Penelope

We moved into our flat last week, and this morning I met my new lab mates. Classes start in a couple of weeks, but labs always get settled early. When I get home, no one's there.

It's nice to have the flat to myself for a change. I honestly don't think I could handle the Simon and Baz show, if it weren't so fascinating. Not just to see them both happy for once. And not just to see them following each other around, as obsessed as ever, but minus the paranoia. The reason it's fascinating is that it's totally unprecedented in the history of Magic. A mage falling in love with a vampire. And the vampire falling in love right back. Or vice versa, or whatever.

One thing I learned at Watford is that I shouldn't always explain things exactly when they occur to me. I have to wait until my target(s) want(s) to understand. And so far they don't. They're so busy enacting this impossible development, they've completely missed the fact that it's happening.

And what it is, is this: Baz is still a vampire, but now he's alive. Fully alive.

It's never happened before. It shouldn't even be possible. But there it is.

His alive-ness answers some long-standing questions about whether vampires are a little bit alive or fully dead, since according to the third principle of conservational metaphysics he couldn't get more alive unless he'd been somewhat alive to begin with. But no one had ever guessed that it's possible for a vampire to get full without draining someone else, and to stay full day after day.

Baz's state answers yet another question, though I'm not sure anyone has posed this question yet: is life compatible with vampirism, or is one the negation of the other? Because Baz is still very much a vampire. Fangs, super strength, needing to hunt, heightened senses. Which is the only reason he and Simon have managed not to notice how completely transformed he is.

It's hard to know what the mechanism is, since it's not just any vampire and any mage. It's Baz and Simon. Surely love is a part of it. But Simon has also poured so much of his magic into Baz, earlier when he was bursting with it and now when he's just flickering. So maybe it's the magic that is filling Baz. But Baz has always had his own magic, so that can't be the whole story either.

I'm studying microbiology and nanophysics at uni, but Normal science can only explain so much. So I've started doing independent research at Watford.

Mum's restored the Watford libraries, and they are filled with every kind of book again. The Families were generous with their own libraries (I suspect that we have Baz to thank for that), and combined with ours, it's a powerful collection.

Literally powerful; the walls have to be reinforced with a kind of Faraday cage for magic. Dad and I designed it, and we have a patent out (there's finally a department of magickal law enforcement, including protection of magillectual property; they're still working on getting magickal social services going).

These past weeks, I've been helping mum sort through the mess of books in the headmaster's office (which is now hers, of course). In addition to being a murderous megalomaniac, it turns out the Mage was also a hopeless librarian. There are stacks of books everywhere, with no organizing principle in sight.

Some of the books clearly belonged to Natasha Grimm-Pitch, and those we set aside for Baz, who will decide which to keep and which to donate to the Watford library. Some of the books clearly belonged to the Mage, and those we turn over to the Coven so they can complete their investigation into the seemingly never-ending parade of schemes the man had going at the same time. And to think Simon and I used to worry about the Families plotting.

But some of the books are confusing. Two of them seem personal, and are sealed shut with a spell Mum hasn't been able to break yet. (Which is saying something, since she's the one who got around the wards that keep girls out of Mummer's house).

Several of them are clearly research logs. It's less clear whose research or what the aims were. These are the ones I'm going through, trying to tease out hypothesis from fact, and distinguish prediction from reported results.

I've made some progress, but I'm ready to admit that I'm stuck, so today I've brought the logs back to the flat. At the last second, I grab the books that my mum can't open. It's time for a whiteboard.

Simon

When I get back to our flat, Penny's nowhere to be seen, but a giant whiteboard fills the common space and I groan. What is there left to figure out? Is she going to make me diagram my wardrobe options again?

She and Baz laughed their arses off the first time we went shopping for clothes. Penny says that it's just that I've never made a choice before in my entire life. I had no choices in care, I had no choices as the Chosen One (ironically enough).

I'd never even chosen a pair of pyjamas before, just wore what I was assigned at the orphanage or what I was assigned at Watford. I've started to notice some similarities between the two institutions. Another item for the ever-growing list of things I don't think about.

Baz is out with Dev and Niall. Or in, I should say; they're over at Baz's flat. We haven't reached the point yet where I join in on these little gatherings. I may love Baz, but I still can't stand those two. I don't know how he can stand them. He insists they've grown up, but as far as I can tell, that just means they're not pulling the whiskers off kittens anymore.

Baz reminds me that he's a snob and a bully too and that he needs time to sharpen those skills so they don't rust with disuse. I can never tell when he's taking the piss. He says that's why he loves me. So I clear out when his minions come over to slaughter waterfowl or mock peasants or whatever it is they do when they're together.

