Welp. Hi! 'Sup? I'm about to ramble a little about why I've been absent for half a year, so if you don't care, skip to the last paragraph of this note.

To the rest of you still with me, well... This all started because I was having trouble dividing my attention between this story, my dissertation and every odd job thrown my way. (If anyone tells you writing a dissertation isn't a full-time thing, kick them out a window, please. I've already kicked myself out a window for this.) Shortly before handing in my dissertation, I got offered a job (yes, yay!) and things got even more complicated because every bit of time off work I had was put into finishing the damn dissertation and then preparing for the defense. And I'm glad I did, because everything went really well!

And then... well... I got a bit burnt out from it all. I don't work as a writer per se, but my job requires me to basically write for 7-8 hours straight, so that didn't help matters. And then I decided to do a half-Nano, and do the other half in December, and here we are!

Now, I know this is very late, but I hope you can find it in your beautiful hearts to forgive me. I also hope you don't mind the small change in style. Keeping to a single character per chapter was working when the chapters were roughly 4,000-5,000 words, but for some reason I can't get these people to shut up these days. So I think this will work better, at least for now. But do let me know what you think!

And now, at long mothereffing last:

Chapter Eleven

wash the ashes from my hands

Kitty

Kitty and Piper stumbled home a bit past midnight, both giggling and a bit light-headed from the alcohol and the music. Kitty hooked her arm around Piper's waist before she toppled over.

"Sorry. Carpet," Piper offered by means of explanation, her words slurred, and then started giggling again. Kitty rolled her eyes at the deadweight, but she was laughing too. Why was it that once you started laughing at ridiculous stuff you simply couldn't stop?

"Pull yourself together. Aren't you the Prime Minister of England?" she mock-chastised, pulling Piper to a relatively upright position and helping her up the stairs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Kitty snorted. She didn't remember seeing Piper drink that much, but then again, she'd spent most of the night either laughing with or at Bartimaeus and Nathaniel. Dear Lord, she had not been expecting any of that. Kitty had never thought she'd enjoy the company of two magicians and a djinni. But the more time she spent around them, the clearer it became that they were forming this weird kinship that could become a friendship.

"Here we are," Kitty announced once they reached the top of the stairs, proceeding to move down the hallway. Piper silently followed.

When they reached the door to Piper's room, Kitty opened it and motioned with a flourish for Piper to enter. "Funny," Piper retorted. "I'm not drunk, you know."

"Of course not," was Kitty's wry reply.

Before her world had so radically shifted, Kitty could count on her fingers the bedrooms she'd entered: her own, Jakob's and her parents'. But now it wasn't uncommon for Kitty to enter Piper's. She'd been there earlier that night, letting Piper fuss over her with makeup brushes of all shapes and sizes.

Kitty made her way to the vanity and started removing her earrings as Piper shuffled about. Through the rusty mirror, Kitty watched Piper remove her heels and disappear inside her walk-in closet. Kitty opened the bottle of cleansing oil and poured a few drops on a cotton pad.

"He really had fun tonight, didn't he?" Piper's voice carried from the closet, the shifting of fabric in the background.

"He sure did." Kitty grabbed another pad as her first came back filthy with eyeshadow. "But not as much as Bartimaeus." Did anyone ever have as much fun as Bartimaeus, though?

"Well, I suppose they both deserved it. We all did."

Kitty spun around in the cushioned chair, but Piper was still in the closet. "Did you just say that Bartimaeus deserves to have fun?"

A pause. "He's not as aggravating as I first thought."

"That's mighty generous of you."

"Oh, hush." Piper stuck her head out, eyes narrowed as she threateningly shook a shoe at Kitty.

"You have to do better than that, Rebecca. I've faced a golem before, remember?"

The head disappeared back in the closet and Kitty returned to the task at hand, making sure to wipe her entire face free of foundation. She was finishing up on her lipstick when Piper emerged from the closet in her nightgown and dressing gown, grabbed the ottoman at the end of the bed and dragged it to sit next to Kitty.

Piper squinted as she studied Kitty's face. "What?" Kitty demanded, unconsciously leaning back.

Piper's sigh was lamenting, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Give me that," she ordered, snatching the oil and the pads. "If you don't take care of that skin, Kathleen Jones, you'll regret it. And we already know how you'll look when you're sixty, so you shouldn't push your luck." Piper forced one of Kitty's eyelids shut and dabbed at the line right over her lashes as she delivered this small speech. Then she moved on to the eyelashes, gently clasping them in between the cotton and pulling.

With only one eye open, Kitty peered down at Piper's focused grimace and almost laughed. But then she noticed the shadows around her eyes, usually covered up by makeup, but now noticeable after the long day. The premature lines around her mouth, crinkling her forehead. Kitty wondered if she would find some grey hairs if Piper's mousy hair wasn't just the right shade to make them unnoticeable.

