BAZ
My hand shakes slightly as I gently place the final piece on top of the scale model of Watford. I hold it firmly in place to set the glue, then slowly withdraw my hand. The piece doesn't move. I heave a great sigh, grinning in relief. This Magickal History term project has taken me all weekend, holed up in my turret room arranging complicated pieces for hours, only pausing briefly to eat and sleep. I've been pressed for time—I only had this bedroom to myself for two days. I felt like I had to make the most of this time where I could focus, uninterrupted by Simon and his impossible-to-ignore, overwhelming presence.
Simon had left on Friday night with Wellbelove and her parents. From what I gathered, they were off to some Equestrian competition in Kent. Simon is due back late Sunday evening, which means I still have a good few hours before he's meant to be home. I think I'll just stretch out on my bed and take a short nap without his stupid snuffling snores and small sleep-hums and stupid toned shoulders and bare chest peeking out from under his school-issued bedcovers. The man never sleeps with a sodding shirt on, not when it's even marginally warm outside.
I scowl darkly. Why does he always manage to invade my thoughts, even while he's miles away? Simon and his stupid golden curls…his jutting chin…that mole just beside his left eye that disappears in the crinkles when he smiles. His obnoxious laugh.
I shake myself. He's not even here, Basilton.
A nap, for perhaps an hour, and then I can be long gone, hunting in peace in the Wavering Wood long before Simon returns. I'm not super thirsty yet, though I know I'll definitely need to hunt within the next day or so. Now would be as good a time as any, especially without the threat of Simon following me with his too-perceptive gaze, if not his whole self. He hasn't actually followed me down to the catacombs or out to the Wood in a while, but I can never be too cautious around him. I've learned it can never hurt to be fully fueled, especially after so long being away from Simon. I need all the strength I can get when he comes back, practically bubbling over with euphoria from his weekend away with his girlfriend. I grimace—I just know he's going to be insufferable. The prat.
I stretch enormously and head into the bathroom, leaving my model in the middle of the floor. Such a luxury, knowing nobody can disturb it while I'm not keeping my eye on it. I go about my business in the bathroom, humming softly to myself.
As I flush the toilet, I hear the all-too-familiar sound of thundering footsteps from the hallway outside our room. My stomach sinks in dread. Snow is back a full three hours early.
I turn quickly from the sink, but it's too late. I hear the door to our room swing open, followed by a sickening crunch and a colourful string of swears. No, no, no—the idiot just stepped on my model of Watford! Why did I wait to move it to the top of the wardrobe? Cursing myself, but mostly him for being such a blundering fool, I yank open the bathroom door.
Snow is crouching on the floor beside my model. He has a piece of the Cloisters in his hand, hovering over the model as though he's going to try and stick it back on. I can already smell smoke, feel the blistering charge in the air that means he's gearing up to use his magic. I lunge forward and take hold of his wrist before I realize what I'm doing.
"NO, SNOW!" I bellow, but again, I'm too late. He's already casting some asinine spell.
"I'm gonna stick like glue!" I feel the white-hot burst as the magic explodes from him, wild and uncontrolled.
He lets go of the small piece, and it topples to the floor, decidedly unstuck to the rest of the model. I can't help but roll my eyes. The fool can never manage the simplest of spells. Why does he even bother with magic?
"You plonker!" I hiss. "That took me hours, and you've gone and ruined it." My hand is still clasped tightly around his wrist. I resist the urge to yank his arm out of its socket.
"Sorry Baz, it was a mistake!" he says hastily. "Where's the glue, I'll fix--"
"No you bloody well won't fix it! Get your grubby paws off my homework," I growl.
"Get your clammy hands off me!" he retorts angrily, trying to tug his arm out of my grasp.
I attempt to let go, but my hand will not unclasp. It's stuck firmly around Snow's wrist in a vice-like grip. We struggle for a second, but it's useless. My hand will not come away from his arm.
We make eye contact, horrifying realization dawning at the same moment. Snow's spellcasting has once again gone stunningly, colossally, terribly awry.
