I’ve been eating since he left. I hate that that’s sort of comforting. I guess even having Baz here would be better than no one. I think.

So why didn’t I go with him to Hampshire?

Oh yeah, because his family all want me dead.

But maybe… if I brought them information about Nico… Would that convince them to spare my life and feed me some turkey?

Worth a shot. Plus I'd get to yell at Baz a lot sooner, which is the main thing.

Outside the last of the daylight is fading fast, but I grab my rucksack and start packing.

BAZ

When I screech (or, more accurately, slide) into the icy grounds of Watford, it’s already dark and the place is eerily quiet. Deserted. I park the car and walk across the courtyard, between the looming shapes of The Cloisters, The White Chapel, The Weeping Tower, dark shapes outlined in white. It would look just the same if my mother's office was still at the top of the tower. But it's not, and I still don't know if that's my fault. Was the world I wished into being real? Did I end her life again when I chose this world, this Simon Snow, over her? I don't know. I just know that the last lesson she ever taught me was that you make sacrifices for the people you love. You do what you believe to be right, no matter the cost. For me, choosing Snow comes under both those headings.

I reach the door of Mummers and run up the stairs. I don’t have a plan, I just know that if I stop to think about this, I’ll chicken out. I throw open the door to our room, as curious as anyone to find out what happens next.

It’s empty.

***

The tree lights are off and the branches are drooping. The train has stopped, the room is chilly and silent. And Snow’s rucksack is gone.

Did he go to the Wellbeloves’ after all? I don’t think I can bring myself to go there again. And if he’s back with Wellbelove then this is all for nothing, isn’t it? I don't know whether or not I've been misreading the hostility between us all these years but I do know that all the mistletoe in the world won’t make this Snow cheat on his girlfriend. And I don’t want him to be that guy anyway. I've met that guy. I kick something under the tree and it starts playing music at me. I start, but it’s only that stupid music box, and now it won’t shut up, even when I kick it again. Have yourself a merry little Christmas... The irony.

I trail back down the stairs and outside, wondering what now? The snow begins to fall again in the moonlight, settling over my tyre tracks and my footsteps across the courtyard.

And another set of footsteps. Leading from Mummers to the dining hall.

SIMON

Hampshire is hours away by bus. You could starve to death in that time. I haven’t any money for food and I’ve eaten all Baz’s crisps, so I load up my backpack with anything I can find in the kitchen. Which isn’t much, because they don’t leave food lying around in the holidays. I’m just wondering if you can eat Super Noodles raw when a voice behind me drawls, ‘Should’ve known you’d be foraging.’

Unbelievable.

‘What are you doing here?’ I drop the noodles and march towards him. He just leans in the doorway, grinning smugly at me. He looks delighted to have discovered me pawing through the leftovers like a stray cat while he stands there watching in his incredibly expensive looking suit. (Who spends their school holidays in a suit?)

‘Come back to gloat? Steal more stuff? You got my girlfriend and my Christmas present, what else is there?’

He just keeps grinning this disturbingly massive grin at me, the insufferable bastard. Which makes it all the more annoying that I get a little flicker of relief that he’s here. I should be blasting him to atoms, not noticing his bloody suit and hoping that he’s either staying or that he’ll take me with him when he goes. I can’t help it, I’m like those guys who’ve spent their whole lives in prison and now they’re institutionalised and can’t cope with the outside world. I missed him, the twat. It’s been barely a week and I missed his insults, his irritability, his aftershave, his arched eyebrows. I even missed his breathing in the night.

‘Your present?’ He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

I step even closer, and hiss in his face, ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know! You stole it! My present from The Mage!’ Up close he smells of Christmas. Cinnamon, nutmeg, pine. Is he theme-ing his shower gel now? The suit is rumpled and his hair is messy, and only Baz could make that look good. He's so fucking annoying.