Deciding she didn't want to make Piper think about whatever had made her this tired, she said instead, "This is the weirdest moment of my life." She blew a tuft of black-grey hair out of her face as Piper's features relaxed and then opened into a grin. That was better.

"Actually, I have to tell you something," Piper confessed, letting go of Kitty's right eyelid and moving on to the left.

"Why do you sound so tense about it?"

"I'm not. I just don't know how you'll react."

"You're not helping by being so cryptic." Kitty groaned and grabbed Piper's wrists. "Stop that. Just tell me."

Piper sighed and threw the pad in the garbage bin. "How would you feel about moving in with Nathaniel?"

It took a full breath for Kitty to ask, "What?"

Piper flinched. "Do you know about the programme for repurposing the deceased magicians' houses?"

Kitty nodded. "The one that's not going anywhere because the Council keeps fighting about it?"

"Right in one."

"Okay… But what does that have to do with any—" She interrupted herself when Piper's sheepish expression made something click in Kitty's head. Kitty's eyes went as wide as the pads. "You volunteered your house?"

Piper scratched at the ottoman, not meeting Kitty's eyes. "I guess I did?"

"That's—woah, that's a big step. Are you sure about this?"

"Afraid so. Already told the Council. They stopped fighting for now. But we're still running low on funding to rebuild what was destroyed, so I'm not sure how much difference it'll make."

"Well, it's a nice gesture, for starters," Kitty argued. "As for the money, just do a charity concert or something. It's not like you haven't been doing other events for sponsorships and the like. This would reach a wider audience." She said this with as much levity as if she'd suggested putting a lemonade stand outside.

Piper stared at her. "That… might not be a bad idea, actually." She considered this for another moment before saying, "You should come to the meeting and suggest it yourself, so the delegates don't think it's just us magicians making grabs at people's pockets."

"I have faith in you," Kitty deflected, not wanting to sit in another meeting and have to constantly fight the urge to choke Ronald bloody Kingston. She couldn't even think of him without putting 'bloody' in the middle of his two uptight names. How was she supposed to not fling herself at him the next time he mentioned reinstating surveillance and redoubling spirit punishments as a way for magicians to reassert themselves?

"Brilliant," Piper said with a sigh. "Hopefully the John Mandrake Effect works in my favour."

Kitty snorted. "The John Mandrake Effect?"

"Don't mock," Piper chastised, contradicting herself by impishly smirking. "Now that the news got out that he's alive, the Council's magicians are a lot more agreeable. I suppose they think John Mandrake would back me up and that he will return to work soon, so they don't want to get on his bad side. You should see Kingston every time the name John Mandrake is mentioned."

"Huh. He's not even there yet and he's already working magic."

"True." Piper aimed for nonchalance, but her tone came off a bit bitter. Kitty decided it was best to let it go for now. "So, about moving in…?"

Kitty's lips thinned into a white line. "I don't know. I'd rather get my own place. This seems like such an inconvenience to him."

"He doesn't think so. I talked to him earlier today and he said that we'd be welcome there."

"You talked to him first?"

"What would be the point of talking to you if he said no?"

Kitty supposed she had a point. "Fine."

"I assure you, it's only temporary. And I realise I'm putting you in a difficult position, but I don't think it'd be wise for you to live without his protection right now. We still don't know why that hybrid followed you, and now with Asmodeus no doubt fuming at having missed his mark, it's too risky. It's a wonder he's been keeping silent. I have to assume the horlas hurt him more than we suspected."

Kitty nodded, but then something occurred to her. "Wait. Why are you not getting your own place?"

Piper shrugged. "I'm going to North America soon."

"You're going to North—What? But didn't you say they didn't accept the treaty and refused to return their prisoners?"

"Yes. Because someone did a terrible job of writing it and I was spread so thin I didn't look at it. I think it was Ffoukes. I could kill him." Piper's nostrils flared. "Then again, I suppose this is new to most of us. Still." She let out a mix between a sigh and a groan as she scratched at her forehead. "North America has agreed to a treaty on the condition that revisions are made. It's been brought to our attention that a formal declaration of independence should be in there. So, we'll reformulate it until it's acceptable to both nations, and then I'll fly over so we can sign it together."

"But that's—"

"Risky? Reckless?" Piper gave her a look. "I hope you won't think of lecturing me after the risks you've taken."

Kitty swallowed her words. As much as she hated to admit it, Piper wasn't wrong. "I don't have to like it, though."

"Trust me, no one does." Piper glanced at Kitty's legs and she finally noticed they'd been bouncing all this time. She stopped. "North America signed the armistice. They don't want to keep fighting either. And while this peace treaty won't solve the damage at all, it's a step in the right direction.

