Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it! I mostly celebrate the oportunity to eat chocolate without getting judged. And speaking of chocolate, there's something sweet for you in this chapter. Hope you enjoy! ;)

As always, many thanks to anjumstar for agreeing to go on this crazy journey with me, and especially for being a huge help with the middle section of this chapter. I'm sending all the virtual chocolate your way!

Chapter Sixteen

sweet as whole

Piper

The stench of rotting flesh was the first thing that Piper noticed.

It was so powerful, Piper teared up and nearly threw up her breakfast. For a moment, it was all she could do not to gag, so she turned away from the rest of the group and made it all the way to the beach, trying to recompose herself, find some balance, clear her airways from that smell. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. Then again, she'd only ever visited big hospitals like St. Thomas; she hadn't even been to any of the makeshift hospital tents set up around London.

Malia came up beside her not long after, placing a hand on her hunched back and rubbing alongside it. "Sorry, I should've warned you. It's not an easy smell to get used to. And bringing you right after breakfast was probably not my best idea."

"It's fine," Piper ground out, shaking herself out of her stupor. "Are there masks we can use?"

"Of course. We're expected to change into scrubs too."

Piper nodded and they went back to the first white tent. Her security team and djinn were standing outside waiting for them, both Marcus and Carl giving instructions to their imps. Piper nodded to the group, signalling everything was fine and that they should proceed. The two imps disappeared from sight right after.

When they entered the tent this time around, Piper was ready. She had her jumper's collar pressed to her nose and was deliberately taking shallow breaths, in spite of the vehement protest from her lungs.

A plump, middle-aged woman with close-cropped ruby hair got up from a white desk overflowing with paperwork and approached them in quick strides. She shook everyone's hand, even the bodyguards', saving a smile for Malia only.

"Good morning. I'm nurse Paula and I will be making sure no one ruins this pleasant morning. Here, change into these, and quickly. We don't have all day," she said, shoving disposable scrubs and a mask into everyone's hands. Her voice was hoarse. Piper immediately thought her a smoker.

They didn't need to be told twice. Even Marcus looked intimidated. Piper was tucking her hair inside the cap when the nurse spoke again.

"Everyone ready? Great. Let's lay down some ground rules, shall we? First, none of that pity crap. I don't think I need to explain why it doesn't help. Second, no sudden movements, no shouting, no upsetting my patients. We've all worked ourselves to the bone here to get these people stable. Third, they are human. Let's try to remember that in our conversations.

"If they want to talk to you, wonderful! If they'd rather sit in silence, sit in silence. It ain't that hard. If they don't want to see you, get out of their hair. They've seen enough already, they don't need to see your ugly-ass faces when they don't want to. Do I make myself clear?"

Piper nodded dumbly when Paula's piercing gaze cut to her, thoughts of calling out the nurse's rudeness flying out of her head. She wanted to ask whether her djinn should change into any sort of specific guise when she caught sight of a red parrot flying through the corridor. It seemed that even here spirits roamed free and unchecked.

Paula guided them deeper into the hospital. They passed by compartments separated by irregular canvas cuttings, a small open area designated for all sorts of bureaucratic activities, a guarded room with hundreds of tubes. Then there were the voices talking urgently, pained screams from left and right, staff with sunken eyes and all sorts of fluids on their scrubs.

Piper's head was spinning, and it wasn't entirely due to the acrid smell. She focused on her steps, digging her boots into the irregular ground. The grass was dry and yellowing underneath, which somehow only made it worse. Everything around them was decaying.

"Here we are," stated Paula, coming to a halt in front of a wider improvised curtain. "Remember what I told you. I'll be back in ten to check everything's alright."

"Thank you, Paula," said Malia.

Paula pulled the curtain to reveal a larger room with multiple beds. Piper had taken the background wall of sound for granted; now she realised the room had grown quiet upon their entrance. The sound of medical equipment whirring and beeping was painfully obvious.

"Malia," said a young man in the nearest bed, one of the few who wasn't covered in bandages from head to toe and seemed able to sit up fine.

"Hi!" Malia greeted cheerfully. "How are you all doing today?"

