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Baz
Neither heaven nor hell could devise a greater torture for me than this. My hands are trembling as I knot my tie. Trembling, for fuck’s sake.
It’s unacceptable.
Snow is lounging on his bed, one foot planted on the floor with his hands folded behind his head, and he’s watching me. I can see him reflected in the mirror on the door of my wardrobe. It shouldn’t be anything new. He’s always watching me. He’s been watching me for seven years, waiting for me to make a mistake, for my fangs to slip, for me to prove all his theories true.
But this is different.
Now he’s watching me, relaxed and smiling, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Like it’s a privilege to watch me get ready in the morning. Like he actually likes me.
Like he actually wants me.
It’s wretched and it’s awful and it’s infuriating and it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Lady fortune is a merciless bitch.
*
Penelope
Useless, useless. Every one of these spells is useless!
I’ve fine tooth comb-ed nearly every book in the library and not a single one of these spells has worked. How difficult could it be to reverse a love spell? It’s not like it was cast by Merlin, for snake’s sake. Not that I have any idea who actually could have cast it, either. Or what their intentions were. It had to have happened on Saturday night at the bonfire, but he was perfectly fine when I left him at the entrance to Mummers House.
Simon has been no help. Less than no help, actually. He insists that it’s not a love spell.
As if he would suddenly fall in love with Basilton Grimm-Pitch on his own!
“Penny, maybe you should take a break. Have some tea,” Simon says, nudging the kettle toward me. He has to move it in a sort of zig zag pattern to reach me due to all the books and papers I’ve scattered across the dining hall table.
He seems perfectly fine now. And maybe that’s why I didn’t catch it. There’s nothing amiss about his behavior until Baz walks into the room or comes up in conversation. (Simon is the one who brings him up.) Even then, I didn’t notice anything at first. Simon is always talking about Baz or glaring at him across the room. I’ve learned to tune it out.
It wasn’t until dinner on Monday when I opened my mouth to remind Simon he’d already exceeded his Baz conversation quota for the day that I realized it was all a bit different than what I am typically subjected to. Apparently, I had been hm-ing and nodding along to Simon appreciating the length of Baz’s legs and how nice and strong they looked in his little football shorts. It doesn’t surprise me at all that Simon’s gone back to stalking Baz’s football practices, but my jaw dropped when Simon changed topic to the sweat in Baz’s hair and how he smelled when he came back to their room after practice. I just wanted him to stop talking before he said something even worse, so I hit him with a cat got your tongue. I don’t think he’s forgiven me for that yet.
“It’s not all bad,” Agatha says, sitting down across from me and plucking the tea kettle away to pour a cup for herself. (I hadn’t poured my own cup yet.) “Maybe it will be Baz who’s kidnapped by goblins or thrown down a well now.”
Agatha has been no help, either. I’ve never seen anyone so happy to be broken up with. I actually don’t know that I’ve ever seen her so happy, period. Every once in a while, I catch her smiling and muttering to herself, “it all makes sense.” Exactly what makes sense to her, I don’t know. Nothing about this makes sense to me. Especially not the fact that not a single spell or counterspell I’ve tried has been able to reverse this.
“Nah, Baz would be able to get out of it,” Simon says to Agatha, who narrows her eyes.
“Oh, so it’s just me who’s the damsel in distress?” she says.
“No. No, that’s not - that’s not what I meant,” Simon fumbles. “I just meant, you know. He can light a fire in his palm. And he’s a vampire. He’s strong, yeah?”
“So you’re in love with him, but you’re still accusing him of being a vampire?” Agatha asks.
Simon crosses his arms and frowns. “I don’t see how they’re mutually exclusive.”
“Enough. Enough of this,” I say. I want to tear my hair out. My ponytail is already half undone and my hair is frizzy from where I’ve run my hands through it so many times today. “Simon is not in love with Baz –”
“Of course, I am,” Simon interrupts. I pretend he didn’t say anything.
