Chapter 56

SIMON

Baz was not exaggerating when he said duvet month. (Or duvet fucking month as I correct him later.) (Quite a bit later.) I don't think we've done anything for the last week except eat, sleep, watch the occasional film and shag ourselves stupid. Not that I'm complaining– it's been a bloody brilliant week. On one of those nights, Baz got hold of my charcoals and he had another go at connecting all my moles because he reckons he missed some last time. He went out the next day and bought a load of new charcoal pencils in an even bigger range of colours– I think he's planning to do it again. I'm not complaining about that either.

If Penny was here, she'd tell us we're acting like stupid teenagers, and that would just be about the body art business. If she knew about the duvet month she'd make us explain ourselves, but really, there's no way to explain that. Thank magic Penny isn't here.

I mean, it's not as if we have anything else to do. The Coven doesn't meet until the middle of February– which is another three weeks away, Baz doesn't start his pupillage thingo until bloody October, we've already seen the sites of Paris five times over and there's enough food in the freezer from my recent cooking spree that will keep up going for weeks.

And it's freezing outside.

And it's raining again, so . . .

But that's not all we've done. We decided to see who could last longest without shaving again. Well, I decided that. I came up with it on the day after Baz came back to Paris. We're aiming to last the entire month this time, until the Coven meet next. We're on day seven now– one more day and we beat our previous record.

"You have to have a goal, Simon," Penny said before she left after Christmas, "So you have something to look forward to." she said. Well, this is my goal, to outlast Baz in the not shaving department.

It's not as if we don't leave the apartment. Well, Baz does at least– he still has to go out to hunt every night. Every evening he heads out after dinner, or sometimes he goes a little later, and he's pretty fast these days because it's so cold out so I'm usually still awake when he gets back. He still won't let me go with him but I'm going to try to talk him around while we're here. That's my second goal.

To be honest I haven't really had any goals over the last seven months other than to fix the holes and go home. And since I tried and failed spectacularly at the first goal, I've had to come to terms with that, and Baz absolutely won't have a bar of my other idea to get the Coven to snap my old wand so I've had to come to terms with that as well.

So I've stopped thinking about plans to close the holes, and I haven't really thought about much else apart from winning our bet, seeing Baz hunt and going home. I haven't even thought about anything beyond going home because half the time I don't even believe that's even going to happen. Until someone on the Coven calls me and tells me that I've been un-banished or whatever you call it, I'm not getting my hopes up.

Baz believes it though, he's certain of it. He says it's only a matter of time until it's sorted. Penny's the same, and Micah and even Agatha agree. I'm not so sure though, and I won't let myself think about it until it happens. So until then, I've got my other goals to work on.

We've just finished dinner (Shepherd's pie with a side of steamed vegetables) and after cleaning up with magic, Baz heads up to our room to change before he hunts.

I follow him up the stairs and into our bedroom. "Let me come."

He ignores me as he peels off his (my) trackie and puts on his jeans and boots. He always dresses impeccably when he goes hunting and I have no clue why. I'd go in trackies if it were me, but I know there's no way in the world Baz would ever leave the apartment in a pair of old trackies and a faded tee shirt for anything, unless he was going to the gym. And even then he'll wear a new fancy trackie and one of those designer sports tops.

"C'mon Baz. Let me come," I say, a little more determined this time.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not something you need to see."

"I've seen you drain the blood out of birds before," I remind him.

"Once," he says, pulling on a wool jumper over his long sleeve tee, "And that was an emergency."

He's talking about that night when the Mage died, he was so thirsty he started draining the birds flying around the White Chapel. But I'd just killed my mentor and was a bit of a mess so I didn't notice what he was doing. I missed my golden opportunity. And anyway, that was ages ago.

"That doesn't count. I wasn't in any state to notice."

"Thank Crowley for that."

"Let me come Baz," I say again, more insistent this time. "What's so bad about watching you hunt? I reckon it'd be cool. You know, the whole devastatingly handsome vampire stalking his prey thing . . ." He gives me a sideways glance and start to arch one eyebrow, like he can't actually believe what's coming out of my mouth. "Yeah," I go on, warming to the idea. "You could wear a suit even, if you want. I know how you love to dress up." I try to raise one of my eyebrows like he does but they both go up at once.

"It's not cool," he says, his mouth turned down to a grimace. "It's repulsive."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

"And I'm not wearing a suit," he enunciates slowly, "to go hunting."

"Okay, jeans then," I shrug. "I'll just get changed–"

He pulls on his fancy wool coat. "No."

"Yes," I insist this time, sounding a lot like a petulant child. I pick up my jeans off the floor. I figure it's now or never so I start pulling down my pyjama bottoms.

"No," he says again, grabbing his gloves and scarf and beanie. He leans towards me and kisses my cheek and then he takes off like a bat out of hell, out of our room and down the stairs. I hear the door of our apartment close before I turn around.