There's a stack of books on the coffee table I've never seen before. Some of them look like Penny's lab journals and I steer well clear of those. Two are smaller, covered in thick paper that looks homemade. I pick up the one on top and start leafing through it. Some pages have dates on top; just months and days, no years. The entries are all in the same writing, though some look more haggard than others.

I'm about to put the book back down on the table when Penny walks out of her room and stops dead, giving me the strangest look.

"Sorry," I say, and I am. "I didn't mean to pry. These were out on the table so I thought they weren't private, as soon as I saw it was a journal I-"

I nearly jump out of my skin as she cuts me off with a shout. "Ha! I knew it was a journal! I just knew it!"

I must look as uncomfortable as I feel, because Penny walks over and starts explaining.

Penelope

Poor Simon. I didn't mean to scare him, or accuse him of anything. It's just that I knew it, I knew these had to be journals. There are stories of journals that are sealed by the ghosts of their writers until the person comes along who can avenge them or solve a crime or something. It usually happens at around the same time as the Veil lifts, though not always.

It's kind of like a Visiting for souls too weak to cross the Veil and actually talk to the living. If they happen to have a journal, they'll seal it and set it somewhere it can be found by the person they are trying to reach.

I shouldn't be surprised to see that Simon is the one the journals were meant for, but I am. Surprised, that is. And surprised too, to find myself feeling a little sick, or sad, or something. I'm reluctant to introduce new variables into the complex equation that is Simon Snow.

To stall for time, I ask "Where's Baz?"

"Sacrificing goats," Simon responds unhelpfully, and then relents when I roll my eyes. "Hanging out with Dev and Niall."

"Oh." Oh! I'd forgotten about this little scheme of Baz's. I'm not sure I approve, but it's hard to discourage him when he's so determined to do something nice for Simon.

Baz's gotten it into his head that Simon needs a birthday party, and he's using these meetings with Dev and Niall as an excuse to go around making arrangements. I've been so caught up with the books, I've totally lost track of time passing. It doesn't help that Baz chose the date at random.

I look quickly at the calendar and am relieved to see "take the cat to the vet" penciled in for the Thursday after next, not tonight. Don't ask why that's the code name for Operation Birthday. Baz has a weird sense of humor.

Simon follows my glance and looks at the calendar too. "What's going on?" he asks, a bit too sharp for his own good for once. "And what's the whiteboard for?"

I don't want to deal with whatever we're going to have to face once Simon reads the journals. They're likely to drag him into some new intrigue, just as he's finally starting to move on.

But I don't want to ruin the birthday surprise either. And I'll have to talk to him about the journals at some point.

I try to think of what to say, and decide to go for the truth. Always a good approach when in doubt. Especially with your best friend. Especially when that best friend is Simon Snow.

So much for stalling for time.

Simon

"It's a project," Penny says. Well, yeah, I figured that much out for myself. So I wait. "Mum and I are clearing out the headmaster's office." I wince despite myself, then try to hide it in a sneeze. Penny is polite enough to pretend not to notice, and she plunges on.

"These are the books we can't designate. This lot seems to be lab notebooks," she says, waving a hand over the books I'd avoided. Wisely, as it turns out.

"That's what I thought they were!" I interrupt.

Penny gives me a look and goes on, undeterred. "And these two," she says, gesturing to the books in my lap, "turn out to be journals, apparently. Mum and I hadn't been able to get them to open, so we didn't know what they were. Now, thanks to you, we do."

And then she stops, finally out of steam, and looks at me expectantly. I never want to disappoint Penny when she's expecting something of me, but I have absolutely no idea what she's getting at.

She picks up the book I'd been looking through, and makes a big show of not being able to open the cover. I think she's fooling, until I notice a faint red glow around where her fingers touch the paper. A ward. Unmistakable.

"Your mum couldn't even open them?" I ask skeptically. She shakes her head. It's serious, then. Her mum's never met a ward she can't break.

I don't want to know the answer to my next question, but I ask it anyway. It comes out more as a statement.

"So the question is: why can I open them."

I leap up and beat Penny to the dry-erase marker, and turn to the board.

Baz

They're so intent on the whiteboard that they don't notice me come in. I shrug off my jacket (it's starting to get cold) and creep up behind Simon. He jumps as I reach around his waist. I pull him back towards me so his neck stretches out and I kiss him along his pulse. Sometimes I love being a vampire.

Bunce looks understandably nauseated, and I step back, a bit abashed. But the look Simon gives me makes up for any social discomfort, and I let myself focus on his mouth and hands and breath for a few more moments until I can step away again. Bunce always forgives us anyway.

There's one sure-fire way to distract these two. "What's with the whiteboard?" I ask, and settle onto the couch, pulling Simon down with me. Penny looks at me gratefully, but then seems to reconsider as she glances at the board.

I look at what they've written while Snow fills me in, Penny interrupting when she thinks he's getting a detail wrong.