“-- and I really need the two of you to help me sort this out,” I go on. “We need to break this spell before it gets any worse.”
Some love spells have a time component. They get worse exponentially as time goes on. Or some even become permanent if not broken within a specified period. They really are terrifying. (And very illegal, which is why I haven’t gone to Mum about it yet.)
“It’s not a love spell, I’ve told you,” Simon replies, indignantly. “It’s just the truth.”
I roll my eyes.
Simon continues, “Why else would I go to all of his football games and all his practices and sit outside of his violin lessons?”
Well. I don’t have anything to say to that.
*
Baz
It’s been four days of torture, and now Penelope Bunce is looking at me like I’ve botched a thinking cap spell and magicked myself a second head. (Which actually did happen to Gareth in fourth year.)
She corners me in the corridor after class.
“I don’t know anything, Bunce. Don’t you think I would have put a stop to it by now if I did?”
“I don’t know, Basil,” she says. “Would you have?”
Bunce is a foot shorter than me, but the way she’s looking at me now, hands on her hips and a wild, frenzied sort of aura about her, has me taking a step back. I will never admit to this, but she scares me at times.
She takes a slow step toward me to close the distance again. “Or would you take advantage? Keep him lovesick and willing to do whatever you want?”
She has no idea how tempting that is.
“Maybe,” she continues menacingly, “you’re the one who cast it. Maybe you really are plotting. Maybe Simon was right all along and this is part of the Old Families’ plan to take down the Mage.”
“What a lot of good it’s done,” I say. “All he’s doing is following me around like it’s fifth year again but this time with an even more idiotic expression on his face.” (That’s a lie. His face is beautiful, and I’ve yearned for his smile directed at me since I was twelve. But I feel stupid for enjoying it, given the circumstances.) “And aside from that, I wasn’t even at Watford when it happened. I went to Hampshire for the weekend, and I didn’t arrive back until Sunday night. Snow was already like this when I got to our room.”
Bunce huffs and steps back.
“Right,” she says, taking off her glasses and massaging her temples.”Simon and Agatha are useless, so it looks like it’s you who is going to help me, Basil”
“Pardon?”
“Yes, you,” she says, jabbing me in the chest with her finger. “You were just saying he’s annoying you, weren’t you? Fixing this will benefit us both. I’ll gather my notes and meet you in your room after dinner.”
“Excuse me?”
“It doesn’t matter if Simon’s there or not. He already knows I’m working on it, he’s just been no help.”
“What?” I say. But Bunce is already walking away.
*
It was after six by the time my father dropped me off at Watford on Sunday. I’d had an early dinner (and a deer in the woods behind the Manor) before we’d left. Father gave me a pat on the shoulder and told me he and Daphne and the children looked forward to seeing me again in a few weeks time for Christmas. He didn’t walk me through the gates, or offer to visit my mother’s tomb with me. I don’t think he likes coming to Watford very much anymore. I suppose it reminds him too much of her, and seeing it as it is now reminds him too much of how many things have changed since she was Headmistress. Of how the Mage has changed things.
So it was in a rather melancholy mood that I made my way to Mummers House and up the stairs to our tower. I was hoping Snow would be out, probably still in the dining hall on his fifth helping of roast. But of course, luck so rarely graces me with its presence.
Instead, I found him sitting on my bed as if he belonged there. (I wish.)
I forced my face into a scowl. It wasn’t hard, considering he had his ratty trainers on my duvet.
“Baz,” he said, noticing me.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I said. “One would think, after seven years, you’d know the difference between my side of the room and your side.”
And then, instead of the expected spluttering, something strange happened. Snow’s face split into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I was stupified. I’m sure I looked utterly moronic, standing there in the doorway with my mouth gaping open and my weekend bag dangling from my wrist.
“I was waiting for you to get home,” Snow said, scrambling off my bed and coming to take my bag for me. He set it down in front of my wardrobe. I still hadn’t moved.