"I have to make this right," Piper continued in a softer voice, swallowing over a lump in her throat and mindlessly gesticulating at the air between them. "You, Nathaniel and Bartimaeus have done your part. Your sacrifices saved London. And this may be crazy and a trap, but it's my turn to do something. I'm the Prime Minister. It's my job to protect the people of the Empire. Or what's left of it."

Kitty said nothing, openly staring at Piper, her admiration growing by the second. It took Kitty a while to find the words, but when she had them, she grabbed Piper's hand, saving the ottoman from her nails, and squeezed. "You're the most badass Prime Minister in history."

Piper's eyes glimmered with unshed tears as laughter bubbled out of her.

(…)

Bartimaeus

"What are you doing?"

Nathaniel started at my voice and put the tome down on his stomach. "Reading, what does it look like?"

It was Sunday afternoon, and I'd hoped for a lazy day, but Nathaniel had insisted on morning physiotherapy as usual, complaining all the while anyway. (1) Piper and Kitty had come for lunch, commenting on last night's events, Kitty demanding I do the dance again, Nathaniel groaning and pretending not to look.

(1) Even though I went out of my way to choose other vegetables and fruit to compare his cheeks to instead of strawberries. I used beetroot, watermelon, and cherry, but nothing was to his liking. Tough crowd.

The last stubborn orange rays of sunlight were spearing through ashy clouds and spilling in, warming the carpet. The persistent smell of old books and dust clung to the room, regardless of how often it was cleaned. The music I kept playing every day barely reached this room, reminding me to up the volume once I was done poking Nathaniel.

I unglued myself from the doorframe and padded barefooted into the library, plopping down on the floor next to the sofa and the pile of books beside it. "I didn't know you read about ancient pentacles just for pleasure. But then again, I guess I never understood a magician's mind. Not even after inhabiting such forbidden territory."

Nathaniel wrinkled his nose at me. "Sitting puts strain on my side and reading while standing makes my neck hurt." He waved at the desk sitting right by the window, where three piles of books towered in competition with one another. "I've tried for half an hour and gave up."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Your neck must be very comfortable right now."

And there came the expected glare. Honestly, some days it truly was too easy to irritate him. I knew all the buttons to push and when to push them. Oddly enough, it was still entertaining to come up with new combinations.

"I'm serious. I made that suit jacket so comfortable you could sleep on it. Not that you should, it's a masterpiece."

Nathaniel blinked, confused for a second. Then he caught up and blushed. In a swift movement, he'd removed my jacket from underneath his head and thrown it at me. It didn't make me stop laughing, so I won.

"Why are you still in that guise anyway?" he grumbled, fixating his gaze on the pages. "And what happened to your shirt?"

"I used it as a cloth after I washed the dishes."

Nathaniel looked at me incredulously for a moment. "Don't we have cloths?"

"Just put them in the washer this morning," I said, not missing the 'we' or how infuriatingly domestic this conversation sounded.

"Brilliant. Now put on a bloody shirt, will you?"

I put on a bloody shirt, to which he rolled his eyes.

"Does this guise bother you?" I asked, grinning and leaning forward to force him to look at me.

Nathaniel moved the book so it'd act like a shield. "You bother me."

The grin only grew larger. "Didn't know you harboured all these secret feelings for me."

Nathaniel groaned and ran a hand down his face. "I don't have time for this."

"You're on house arrest—"

"Am not."

"—so you have plenty of time."

Nathaniel glared at me and then went back to his book. I let him for a minute, so he'd think he'd won.

And then: "What's got you so enraptured anyway?" I tilted my head to check, but Nathaniel immediately closed the book.

"Do you mind?" he all but growled.

I raised my eyebrows at the tone but decided to ignore his blatant dismissal. "I would fire whoever dusts these books, by the way. You've got dust all over your face."

Nathaniel irritably wiped his face with his hand, managing only to spread it around. "You were the one in charge of that."

"Before shit hit the fan, you mean."

The book slid off Nathaniel's startled hands and into my waiting ones. I skipped away before he could make a grab for it, ignoring his groan of frustration and a very haughty, "Bartimaeus!" The victorious smirk died on my face the moment my eyes landed on the page he'd dog-eared.

Overruling pentacles.

Nathaniel was grimacing and applying pressure to his side with his free hand when I turned around to look at him. "Give me that," he demanded. I did automatically, stupidly out of habit.

But it was too late. I'd seen it. There were one-hundred and fifty-nine questions swimming in my mind, but I had been rendered too shocked to ask a single one. (2)

(2) Look, it would be pointless anyway, wouldn't it? Imagine having him answer them one by one, just because humans can't function any other way. It's so impractical to tailor everything to such faint brain power.

"Don't look at me like that," he had the gall to say. "No one's letting me do anything."