‘I didn’t see any present from The Mage, you idiot, there was only…’ His forehead unfurrows, and I notice the red bump on it. ‘Wait, what did it say?’

‘Huh?’

‘The tag, what did it say?’

‘It said, To Simon, Best Wishes, The Mage. I don’t know how much clearer that could be! It did not say, To Baz anywhere!’

He makes a face. ‘It did when I read it.’

‘What?’

‘Ugh!’ He rubs his face with his hands, ‘How could I be so stupid! It was a Best Wishes tag.’

‘A what?’

‘It’s a joke, a gimmick. You can buy them in Christmas shops. It’s like those trick Valentine cards that reveal who you really want a Valentine from. It says the thing you most wish it would say.’

I frown at him. ‘What? That’s nuts.’

‘Is it? Who in the whole world would you most like a Christmas present from?’

I find myself blushing. ‘That’s rubbish. It was real. He did send me a present.’ But I sound like a sulky toddler, because I know he’s right.

I expect him to crow over my pathetic neediness, but he doesn't. He just looks at me, then says quietly, 'You don't need anything from him, Snow. If he doesn't want you in his life then he's an idiot.'

I don't know if he’s complimenting me or insulting The Mage now, and either way I just glare suspiciously at him. He sighs and says, ‘Merlin, what a pair.’

We’re still toe to toe, but he isn’t bristling the way he normally does when I get this close to him. He’s just staring down at me with something unreadable in his grey eyes. I take an awkward step backwards.

‘So when you saw it…’

‘It said, To Baz.’

‘Oh. I thought you stole it.’

He shakes his head.

‘So who was it from?’ I ask.

‘Who do you think? Who else would try to mess with you? I mean, besides me.’

My mouth falls open. ‘The Humdrum! He was in our room?!’

‘I don’t know how he got it there or what he intended. Probably just to mess up your Christmas.’

I huff and fold my arms. ‘He needn’t have bothered. Quite capable of doing that by myself,’ I mutter.

‘Where are you going anyway?’ Baz nods at my backpack, but I’m too proud now to tell him I was heading to his house so I say, ‘Penny’s.’

‘Oh.’

‘Probably.’

‘I see.’

I ignore his amused smirk and march out of the hall.

BAZ

‘Snow!’ He doesn’t turn around, just keeps going towards the gates, snow falling on his bare head. As he draws level with Mummers I catch up and put a hand on his arm. He glowers at me instinctively and I almost laugh. Crowley it's good to see him. Being at home without him this week was like drinking flat champagne and now the world is fizzing again. 

‘What do you want anyway?’ he says huffily. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home wrapping up garlic and crosses for your family?’

It’s a low blow. I love it.

‘Actually I’ve got them all stakes this year. Monogrammed.’

‘Thoughtful.’

‘Snow, I came here to ask you to come back with me for Christmas.’

He opens his mouth, closes it on whatever insult he was about to fire at me. He looks like his brain is short-circuiting.

‘Oh. I mean… right.’ He scratches the back of his neck, which must be freezing because he doesn’t even have his school scarf on. He stopped for raw Super Noodles but didn’t bother to dress himself properly. I want to wrap him in blankets and put him somewhere safe for his own good.

‘Actually,’ he says. ‘I think I have some info on Nico. I suppose, if I came back to yours, we could discuss it.’ He shrugs like it’s just one of his many Christmas options.

‘Yeah? Great. I think I have some info on him myself. We should definitely have a conversation.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah.’

We toe the ground awkwardly, our frozen breaths mingling in the air.

‘Well, the car’s just over there so…’

‘Right. OK. It's just...'

We toe the ground awkwardly some more.

‘Maybe I should pack my best shirt then?' he says.

‘Sure,’ I say, though I fully intend to lend him a decent shirt for Christmas dinner. And maybe a suit, I muse, remembering that tux and shivering inwardly.

'Or a Christmas jumper?' He gives me a hopeful look. 'What are you wearing?'