“What is this?” I asked him. I scanned around the room and cautiously peeked my head around the door, making sure he hadn’t set another pole cat or who knows what else loose in here.
“What d’ya mean?” Snow asked, smiling at me again.
“What is going on? Why are you,” I gestured to his face, ”doing that?”
He shrugged his insufferably broad shoulders. “Dunno.”
He didn’t stop smiling. At me. Like he was happy. To see me.
It was too much. I fled.
I stayed in the catacombs that night until I was certain Snow had gone to bed. I couldn’t chance another encounter like that. I didn’t know what was happening, and I felt off balance. I hated it.
The morning was worse.
Simon Snow, bare chest glowing golden in the sunlight, smiling softly at me from his bed. Not even my dreams are so sweet.
While I was styling my hair, I came to the conclusion that Snow must be under some sort of spell. He’s a terrible actor and I didn’t think he could pull a prank like this off. Additionally, how could he know that his smile directed at me is all it would take to make me melt? And if it was a spell, then perhaps it would wear off. All I had to do was not embarrass myself in the meantime.
When I came out of the bathroom, Snow was still there, dressed now, mercifully. He was sitting on the edge of his bed. I think he was intending to walk down to breakfast with me. I was not willing to find out.
I strode past him as swiftly as I could, trying not to glance at him, though it was difficult. I was so unused to seeing him not scowling at me.
I had almost reached safety in the stairwell when he said, “You know, Baz, I really like your hair when you wear it loose.”
Again, I ran.
The rest of Monday went much like that. Simon, smiling, being nice to me, walking beside me to our shared classes, brushing his arm against mine. Me, fleeing these interactions at every opportunity. I spent lunch and my study period skulking in the catacombs. I was still full from Sunday’s deer, but I drained a few rats anyway.
By Tuesday, I was nearing a breakdown.
“Shouldn’t you be doing this for Wellbelove?” I asked when he tried to escort me to the dining hall for breakfast again.
“Why would I do that?” he said.
“I don’t know. Possibly because she is your girlfriend and I am very much not.”
The moron had the gall to look at me like I was the one confused.
“I broke up with her,” he said, slowly.
“What.” I didn’t have the capacity to deal with the potential destruction of Watford’s golden couple so early in the morning.
“I broke up with her,” Snow repeated even more slowly.
I made the executive decision to skip breakfast and veer off toward the White Chapel and the comforting dankness of the catacombs.
Tuesday evening saw Snow sneaking into the spectator stands of the football pitch. I could tell he was trying, but he was about as subtle as a numpty.
“He’s starting that up again?” Dev asked between practice drills.
I sneered in Snow’s direction in lieu of a response.
It was odd how no one else seemed to notice the difference in Snow’s behavior. (Well, I assume Wellbelove did.) I had already tried bringing it up to Dev and Niall the day before, but when they asked me how it was different than usual, I found I couldn’t explain it in a way that didn’t make me seem like I was a lovestruck fool who noticed every irrelevant thing Snow did and said. (Which I am, but I’d rather show them my fangs than tell them that.)
After practice, I was the last to leave the changing rooms. I always prefer to shower last. Snow was waiting for me outside with a suspiciously lumpy sack by his feet.
“I’m too tired for this, Snow,” I said. I didn’t even have the energy to hide in the catacombs tonight. I wanted to fling myself into my bed and wake up to a Simon Snow who hated me and stole packets of crisps from my snack stash. At least that made sense. I was used to that. I knew how to handle that, and I knew my destiny was to kill him (or be killed by him, more likely).
Snow shifted his feet, like he was nervous. “I figured,” he said. He ran his hands through his curls, tousling them in a way that shouldn’t be so attractive to me. “I thought you might be too tired after practice to… you know.”
“To what, Snow?” I’d had enough.
“You know,” he said again, helplessly. “To feed.”
He picked up the lumpy sack and it was with a dawning horror that I realized exactly what was in it.
