.

Chapter Twelve

like silver lines breaking

Nathaniel

Two weeks after Nathaniel had asked Bartimaeus for his insights on the pentacles for overruling a summons, Bartimaeus still hadn't changed his mind. Every time Nathaniel brought it up, he was either shut down or ignored. The commotion caused by Kitty and Piper moving in certainly didn't help matters, since Bartimaeus took every instance he was asked for help as an opportunity to scatter. To add to that, Piper had finally told Nathaniel where she was going—North America, to sign the peace treaty. If Nathaniel hadn't been on edge before, that sealed the deal.

Nathaniel's frustration and anger turned into short remarks during physio, lack of proper thanks for his meals, and overall cold attitude towards Bartimaeus after he was denied help. Bartimaeus took it all in stride, resisting Nathaniel's attempts at dragging their conversations into arguments and ignoring his attitude. Instead, Bartimaeus had suggested they incorporated some self-defence into Nathaniel's physio, which Nathaniel was sure was unnecessary by that point, but had agreed to because he refused to let Bartimaeus think of him as weak.

Nathaniel reckoned this was Bartimaeus's way of getting back at him, because so far Nathaniel had ended up on his arse more often than not, and Bartimaeus had moved on to calling him spaghetti legs. This at least partly assuaged Nathaniel's guilt towards the way he was treating Bartimaeus, but it didn't evaporate his irritation.

If resenting Bartimaeus brought Nathaniel no comfort, then his self-flagellation over his own behaviour only served to further sour his mood. Ultimately, he knew Bartimaeus was right—asking Piper or, indeed, knowledgeable Mr Button (as far as he could garner from Kitty and Piper's descriptions) seemed a much better solution. He was convinced he wasn't inclined to for two simple reasons: one, both Piper and Mr Button were overworked, and two, he wanted to do it alone, accomplish something, since nobody allowed him to participate in much of anything these days.

That was when an annoying part of his brain echoed back that if that were true, then he wouldn't have asked Bartimaeus in the first place. And this time he couldn't justify it with anything Ptolemy-related, because, as far as he could tell, these pentacles had been invented later on, when the Romans were trying to take over the Greeks. So Ptolemy wouldn't have had a chance to research anything of the sort.

Nathaniel then chose to think that it didn't matter so much that Ptolemy hadn't studied them; it was still relevant that Ptolemy had invented a new pentacle in apparently record time. A pentacle that had been proven to work just recently, so it was worth looking into what else he knew.

However, all of that only made him more self-conscious about the memories he'd seen, and Bartimaeus's relationship with Ptolemy, which Nathaniel tried not to think about. He couldn't simply ask Bartimaeus about it directly. It was one thing to say he was aware of the identity of Bartimaeus's favourite disguise, and another completely to imply he knew the extent of their relationship.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Nathaniel had been forced to look elsewhere. And that had turned out to be summoning another spirit who might provide some help and come with less backtalk than Bartimaeus.

Although, if Nathaniel were being honest, he might have recognised that this need to call on another spirit servant was intrinsically related with his newfound discomfort on having to rely on Bartimaeus. Nathaniel had now firmly placed the day in his library in the same category as Ptolemy's memories: don't think about it. Because, if he did, he'd see that stupid guise's gorgeous dark face looming closer—undoubtedly for some nefarious reason—and that was simply counter-productive to Nathaniel's health.

So, he'd been weighing his options for the last few days, glumly reaching the conclusion (yet again) that it was hard to get decent help these days and wondering how his former master had done it when an idea hit him. From there, everything had flown smoothly. He had a couple pentacles pre-drawn in his library, his stock of incenses was healthy and always kept up to date. All he needed was to recheck the runes and go over the summons enough times that he felt comfortable he could do it.

After all, this time he was attempting to summon an afrit.

Maybe he would've told Bartimaeus if he didn't feel like strangling him every time they crossed paths. But then again, why should he? This strange urge to communicate with Bartimaeus was perplexing and a bit worrying. Besides, Bartimaeus would probably stop him, or get Kitty and Piper to do it. The last thing Nathaniel needed was to be coddled, so he put it out of his head and focused on the book before him.