Still rendered speechless, I watched as he shifted in his seat to properly face me for the first time since I'd entered the room. His eyebrows were knitted together, and his jaw set defiantly. It was an expression I hadn't seen in a while directed at me. Usually it meant he cared a lot more about the receiver's opinion than he wanted to let on.

Somehow that made me find my voice. "Do you understand—"

"The risks? Obviously I do. Who do you take me for?"

I decided to leave that unanswered for the moment. (3) "It's very draining magic—"

(3) But I'm generous by nature and would never leave out a few options for you: an idiot; an arrogant moron; dead from the neck up.

"I know."

"—and you're healing—"

"I know."

"—and there's no guarantee it'd work."

"I know." He sighed and needlessly pulled his short hair back.

I stared openly at him, and if my facial expression was filled with reproach and annoyance, all the better.

"Bartimaeus…" he said, making sure to pronounce every syllable right, every damn sound. It was such a magician thing to do, making us remember the cursed moment we'd been ripped from home, forced into an individual identity. I didn't care how ingrained it was by this point. It was the tone, the intention behind it. After all he'd experienced when we'd shared a consciousness, I'd begun expecting more.

"I need to do something. I was in a coma for too long and I've—" He cleared his throat. "There are some things that need fixing. That I need to fix."

"Most people would start by fixing themselves, you know."

"Good thing I'm not most people." He smirked, the bastard.

I quirked my eyebrow at him, utterly unimpressed.

Nathaniel dropped the smirk and went back to being proper and serious. "I owe this country—these people a lot."

"Again, most people start by apologising."

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

I tried not to let that bother me, because I could think of a place or two.

Nathaniel frowned and leaned back. "Why are there giant neon arrows pointing at you?"

I dismissed them. "No reason." Before he could question me further, I said, "So, about that research you're doing, do you think you could pull it off?"

"I hope so. Actually, I've been meaning to ask your opinion on something. I didn't know when I'd get to, since I planned on keeping this a secret for a while longer. No point in alarming Kitty and Piper if this turns out to be utter rubbish, right?"

Again, I tried not to let any of that bother me, but it was no easy feat. Nathaniel was calm and relatively happy when he was doing research, finding new ways to do things, testing his own mind. Just like Ptolemy. A foreign urge to get closer to him nearly overcame me.

Nathaniel was trying to shift carefully in order to show me the book, but I solved that issue by getting up and plopping down on the sofa next to him. He flinched when our shoulders touched and I pulled back, startled by his reaction.

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"No, I'm sorry." I put a few centimetres between us, annoyed by my own defensiveness. He'd had zero qualms in grabbing my wrist the day before, and now he was acting all prissy again.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "So, this is one of the most basic pentacles for overruling a summons, right? You've probably seen some variation of it."

I nodded, examining the pages he'd pointed to. There was plenty of scribbling in Ancient Greek around a drawing of the pentacle. "Clearly written pretty early on." I muttered as I went through the scribbles. "Aha, here it is." I tapped the footnote. "It says here they experimented with this pentacle between 166 and 159 BC. Wasn't this one of the methods the Romans used to expand their empire?"

"Yes, and they were obviously successful, so this should work for its intended purpose."

"But that's not what you're after."

"Precisely." He grinned, like I'd just said something clever instead of the most common observation one could make in that moment. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. "I was wondering… The pentacle has three lines, each separated by runes. There's incense too, of course. But the lines… Could we change them somehow? I think that might be the key."

I briefly wondered if someone had kidnapped I've-Got-A-Stick-Up-My-Butthole Nathaniel and replaced him with this semi-pleasant version. But then I remembered he could be charming when he wanted something. Typical.

"I don't know if I'm the one to ask here," I admitted. "I'm inside pentacles often enough, unfortunately, and I know how they work and the purpose of each line and rune, but this is essentially creating a new pentacle." As an after-thought I added, "You'd definitely have to change the words at least. Maybe some of the runes too, since you're not trying to bind but to… steal?"

Nathaniel was staring at me with the ghost of a smile on his face when I finished. "Yes, not helpful at all, are you?"

"I'm plenty helpful."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Yes—well."

The corner of his lips twitched up, but he hid it by rummaging behind a pillow. Nathaniel pulled out a few crumpled notebook pages, smoothed them out on his lap, and put them on top of the book.

"I made some preliminary drawings, experimenting with different combinations of runes, incense, lines and the general placement of each element."

I examined the dozen pieces of paper individually, taking note of the precise strokes and minute handwriting on the corners, where Nathaniel had explained how each element could affect the pentacle. There was also tentative analysis of the text used for the summons, along with hypotheses on which language would be most effective.

"When did you find the time to do all this?" I asked him, begrudgingly impressed.

"You mean besides all the free time I get from doing absolutely nothing all day?"

"Don't be sassy with me, dumbass. You're supposed to rest. Take naps, for Pete's sake! You've always looked like you needed an injection of sleep, but now you can actually sleep."