“I ran down to the catacombs while you were in the showers,” he was saying. I was barely listening. I was barely capable of hearing at all in that moment. “I figured you’d probably need them –” he grimaced slightly “– warm. So I left them alive and I just bashed them against the side of the wall when I heard you coming.”
I could see a bloodstain seeping through the bag. I was having an out of body experience.
“No one saw me,” Snow added hastily as if that was my only problem with this. As if it made any of this better. (Though I suppose it could have made it worse.)
I did not run this time. I only walked very quickly and did not look back. I walked straight to Dev and Niall’s room and made them give up their blankets and pillows so that I could make a bed on their floor.
This morning, Wednesday, was the worst yet. I was fooled at first, thinking I’d hit a spot of luck. When I crept back into our dorm room that morning to shower and change clothes, Snow was already gone to breakfast. By the time I made my way down to the dining hall, breakfast was nearly over. Most everyone was standing up and clearing their dishes and packing their books, which is why I didn’t see Snow right away.
I had just poured the milk in my tea when I saw my name across the room. My name in bold block letters across my football shirt stretched thin over Simon Snow’s broad shoulders.
I nearly fainted. I think I did black out for a few seconds.
I stood up so quickly I jostled the table and tipped over Niall’s teacup. I made a swift and strategic exit and missed almost half of my first class whilst I hid in a utility cupboard.
*
Penelope
I make my way to Simon and Baz’s room immediately after dinner, as I said I would, and Simon follows behind me. I hadn’t seen Baz in the dining hall, but that’s no matter. I think Simon wrapped some bread rolls and a slice of cake in a napkin for him.
I don’t knock when I enter their room, and Baz startles from where he’s lying on his bed and drops his book. He reaches down to pick it up and uses his other hand to brush his hair out of his face. It’s not slicked back like he always used to wear it. I only notice this because Simon has mentioned it at least a dozen times. I think Baz is less grey than usual too; there’s a slight warmth to his skin. I also only notice this because Simon told me about it multiple times.
“How did you get in here?” Baz asks.
“None of your business,” I say, walking into the room proper and unloading all the books and materials I’ve brought onto Simon’s bed.
“Considering this is my room in the boys-only dormitory with enchantments to enforce it, I think it is my business,” Baz says hotly.
I wave him off and page through my notes.
“Never mind that. Let’s get to work,” I say.
Baz crosses his arms and looks like he’s not ready to let this conversation go.
“She won’t tell me, either, if it makes you feel better,” Simon says from the doorway. When Baz turns to him, he continues, “I brought you dinner.”
Baz looks inexplicably horrified at this.
“Real dinner,” Simon clarifies quickly. “I brought it from the dining hall.” He takes wads of napkins out of his pockets and puts them on Baz’s desk.
I cast see what I mean and start writing lists of what we know and what we don’t know in the air above Baz’s bed.
*
We’ve been at it for hours and it still seems like we’ve gotten nowhere. Baz has been more helpful than Simon and Agatha, certainly, but still less than I hoped. He’s got this look on his face like he has constipation. I’m not sure if he actually is constipated or if it’s just because Simon keeps moving his desk chair progressively closer to him every few minutes. They’re touching knees now.
I suppose this is not the worst curse that could have been put on Simon. Though Baz might think differently.
What’s more interesting is that Simon’s magic has seemed…less explosive these past few days. He hasn’t gone off or even started giving off smoke. His magic is still as potent and literal as ever – he nearly gave Gareth frostbite with a stay cool yesterday – but it’s like it’s calmer now.
I think it’s time I move on to my last resort. I pull my mobile phone out of my pocket and switch it on. It’s not my real phone I use during school holidays. It’s one of those cheap pay as you go phones that I have to keep getting Mum to top up.
I’m selecting Mum’s number from my contact list when Baz says, “You’re not allowed to have phones at Watford.”