"Let me get this straight," I say, irrationally angry, trying to organize my thoughts. "You think these books were left for Simon? Just because he can open them? Maybe it's just that he's powerful as fuck and no wards can block him." Snow rolls his eyes, but Bunce looks at me thoughtfully.

She understands me well enough at this point to know that I'm trying to find a way to leave Simon well out of it. I can't face another descent into wherever it is he goes when his mind is overwhelmed by the shitstorm that is his life.

But she must not agree, because she says softly, "No, Baz, I don't think that's it."

"What about the lab notebooks," I sneer. "Are you trying to tell me that someone from the Great Beyond is convinced Snow is actually the next Einstein just waiting to be discovered?"

I stand up too quickly, spilling tea. I clean it just as quickly with a wave of my wand and a muttered "no use crying" spell. Penny is standing as well, facing me, staring me down. It takes a long time for either of us to notice that Simon's not there anymore.

Simon

Sometimes I feel like Baz and Penelope have become my parents. They're always whispering about me when they think I'm asleep, or looking at me nervously when they think I'm not watching. I feel bad about it. I may or may not want parents, but I definitely don't want my friends to be my parents, I want them to be my friends. And I don't want them to see me as a helpless burden they have to navigate.

It's my own doing, I know. I scared them after the Mage died. After I killed him. I scared myself. But I'm back, and I'm ok. Well, as ok as a Chosen-orphan-turned-fallen-super-villain could be.

I'm hoping that they'll start to trust me enough to turn back into Baz and Penny around me. And I'm hoping that they'll still want me around after they're done feeling responsible for me.

I pick up the journals again while they fight about whether or not I can handle this. It's like they've forgotten I'm even in the room. Neither of them ever used to be able to forget me if I was in a room.

I focus on the book in my hands. The paper is homemade, the kind of thing you'd find on a back-to-the-land, do-it-yourself commune. Though I'm not sure how I know that. I watched a lot of telly at Agatha's during those lost months last winter. I think there was a documentary about a place like that, where everyone made their own clothes and stuff.

There's a familiar cold seeping off the paper, and I can almost place it. I open the book and start to look through it more carefully, now that I know it's not Penny's diary or something.

There are endless boring descriptions of the sky and plants and soil and whatnot. I flip through those quickly. There's a section written in a shakier hand and marked June 2nd that I slow down for. I freeze when I get to the last paragraph.

"He says we are going to be stars, but I don't care about that. I care about being parents, and I'm hoping his fervor will be softened by love once the baby comes. Being pregnant is a little like gardening, and the baby inside me feels like those roses I nursed to life last spring. I feel the same joy I felt when I first saw the rosebuds peeking through the leaves, knowing they were alive, that they had a little bit of my life and my magic in them. That's how I think of the baby sometimes. He's like a little rosebud, bringing spring after the snow."

It all snaps into place. The rosebud boy. He's me, not Baz. The second cold I felt the night that Baz's mum came through the Veil was my mum, not his.

I thought his mum had come back twice, when I felt the cold again later that same night. But the second cold had been different, I remember, sadder. And that second time, she called me her rosebud boy. And she said my name. Again and again. Simon, Simon, Simon. She said something about being stars.

And she said she would never have left me.

I look up and see Baz and Penny still staring at each other. Suddenly I need to get out of here. I slip out without either of them noticing I've left.

Baz

I find him downstairs in the courtyard without a coat, hands in his hair, staring out at nothing. I'm about to do a fast weather-blocking spell when a coat materializes around him out of nowhere.

He can be terrifying sometimes. He still never uses a wand, or a ring, or any other object. He is his own object. He thinks a thing, and it is. It's less terrifying now that he's not likely to destroy half the country when he's angry, but it's still unnerving.

"Hey," I say. He looks at me, and I nearly faint with relief that he responds.

"Hey," he says. He tilts his head back and lets the chilly rain pour over his closed eyes. I walk over and take his hand, and he rests his head on my shoulder. "How are Dev and Niall?"

I'd forgotten all about them, actually, but I say "same as always."

"Tea then, yeah?" he says, as though we're still sitting on the couch, not standing like madmen outside in the London rain.

Snow still makes tea the Normal way, convinced that the leaves steep better without magic. Whatever the reason, it is damn good tea.

"Ok," I say, "Yeah. Sure." And we walk upstairs, soaking wet, hand in hand.

Penny

Simon's drinking tea and explaining to Baz and me about the second Visiting. I'd never heard that part of the story before.

Baz is quiet, staring at his tea as if it holds the answers to all our questions (which it might do, if you believe my aunt Grace).

"I felt the cold again that last night we slept in our old room in the tower," Simon is saying. "I haven't felt it since then until just now when I held the journal. She must have sent the journals when she realized I wouldn't be back in Watford again." She being his mum, presumably.