"I do sleep!" Psh. "But besides tolerating physiotherapy with you in the mornings, I have nothing else to do. I'm bored out of my mind."

"What a hobby," I drawled, ignoring his weak jab. "Careful now. If we don't tame your eighteen-year-old impulses, soon you'll be terrorising London's nightlife with your crochet patterns."

Nathaniel wrinkled his nose at me. "Goodness, you're like a hyperactive child. Just focus, will you?"

Still grinning at my clear win, I returned my attention to the papers. "Well, you seem to be getting along fine without me. What do you even need?"

"A second opinion, mostly. You said we should consider the words too, right? But this bit is tricky, since we can't summon the spirits from somewhere if we don't know where they are." He reached over with a pencil and pointed at a paper with the tip. "Makepeace substituted into the pentacle for into this vessel and added something about the spirit obeying the vessel's will, don't remember the exact words. Still, using names should be more effective, whether they're of spirits, humans or places."

"But we don't have access to those," I reminded him.

"We do know Asmodeus's name, at least, even if we don't know where he is. But if we find out… I won't mind using him as a guinea pig if you won't."

Then he gave me this devious look and I felt a foreign rush in my essence. I was transported to a few days ago in his kitchen. The heavy implication of his words. And then I noticed that throughout all of this talking and bickering, we'd ended up sitting closer, with our thighs pressed together. From here, the heady smell of his shampoo was a bit overwhelming—cedar and some sort of nut—and it shouldn't be surprising, given the amount of hair product he used. (4)

(4) I'd wager a monthly dose would kill a small school of whales, but I humbly recognise I'm no expert on the matter.

"Bartimaeus?" he asked, and I halted completely, realising I was about to bury my nose in Nathaniel's hair to put my curiosity to rest.

Nathaniel looked shocked and more than a little flushed. I was suddenly reminded of the day before, how he'd flushed with annoyance and grabbed my wrist to join Kitty and Piper in the crowd. Like it was normal. Like we did it all the time. My essence burned a circle beneath the fake skin, failing at accurately reproducing how it'd felt to be touched without contempt or disgust.

I suddenly jumped off the sofa. He studied me for a moment, his eyes huge and uncomprehending. Realising I still had the book, I swiftly handed it back to him and said, "Best to ask Piper or Mr Button. Kitty seems fond of him, doesn't sound like a gossip either. Plus, he reads a lot, I hear. Didn't he lose a limb for trying to summon a marid on his own? There you go, another scientific mind. I'm sure if you put your heads together, you'll come up with a solution—"

"Wha—"

"Now I have to go get dinner ready. Been a pleasure. See you later."

"But it's only three…" I heard him mumble as I exited the library as fast as human legs would carry me. Self-preservation instincts had got me this far and they wouldn't fail me now; I wouldn't break into a run or fly out of a library to get away from a mere human. Please.

As I walked and my mind cleared and my essence settled, I reminded myself that, in spite of how nice this brainstorming session had been, Nathaniel would probably revert to his old habits once he'd felt he'd paid his debt to the city. As soon as he sat at the power table again, it'd be easy to erase everything else from his concerns. This was ultimately a nice gesture, but one meant to solve a human problem, so it didn't concern me. I'd got entangled in their messes one too many times.

Besides, no one was forcing me, for a change. And what was there in it for me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was only research and new pentacles and digging up old memories. And Nathaniel doing things that unsettled my essence.

No, I didn't think it would be good for me.

(…)

Piper

The beam of sunlight coming in through the window and landing on the paper startled Piper out of her stupor. She'd been hunched over that same report for the past fifteen minutes, eyes glazed over as her mind replayed the past Saturday, all the laughter and the music and the joy.

With a sigh, she got up from her desk in order to stretch, her spine popping as she went. Careful not to stumble on any pile of books, files and papers around her desk, Piper made her way to the coffee machine, her favourite addition to the office. The previous occupant clearly hadn't cared much about this small private room; most offices she'd visited in the Ministries were kept pristine and tidy to facilitate magical work. The walls, which had previously been eggshell, had turned yellow with age and smoke, the bookshelves lining the walls were giving out under the weight of moth-eaten books, and the green carpet had glaring cigarette marks.

It made her wonder what the Minister for Education had been doing all this time. But mostly, it made her think that she desperately needed to redecorate. Now wasn't the time, however, and she didn't know where she'd store all her paperwork in the meantime. There was a method to the madness, after all. Still, her nose always acted up when she was in the room, and she was sure it was because of the godforsaken carpet.

The coffee machine beeped to let her know it was done brewing. Piper filled a mug to the brim, added just a dash of milk and one sugar, went back for another sugar, and carried it to the small brown leather couch by the window. Then, after clearing some space by moving sets of files into bigger piles, she settled down with the report in one hand and the mug full of delicious coffee in the other.