Afrits were volatile and dangerous. Nathaniel knew this very well. He'd just escaped Asmodeus's claws, after all. So he'd doubled the incense, placed as many protective runes as he dared. He knew this would wind him up at best. He hoped he didn't faint, but it was fine if he did. He had prepared for that as well.

Sitting on a sturdy chair inside the largest pentacle he had drawn on the floorboards of the library so that, should he fall, he'd remain well inside the pentacle's limits, Nathaniel looked over the page before him one more time before closing the book and placing it behind him on the chair. Then he took several cleansing breaths to clear his mind, putting thoughts of Bartimaeus, Kitty, and Piper in hidden neat compartments.

When he was ready, Nathaniel spoke.

Nothing happened for a few moments, but Nathaniel waited patiently, confident he had done everything right, that at least this he could still do right. Sweating profusely, panting harshly, and clinging with a white-knotted grip to the chair, Nathaniel counted the seconds in his head. Hunched over like this, he could feel the bones in his ribcage digging into his stomach and his scarred side protesting at the pressure. He wiped his brow, not wanting the afrit to see how much this summons had cost him.

And then came a blinding light in the circle before him, a heat so piercing Nathaniel's fingers lost their grip on the chair, the muscles and tendons going taut. He was inhaling lava. Nathaniel desperately pulled his shirt to cover his mouth and nose, but he didn't dare close his eyes.

"Are you quite done?" he rasped out eventually.

The light receded until it became a small white orb floating over the pentacle. It reminded Nathaniel of something Bartimaeus had done recently to convey his exhaustion. Somehow, this orb seemed more explosive than exhausted.

"Force of habit," said a bland voice.

"So I'd imagine," retorted Nathaniel. A shiver went through his body at the sudden drop in temperature. He flexed his fingers as discreetly as possible. "Now, Shubit, I have a proposition for you."

Normally Nathaniel would have opened with a short preamble—asked him questions about his accomplishments and other basic information to get them going—but they both knew Nathaniel was aware of all that, so there was no point. Besides, they weren't completely strangers.

As if he'd read his mind, Shubit said, "I confess I wasn't expecting to be summoned so soon after my previous master died. Much less by her former apprentice, the one and only John Mandrake." If there was any underlaying mocking to these words, Nathaniel couldn't tell. He'd always thought of Shubit as efficient and polite—the complete opposite of Bartimaeus. But with it also came uncertainty, because while Bartimaeus wasted no time in spouting his most random thoughts, Shubit was quiet and harder to read, something rare for an afrit.

Nonetheless, he had witnessed something which could play out in his favour.

"It is precisely Jessica Whitwell that I want to discuss."

The orb said nothing.

The events from that night felt disorganised in Nathaniel's head, like someone had walked in and changed the books from their rightful shelves. A drop of sweet slid down his back. His hands were clammy and uncooperative still. It was with great effort that Nathaniel managed to continue.

"She summoned you into a room full of hybrids—spirits who had taken over human bodies. Then she ordered you to attack, which you did. But soon you were dismissed because Whitwell was killed.

"My question is why? Certainly you knew the hybrids would overpower you and kill her immediately. There was no point in fighting, was there? So why did you?"

"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision," came the answer a beat later.

"Bollocks," said Nathaniel, not in the mood for charades.

The orb stilled in response, then transformed into a familiar grizzly bear. "I don't remember you being so petulant before. What is it you want from me?"

"Mostly answers. Look, there is nothing in the summons to bind you to my will—no clauses, no lines in the pentacle, no runes, nothing. I'm merely protecting myself and looking for answers. You can decide to give them or not, but I believe that you acted the way you did for other reasons."

The bear considered him with a distrusting stare. "I may be only two thousand years old, but I know you magicians are full of tricks."

Nathaniel fought the answer in his lips that wanted to communicate that spirits were the ones full of tricks. That would be the furthest thing from productive in that moment.

"Much good it did us." Nathaniel was just throwing a bone, he knew, but he hoped Shubit would take it either way. "I'm not interested in the way things were done before. I'm trying to do better."

Until he'd said these words out loud, Nathaniel hadn't truly thought about their implication. Was he trying to be better not just for his country but towards spirits as well? Bartimaeus insinuated himself in his thoughts again, in Ptolemy's guise to further aggravate him.

Damn it all.