There was a chorus of "Fine" and "Better than yesterday" from those able to speak. Others nodded, and some shrugged. Malia seemed to be attempting to smile at every single person in the room, but there had to be at least thirty bed occupants, and Piper wasn't sure those in the back could even hear what she was saying, much less see her face.

"That's good, that's good. Don't think I don't see you over there looking all glum, Vector. I want to hear all about it in a second. But now!" Malia pulled on Piper's elbow, and she stumbled over her own feet in her shock. "You have a very special visit today! Do you know who this is?"

All the eyes in the room were suddenly on her and Piper's entire body went rigid at the attention. Somehow this was about as distressing as a council meeting or the idea of facing against a hybrid with no strange wolf to save her. Nonetheless, Piper didn't expect to get recognised; magicians in London had a long tradition of avoiding getting their picture taken to make it harder for their enemies' spirits to disguise as them. Even if their birth names were the key to their identities, some spirits were very crafty at producing convincing copies.

The man who had first spoken let out a gasp. "I recognise you! You're John Mandrake's assistant. I saw you with him during one of those fancy events celebrating the troops."

Surprised she'd been recognised at all, Piper blinked at the man. The other patients still looked confused and unsure. The fact that she was part of their government didn't seem to reassure them in the slightest.

"Well, it's true that I was John Mandrake's assistant not long ago," Piper began slowly, buying herself time to carefully build her way up to her new position.

"But not anymore!" Malia sang, drawing the room's attention back to her. "Gentlemen, I present to you your new Prime Minister!"

Silence. Piper cringed inwardly at the contrast between Malia's enthusiasm and the icy reception it got. More than ever, she wanted to go back home. This had been a terrible idea. She should have just accepted the offer to see Boston for the day, give a statement to the press, go to the meeting with the President the next day, settle what needed to be settled, and get the hell out before it was too late.

Malia had other plans, however. "Don't you look so shocked now. You've read the papers and know what's happened in London. There was more than one article on your new PM, Ms Rebecca Piper here." And she squeezed Piper into a one-armed hug.

Suddenly the room erupted into chaos. There were protests, there were threats, and there was a lot of swearing. Through it all, the most distinguishable words were, "Not my PM!" and "Never going back now!" Piper was utterly horrified. If she thought the council meetings had been hostile, she didn't know what to call this. She'd never before felt this inadequate and unwanted.

But it got worse. Some of the injured men were trying to get up and come at her, shaking whatever objects they could find in their hands. Amare and Ezekiel reacted first, putting themselves immediately in front of her, two huge lionesses baring their sharp teeth. That was enough to startle the men into stopping their actions. Piper tried to tell them to stop, somehow still remembering nurse Paula's words about triggering the patients in the midst of the chaos. But Marcus was there next, pulling Piper between him and Carl and quickly retreating. Piper only saw Malia raising two calming hands and shouting over the commotion for a second.

Before she knew it, a red-faced Paula emerged, surrounded by other staff, and kicked everyone out.

A few minutes later, Malia found Piper staring out into the ocean again, pale and startled, breath still a little uneven. Her security detail was giving her some space, but was close enough to keep an eye on her.

"Hey, should we go for a walk?"

Piper glanced at Malia, wanting for a second to punch her for putting her through that. She fervently wished Kitty and Nathaniel were there with her. Hell, even Bartimaeus would have felt nice. Piper almost laughed at the thought.

"Come on," Malia insisted, grabbing Piper's elbow and dragging her towards the sand. Malia got rid of her shoes even though the weather was chilly and the water would probably freeze their feet upon contact. But Piper was too drained to protest, so she did the same.

Strangely, it helped. The sand digging into her feet was like a massage, and the cold and the smell of brine helped jostle her awake from the nightmare she'd just experienced. Piper could hear her security detail keeping pace behind them, but she focused on the water instead, grumbling beside them and swallowing small pebbles and shells, hissing as foam bubbled up and dissolved into the sand. She had this strange pull towards the water she had never been able to quite explain, but now wasn't the time for introspection.

"Sorry about that. Didn't think they'd react that way upon seeing you," Malia said, a lilt of laughter to her voice.