He looks scandalized, like I just insulted his mother. Which is funny because it wouldn’t have been his mum who instituted this rule. It was the Mage. And that gives me a better idea, one where I’m not as likely to be told off. I toss the phone to Baz, who snatches it out of the air without even thinking about it. Simon looks impressed.
“What am I meant to do with this? I’m not taking the fall for your contraband,” Baz says.
“Call your aunt,” I say.
Baz narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”
“To see if she can help us, obviously!”
“Fiona will never help Simon Snow,” Baz says.
“Well then tell her she’s helping you,” I shoot back.
“I’m not telling Fiona that I’m the idiot who got hit with a love compulsion!”
“You don’t have to tell her that! You don’t have to lie! She’ll be helping you because you’re the subject of the compulsion!”
“I’m not telling her that, either!”
“Guys.” Simon is standing up now and trying to get between us. I ignore him in favor of yelling at Baz some more. It’s good fun. Maybe now I understand why Simon’s done it all these years.
“Alright, you two. That’s enough,” Simon continues. He’s got one hand on my shoulder and his other pressed to the center of Baz’s chest. He turns to me. “I’ve told you, Pen, it’s not even a love spell. It’s –”
“The truth! I know! I’m happy for you, Simon, but we’ve got to fix this,” I say.
I turn to Baz, rolling my eyes and gesturing to Simon with a ‘see what I’m dealing with’ motion. Only, Baz isn’t catching my eye. He’s looking at Simon with his head tilted like he’s considering something.
“You say it’s the truth?” Baz says slowly.
Simon wheels around to him. “Yes!” he says, smile blinding.
“He’s been saying that the whole time,” I say. “I think it’s just part of the spell, trying to get us to believe it’s real.”
Baz turns to me with an expression I can’t read. If I’d ever thought he was emotionless before, it’s like the curtain dropped now. “Have you tried doing a truth counterspell?”
“No. What would be the point?”
Baz flicks his wrist and his wand pops out of his sleeve and into his hand. Simon looks at him like he’s summoned the sun.
“The truth will set you free,” Baz says, pointing his wand at Simon.
Even though the spell wasn’t directed at me, I can feel the heat of his magic like a splash of grease on my skin. I have to shake off the feeling.
“Well now that’s out of your system,” I say, “how about we get back to the subject of calling your aunt.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary," Baz says in a strange, stilted sort of voice.
“What do you me–” I look at Simon. He’s sat down on his bed. His mouth is slightly open, and he’s looking ahead but not really seeing anything. And then he looks up at me, expression stricken. “Oh.”
*
Simon
Fuck.
*
It started on Saturday night. Well. I suppose it actually started before that. Maybe fifth year with the chimera. Or maybe the beginning of fourth year when Baz came back to school having grown half a foot over the summer. Or maybe the day we met, when the Crucible forged us together.
Anyway.
There was a bonfire party out by the Wavering Wood. I’m not sure whose party it actually was, but Rhys invited us. Well, he invited me. And then I invited Penny and Agatha. Almost everyone from the upper years was there. Baz wasn’t. He’d gone home for the weekend. He didn’t tell me why, but I heard him talking to Dev and Niall about his stepmother’s birthday or anniversary or something.
I was having a good night. It was fun. I’d had a few too many ciders and dragged Penny into playing the usual sorts of party games with me. (I couldn’t get Agatha to join.)
There was spin the bottle (I kissed Trixie on the cheek), but after a few rounds it dissolved because Gareth kept trying to get people to kiss his belt buckle.
After he’d wandered off, we all regrouped and started up seven minutes in heaven. Someone had magicked all our cloaks and coats into a tent a few yards into the Wood. Penny drew me, and we spent the seven minutes doing a tarot reading with Rhys’s Pokemon cards. Agatha was in a bad mood when we came out of the tent and refused to let Penny do a Pokemon reading for her. But several of our other classmates took her up on it, which was good because Trixie had drawn Keris for seven minutes in heaven and no one was willing to go into the tent to kick them out after their seven minutes was over.