Something about his theory doesn't make sense. She should've gone back after the Veil closed again, if it really was her. How could he have felt her so many months later?

Simon always teases me for telling everyone else that their explanations are rubbish, so I decide to keep my thoughts to myself until I get a chance to look into it some more.

I'd like to ask Simon to show me the journal entry, but I'm afraid Baz will bite my head off. (That came out wrong. Not bite. You know what I mean.) We're tiptoeing around each other after what happened earlier. But I'm not much of a tiptoer, and Simon was mine first, so I finally ask to see it.

We search together for any hint about who wrote the journal. We go through the book with every spell we can think of, but I guess people don't write their own names in their diaries.

So we just sit, side by side, flipping through the pages. By now, Baz has joined us, and he is reading over our shoulders.

As we read, something, some understanding, is trying to take shape in my mind. I suggest to the boys that we get some sleep and start again fresh tomorrow, because I have the feeling we don't want to deal with whatever it is tonight.

Baz

Simon has a mum. I mean, of course he had to have had a mum. But now she's real.

Though we still don't know her name. We know she liked gardening. And she seemed to be married to an excitable mage named Davy, who presumably is Snow's father.

I can't think of any magic families named Snow, though. He must have been an American or something.

Bunce's face went all funny at one point, but she didn't say anything, which really isn't like her. It was soon after we got to that part of the journal that Penny decided it was time to go to sleep, and we agreed to continue in the morning.

So now I'm sitting on our bed with my back against the wall, and Simon is sitting in front of me, cradled in the space I make with my legs. I like when Simon lets me hold him like this. My arms are around him and his arms are around mine; his head rests back against my chest and my forehead rests on his shoulder.

I feel safe like this, knowing he's safe, knowing he's completely enclosed in a peaceful space created by my body. I can feel his whole body against mine, skull and neck and shoulders, back and legs and arms.

I'll never admit it to him, but I like the feeling of being good. Of creating safety. Of being needed. He thinks that if I take care of him when he's hurting, I'll stop loving him or something, like I have a set quantity of love for him that he needs to conserve. It doesn't work that way. I love all my roles in his life. Nemesis, lover, rival. Protector. And vampire. Can't forget vampire.

Simon's asleep with the journals resting between our arms and his chest. I slowly ease him down to the pillow and slip out from around him, taking one of the journals with me. I pause for a moment, but he doesn't wake.

I don't sleep well at night anyway. And I need to hunt, it's been a few days. (Is that possible? Days? And I'm not even that thirsty.) But mostly I'm a nosy git who can't follow instructions. I want to know what upset Bunce. I don't like the feeling of someone knowing more than I do about something.

I must be more tired (or hungry) than I realize, though, because I'd forgotten about the wards. I get to the couch only to discover that I can't open the journal. Might as well hunt.

One nice thing about living in London is that you don't have to go underground to find rats. They're everywhere. I still don't like being in the dark, shut up below ground.

I'm coming to terms with being history's only claustrophobic vampire. Compared with everything else, it's not that big a deal. I head to the closest construction site, idly picking up rats and drinking them as I walk.

That's another good thing about London. I can drink rats in public. No one looks at anyone else. It's like a rule that everyone automatically follows. A survival tactic for living in a city so suffocatingly dense with people: Don't look at anyone else, so you can pretend you're not constantly surrounded by the smell of rancid onions and the sounds of personal conversations and the wet noise of hacking coughs and the sight of every manner of boil, scab, and oozing flesh imaginable. It's revolting, actually.

Simon always accuses me of snobbishness, and I suppose he's right. That's another thing I haven't admitted to him yet. He wasn't entirely wrong about the Families all those years when he suspected they wanted to reinstate some kind of feudal society with themselves on the top.

Most of those plans seemed extreme even to me, but I suppose I might have preferred Watford without half the students there. Fucking Mage and his fucking reforms. Fucking zealous prick... And then I know what made Penny's face go so funny. And I start running back to their flat.

Simon

Baz is there when I wake up. He's cold, like outside cold, so I think he just got in. Must've gone hunting while I slept. It's not as fun to catch rats together as it was to catch deer.

I don't remember falling asleep. I'm still in my clothes, which is never a good sign. Bits of yesterday start filtering through my mind, and I keep my eyes closed as I let them pour over me.

There's something I know. That I don't want to know. And so I don't know it, even though I know it. That happens to me sometimes.

I give up and open my eyes. I prop myself up on one elbow and look over at Baz, who's asleep. His eyelids are so white they're practically blue. They stand out on his face, and I'm startled to realize that it's because the rest of his skin has gotten downright pink, making the contrast starker than it used to be.

His nose used to seem all wrong too, like it started too high up on his face or something, but I've discovered that it opens up all sorts of possibilities where my own nose is concerned.