Nathaniel was sure that if it were Bartimaeus in the pentacle, he would've scoffed. Instead, there was amused bemusement in Shubit's beady eyes. The grizzly bear tilted its head, as if in consideration.

Suddenly flames erupted from around Nathaniel, fighting the pentacle's limits and once again making his body feel impossibly rigid. He breathed through it as best he could. Beads of sweat accumulated on his forehead, his mind wanting to shut down. But Nathaniel didn't look away, even as his eyes burned and dried quickly. Nathaniel was on a mission and he would see this through.

As abruptly as it had begun, the flames receded and disappeared.

"I hated Jessica Whitwell," Shubit confessed coolly, as if he hadn't just tried to attack Nathaniel.

Nathaniel blinked rapidly to rehydrate his eyes. A few tears fell. He stayed quiet this time, hoping Shubit would feel invited to elaborate.

"She was too cunning for me to fool, and she was strict. Never failed to punish us when something didn't go according to her instructions. So I didn't attack to protect her, if that's what you're insinuating."

"It wasn't." He paused to allow Shubit to continue. When he didn't, Nathaniel added, "I think you attacked the hybrids because you disagree with their ideals."

A pause. "And what if I did?"

"Like I said," Nathaniel grinned, "I have a proposition for you."

(…)

Piper

"Thanks very much, Mr Griffiths," Piper told the Second Secretary of the Foreign Office, whose balding head was barely visible between towers of books and paperwork.

"Much obliged, Madam Prime Minister. Good luck on your trip."

Piper closed the door behind her. Ezekiel, who had been stationed outside the office in the guise of a teenage husky, perked up when she saw Piper, wagging her tail and letting out a friendly bark. Piper told herself it was all pretence and kept walking.

With that last meeting out of the way, Piper had one last task to accomplish before flying to Boston: packing a bag. Before coming to the Foreign Office, Piper had finally managed to align her schedule with Commander Adgate's for a meeting regarding the wolf sightings. There had been another sighting, this time in Stratford, nearly 25 kilometres from where it had last made an appearance. Unfortunately, the commander seemed to know as much about it as Piper, and she wasn't inclined to share her theories with anyone for the moment, not after the meeting with the Home Secretary, the Minister for Security, and the Head of Internal Affairs had been so unproductive.

Piper pushed the thought out of her mind and jogged down the stairs of the office, Ezekiel's tiny claws drumming against the stone behind her as she playfully hopped from stair to stair. Piper didn't have the heart to reprimand her after what had happened with the hybrid.

As they approached the door, the construction noise got louder, as did the usual cacophony that accompanied rush hour. Piper reminded herself that the car was a five-minute walk away and that construction noise was a good thing. It meant they were getting closer to rebuilding the city she loved.

She nodded to the security guards as they saluted her, something which she still was not used to. And then, in spite of the doorway's wide arch, she collided with someone on her way out. A hand shot out to yank on her wrist so she didn't fall, and Piper yelped.

"Goodness, that was—" The words died in her throat as she looked up.

"Hi!" said her saviour-slash-culprit cheerfully. "Fancy meeting you here of all places." When Piper did nothing but openly stare, he added, "Huh, maybe you don't remember me?"

"Of course I remember you," she snapped. That only garnered more looks from passers-by, so Piper lowered her voice to add, "How could I forget the server who ruined my dress?"

"I guess that's fair," Romeo said with an amused grin, pulling her outside to let other people enter and exit the building.

That earned him a growl from Ezekiel. Piper's bodyguards, stationed outside by the stairs, made to rush over, but Piper lifted her hand to stop them. Instead of being frightened, the idiot crouched down to stare at Ezekiel in pure wonder. That was when Piper noticed Romeo was carrying a guitar case on his back.

"Woah, did your dog just grow bigger? Fascinating! Can I touch him?"

Ezekiel leaned back from the intense stare, giving Piper a look that clearly communicated she wasn't equipped to deal with this. Earlier that day Piper had told her not to talk in public not to distress the commoners they passed on the street, even though Piper didn't think anyone would believe the Prime Minister had recently adopted a dog. Piper was tempted to take back that order so Ezekiel could tell Romeo herself that she didn't appreciate being talked to as if she were a real dog.

"Her. Ezekiel is a she."