'This.' We both look down at my black suit. 

'Jolly,' he says.

'A shirt will be fine, Snow.'

We climb the stairs to our room and I sit on my bed looking at the sad Christmas tree while he rummages in the wardrobe. I can hear the pine needles hitting the floor intermittently.

‘You’ve been sitting on my bed, haven’t you?’ I say.

‘How can you tell?’

‘It smells of smoke and awkward.’

He finds the shirt rolled in a ball on the floor of the wardrobe and I make a mental note to arrange for an ‘accident’ to befall it because it’s hideous. He stuffs it carelessly into the backpack. Then he glances at the drooping tree.

‘I think the spell’s wearing off,’ he says sadly.

‘It was a good spell,’ I admit.

‘Yeah?’ He looks pleased but also wary. I never compliment his magic.

‘Pity about the present,’ he says sadly. ‘What was in it anyway?’

I shrug. ‘Nothing. I think he just wanted to tease you.’

He eyerolls. ‘Typical.’ Then he mutters, ‘He always knows what buttons to push. Christmas is...' He blushes. 'Well. Doesn't matter now.’

‘Christmas is auspicious,’ I say. He frowns at me and I add, ‘You ever wonder what that actually means? Auspicious?’

‘Yeah, but when I ask people about big words they tend to laugh at me so…’

I manage not to laugh at him. ‘I mean why is Christmas auspicious? I don’t think it’s anything to do with star alignment or the power of cliches. I think it’s just that Christmas can be…’ I stand up and walk to the window, pushing my hands into my pockets and gazing out at the Weeping Tower. ‘Hard for some people. Everything’s sort of… intensified.’

There’s a moment of silence, and then he says, ‘Hey, Baz?’

I turn. ‘Yeah?’

‘Who was the present from? I mean, when you read the tag?’

In another world I’d be blushing right now. I’d be lying, strategizing, avoiding saying something stupid, something I’ll regret. But it turns out, you can’t predict what will come of the things you do. Your best intentions can be disastrous and even the worst things you do can have positive outcomes that you never could have anticipated, ones you might not ever even know about. So you just have to do what feels right.

I take a deep, completely unnecessary breath. ‘It said, To Baz, Best Wishes, From Simon.’

He blinks. ‘From me?’

‘From you.’

‘That’s who you most wanted a gift from?’

‘Apparently so. Strange, isn’t it?’

‘Mental!’

‘Most peculiar.’

‘Nuts!’

‘Unfathomable.’

‘Weird!’

‘Snow?’

‘Mmm?

‘It’s good to see you. I missed you.’

He blinks at me, a little stunned. ‘You saw me a few days ago.’

‘I know but… I thought I’d never see you again.’

He frowns at my forehead. ‘Have you had a bump on the head, Baz?’

I laugh. ‘No. I definitely don’t have a head injury this time.’

He shrugs, like he’s decided to accept this new reality, and says, ‘Well, to be honest…’ He toes the ground a bit. ‘It was sort of boring without you. I’m glad you’re here.’

I look around at the disorderly mess of Snow’s desk, the sad Christmas tree, Snow’s freckles shining through his pink cheeks. ‘Me too,’ I say. And for the first time in a long time, I mean it. I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I’m me. And maybe even my mother wouldn't have chosen a world without me in it. It wouldn't be the first time she'd sacrificed her life for mine.

'I'm glad you're here too,' I tell him, adding 'Even if everything’s a mess and we can never be friends.'

He tilts his head. ‘I never said we couldn’t be friends.’

‘Yeah?’

He shrugs, and I let the corner of my lip curl. ‘OK then,’ I say. As I step towards him his whole body tenses, his right hand twitches for his sword, he almost assumes fighting stance. There he is. My Snow. Ready for anything.

I take off my scarf, my best blue cashmere one, and wrap it gently around his bare neck, patting it into place at his throat. ‘Merry Christmas, Simon.’