I lean over now to kiss his bottom lip, my nose neatly landing just under and beside his, my hands traveling over his body. His eyes smile without opening. I want to put off knowing anything but him as I wake him inch by delicious inch. So that's exactly what I proceed to do for the better half of the morning.

Penny

Ugh. I am not looking forward to today. It's a bank holiday, so by rights I should be having a bit of a lie in. But I've been up since dawn and I'm not likely to fall asleep again.

I don't want Simon to think about the Mage being his father. I don't want Simon to think about the Mage, full stop. But I can't see any way around it.

I'm pretty sure Baz has figured it out by now; maybe he can help me figure out how to tell Simon. I saw him watching my face last night, and I heard him rush in this morning. That's what woke me. He seems to have managed to fall back asleep though, the smug bastard.

I guess it helps to be sleeping in the arms of the person you love. I miss Micah. And he misses me, apparently, because he's going to start his year abroad here ten months earlier than planned.

He's coming mid-December of this year, instead of October of next. I try to hold on to that single bright spot in the face of the fog that's about to descend when Simon finds out about the Mage.

If I can't sleep, I may as well be useful and go get some breakfast. Simon always does better on a full stomach.

Simon

When I get out to the kitchen later, I know things must be serious, because Penny's gone out early and brought me comfort food. Cherry scones.

I slide into a chair and pick one up. It's perfect, soft and still steaming, the tartness of the cherry buffered by the sweetness of the dough. May as well enjoy the scone while waiting for the ax to fall.

I have a feeling I already know whatever it is she thinks she has to tell me, but I'm happy to wait for her to explain it before I have to become conscious of it myself.

"Micah's arriving in December," she says from across the kitchen. I can't see her expression, because she's facing the kettle where the tea is steeping.

That's what she has to tell me? That's why she needed to get me scones? Does she think I'll mind? After dealing with Baz as an honorary third roommate all this time?

"That's grand," I say between bites. "When?" She turns to look at me, leaning back against the counter. She looks tired.

"End of term. He's doing a year abroad. Brown doesn't mind if he starts the year in the winter instead of waiting until the fall." Brown is the name of Micah's university. It seems like a dreary name, but Micah loves the place.

I walk over to her and reach for the kettle. "I'll pour," I say, and I do. She's quiet, but quiet with Penny can be nice. I gesture with the milk jug and she shakes her head. I hand her a steaming mug of black tea and pour one for myself and then break the silence.

"What's wrong Penny? I'd've thought Micah coming would be a good thing." Her smile lights her eyes for a second, and she shakes her head.

"Yeah. No. That part's good."

"Then what?" I ask. "Do you need more space? I can move in with Baz while Micah's here..."

She shakes her head again. "No, of course not Simon. In fact I'm determined to subject you to every bit as much flirting as I've had to endure from the two of you." She smiles again, and it lasts a little longer this time.

"Retaliatory affection? Who knew you were so combative," I tease, and she finally smiles a real smile.

"So then what?" I say again once we've sat down and properly tucked in. I see her glance over my shoulder, and I know Baz is there.

"Scones." he says with trepidation. "What's wrong, Penny?"

She laughs and pushes a chair toward him without getting up. Baz takes it and turns it backwards, arms crossed over the top, his long legs propped against the table's.

"Am I that transparent?" Penny asks.

"Yes, Bunce, you are. Scones are serious," he asserts, popping one into his mouth. He manages to look elegant even with a mouth full of pastry. I stare at his mouth a couple of seconds longer than is strictly polite.

"Snow's right," says Baz, swallowing. "He can move in with me when Micah's here."

It freaks Penny out when Baz flaunts the fact that he can hear everything we say regardless of what room (or country) he's in, so he does it as often as possible.

"I've even perfected a housekeeping spell," he adds, "that will prevent slovenliness before it can take hold. So I'll be safe from him while he stays with me."

"Febreeze and you're done!" she shouts.

"You already knew about it?" Baz looks disgruntled.

"It's an American spell," says Penny. "Micah taught it to me ages ago."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You never asked. And to get back to Micah, no. Simon's not moving. Like I said, it's payback time. We'll be snogging in front of you two every chance we get."

"Then spill it, Bunce," says Baz. "What's going on?"

Simon

Penny looks uncomfortable and it seems like Baz is goading her, so I decide to cut this whole scene short.

"The Mage is my father. The scones are my consolation prize."

I don't mean to sound so bitter, but it doesn't matter, because they're both more shocked by my words than by my tone. Seriously, to listen to the two of them, you'd think I was in remedial basket weaving or something.

"What, the both of you can figure it out, but if I notice, it's like a dog casting a spell?"

They looked properly abashed, so I relent. It is true that I'm good at not knowing things I don't want to know. But I think I've known this one for a while.

