Chapter One
Baz
No one told me life was going to be like this.
It's so...dull. Once the world's cooled off and you're not dashing everywhere, fighting Mages and Humdrums and Old Families out for blood, it's like being a Normal. A little flat and two jobs, and shopping lists with entries like toothpaste and deodorant.
I almost want something to happen, something dramatic. Something like another Humdrum. I'd never say it out loud, of course. The one time I did, Snow got this look in his eyes like he was somewhere else. I had to shout his name and slap him before he managed to come back.
But still. When the World of Mages was on the brink of destruction-the Old Families at one turn, the Humdrum at the other-there was no time to sit down on the old couch and drink a cup of tea and search the newspaper for jobs. There was no time to take Snow shopping for new clothes. I understand that this stuff needs to happen, that otherwise we'd have both gone broke and Snow would've worn his Watford pyjamas everywhere, but it just feels so wrong. Something I'd have done with Daphne, or Fiona. Not with the boy I've both loved and hated for eight years straight.
I just need to get out. Just for a day or two. Take a break. Leave Snow and his wings and his grocery lists behind. I need to be who I was before all of this-walking the halls like nobody and nothing could ever touch me.
Simon
I'm worried about Baz. He looks kind of shell-shocked all the time, like he still can't believe it's over.
Neither can I, honestly. It's been nearly a year and a half, and I'm still plagued with nightmares. Baz says he knows when I'm having them, because my wings and tail tend to slash around. I used to wake up and he'd have me in his arms. He said it was because I'd give him a concussion if he didn't control my wings, but he didn't look as if he minded it much, either.
I think Baz's problem is with the mundanity of it all. He serves coffee at Starbucks in the afternoons from two to six, and he does the shopping every week, and we live in the flat Penny and I shared before she and Micah moved together to America. And Baz doesn't ever say it, but I see it in his eyes, when I start talking about the grocery list or which company does the best window-cleaning. This look, like, Really? Really, Snow?
He doesn't call me Simon anymore. It's not like he did it much before, but it would slip out every once in awhile, especially if we were alone. Now, I'm just Snow. Snow this and Snow that and Snow, come here so I can fix your wings.
I don't understand what's happening. I thought once the Humdrum was gone and the Mage was dead, we'd figure out some kind of normal life. I thought we'd be happy. I thought we'd be able to forget.
But I guess I should have known that would be hard.
Baz
"Are you going out?"
Snow appears at the top of the stairs. He's in his pyjamas, one of Bunce's books in one hand. His chin is shadowed with day-old stubble. He looks a mess.
"Yes," I say.
"Can I come?"
I sneer. "No."
He blinks, shoving his free hand in his pocket. "Oh. Okay. Where are you going?"
"On a walk."
I'm lying. Shamelessly. It feels rather good to lie, after so long. The first few months after the Leavers' Ball, Snow and I told each other everything. Like we were girls playing Truth or Dare. Like there were no boundaries between us.
"So late?" he says.
He's trying to pretend like he doesn't care, but I've known Simon Snow long enough to read through his uneven smile.
"Yeah. I just need...fresh air."
"And I can't come."
"No, Simon."
There's a pause. I look anywhere but his eyes.
He says, after a moment, "You called me Simon."
I raise an eyebrow.
"You haven't done that in a while."
Now that I think about it, I haven't. I shrug. "I guess not."
He looks at the ceiling. I spelled his wings this morning, but my spell's wearing off already-he must have been lying on his back in bed-and I can see the faint outline of the wings, drooping behind him. "Okay," he says. "Well, have fun."
Simon
Merlin. What is wrong with him? He looks pale, like he hasn't eaten in a while. So maybe he's just going out to hunt, but-
But he's never lied about it before.
I know he's lying. I know it.
Baz doesn't take walks.
Baz
I cast a Drop it over my shoulder as I leave. It's the spell I invented for my eighth year at Watford, the one I got an award for. It's far from perfect, but it works.
He won't be able to follow me, or interfere in my business, for as long as the spell lasts, which is about four hours. And once I get to Covent Garden, once I finish hunting, he won't know where I've gone. It'll be enough time.
Just a night.
All I need is a night.