"Is she now?" he asked, extending a hand forward. When Ezekiel didn't bite it off, he used it to pet her head. "Who's a good girl? Yeah, who's a good girl? You are!" he cooed.

"She's not—"

But Ezekiel was leaning into the touch and wagging her tail, and Piper had never been so confused in her life. The possibility that someone had swapped her djinni for a real dog when she'd been in a meeting with the Second Secretary didn't seem that farfetched. All that was missing was Ezekiel rolling over for a belly rub.

"My family's always had a lot of animals, so I'm good with them," he offered by way of explanation, now rubbing behind Ezekiel's ears. "I have a dog back home that's so big. She's as big as a wolf, I swear. But she's also the dopiest dog ever."

"Ezekiel's not—"

"I know she isn't," Romeo said, glancing up at Piper with a smile. "But… I don't know, maybe spirits aren't all that different from animals, or from us. They just respond to what they get. And we all crave attention and feeling like we matter, don't we?"

Piper was opening her mouth to refute everything—tell him he was a commoner and knew nothing of the dangers that magicians faced every day in dealing with these ferocious creatures. It was a knee-jerk reaction by this point.

But there was Ezekiel, enjoying the attention and not doing anything to contradict Romeo's bold statement. And while Piper couldn't imagine Bartimaeus or even her other djinni, Amare, behaving the same way, this was overwhelming proof of what her master had told her years ago about spirits being emotional beings.

More and more people lingered to stare at them, and Piper understood why. It was quite the adorable picture. Cutting it off now would only make her look heartless. She put a Bulb of Silence around them just in case and decided to switch topics.

"Are you here to get a document legalised?"

"That's right. You're good." Romeo shot her a charming smile, and Piper felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards in return.

Anybody could have guessed that, she told herself sternly. He's just flirting with you. Then, as an afterthought, she added, And stop bloody ogling him.

Unaware of Piper's mental battles, Romeo continued cooing and petting a very happy Ezekiel, capturing the interest of many. "And you?" he asked without looking up.

"Official business, I'm afraid."

Romeo nodded. "Must be hard," he said seriously, glancing up to see her reaction.

"It is," Piper said, surprising herself with her honesty.

Romeo nodded again. Then he gave Ezekiel one last rub, booped her nose, and straightened. "Well, if you ever feel like venting about it, I'm always free for coffee." And there was the charming smile again.

Piper cleared her throat, sure she was blushing and making a fool of herself. She was the Prime Minister, for crying out loud! And this was someone she'd met once, when he'd dropped a tray full of champagne on her.

"You can just say no, you know," Romeo said after the silence had stretched for too long, still grinning like he couldn't feel this blob of awkwardness closing in on them.

Piper swallowed down the lump in her throat. Her face was radiating heat. "Thank you. I really have to go now. Ezekiel." The djinni was back at her side in an instant, but did Piper detect a hint of amusement in her features? Surely not. Ezekiel wasn't usually cheeky.

"Nice meeting you, cutie," he told Ezekiel, whose tail immediately started wagging again. "And very nice to bump into you again," Romeo said, stretching out a hand. Assuming he wanted to shake hands, Piper grasped it. Romeo brought it to his lips and kissed his own thumb instead, eyes twinkling with amused mischief.

Piper rolled her eyes, but she was smiling right back. "Goodbye, Romeo." She hoped her tone conveyed enough sarcasm.

"See you later," he called after her, without missing a beat.

Piper pretended she hadn't heard him and climbed down the stairs, tailed by Ezekiel and her two security guards, with such resolve not to turn back that she forgot to remove the Bulb of Silence until one of the guards tapped her on the shoulder and told her.

(…)

Bartimaeus

I set the last of Kitty's boxes in her new room with a deep grunt and then plopped on the fluffy carpet right by her bed.

"Quit the theatrics, will you?" came Kitty's voice from inside another box by the window. The more she moved, the more she tugged on the curtain—a disaster waiting to happen.

"Excuse me, I carried all of these for you," I said, encompassing with a one-armed gesture the contents of her room, which was unnecessarily big and had too much closet space for Kitty's belongings.

Kitty's head remained buried within one of the many boxes I'd carried all the way to the third floor. "Bartimaeus, you carried the grand total of three boxes."

"Three very heavy boxes," I reminded her.