"I called my mum last night to make sure," says Penny gently. "The Mage was called Davy when they were in school." She pauses again, and I realize she knows something else.

"You know who my mum is." I say, willing my voice not to shake. I didn't expect this part.

She nods and gets up and grabs an envelope sitting on our kitchen counter. I never noticed it before.

Penelope

Well, this is going better than I'd imagined. Maybe Baz and I have been underestimating Simon recently. I can see on his face that Simon thinks so, but he thinks it's funny too, so that's ok.

I decide to risk showing him Agatha's letter. I haven't actually read it, but I looked at the photo, and recognized the Mage immediately, even though he's like 16 years old in it. I didn't think Simon was up for a trip down memory lane, so I've hidden the letter for about a week now.

Baz

It's a fairly thick envelope, with Simon and Penny's names penned on the front in a neatly slanted hand. Simon blanches somewhat comically when he sees it, and I take a closer look. Postmarked from California.

Agatha.

Simon

Agatha.

I've managed to keep her on my no-thinking list for nearly nine months. Even when I was staying at her house, with her parents. I'm a champion non-thinker. What is she doing here? Well, not her exactly, but this extension of her, covered with the handwriting I recognize as well as my own. And what the hell could this have to do with my mother? My mind goes a bit fuzzy and blank.

Penelope

Agatha.

Odd timing, too. It is something of a relief to be able to finally show it to him, because I never know what to say when Agatha texts me asking how Simon reacted. So far I've blamed the post for losing her letter, but she's initiated an investigation in California so that story won't hold for long. I offer it to Simon, but he asks me to read it for him.

I open the letter and the photograph falls out. It sits face-down on the table, and we all stare at it as if it's cursed, which I suppose it might be. None of us are brave enough to pick it up. Finally Baz takes it and slips it in his pocket so we can focus on the letter.

So, I read.

Hey guys,

Sorry I've been so out of touch. I know from Penny that you've been pretty out of touch yourself, Simon, so I'm letting myself not feel too bad about it.

I believe the word I used was catatonic, but why split hairs.

I love California. I love the sunshine. I love not being around magicians. And I love my spaniel, Lucy.

Ok, well that's just weird.

So it's been almost a year, and I guess I'm ready to be in touch again. I miss you. I mean, I'm happy to be far away from everything, but it's not you that I need to be far from anymore. Penny says you're with Baz. That's weird, but ok. Not that you need my ok.

Anyway, rambling again... I'm letting my pen just write as my mind thinks so I can write this letter before I chicken out. "Go with the flow." Convenient California spell I picked up. I love Americans.

I got this picture from your mum, Penny, just before Christmas Eve. You were upstairs at the time, talking to your dad about whether the Humdrum was involved in the vampire attack.

I don't even remember how it came up anymore, but your mum started to tell me about her best friend from Watford, Lucy Salisbury. Lucy became kind of a hero to me (hence my spaniel's name), because she ran away to California twenty years ago and left the whole messed up World of Mages behind. Turns out my parents are still friends with her mum. You probably met her at our house a couple of times.

Anyway, this Lucy had dated the Mage back when they were in school (he was called Davy, can you imagine?) I thought you might like the picture, to see him before he was The Mage.

I'm not sure about showing it to anyone else, though. Helen told me that there was kind of a scandal about Lucy leaving, and a rumor about a baby. But that's probably just a story people told themselves to explain why anyone would want to leave Magickind behind. I haven't found Lucy yet, but every time I'm at the beach I look for her. I think I'll know her if I see her.

Mum wants me to come home for Christmas but I'm hoping to convince them to come out to California instead. If I'm not around for Christmas, I'll come back over the Easter break, and maybe we could all get tea or something. That's a lame way to end a letter, but that's all I've got.

Sending sunshine from California, along with my love,

Agatha.

Baz

I don't make it all the way through Wellbelove's letter. I'm still stuck on the earlier part of the conversation, on the Mage being Simon's father. I'm freaked out that Simon is taking it as calmly as if he'd been told that Ms. Possibelf's middle name is Emily.

Penny reads something about a spaniel. I'd forgotten all about the spaniel she possessed to find me at Blackfriar Bridge. It can't possibly be same one that Agatha has in California, but suddenly I'm back at that night.

I'd just found out that the Mage was the one who'd killed my mum and had me kidnapped, and then a fucking dog started talking to me in the street. But it wasn't a dog, it was Bunce, desperate because Simon had left to find the Mage and confess to being the Humdrum and accept whatever fate the Mage chose to mete out.

I've never driven so fast. The drive is a blur and then I remember floating up through a hole in the floor and I remember Bunce vomiting from Simon's magic. I remember Simon holding on to the Humdrum's shoulders, pouring his magic into the Humdrum until it disappeared. Saving us all and then falling.