Piper halted. "Actually, I think you did." Malia stopped as well, turning to look at Piper with a confused look on her face. But Piper wouldn't be fooled. "I think this is precisely what you had in mind when you decided to drag me into that tent before my meeting with the President."

Malia said nothing, and for a while their eyes stayed locked in a battle of wills. Piper didn't look away, still feeling raw but fuelled by this bottomless pit of burning rage, accumulated from the many, many moments where she'd been made to feel worthless and incompetent.

Eventually, Malia sighed and looked away. "Fine. I did do it on purpose."

There was a torrent of 'whys?' ready to bleed out of her mouth, but Piper held it in. And she waited, conscious that by doing so she was putting an extra layer of pressure on Malia to fill the silence.

She did.

"Look, you have no idea what it's been like."

"Oh yes, let's use that argument, shall we?" Piper snapped.

"It's the truth!" Malia rounded on her and Piper gestured for her security detail to stand still, eyes never leaving Malia's. "We have been fighting for our freedom for decades. We have rebuilt our cities, our crops, our hospitals for decades. Because of you. Do you know how many of my friends have died? My father started training me for combat when I was five years old. And then you took him from me too, didn't you?"

Piper gulped, exhaled shakily. "I am sorry about that, Malia. It was never my inten—"

"Oh, you're sorry. I suppose it's cool then, huh? Now we can all let bygones be bygones and hug it out!"

"I didn't say—"

"I don't care what you said! You marched in here, after sending us that insulting first proposal, hoping that we'd be too dumb to see what you were doing? What did you think—that we were some sort of illiterate savages you could deceive by using big words and complex sentences?"

It would be easy to blame George Ffoukes for this—he'd written the first treaty proposal, he'd made absurd demands, not Piper. And yet, it was her responsibility. Ffoukes may have written that atrocity, but Piper was the Prime Minister. She should have never let it be sent without reading it in full. She should have appointed an Attorney General already. She should have been paying as much attention to international relations as she was to internal affairs.

Now she was paying the price. This was all her doing. Dragging Ffoukes's name would not only be petty but also incredibly pathetic.

"Right, you have nothing to say to that. Figures. This is what we get for letting an assistant be handed the position of Prime Minister. Look at you! You can't even take some criticism without bursting into tears!"

To her shame, Malia was saying the truth. Tears had sprung out of her eyes without warning, uncaring that this would only further humiliate and demean her.

So weak.

So pathetic.

So worthless.

But Piper refused to lower her head and didn't bother trying to stop her tears, knowing it'd only work against her. What she hoped was that her voice was as strong as she needed it to be right now, because the next words that would leave her mouth were the most important that she'd said in a while.

"Is that how you justify dragging wounded soldiers into this?" Piper asked coldly. "You manipulated them and used them for this little show! Does it feel nice to get your petty little revenge at the cost of others? But I suppose you don't care how they feel, since they're not your people."

Finally Malia looked a bit uncomfortable and uncertain, but she didn't back down. "I only gave them a chance to express themselves. You are the one who abandoned them. It speaks volumes that they'd rather stay here, don't you think?"

Piper shook her head and let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what you're calling it? By the way nurse Paula was acting, I thought it had all been arranged. Tell me, was she in on it too? Or did she leave you up to it because she's so exhausted she could pass out?"

Malia's nostrils flared. "Don't bring Paula into this."

"You brought Paula into this! You dragged everyone into this. I came here, accepting your ridiculous conditions and putting myself and my team in danger to settle a situation that I'm responsible for but did not start. I won't deny or diminish the part I played in this war, and for that I am deeply sorry, and I will carry all of the deaths that happened under my watch with me forever. There will never be a day when I am not sorry and horrified.

"But I'm not here to grovel for your forgiveness. I'm here so that both our countries and our soldiers can heal from this horrible experience and possibly reach an agreement that'll benefit us both. The war has ended, Malia, and psychological games like these will only get in the way of everything we're trying to accomplish by my coming here.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to prepare for."

Piper turned on her heel and went, leaving a stunned Malia in her wake. Ezekiel, Amare, Marcus and Carl were waiting for her with varying mixes of anger and pride on their faces. Piper's chest swelled little by little as the distance between them shortened, her mind getting sharper and ready for the meeting ahead.