Kitty sighed. "This can't be the same Bartimaeus who rubbed shoulders with Solomon."

I ignored her in favour of rolling over and opening the new box I'd brought up, finding a bunch of clothes thrown in there. And I meant thrown. Nothing was folded, and there were actual balls of clothing trapped between other balls of clothing. I immediately closed the box and kicked it away from me.

"You are a sick person."

"And you sound like Nathaniel." She emerged from the box with her hair tousled. "Maybe sharing a mind did more harm than we first thought."

"I keep telling you."

"Also, why are you in that guise again?" She motioned with her chin towards my fine figure. "I thought you'd only dressed up for Nathaniel's birthday dinner because you were forced."

"Like you could make me," I retorted. "This is for the neighbours. Nobody would believe a frail-looking Egyptian boy in a loincloth could be carrying all of those boxes."

Kitty frowned at me. "We're in a magician area, you loon." And then, before I could further defend my position by saying that most of them were dead, she rudely cut me off by adding, "Now go check on Nathaniel, will you? I haven't seen him since I got here, and it's too quiet for my liking."

Giving the box of terror one last wary look, I turned and went.

Kitty's new bedroom was located on the third floor, right in front of Piper's bedroom, on the west wing of the house, which was on the opposite side of Nathaniel's room and library. If this information made you wonder why they wouldn't take a room on the east wing as well, it's because there's none. Nathaniel's library is so ridiculously huge that his room and private bathroom take up the remaining available space. (1)

(1) But who has the time to clean all that? you ask. Three guesses who. If you guessed me, then you're wrong. It's obviously the foliots. Although I suppose I did have to dust his books when I was so weak I could barely hold my essence together.

Thoughts of dust and books only made me feel queasy these days, so I put them aside as I walked through the corridor, whistling as I went.

Nathaniel had become increasingly annoying in the past two weeks, if you'd believe that. There should be a limit to someone's capacity to annoy, but there he was, breaking away from societal norms as usual. Riling him up was one thing—meaning that it usually resulted in a fun time for me—but this was something else. Although I supposed self-defence training helped greatly. Wiping the floor with magicians is such a relaxing hobby.

Still, I didn't know what he'd expected would happen, but helping him with this long-shot suicide mission was something I'd never do.

When I reached the door to the library, the first thing I noticed was how hot the doorknob was. And then I didn't notice much else, because in the next moment I was slamming the door open and entering a room hazy with incense and smoke. Cursing my luck and feeling faint with how hard my essence was spinning, I immediately followed the stench to its most intense point.

Nathaniel was breathing heavily and leaning against the leg of a large chair, sitting in the middle of a vast, elaborate pentacle, utterly drenched in sweat. Checking that the other circle was empty and that I couldn't feel another presence in the room, I crossed the lines and knelt on one knee beside him, rebuttal ready on my lips.

Nathaniel's eyes fluttered open and he sighed. His mouth opened, but a cough overcame him before he could speak, because of course it did.

I considered him for a moment. "You keep finding the oddest places to rest."

Nathaniel barely managed to crinkle his face enough to make a half-decent frown.

Clicking my tongue at his state, I gathered this colossal bastard in my arms and lifted him off the floor. Nathaniel's head fell on my shoulder almost immediately, and I felt his hand feebly grasp my shirt, so he could find purchase to get himself upright. I told him to stop being stupid and he desisted. I tucked him upright so he could breathe better, because I hadn't been a gigantic idiot and summoned a spirit in his state.

Yes, this was nightmare fuel, in that it reminded me of that blasted Sunday when my fake nose had betrayed me just because Nathaniel had washed his hair. But now there was no risk. He reeked of incense and smoke—hair included. No sir, I would not fall for that again.

Once I had covered the basics (2), Nathaniel's mouth started producing some word vomit consisting of incoherent justifications that bore no real weight. I blinked lazily as he spoke, and that only seemed to rile him up further.

(2) I.e., opening every window in the library, getting him to the sofa, fetching some water, checking—after some resistance—that the wound on his side didn't look much worse, and persuading myself with much difficulty that nailing Nathaniel the Nincompoop to a bookshelf would only result in more troubles for me.