Falling and not getting up. It ripped me open. I was sure he was dead. I remember screaming.

Then I can see the Mage in my mind, clear as if was happening right now. He's covered in Ebb's blood, beating Simon. Simon is lying there motionless on the floor and the Mage lays into him, his wicked fists on Simon's unprotected back.

The man who had my mother murdered, the man who sent the vampire that sunk his fangs into my neck and turned me from a baby into a monster, the man who had me kidnapped and locked in a coffin – that man was hitting the lifeless body of the person I loved most in the world.

The man who had caused all the pain in my cursed life was hurting the only source of love and comfort I had. To say that I hated him doesn't begin to describe what I felt.

And then I remember Simon moving. He wasn't dead. He was trying weakly to lift his arm. To hold the Mage off, to stop the Mage from hurting him anymore.

In the present, my vision goes red. In the past, I rose with a roar, knowing only that I had to stop the Mage. But the Mage was stronger than I was. He would have killed me if not for Simon. Crushed, beaten Simon, trying to lift himself off the floor where he had collapsed, finding the strength to move so he could save me.

I flash back to the Mage bringing an angry, awkward 11 year old Simon to Watford. I remember how the Mage nailed down Simon's unquestioning devotion by rescuing him from the orphanage. I remember the Mage letting people believe Simon was a Normal, with no legitimate tie to magic. The Mage making a big show of declaring Simon his Heir so he could attend Watford.

And the whole fucking time Simon was actually his son.

He left him in that fucking orphanage to rot and then pretended to rescue him. He sent him back every summer to starve and suffer. He demanded Simon's loyalty and obedience because of the incredible kindness of taking him in as a stray. And all that time, it was his own father turning him into a soldier. Not even a soldier. A bomb, a nuclear reactor. Using him as a weapon in his crazy war.

I feel my bile rise and make it to the loo seconds before I vomit up a grotesque mixture of rat blood and cherry scones. I've never been sick before, and I don't know quite what to make of it, and then I black out.

Simon

Penny's just finishing Agatha's letter when I hear violent retching and turn to see that Baz is gone and the light in the bathroom is on. By the time I get there, he's unconscious, and I'm in a complete panic. Did Agatha actually send a cursed photograph? Is she capable of that?

Baz has never, never been sick. Hurt, yes. Sick, no. His eyes flutter open and I release the breath I must have been holding. I flush away the mess, trying not to look too closely at the red-black water, and gently wipe Baz's face off with my sleeve. He's pale, so pale. I'm not used to seeing him this pale anymore.

I lift him with a clumsy upsa-daisy and carry him into my room. He's much lighter than he should be, I think. I've never tried to carry him before. Penny's taken in the situation with a single glance in that way that she has, and run out to fetch paracetamol from the 10 o'clock chemist down the road. Neither of us is good with healing spells and I'm sure as hell not risking spelling Baz right now.

I strip off all his clothes because I have no idea which pocket he stashed the photograph in. He's conscious now but so quiet and so still that it scares me even more. He closes his eyes and his breathing is shallow and I'm terrified.

I leave for just long enough to get him some water so he can rinse his mouth and then I'm back. I have to conjure a warm soapy washcloth because I hadn't thought of it when I grabbed the water. I should've just conjured the water. I'm not thinking straight.

I carefully clean him off and change him into a pair of my pyjamas like he's a child and the whole time I'm whispering softly. I don't even know what the fuck I'm saying and then I realize I'm singing a song from some movie Mordelia made me watch at least 6 times when we were in Hampshire. The words must have stuck.

Mordelia liked to twirl through the halls singing at the top of her lungs and acting out the heroine's parts. Her favorite part was when she would pull off an imaginary crown and fling it away dramatically, singing "I'm never going back, the past is in the past!"

And now I'm singing it too. "I don't care what they're going to say. Let the storm rage on..."

Baz's eyes open and I go still and he looks up at me, dead serious, and snaps "the cold never bothered me anyway," perfectly in tune.

I giggle because I'm so relieved and because I can imagine Mordelia's small face overlaid on Baz's, serious and haughty, turning sharply as she delivers the final line of the song and pretends to throw her cape to the wind.

I actually giggle. And then we're both laughing and it feels good, light, silly. I want that feeling to stay. I'm sick of all this shit.

Let the storm rage on. We're going on holiday.

Baz

Simon doesn't leave my side for three days. And he's singing the theme song from Frozen. It would be annoying if it weren't so comforting.

After our impromptu duet, the pain in my head must've shown on my face because he became a flurry of action, propping pillows and bringing water and paracetamol. (Paracetamol? Seriously? Aren't we magicians?)