When Piper reached them, she didn't stop, marching on with the four of them beside her. The waterworks were more manageable now, but Piper needed to get back to her tent to settle her nerves, settle her heart after everything that had transpired in just one hour.

Ezekiel, now in the guise of a husky, curled her tail around Piper's leg and bumped her gently.

Piper reached down a trembling hand to brush her fingertips over Ezekiel's soft head, a ghost of a smile on her face.

Nathaniel

"So? What do you think?"

"Curious, very curious. This is quite the mystery you've brought me, dear girl."

"Well, is it familiar at all?"

"Indeed, but I don't quite remember where I've seen it before. Undoubtedly one of my many books."

"Yes, John and I haven't had any luck remembering it either. It keeps slipping out of my mind every time I think I've got it. So I thought I must've seen it in one of your books."

"How peculiar that it evades us three. You say your demons haven't had any—Aha! There you are, Bertha. Yes, yes, leave the tray on the table. By any chance, do we have any more of those chocolate biscuits—? No? Ah, that is a pity. But we'll make do with these, uh, walnut and raisin biscuits, I'm sure."

The middle-aged woman named Bertha excused herself back to the kitchen, leaving Kitty, Nathaniel, and Mr Button in a quaint living room with flowery wallpaper and looming towers of books. There were books in any free space imaginable—balanced over the shelves, stuck inside a dusty grandfather's clock, piled in an old fireplace. The sweet smell of tea and biscuits were the finishing touches on this homely picture. It was like a massage to Nathaniel's permanently alert mind.

"Please, help yourselves."

Mr Button motioned towards the tea and took a biscuit and a napkin for himself. Nathaniel and Kitty thanked him and grabbed a cup each, taking turns with the sugar. After the first bite, Mr Button's face contorted comically as he tried to hide a grimace, and Nathaniel decided to leave the biscuits for another time.

Instead, he took a sip of the tea, finding it was probably the best he'd ever had. The milk to black tea ratio was perfect, and the undertones of cinnamon and cloves brought out the tea's warmth without being overwhelming.

His delight must have been apparent, because Mr Button was grinning winningly at him. "Bertha makes a mean cup of tea, doesn't she?"

"It is most exquisite."

"Woah," Kitty said, having just taken a sip. "This is the best tea I've had in my life."

The three of them shared another round of compliments on the tea and Bertha's impressive skills, and Mr Button took to breaking his biscuit in tiny fragments. He left the raisins on the napkin, but his hands weren't steady, and more crumbs than he probably would have liked fell on the napkin and all over his shirt; some never left the corners of his mouth.

Nathaniel was nearly overcome by an urge to single-handedly remove all the raisins from all the biscuits to spare him the trouble. He drank more tea instead and tried not to think about life's expiration date.

"Where were we? Oh, yes. Books. I've read this most fascinating volume recently on ancient empires and civilisations and their rituals before a summons. Mr Brunetti sure gives the best recommendations! I always find it so utterly mesmerising how such great empires have fallen when they seemed close to invincible. One could say we're headed the same way if we make the same mistakes, or that maybe it is too late to remedy anything by this point..."

Nathaniel had an inkling that, if left to his own devices, Mr Button would prattle on endlessly, reciting the entire book and finding further reading so they exhausted all the possibilities and all the angles.

At any other given time, Nathaniel would have been happy to sit with him and trade theories. Mr Button was such a welcome change to what Nathaniel was used to getting from other magicians. From the moment they'd walked in, he'd been nothing but warm and gracious. His enthusiasm for history and knowledge resonated with Nathaniel on a fundamental level, transporting him to a time when nothing had been more important than learning.

The decision to come to Mr Button hadn't been hard to make per se, but it had faced Nathaniel with the fact that he hadn't truly interacted with anyone besides his friends in a long time. There were the medical appointments, of course, and he'd just gone out to analyse the bridge with Shubit, but this was deliberately meeting with another person. He'd both been dreading and looking forward to it.