I pull my pyjamas back up and huff as I sit heavily onto our bed. I scratch at the growth on my chin, wondering how I'm ever going to achieve this seemingly insurmountable goal.

BAZ

Simon wants to watch me hunt. This is the latest hair brained idea he's cottoned onto. He's obviously run out of things to do and is bored out of his mind because he hasn't been this insistent about watching me hunt for years. He used to ask all the time when we were boyfriends, but I managed to push that idea out of his head back then and I will again. I'll just keep saying no.

There's no way he's ever going to watch me hunt. I'm a vampire for Crowley's sake. If he ever bears witness to that travesty it will be only a matter of days before he runs screaming back to Bunce or Wellbelove or anyone else who's human – anyone who is actually alive and doesn't need to suck the blood out of animals to keep functioning. He only needs to witness that once to fully realise what I am. A monster.

Then I'll lose him forever. And there's no bloody way I'm ever going to let that happen.

I drive to the closest entrance to the catacombs and cast Open Sesame. The visitors' entrance is further away but it's not necessary for me to drive there. All the other entrances have been locked and bolted for years but they're easily accessible for anyone with magic.

Simon doesn't know that I've visited these catacombs many times already. When he offered this place up as something to do last time we were together I didn't bother to enlighten him. It's definitely not a place I want to visit more than I have to. It's disturbing.

And dark. I still hate the dark.

But at least it's not cold. Above ground the temperature is a very chilly three degrees right now, but down here it's a constant fourteen degrees Celsius, day and night.

It reminds me of the catacombs back at Watford.

And my mother.

I cast Shine a light, which brightens up the dank corridors. Normally I would just bring fire but the flames cast eerie shadows across the rows and rows of skulls which creeps me out. I make short work of a dozen or two rats, draining them quickly and tossing their spent bodies aside. I don't even have to use magic to call them, there are so many of them I just stun them as they scramble past. (Knock you for a six is still a very dependable stunning spell.) Then I head back to the apartment.

I drive home fast, thinking about a warm shower and Simon's warm body against mine. (One after the other, or perhaps simultaneously.) The catacombs are dirty and dusty and dank and I want to rid myself of the smell immediately.

I scratched at my ridiculous stubble as I drive. This is another one of Simon's moronic ideas, but he's challenged me to see who'll last the longest without going mental and I'm not about to lose. I might be stupidly in love with Simon but I'm not about to let him win this ridiculous bet. I'm a Pitch, we're tremendously competitive.

SIMON

I'm in bed, finishing off a brioche and watching the telly when Baz gets back. He jumps in the shower and I quickly brush the crumbs off our bed, and then Clean as a Whistle the sheets for good measure because his vampire vision picks up everything. I hear him brush his teeth and then he slides into bed next to me, letting out a contented sigh as he aligns himself against me. He feels warmer now that he's hunted, and I burrow closer to him until his back is flush against my chest, wrapping one wing around us so his body warms even quicker. My wing casts a reddish glow over his pale skin and I wonder for a moment if this is how he'd look if he wasn't a vampire.

I remember seeing a picture of his mum on the hallway walls at Watford a few times, and we have a picture of her back in our apartment as well. She had deep olive skin and dark eyes and long black hair, pulled up into some sort of bun. She was incredibly beautiful. Baz looks a lot like her, even with his pale skin and even though he wears his hair like his dad.

I don't think it would be possible for him to be any more beautiful than he already is. His pale skin is flawless, and his deep grey eyes are perfect, stunning. Sometimes they're a steel grey colour, or slate grey, like when he's concentrating or really focused on something. (Or mad at me like he was after Hampshire.) And sometimes they're deep and dark like the ocean, like tonight– deep water blue-grey, with just a hint of dark green. They're striking.

Once Baz is warm enough, he turns to face me. I brush his damp hair off his face and place a feather light kiss on his cheek. It's rough from our week of not shaving and I like the feel of it against my lips. I kiss down his cheek to his stubbly jaw and then lightly brush my lips across his. Baz wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. My tail wraps around his thigh and he hums in response, the deep timbre of his voice causing my heart to skip a beat. I pull him closer and press my lips against his again; soft kisses this time, the ones that are warm and sweet but won't necessarily go anywhere. I let myself get lost in the brush of his lips and the slide of his tongue.

I might not have won this battle but I'm going to watch him hunt one day– he can't hold off forever. I can picture it now; Baz in one of his fancy suits, or maybe he'll wear his black jeans, the ones that fit snug and look really good. Perhaps we'll be in the forest at Oxford or maybe even Hampshire if the magic ever comes back. He'll sink his fangs into an unsuspecting deer – he's so strong and graceful and so fucking ruthless, the deer won't stand a chance. It'll be majestic.

I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.