I know Simon is still unsure that he won't blow things up instead of fixing them with spells. So I take the paracetamol like a good patient, and am surprised to find it actually works. I guess the Normals aren't completely hopeless.

I thought it was just a momentary insanity, but Simon is fixated on this idea of a holiday. I can't understand it. The biggest mystery he's ever faced is literally sitting on the kitchen table, and he's chatting about flights and hotels and whether we should consider an AirB&B. It's easiest to stay silent, so I do.

But I marvel at him as I watch him out of the corner of my eyes. Where did learn all this? Loving, caring, fussing. How does he know how to cool my fever with a cold cloth and hold my shoulders while I retch and kiss my head when I rest? How is he capable of feeling so much love, giving so much love, when he's had so little of it in his own life?

Hopefully Bunce will talk some sense into him about staying focused on figuring out who Lucy was and what it all has to do with those lab notebooks. I go back to sleep, Simon's hand safely in mine, and I dream of nothing but him.

Penelope

Well, Baz has answered yet another unasked question about vampires: they can get PTSD. At least the living ones can. Or living one, I suppose; there are unlikely to be any others like him.

Baz sleeps for four days and then emerges from Simon's room, crisp and immaculate as ever, as though he's just come from the theater rather than bed. He slips out quickly, I assume to hunt.

I watch Simon while I pretend to do other things, not sure how to pick back up the thread of the letter and the journals and the lab notebooks and the photograph.

He's messing about in the kitchen, baking up some new experiment. He's become an avid cook since leaving Watford and its magic dining halls and discovering that a good recipe has to be thoroughly thought through before it can be spelled.

When I finally approach him about maybe searching for the cottage that Lucy and Davy lived in, he answers airily that the next thing that's going to happen is that he and Baz are going on holiday.

I stare at him stupidly for a moment, then ask if Baz knows about this plan. He nods while sliding a tray into the oven and leaning over to check the temperature and set a timer. He says there's no reason he can't pretend he never saw those journals or read Agatha's letter.

It's too upsetting, he says. So he is just going to pretend it didn't happen. He argues that there can't be any consequences, because life was spinning along just fine before all this paper showed up in our lives. (He's kind enough not to mention that it was me who brought said paper into our lives.)

Simon's plan makes sense in a convoluted Simon kind of a way. He's gone 17 years without solving the mystery of his parents and he says he can bloody well go another few weeks while he and Baz travel. Or another few years if it comes to that. And then he'll talk of nothing but the merits of whole flour vs. white and whether yeast or baking soda makes lighter muffins.

There's no stopping Simon when he's set on something, so I sigh and grab the rolling pin. I'll have to talk to Baz about it when he gets back later. Hopefully he'll be able to talk some sense into him.

Simon

Of course I've always wondered who my real parents were. Every orphan does. I used to dream that my da was a footballer and my mum was a model and they were too young when they had me but they were going to come back for me and take me to live at the seaside and tell me how sad they were to have had to leave me but that everything would be ok from now on.

I'd rather hold on to that sorry story than imagine the Mage writing my name on my arm in ink like he's tagging some bloody experimental specimen before leaving me on the steps of that hellish orphanage for the next 11 years while he built a little army just a few kilometers away.

Penny and Baz both thought I was mental when I suggested we drop school for now and go traveling. I remind Penny that she was the one who had tried to convince me to run away, back when we thought the Mage was the defender of all that was good. When she was scared that he and everyone else in the world of mages would kill me once they knew I was the Humdrum. Or that I was the cause of the Humdrum. Or whatever I was.

She just rolls her eyes and says that was different.

I expected resistance from Baz, who lives for competition and wouldn't want to stop being the best in his year at uni just to go traveling somewhere where he's nobody.

But that isn't even his objection. It's like he and Penny want me to be really angry or morose or something, not planning a holiday.

I thought I was doing something good by staying so calm after finding out that the...

I can't finish the sentence, not even in my own mind.

But they get upset when I say stuff like it's good for me to be calm. They say it's not about being good or bad, I should just feel however I feel. But this is how I feel. I don't want to dwell on the letter. I don't want to see the photo. When I even start to think about it, it's like an endless black chasm opens up and I'll fall in if I get any closer. It's like I'm always just a step away from falling in.

I guess it might've been nice to think about my mum and read her journals and imagine someone who loved me and wanted me and thought of me as her little rosebud boy. But now I don't want to think about the mother who left me with the Mage, even if it's not her fault that she died. It feels like I found her and lost her again in the space of a day.

Or maybe she ran off to California without me like Agatha said. Why would I want to know that? Why do I need to know that? Why do Baz and Penny want me to know that? Why do they even care what I know about? I don't have to solve every fucking mystery.

So I bake. I fill the flat with biscuits and scones, muffins and cakes and trifles, bobkas and baklava and flan and churros and custards, and I don't think about my parents at all.