There was no real danger, however. He was safe, and comfortable, and he enjoyed Mr Button's company. Contrary to most other interactions with magicians, Nathaniel didn't want to hurry the meeting along in order to escape. He was fine sitting there and listening to Mr Button ramble on about how world empires fall.

Still, they were a bit pressed for time and getting largely off topic.

Nathaniel gave Kitty a look. She blessedly caught it and cleared her throat to get their host's attention. "Mr Button, you were telling us that the symbol on the rock looks familiar."

Mr Button closed his gaping mouth and nodded. "It is. I'm positive I've seen it before. Maybe with a little research I can provide a better answer, but for now this is all I know." He balanced the pebble between his fingers, squinting at it and neglecting to use the pair of glasses on the table right in front of him. "Do I count twelve circles?"

"Thirteen, if we count the middle," said Nathaniel blandly. The vapor from the tea was warming his nose and making him drowsy and relaxed. "Shubit thinks they might be shields."

"They're a bit oval-shaped, are they not?" protested Mr Button. "And the middle is definitely a circle."

"Those were my words exactly."

Mr Button made a pleased sound and looked at him. "Great minds, Mr Mandrake!"

Nathaniel smiled right back. "You flatter me."

Kitty slurped her tea a little too loud with her eyebrows raised. "Yes, great minds. I thought it might be a pentacle, probably an old one, since Shubit also said it was old magic."

Mr Button's eyebrows hopped, wrinkling his forehead further. "That is an interesting theory… Hm, I should like to make a sketch of this so I can better compare it, if you don't mind."

"Please do," said Nathaniel.

Mr Button got to work, grabbing a napkin and a pen from his breast pocket. Nathaniel and Kitty quietly watched him bend forward over the table and swiftly reproducing the lines.

"There we are." He took another quizzical look at the pebble and then returned it to Nathaniel. "You said Shubit thinks they are shields?"

Nathaniel and Kitty nodded.

"And what does Bartimaeus think? He's been here five-thousand years, has he not?"

Nathaniel opened and closed his mouth several times. No other magician had ever asked him what a spirit thought about something. Even in exchanges where their advice or expertise should have been considered, all of it had been relayed as if it'd been the magician's idea. That worked for both the good and bad, of course, but still. Nathaniel had never thought of that before.

"He hasn't seen it before," Kitty supplied. Nathaniel noticed she had omitted the part where these were just Bartimaeus's words—Kitty delivered them as if they were the whole truth and nothing else. "Which makes us think that it's a pentacle he and Shubit haven't seen before. Maybe something more obscure that wouldn't be used to summon spirits?"

Mr Button furrowed his brow and considered the drawing in his lap. "Obscure, you say…" He hummed, tapping two fingers to his chin as he turned around to squint at his massive display of books. Then he ambled out of the armchair with the help of his crutches and began tracing a set of book spines squeezed under the clock.

"What is it?" Kitty asked, carefully leaving her seat to join Mr Button. Remembering his own injuries, Nathaniel imitated her. "Do you have a theory?"

"Not so much a theory as a hunch. It is not out of the question that it could be a pentacle that neither Shubit nor Bartimaeus have seen—that is, if we choose to believe them—"

"We do," Kitty said firmly.

Mr Button nodded, indulging her, and went back to his search, this time moving to the fireplace. "Then it wouldn't be a bad idea to ask other spirits you have at your service, Mr Mandrake. But…"

"But?" Nathaniel prompted, stealing glances at the spines Mr Button was analysing. He immediately spotted about a dozen books he wanted to take home.

"But it might be that it simply isn't a pentacle at all and Shubit has the right idea."

"That these are shields?"

"Maybe, but not necessarily. Now, where did Bertha hide that book?" he mused aloud, once again hobbling along a little before stopping to scan the shelves. "Aha! Found you, you little devil."

Mr Button rubbed the dust off the cover with a sleeve and then handed it over to Nathaniel, who frowned at the slim title. "The author analyses coats of arms, their symbolism, their standing at the time, their history, et cetera," Mr Button explained, eyes sparkling. "There were some powerful families who loved to flaunt their coats of arms."

"So you think they were hiding their treasure or something?" Nathaniel asked dubiously.