"…I had to," he was saying after two glasses of water and many deep breaths. "I told you I couldn't bear to sit still and do nothing while Piper—You've seen how stressed she is. And Kitty's not doing much better. Plus, I keep being treated like a china doll, which I don't appreciate—Are you listening to me? I told you my plan. You didn't want to help!"

"Are you done?" I drawled, crouching down beside the sofa with my chin on the back of my hands.

Nathaniel had turned his body a little to the side to better face me and was now panting a little from the effort. Pathetic.

"I'm not. I don't understand why you won't help me." He let his head fall into the pillow with a huff.

"I don't owe you anything, Nathaniel." Maybe it was the serious tone, maybe it was the use of his birth name. Didn't matter—he shut his mouth immediately. "Are we done with this subject now?"

"Yes, fine," he muttered bitterly. "It doesn't matter now. I got help."

That, unfortunately, piqued my interest. "You did?"

"Yes." He gave me the side-eye.

I couldn't believe the audacity of this sad sack of shit. He was going to make me work for it! But no, two could play at this game. I simply quirked an eyebrow in response, which he promptly mirrored. I got the other up there, and so did he.

"I can do this all day," I informed him, lifting my eyebrows further.

"So can I." And his eyebrows hopped a notch.

Now, I will admit, we looked like two proper loons doing that, and soon the need to laugh became almost unbearable, but he would crack first, I knew he would.

"I can't believe this is the only thing physio's been good for. We'll get some weights up there. If there's ever an eyebrow-lifting contest, Nat, I'm sure—"

He cracked first. I soon followed, and our eyebrows got some peace at last.

I found I preferred him like this. Ironic, when I'd spent so long wishing I could bring nothing but misery to his life. On a good day, Nathaniel was what you'd call a walking oxymoron (3): pathetically lonely and doggedly determined. You never knew which side you'd get next.

(3) Yes, and also just a moron. It had to be said.

"I summoned an afrit."

The laughter died in my fake throat. "Sorry, I must've misheard."

"You didn't." He looked unsure now. "I summoned Shubit. He used to work for Whitwell."

"Did he now?"

I remembered Shubit. He'd fetched me from the museum's debris after I'd dealt with the golem like I was nothing but a pile of rubbish he'd had to take out. I hadn't seen much of him after that, but every time I caught a glimpse he was sucking up to Whitwell.

"I offered him a deal, didn't bind him to follow my orders."

My mind screeched to a halt. "You didn't—"

"He agreed to it, told me he didn't side with the hybrids, that their ideals were ridiculous."

"Now wait a minute—"

"I offered to strike his name from the records, so he'd never get summoned again, and he said he'd help me with the pentacle and with locating the other hybrids. It's all settled."

It's all settled, he said. All settled. Somehow, my mind conjured an image of Farquarl laughing his multiple rears off at my predicament. Oh, he would have had a grand old time rubbing this in my face for the next few centuries. After blasting me through a few walls, that was.

So you sided with humans for this, Bartimaeus, he would say in that patronising tone of his, probably sharpening one of his many knives in the process. You sided with this human so he could go and offer freedom to another.

I had just carried Nathaniel from the middle of the pentacle, tended to him like a paid nurse and this was the thanks I got. It was irrelevant that Kitty had offered me freedom as well; I felt as stuck here as if she'd bound me to do her bidding.

Because I'd gone and got attached to someone who wasn't Ptolemy, couldn't be Ptolemy and would never be Ptolemy.

"You know what?" I finally said. There was a painfully obvious bitter undertone to my voice. "You're an asshole."

Nathaniel sputtered, and it was almost comical, the way his eyes bulged and his mouth gaped. But I didn't stay there to watch. I went back to Kitty's room to drop this human-sized headache on her lap, my mood barely lifted by the fact that she'd taken care of the box with the offensive clothing.

Frowning, she said, "You look like you could punch a wall. What happened?"

"He's an asshole," I informed her, and left.

(…)

Kitty

"You're an asshole," Kitty echoed a half hour later, after she'd found Nathaniel still stretched on the sofa, looking the most disgruntled that she'd ever seen him—and she'd seen him in quite a few bad situations—and he'd told her what had happened. "A smelly one."

"Cheers," Nathaniel grumbled, self-consciously picking at his sweaty shirt.

"I'm serious. Can't you see this from his perspective at all?"