Piper took a greedy slug, not caring how her throat burned, and closed her eyes as the sun warmed her scalp. She didn't remember the last time she'd stood outside in the sun just because she could. Not that she was a big fan of sunny weather in general, but days like this, where the sun sometimes peeked through thick, waterlogged clouds were her favourite.

Right. Back to work.

The words in the report became clearer as the coffee kicked in, and soon Piper moved on to another. This one was a police report about a hybrid attack that had occurred in Wembley just the day before in the wee hours of the morning.

With the Greybacks having been formally disbanded due to the heavy losses caused by Jane Farrar's impulsive behaviour, the police were lacking in resources capable of handling such complicated targets. They were hoping to beef up the teams with some of the returned soldiers. Piper was to guarantee their return during her stay in Boston, where she'd meet with the North American President-to-be in order to sign a revised peace treaty they were still working on, in order to fill the gaps and enable the continuous search and removal of the hybrids.

Since Devereaux had absorbed the role of Chief of Police, Piper had inherited the responsibility and was now trying to part with it as much and as fast as possible. But first, she needed a new Chief, and none of the candidates inspired enough confidence for her to make such an impactful decision in such troubling times.

And then, when Piper thought the report would go on much like the others, something caught her attention—the mention of a rogue wolf, which had attacked and killed the hybrid the police had been attempting to get under control. None of the officers present had claimed it as their own spirit. There was to be an enquiry into the matter, but so far there was no more information.

Piper reread that specific part of the report a few dozen times more, hoping to squeeze out information that simply wasn't there. She got up quickly, made a note asking her assistant to get in contact with the officer who had written the report and slapped the note on top of it. As an afterthought, she requested a meeting with the Home Secretary, the Minister for Security, and the Head of Internal Affairs. Then she went to take another sip of her coffee and noticed she had none left.

She frowned and went to get some more, replaying the events of her own encounter with (probably) the same wolf two weeks prior. The wolf had taken down the hybrid like it knew exactly what it was doing. And now that Piper had read about this second intervention, she couldn't help but wonder if that wasn't exactly the case. Had this wolf been sent on lone missions to destroy the hybrids? That would explain the fact that there weren't as many hybrid sightings as they'd expected. The council had assumed they'd gone into hiding, like Asmodeus, but maybe there had been something eliminating them all along.

But why the secrecy? And how was the wolf doing it? Every time she thought of this, Piper wondered if she hadn't got it wrong and this was in fact a Greyback. But the matter was that she'd never seen a wolf so small and brown-coated in their ranks, or so powerful, and this kind of werewolf would certainly be hard to miss. Then there was the fact that the police report identified the wolf as a spirit, and, contrarily to Piper's encounter, in which both her spirits had been put out of combat, this time there were other spirits there to identify it. Unless…

Unless the wolf was a hybrid.

Piper was still contemplating this from her couch, nibbling on the inside of her cheek, when someone knocked on the door. She started, nearly spilling the coffee, and then gathered herself and told them to come in.

Mr Button limped in, heavily relying on crutches, followed by a visibly frustrated George Ffoukes. It was all in his face—Ffoukes blushed every time he got annoyed or angry. It was quite distracting during meetings, because it was obvious whenever someone had managed to do it and every attempt Ffoukes employed to make himself appear unaffected backfired.

Ffoukes's charms had soured ever since he'd been caught with stolen magical artefacts from the ruins of Pinn's Accoutrements over three years ago (and right under Julius Tallow's nose to boot). He'd been severely demoted to perform nearly the same administrative tasks as the two commoners working at the Department of Internal Affairs at the time, something Ffoukes still resented. For her part, Piper had seen no choice but to give him some power, given the abysmal lack of talent in the government. She'd hoped his charisma and no small amount of power would serve the Foreign Ministry, but the one remarkable thing he'd accomplished so far was further aggravating North America by producing an offensive peace treaty. And again she balked at the fact that they still didn't have an Attorney General.

"Gentlemen," Piper greeted, settling her mug on the desk and motioning for Mr Button and Ffoukes to sit on the spare chairs on the opposite side of her desk.

"Much obliged, Piper," Mr Button said as he all but fell on his chair. Piper was once again reminded that this building was not friendly to people like Mr Button. Short of offering to get a spirit to carry him—and risk offending him—Piper wasn't sure what she could do to make this matter easier. Not to mention that Mr Button hadn't complained to her once about it.

"Cheers," said Ffoukes, instantly irking Piper. That was not the way to address your Prime Minister.

Deciding not to rise to the bait, Piper sat down on her chair and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"Well." Mr Button clasped his hands together, his eyebrows making a small hill on his forehead as he grinned apologetically.

"Go on," Piper urged, fighting the need to groan and ask instead, What now?