He swallows and the scarf bobs. ‘Thanks,’ he breathes, like I’ve given him something priceless. Then he frowns. ‘Your scarf smells of your shampoo.’

‘Oh. Sorry, I should’ve washed it first.’

‘No, it’s OK. I don’t mind. I mean, whatever, it’s nice shampoo,’ he blusters, blushing deeply.

‘I don’t have anything for you,’ he says, frowning up at me because we’re still standing toe to toe in the middle of the room. ‘I mean, I don’t even own anything I could give you.’ He glances around the room and makes a face. ‘Nothing good enough anyway. Definitely nothing that would go with...' He glances over me and swallows again, 'that suit.'

‘That’s OK,’ I say. ‘I think I’ve had quite enough presents from you this year.’

I move to step back but he says, ‘Wait.’ He reaches out to catch my hand in his, and we both look down at our suddenly entwined fingers, his warm, mine cold. I think he’s as surprised by the movement as I am.

‘Um…’ He clears his throat, not meeting my gaze. ‘Just… I mean… thanks. For…’ He touches the scarf and shrugs. ‘And for… coming back, and… and…’ In a movement so quick I almost miss it, he bobs up on his toes and presses his lips against my cheek. ‘Just… thanks.’

I stand there, frozen, as he moves away quickly, clearing his throat, buckling his rucksack, blushing fiercely. ‘Shall we go?’ he says, his voice strangely high pitched.

I clear my own throat. ‘Don’t you want your wand?’ I nod at it, lying on his dresser. He’s always leaving it lying about.

‘Oh. Yeah, s’pose,’ he says. I pick it up and hold it out to him and he comes over for it. But when he takes it, I don’t let go of my end, just draw him closer to me and he lets himself be drawn until we’re standing together in the centre of the room. Then I wrap my hand around his and point the wand at the drooping Christmas tree.

He glances at me and then back at the tree. ‘I don’t know, Baz. I managed it once and that was a miracle. I’ll probably set it on fire.’

‘No you won’t.’

He gives me a look of deep misgiving, closes his eyes, inhales. Something opens, and I feel it, that fathomless current that runs through him. I feel it being called, I feel the unbiddable surge of it like a restless ocean beneath our feet. But instead of letting it overwhelm him, he lets me draw it up through us, just enough of it.

‘Make a wish,’ I cast softly. ‘What do you really want for Christmas, Simon Snow?’

His brow clears and he smiles, his eyes still closed, and the Christmas lights flicker on, the tree branches perk up, the needles soft and green. The decorations shine, the music box chimes into life. Have yourself a merry little Christmas… The train chugs quietly on its way, the hot chocolate steams and, right above us, a sprig of soft green leaves and white berries silently draws itself upon the air.

When he opens his eyes I’m staring up at it. He looks too, and blushes.

‘You’re much better at making wishes than I am,’ I tell him, looking down into his eyes, blue as the cashmere at his throat. ‘I like this one.’

‘Yeah?’ he breathes.

‘Yes.’

He holds my gaze for a long moment. ‘I think I do too,’ he says. On a high branch a small silver bell tinkles, and then his eyes close again as our lips draw together and meet, soft as snowflakes meeting the earth.

I frown and draw my head back an inch. ‘Have you been eating my crisps?’

He eyerolls. ‘Let’s call it payback for all the times you plotted my death.’

‘That’s no excuse, Snow.’

His lip twitches. ‘We’re going to be rubbish at this, aren’t we?’ he says. ‘Being friends.’

‘Atrocious,’ I agree.

‘Terrible.’

‘Appalling.’

He reaches down for a knitted Santa hat that's sitting beneath the tree then plonks it on my head. I make a less than jolly face.

‘Merry Christmas, Baz,’ he says, leaning back into me.

‘Merry Christmas, Simon,’ I whisper, wrapping my arms around him.