Annoyed, Nathaniel struggled to get to a sitting position. He grimaced like he'd sucked on a lemon the entire time. "Look, he told me he didn't want to help me with… something, so I found help elsewhere. I thought he'd be relieved!"

"Not that, you dumbass." Goodness, why were magicians so socially inept? Well, she knew why, but it didn't ease her frustration in the slightest. "You summoned another spirit—"

"So? I did that all the time before. Usually he seemed glad at the prospect of having to work less."

Kitty glared at him. "If you'd let me finish. I was doing fine organising my things, if you'd rather I went." Nathaniel threw his hands in the air and settled back on the sofa with his arms crossed. Already defensive. "You summoned another spirit—Shubit, is it?—and you offered him much better terms than you ever did Bartimaeus. How would you feel if you'd worked your ass off and someone that just entered your department at the ministry got the promotion?"

It took several seconds and one very strong prompting gaze from Kitty, but eventually Nathaniel conceded: "Peeved."

"There you go. Now add to it that you've never been paid for your job, you're tired and in pain all the time, you get constantly punished for the smallest things, and it's been 5,000 years." She ticked off her fingers as she spoke. "Then maybe you'll get a teeny tiny glimpse of what it is like to walk in his shoes."

Looking subdued, Nathaniel let his arms fall to his lap. "I know it's been hard for him." He looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. "I thought—" Kitty was surprised to see Nathaniel blush. "I thought that by doing this I'd be helping him too. I thought he'd take it as a gesture meant for him as well."

Kitty's eyes softened at his admission. These two bloody idiots.

"Did you tell him that?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"…No."

Idiots, the pair. Utter tossers.

(…)

Her conversation with Nathaniel followed her throughout the day.

Kitty wondered if what she'd said would ultimately prompt Nathaniel to do the right thing or if her words would fall on deaf ears. She didn't think she was telling Nathaniel something he didn't already know; after all, they'd talked about it before, and he was showing some interest in changing his attitude. But she supposed she couldn't expect him to change overnight after all of those prejudices.

To be perfectly honest, she wasn't sure she didn't have some of her own. Bartimaeus was simply great at making her forget that she was interacting with a whole different species sometimes. Especially now that he was using less paranormal guises and generally mellowing out his choices for Nathaniel's sake (like she wouldn't notice).

Kitty looked down at the bump underneath her jumper, the Amulet of Samarkand dimly glowing through the fibres. All this time she'd been carrying it around, but only now had thoughts of the identity within popped into her mind. How did one go about freeing a spirit from an artefact? Was it even possible without completely destroying the amulet? And if so, just how much damage would it take to do so, and would the spirit inside be hurt if there was too much damage? Would the council even allow something like that?

Kitty touched the gem, warm and pulsing still. By now she'd grown so used to it she barely noticed it anymore. After all, the only times she didn't wear the Amulet were inside the house. In that moment, Kitty felt the weight of her debt towards the spirit inside, who had protected her for so long without getting nothing in return.

"Once this mess is settled, I'm going to free you," Kitty whispered down to the Amulet. It pulsed faster, and Kitty got the impression she'd been heard.

Good.

Kitty grinned as she rinsed a set of knives, throwing her head back to get that satisfying crack.

"I did what you asked."

Kitty jumped in surprise, letting a handful of forks plop back down into greasy water.

"Goodness—sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

Kitty shook her head as she grabbed the edge of the counter, deeply inhaling and counting to five in her head. She wondered if she'd forever be like this after the Honorius event.

To help get the images to recede, Kitty focused her attention on Melanie, who was peering up at Kitty through weary eyes. Her blonde hair looked unkempt and greasy, even though it had been pulled back in Dutch braids to try to distract from it. Her white apron was a canvas for an art student, featuring tomato seeds, strawberry and peach stains, and a few tiny rogue peels from various fruits and vegetables.

"Are you okay?" Kitty asked her.

"Fine." Her tone implied she didn't want to talk about it. "Anyway, like I told you: I did as you asked."

Kitty raised an eyebrow in question, going over her shift that night and not finding a single moment where she'd asked Melanie to do something beyond passing her this or that.

Melanie came closer, looking a bit frustrated with Kitty for her reaction. She whispered, "About the man who approached me the other week."