George Ffoukes apparently wasn't in the mood for dallying either. "We're having trouble with the Winter soiree."

Piper opened her mouth to ask why Ffoukes was the one bringing her news about the Winter soiree, but then she remembered the rumours about a bet. A bet about who would be part of the organisation committee. While they were in the middle of a crisis. Brilliant.

Ffoukes didn't seem to notice. "Too many people, too little staff and therefore too little food. Certainly, you know we've only hosted magicians before."

The contempt in his voice made a vein in her temple pulse. Taking a discreet deep breath so as not to tell Ffoukes to sod off and grow up, Piper smiled sweetly and said, "And surely you must know that our new council has members who aren't magicians, and those members have larger families that need to be accommodated as well. Or would you rather tell them that they aren't invited because we haven't thought of a way to solve it?"

Mr Button's eyebrows shot upwards again, and Piper could tell he was trying not to laugh. It became evident he was only there to referee, because surely Mr Button wasn't part of the committee with everything he had on his plate working at the Home Office.

Ffoukes grit his teeth. "Of course not. But you're asking for too much when our budget is so limited. If we limited it to members of the council and their partners—"

"Magician's apprentices have always been allowed to participate," Mr Button reminded him. "Not to extend the same kindness to commoners' own children would be noticed and resented."

Ffoukes rolled his eyes like that was the least of his worries. "So you've said. But we magicians are all in agreement that it isn't our problem if commoners like to procreate like bloody rabbits."

Mr Button turned to him, utterly shocked. Piper couldn't hold back her furious look this time. "Actually, Mr Ffoukes, I think the issue here is why haven't you found a solution for this yet? Surely you can't be expecting me to solve yet another one of your problems, yes?"

Ffoukes's face went slack at the jab, face flushing an angry scarlet.

Piper hadn't brought up the disaster of a peace treaty he'd written in front of anyone else, even though it was common knowledge among the council that Ffoukes was walking on thin ice. Nowadays he hung around the most frustrated and haughty magicians left in government, namely Ronald Kingston, all lurking in waiting for Piper to fall on her face so they could take over.

The only reason she hadn't yet left for North America to clear up all that mess was knowing this wouldn't be a lost opportunity to them. Well, that and the fact that they were still negotiating the right date. Piper trusted Mr Button to do a good job and have the Empire's best interests at heart, and she could begrudgingly admit that Norwood could give all of those magicians a run for their money in every meeting, even if the idea of a baker finding the time to study politics was beyond her.

Still, it wasn't enough to soothe her. The only thing that brought her some peace of mind was the pressure Nathaniel's presence exerted even now, even though he hadn't sat in a single council meeting. In fact, that was probably what made it all the more effective—they knew he was alive, they knew he was coming back, and the fact that he hadn't acted yet made them nervous. Plus, Kitty would pulp them all if they tried anything.

Piper hid her smile, wishing she could bring the pair of them with her to North America, and also to every Interim Council meeting just so the delegates would shut up and listen for once.

Ffoukes's indignant noises were what brought her back to present moment. Gaping like a fish, failing to produce any sort of dignified reply, Ffoukes looked like someone had just told him he'd have to sit through a six-hour play by Makepeace.

"It's not simply the catering, you know?" Ffoukes spat with a stony expression. "We're all rushing to make it happen, but we'll have to compromise on quality. I hardly think that's ideal if you want to keep from blighting your image further."

Piper only allowed herself to narrow her eyes at him in warning.

Ffoukes continued, a pleased grin on his face: "It's the matter of the entertainment, the food and drink, none of which we have the budget for, and paying the monstrous bills of the Richmond estate—if old Devereaux was good at something, it was at spending large sums of money. The garden will need to be arranged, and the house redecorated for the evening. Then there's already complaints about the date because the guests are all very important people."

"What's your point?" Piper asked drily.

"We need time and a proper budget if we want to make this happen right. We won't accomplish anything by doing a patched-up soiree everyone will laugh about. If you aren't willing to be sensible and compromise on the number of guests, at least have the sense to compromise on a date."

"This year the soiree should be quite something," Mr Button said gently, looking almost apologetic. "We're honouring two national heroes instead of one—two. And a new Prime Minister, of course. It would be a shame if the party was underwhelming. Imagine the tabloids."

Brilliant. Now even Mr Button was siding with this fox. "What date did you have in mind?"

"March."

"That's hardly a winter soiree, is it? January," Piper immediately countered.

"February, then?" Mr Button suggested.

Piper and Ffoukes glared at each other, waiting for the other to budge first. Mr Button cleared his throat, and both nodded tersely.

Then Piper remembered something that could tip the balance in her favour once more. "Ffoukes, try contacting Ricardo Brunetti, the owner of the hotel l'Oracolo in Whitechapel. He always seems very eager to help. I'm not sure he'd let us borrow his staff for the evening, but he probably has contacts."