SIMON
Baz's hand is stuck to my arm. Like really, truly, actually stuck. The massive idiot has gone and intercepted my spell, and it misfired in the worst possible way. His hand. Will not. Come off. I begin to panic slightly.
"Get off me!" I give an almighty tug, but Baz's hand refuses to budge. He must be having me on—playing a sick joke.
"I can't," he says, his jaw set in a hard line.
"What do you mean you can't!? Just—let go of me!" I shout, struggling in his tight grip.
"Are you deaf? I. Can't," Baz grits out through clenched teeth. "Your magic skills are truly appalling. Aleister Crowley, Snow! Look what you've done!"
"Look what I've done?! Baz, I was just trying to fix your stupid sculpture! Why'd you have to go and leave it in the middle of the floor, anyway? Right there, blocking my path! Stupid place to keep the thing."
"I was just about to move it. Why can you never simply look where you're going? I swear, you are the least coordinated human I've ever met." He attempts to yank his hand away again, with little result. "Undo the spell, Snow," he snaps.
"Undo—but I—"
"You heard me. Undo. The bloody spell."
"Right." I stare at his pale, veiny hand and concentrate hard. "Don't touch me," I cast.
I feel a slight tingle in my wrist where Baz's palm rests. It fizzles quickly. His hand doesn't move.
"Hands off!"
Nothing. Baz's grip is beginning to cut off my circulation.
"Get away from me!"
I glance up, and Baz shakes his head in disgust. "Try again," he says tersely.
"Can't touch this!" I attempt.
Nothing happens.
"Right. Okay. Let's try something more general. As you were." That spell has never worked quite right for me. Penny has always been better at that sort of thing. As expected, it's wildly ineffective. Several more useless attempts later, Baz's hand is still thoroughly stuck. I look up to see his eyes blazing with barely concealed rage.
"I can't believe your incompetence, Snow. You've truly outdone yourself this time."
"I know," I say miserably.
"This is brilliant. Just what I needed," Baz mutters sarcastically. "Just as I was getting used to having the room to myself. Crowley, Snow, you really are a colossal idiot. What if this is permanent?"
I recoil at the idea. "Ugh—this isn't permanent! It can't be! Look, I'm pants at as-you-were, Baz. You try."
He rolls his eyes. "Give me my wand, Snow."
I hand it over.
He attempts a simple as you were and a back to square one. I can't help but feel slightly vindicated when he is even less successful than I was. But mostly, I feel panicked. What if I really am stuck with my mortal enemy forever? I won't last the week. He'll probably wind up strangling me or slitting my throat or draining me dry by day three.
Baz lets out a yell of frustration. "Augh! I can't cope with this, Snow. You…in my personal bubble…every moment! As if sharing a room wasn't bad enough!"
"I'm not too chuffed about this either! How are we supposed to even do anything like this? Imagine trying to eat together—or shower—or…anything!"
Baz swears. "What a disaster."
"Could be worse!"
"Can't imagine how. Come on Snow. Think! You got us into this mess! Fix it!"
"Er…We could go to Penny," I venture. "Penny's good at fixing my magic. She'll know what to do." I force confidence into my tone.
Baz looks at me askance. "Make Bunce fix it. That's your best idea."
I shrug helplessly.
"Okay, Snow, whatever you say. Let's go find Bunce. I hope she knows what to do, because I am at my wit's end here."
Baz drags me violently by the wrist out of Mummer's House and across the grounds towards Penny's dorm. We get several strange looks as we barrel past, me stumbling slightly as I try to keep pace with Baz's longer stride. We finally spot Penny just as she is heading out the door on her way to dinner.
"Bunce!" Baz calls sharply.
"Oh hello, Pitch," says Penny warily. "And—oh, hi Simon! I thought you weren't meant to be back til later."
She looks slightly nonplussed as her gaze darts back and forth between us. Her eyes finally settle on our joined arms. She takes in Baz's murderous expression, my sheepish grimace, his constricting grip on my wrist.
"Oh dear, this can't be good," she says. "What have you done this time, Simon?"