"Have you met a magician?" Kitty scoffed. "Though it is strange that no one's bothered to look before, if it's someone's hidden treasure."

"Maybe they just didn't know where to look," Mr Button ventured and started to return to the armchair. He fell on it with a pained groan that unsettled Nathaniel all over again.

"Shubit said that it was possible that the Seal had been activated during the spirit uprisal," Nathaniel said, happy to get back to his tea.

Button tilted his head in agreement. Then he recovered the napkin with the drawing and examined it once more. "At any rate, I will look into this a little further. I'm sure that among the three of us we'll get there."

Nathaniel and Kitty nodded their agreement.

"Very well. Now that that's settled," Mr Button said with finality, setting the napkin on the table and giving it a pat, "does anyone care for another cup of tea?"

(…)

A few minutes later, Kitty and Nathaniel were leaving Mr Button's house with a jar full of tea and a book on coats of arms. It was nearing six, and the sun was sinking low, a nearly invisible spot in the midst of a sky painted a blinding light grey. Rain dusted their shoulders, too light to demand an umbrella. The air was permeated with the smell of wet asphalt mixed with the earthy scent from the flowerbeds outside Mr Button's home.

As they neared the car parked outside the house, Kitty halted and reached out a hand to stop Nathaniel as well. "I'm meeting up with Adamastor in a bit."

"What? I thought you said that was tomorrow."

"I did, because you and Bartimaeus looked like two idiots wanting to lock me inside that mansion of yours," Kitty said drily, hand on her hip for good measure.

"Probably because the last time you were alone, you were kidnapped and are now going to meet that same kidnapper. How is it that you're not seeing how dangerous that is?"

"John," she stressed, eyeing their surroundings pointedly to impress upon him that this was not the place for arguing about anything. A couple passed by the car, giving them a curious look and exchanging whispers. "I'm going whether you like it or not. And you can say the same to Bartimaeus. I believe it's an important step to take, since clearly Adamastor was telling the truth. I need to respect their wishes now, otherwise there's no point in building trust between us. It's my decision to make, and I am making it.

"Meanwhile, I'd like you to focus on looking at that pentacle, so that I have something more concrete to tell Adamastor the next time we see each other, and maybe this way we'll convince them to meet you as well."

Stony-faced and thin-lipped, Nathaniel nodded tersely only once. "Fine."

"Great. And maybe take this opportunity to remove that intelligent head out of your rear and apologise to Bartimaeus for behaving like a complete tosser."

Nathaniel gaped at her.

"You two need to get your shit together and focus. We work best when we aren't trying to mess up each other's plans, so let's not do that, hm? Let's be smarter this time around."

Nathaniel had taken to rolling his jaw as Kitty spoke, but he didn't interrupt. He'd learned his lesson. Eventually he sighed and said, "Honestly, I think the only apology he would take right now is to be returned to the Other Place. So that's what you should do."

Kitty frowned at him and blinked very slowly. Then she rolled her head back, letting out an impatient huff. "Don't be a pussy," she snapped. Nathaniel started, eyes widened, utterly shocked. "Find those balls I know you have and apologise properly. You've faced off against dozens of monsters, defeated the boss monster, and now you're afraid to apologise to Bartimaeus?"

It was Nathaniel's turn to frown. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not afraid, I just—It's Bartimaeus. He'll just mock me."

Kitty's deadpan gave Shubit's a run for his money. "Sometimes it feels like you two have known each other for five days rather than five years."

"Six," Nathaniel immediately corrected.

Kitty quirked her eyebrow and smirked. Nathaniel bristled, annoyed with her, himself and Bartimaeus.

"You know, the worst that could happen is you get a 'no'."

Nathaniel let out a humourless laugh. "That's quite terrible in my book."

"You've worked through other 'no's in your life," she reminded him gently, bumping his shoulder.

"True, but this is—I can't bear—It's Bartimaeus." Nathaniel looked away, face hot and stomach in knots. He hated that he felt so overwhelmed every time the topic of Bartimaeus came up in conversation these days.

Kitty smiled at him, eyes soft and comforting. "I really wish you'd tell him those things."

Nathaniel didn't have a reply for that. Kitty sighed.