Mr Button was nodding along, looking mildly impressed by her quick thinking. "Very agreeable man, Brunetti. I've had lunch with him a couple times this month, and he is such a knowledgeable fellow. Promised me to let me borrow some books on ancient empires." Then, remembering what they were previously discussing, he added, "I'm sure he'll offer his staff once he knows who's asking and the occasion."

Ffoukes looked less than pleased about doing as he was told, but that was probably because Piper had ended up resolving the matter for him in the end. It gave her a wicked sense of satisfaction.

"If that's all?" she said, just to jostle him.

"Yes." Ffoukes clicked his tongue. "I will make the call straight away. Thank you for your time."

He'd started moving to the door as he said this, eager to disappear. He stopped there to wait for Mr Button.

"You go on ahead, George," he called back to Ffoukes, who nodded and closed the door behind him. Then, swiftly turning back to Piper and leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered, "Glad that's settled."

Piper sighed, feeling some of the tension melt off her shoulders. "Thank you for running interference. I'd be lost without you."

"Nonsense, you silly girl." Mr Button chuckled good-naturedly, but she could tell the compliment pleased him greatly. "Now," he turned serious again, "Pinn told me to remind you of that situation."

"What situ—oh." Piper frowned. The residual magic near London Bridge situation, of course. "No time and no resources. We've talked about this. I can't just gather a small group of people and tell them to go inspect bricks, now can I?"

Mr Button shrugged, looking amused. "Former PMs have done stranger things."

Piper nearly rolled her eyes. "We're in a time of crisis."

"It's always a time of crisis."

Piper rubbed her temples to try and soothe the flare of annoyance threatening to overpower her. "Mr Button, you'll have to forgive me, but I was just making some preparations for my upcoming departure," she lied.

"Of course, Rebecca. But let me remind you that Pinn is not the sort of fellow to send a Prime Minister on a wild-goose chase."

Maybe not a Prime Minister he respected, he wouldn't, Piper thought in defiance. "If that's the case, then surely he is interested in whatever this is. Why doesn't he go?"

"Well, for one thing, he isn't certain it is a magical artefact and not simply magic stored inside the bridge—or somewhere nearby, naturally."

"Naturally," Piper deadpanned.

"There's also the matter that he's currently travelling a great deal to restock. That golem sure did a number on his stock three years ago. Plus," Mr Button's eyes twinkled mischievously, "he's probably scared and doesn't want to get involved."

Piper stared bemusedly at Mr Button for a moment. "Mr Pinn is a fine magician. I'm sure he'd manage not to get mutilated in the process. Besides, why would he even need to be there? No—never mind." Piper raised a hand to stop Mr Button from answering. "I know why. If it turned out to be a valued artefact, he'd want it for himself. Which means he really must be scared, if he won't even try."

They both contemplated this for a moment, and then Mr Button said, "Well, this has to be good reason for you to pursue it, surely."

"I told you—"

"You do have resources. Great resources, in fact."

"I do?" And then the return of the mischievous glint made her put the pieces in place. "I'm not asking Mr Mandrake and Ms Jones to endanger their lives yet again because Mr Pinn is lazy and potentially… chicken." And because they were in no shape to do it, at least not Nathaniel, but she wouldn't say that out loud in a building full of magicians. The less they knew about his condition, the better. Let them think he was taking time off.

Mr Button chuckled at the word choice. "Well, they'd be discreet." At this he gave her a meaningful look and Piper sighed. He'd been giving her grief about Nathaniel being alive ever since the news came out. "You could keep it off the records, if you'd like, and they have a decent success rate, wouldn't you say?"

"When you put it like that…" Piper grumbled. "I suppose I could ask?" Maybe she would tell Kitty, but she'd be damned if she ordered them to do anything.

Mr Button gave the table a cheerful tap. "Wonderful news! I shall tell Pinn next time I see him that you're looking into it. Maybe then we'll get to talk about the new artefacts he's found for a change."

He sat there grinning at her and Piper sighed. She'd allowed him to dump one more item on her never-ending list of unaccomplished tasks. They lacked funds, they lacked resources, they lacked time. It all seemed very daring from where she was sitting. Piper suddenly remembered what Kitty had told her on Saturday night after they'd come back from Nathaniel's birthday dinner.

"Say, Mr Button, what do you think about a benefit concert?"

Also, it wasn't fair to thank Anjum up there in the middle of that self-indulgent speech, so I'm putting it here now. Here's a toast to all the faces I've forced you to make throughout Bart's section and all the ridiculous typos you made fun of me for.

And don't think I didn't notice you beautiful newcomers! Nonono, you'll be hearing from me shortly. Pull up a chair and grab your fave snack, because this is going to be one hell of a ride.

Stay safe and stay awesome, and here's to a... mild 2021.