"Oi! This is not my fault!" I protest. I'm offended that she's jumped to (accurate) conclusions so quickly.
Baz's hand tightens painfully around my wrist.
"Well. Not my fault entirely," I amend.
"Of course it's his fault. Snow should never have been trusted with a wand. He's gone and cast a permanent sticking spell on us!" He gestures our joined arms at Penny emphatically.
"Oh, Merlin. This does not sound promising at all. Simon…how did this even happen?"
"I was trying to fix his stupid sculpture that he left directly in front of the door where anyone would have tripped over it—"
"Anyone with their head screwed on backward!"
"Shut up, Baz. It was in my way!"
"Not if you'd just looked where you were going!"
"How was I supposed to know to watch out for a mahoosive—thing--in the middle of my bedroom!"
"Quit biting each other's heads off, the both of you! It's like talking to toddlers!" Penny complains.
"Well I accidentally broke off a piece of his horrible model thing, so I tried to stick it back on but I couldn't find any glue, and Baz was about to come back, so I just—"
"Whipped out with the first spell that came into your head like a complete tosser," Baz butts in.
"Well clearly it would've worked, if you hadn't gone and stuck your hand in the middle of—"
"Why couldn't you have just waited—"
"The spell would have worked, I'm not—"
"What spell, Simon?" Penny interrupts.
"I used 'stuck like glue,' you know, from that Elvis song."
Penny groans. "Simon, you didn't! Elvis, really? What have we discussed about using song lyrics with your magic?"
"I thought this one was pretty straightforward, Pen. What could go wrong?"
"This, evidently!" Baz raises my arm forcefully.
"Well, yes, I see that now."
"You've got to really consider the whole song, Simon. All the lyrics," Penny admonishes.
I quickly run the song over in my head, but all that comes to mind is the chorus. "Oh yeah, Uh-uh-uh / I'm gonna stick like glue / Stick, because I'm / Stuck on you!"
"I guess I see where that could be a problem," I say hesitantly. (I don't see at all.)
"Bunce, I don't care what irresponsible spell he used in the first place. Can you just sort us out?"
Penny laughs. "Sort you out, just like that. I don't know, Pitch. Maybe we should leave you like this. Give you a chance to work out your differences, once and for all. I could use a break from Simon's moaning about you."
"Come on, Penny," I plead, "He's going to kill me if you leave us like this. He's evil!"
Baz sneers. "I might be evil, Snow. But I'm not ready for the rest of the world to know it yet."
I shoot Penny a desperate look. "Can you separate us, Pen?"
She sighs.
"Please, Bunce."
"I can try. But Simon's magic is tricky, you know. No promises." She grabs Baz's hand over my wrist. "This may sting a bit," she warns.
We brace ourselves.
"Make it a clean break!"
I feel a mild prickling sensation. Baz's fingers loosen slightly from their vice-like grip. I feel hope rise in me like a balloon.
Baz tugs his hand away, but it's still very firmly attached.
"Bollocks," I curse.
Penny casts several more increasingly creative spells with limited results. In the end, she manages to make it just possible for Baz to raise one finger at a time about a centimeter from my arm. This is a tiny improvement from before. Baz's bruising grip was becoming painful. But he still can't release his whole hand at once. It's like my arm is a very strong electro-magnet and his hand is steel that simply can't muster the force to escape the attraction.
"Sorry, boys," Penny says. "Looks like you're just going to have to live like this until we can find a spell to get it sorted."
Baz's murderous expression reflects how I feel.
"Maybe you should go see the Mage?" Penny suggests without much hope.
"NO," Baz and I say at once. I know he hates the Mage at the best of times. As for me, it's out of the question. The Mage doesn't need to know how badly I've bungled things up. Again. He already thinks I'm a blundering fool and a disappointment. No need to let him down even more. So that's definitely out.
"Okay then," says Penny. "We'll do some research. I'll write my parents, see if they have any ideas. In the meantime, just…try not to kill each other."
"No promises," mutters Baz. I scowl. This is going to be a very long week.