"Oh," Kitty mouthed back. She had completely and embarrassingly forgot about it. She set the knives to dry and moved on to lathering the forks, keeping the water running to drown out their conversation. "Go on."

"Dad wasn't happy in the slightest. He started pacing and didn't say a bloody word to me the entire weekend." Melanie's bottom lip quivered at the admission and she pulled her blonde hair out of her braids to hide her reddening face. Clearing her throat, she continued, "When I told mum later, she asked me who else knew. I lied. Don't think she believed me, but doubt she suspects you."

Kitty exhaled, relieved not to be included in the family drama. Norwood's was an odd reaction, given that he seemed to love his family beyond anything, especially Melanie. If he wasn't pulling at her braids whenever she messed up the heating times, he was stealing proud glances her way and bragging to his wife about her progress. It was all so sickly sweet that sometimes Kitty joined Leo and David—Melanie's older brothers—in teasing her about it.

"And have they talked to you since?" Kitty prodded, accidentally dropping a fork back in the greasy water and cursing under her breath.

Melanie stole a cursory glance over her shoulder. Satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, she answered, "Dad told me not to tell anyone. As if I would," she scoffed, raising her chin in defiance. "Well, except you, of course. But I figured you ought to know. I just—"

Melanie cleared her throat, once again checking around her for eavesdroppers. The brothers were entertained with cleaning the massive oven and Edward and Hannah Norwood were inside the office, probably going over the day's numbers.

"I don't know if I want to talk to someone else about it." She gave Kitty an apologetic look. "I know you're friends with the PM, and maybe my description would help, but I don't want to put my family in a difficult position. After all, dad's doing great in council, and this could get spun out of control in a heartbeat."

Kitty hummed in acknowledgement. Truthfully, this was partly her fault. If she'd taken Melanie to talk to a profiler sooner, they probably wouldn't be having this conversation. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. The situation wasn't exactly helpless.

"Okay. Can you give me a description, though? Maybe on a piece of paper? I'll copy it and burn the original." When Melanie still looked doubtful, Kitty added, "And I promise not to tell anyone how I found out."

"I suppose that's okay," Melanie said with a sigh. She looked a good deal more relaxed now. "I'll write it down and hand it to you before you leave, if that's okay?"

"Sounds great," Kitty said, happy to get this behind her. "Chuck me a cloth, will you?"

Melanie did and then disappeared behind the door with a mop to finish cleaning the bakery for the next day. Kitty dried her hands and then the knives, forks, spoons, dishes. She still had to decide whether she wanted Piper to learn about this yet. Or worse, Nathaniel. Should she ask Bartimaeus for help? Kitty's lips thinned at the idea, imagining that he'd tell her that was not in the job description and that he was doing enough already. Which was fair enough, but Kitty could use the help.

Before she knew it, her shift was over and Melanie was handing her a small note, which Kitty immediately shoved in her jeans' pocket. When asked what she planned on doing with it, Kitty replied honestly that she didn't know yet.

Then she was saying her goodbyes, not wanting to keep the spirit Piper had appointed to chaperone her that night waiting. A chorus of "Goodnight" followed her out the door, where cold wind was waiting. Kitty pulled the coat tighter around her shivering frame.

The sky was painted in different shades of grey with a few strokes of orange on the horizon, and the air was charged, taking a deep breath before exhaling a thunderstorm upon London. The humidity clung to her face like a second skin as the clouds growled in anticipation. Underneath the light of a dim lamppost, Kitty removed her scarf from the coat's pocket and put it around her neck as she waited for Rebecca's djinni to show up. She faced the stained, indistinguishable backs of the crammed buildings around her, wanting nothing more than to hurry home.

The sky would exhale soon.

While she waited, Kitty patted her pockets for the hundredth time to make sure she had her wallet and keys. Satisfied when she felt the lumps, Kitty resumed bouncing on the spot to keep warm.

There was a movement in the shadows.

Kitty started, told herself to calm down, that it was probably Rebecca's djinni.

"Amare?" Kitty called.

She got no response. Deciding that she didn't want to stay out in the cold and wait for trouble, Kitty ran back to the door.

A hand yanked on her elbow.

Kitty screamed.

Darkness.

Much love to anjumstar as usual for catching the silliest mistakes (and there were *plenty* this time around) and living the drama with me.