By the time we got to truth or dare, I was well and truly sloshed. I was dared to draw the Sword of Mages to cut into the brownies someone had brought, which I’d done. Penny was dared to magically dye her hair purple, which she’d done. It was the truth that was the problem.
It was me and my magic that was the problem.
If I was sober, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have gotten so carried away. I know what my magic is like. I would have known better. But instead, when I said truth, the magic poured out of me like a fountain. I could feel it even then, but it was too late to stop it. I think everyone else would have felt it, too, if it weren’t for the buzz of alcohol dulling their senses.
“Simon,” Elspeth had said dramatically, “who in the school do you most want to kiss?”
I’m sure she thought she was giving me an easy answer. Agatha wasn’t playing, but she was hanging around the perimeter and Elspeth had already pissed her off tonight by saying she didn’t understand what’s so interesting about horses. (Which I agree with, but I would never say that anywhere near Agatha.) And it was an easy answer. Just not an expected one.
It was like a door in my mind had been shoved wide open.
“Baz,” I said like the word was forced out of me. It was the truth I finally allowed myself to know.
But no one heard me.
A loud fight had broken out among some of the eighth years by the bonfire. Everyone scrambled up and ran back to their dormitories before any of the professors woke up and came to see what was going on. Penny caught me by the arm and walked me back to Mummers. I appreciated the steady warmth of her hand, not just because of the cider.
I didn’t sleep that night. All I could think about was Baz (not so unusual, I realized) and what I’d say to him when he got back to school. He hated me (I’d thought), and I needed to change that. I had to try.
And then I remembered I needed to break up with Agatha.
*
It’s weird. Being forced to face a truth you’ve hidden from yourself. I remember the last few days perfectly, and it was nice not having to actually think about it. I just acted on it.
I like Baz. I want him.
I want to kiss him. And I’ve definitely thought about doing it before all this. It’s like I shoved all those thoughts into the back of my mind and never let them see daylight, but now they’ve been brought back into the sun and I can’t hide them away again.
Plus, Penny knows now. Agatha, too.
And Baz.
He walked out of our room last night after he cast the counterspell and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t think he was staying with Dev and Niall again. (I camped out in the hall by their room early this morning and saw them leave for breakfast. Baz wasn’t with them.) I don’t think he’s been in the catacombs, either, but he could be deep enough in there that I can’t find him. He missed all his classes and football practice.
The sun is setting as I walk toward the Wavering Wood. I see him there, half in shadow by the treeline. It’s like he’s been waiting for me. I think maybe he has been.
The thing about having to think about my feelings now is that I have been thinking about them. And I’ve been thinking about Baz’s too. How he reacted when I was nice to him, when I flirted with him. I’m confident I’m not reading into things that aren’t there. He didn’t act like he hated me.
I think maybe we’re the same, him and me.
“Hey,” I say when I get closer to him. I’m not really sure what else to say.
“Snow,” Baz replies.
His hair is loose around his face, the longest parts brushing just past his chin, like I told him I like it. He’s staring me down, chin high, like he’s steeling himself for a fight. I hope there won’t be one day. I know he knows how I feel about him. My truth spell made sure of that. I think he feels the same way, too. I don’t know how to ask. I’ve never been good with words (something he’s made sure I’ve never forgotten over the years).
So I step closer to him. I reach my hand out and give him plenty of time to back away. He doesn’t. So I hold his hand in mine. His skin is cool to the touch. It feels good. I swallow.
“Baz,” I say softly. I look up at him, but he’s staring down at our intertwined hands. I reach up with my other hand and place it on his cheek. (His face is still cool but slightly warmer than his hand. I think, if he could, he might be blushing. I know my cheeks and ears are red, I can feel the heat radiating off them.)
He finally raises his eyes to mine. That’s when I lean in.
I kiss him.