"Listen, I can't guarantee anything, and you can't force anyone to accept your apology, or hurry the process. All you can do is apologise and give the other person the space and time to decide what they want to do. At the end of the day, a genuine apology is always a good first step and you can't expect to be forgiven otherwise."

"That's… profound."

Kitty shrugged one shoulder. "Recent events have forced me to look at things in new ways."

"Right, of course," Nathaniel said quickly, embarrassed he hadn't thought of that.

They hadn't really talked about her parents with all the commotion. Kitty hadn't sought him out, and Nathaniel wasn't sure what to say, or if she wanted him to say anything in the first place. No one had comforted him when Mrs Underwood had died. In fact, he'd had to keep it all quiet, lest someone explore that vulnerability. Not to mention that Bartimaeus had told him in no uncertain terms that it was Nathaniel's fault the Underwoods had died. Which it was, but it didn't make it any less painful to hear.

"Kitty, if you ever need—"

Kitty smiled tightly and squeezed his shoulder a little too forcefully. Right, she didn't want to talk about it. Nathaniel shut his mouth.

"People apologise because they want to salvage something, John. And you have a lot of apologising to do. So, if that's what you want, you need to stop running away. And if Bartimaeus doesn't want to forgive you, well… You'll have to learn to live with it."

Kitty started walking again, signalling the end of the conversation, and Nathaniel reluctantly followed, a little stunned by her words still. He waved her goodbye and got in the car. Kitty's words felt like lead in his stomach and lingered all the way home.

Bartimaeus

I snapped the pumpkin in two with my bare hands, relishing on the spittle of pulp and strands that got all over the counter, the dishes, and the other vegetables tucked away in the corner. Then I spooned the seeds, taking care to separate the strands from them before dropping the seeds in a small bowl for roasting later. Currently the oven was occupied with sweet potatoes and beets, making the kitchen smell heavenly, obviously. My talents had the power to amaze even me sometimes.

Grabbing a carving knife, I cubed the pumpkin furiously and pushed the cubes inside one of the many bowls on the counter. I took care of the white onions next, swiftly peeling the outer layers and mincing them so finely they resembled a pulp more than anything by the time I was done. The garlic was given the same merciless treatment.

Needless to say, I was beginning to understand Farquarl's love for the kitchen (1). Massacring vegetables offered more stress relief than I'd thought possible. It focused my mind, keeping it away from thoughts of punching certain afrits and magicians. Kitty's words swam in my mind uninvited, giving me a burst of anger every so often. Thanks to that, I had peeled more potatoes than I knew what to do with, sliced three kinds of mushrooms, and chopped ten heads of broccoli.

(1) Although he wouldn't approve of my choice of knives for each task. It gave me the slightest bit of comfort to know Farquarl would be fuming upon seeing me use a carving knife to cut vegetables and that earlier I'd used a meat cleaver for squash.

I was eyeing the bag of multicoloured bell peppers, weighing whether I should slice or cube them when I heard the door open and close. There was only one set of footsteps and it couldn't be Kitty because that girl stomped everywhere. Grinding my teeth together, I decided tomatoes were more my colour anyway.

Nathaniel hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and gasped, the sound striking yet another nerve. Well, tomato sauce, then.

"What's all this?"

"I'm meal prepping," I said breezily, grabbing a strainer and a jar to store the homemade tomato sauce. I could make some stew with it, maybe even a healthy pizza… Nah, idiots don't deserve pizza.

"For the entire year?"

His words halted my ministrations. Sure enough, there were piles of boxes and bags full of vegetables on the floor, bowls everywhere, labelled freezer bags with vegetable mixes for soup or stews or roasts. And that was without counting what was already inside the freezer and the fridge.

"You're three growing pains in the ass who keep eating this blasted kitchen dry, so no. Maybe three to four weeks' worth."

I could tell my words surprised him. "That's quite a long time…"

"Should be enough for Shubit to learn how not to poison you lot." I glared at the bell peppers, annoyed by their cheery yellow and peaceful green. You'd think vegetables wouldn't be rude, but they were on Earth, so of course they were. Fine. I'd decimate them too, see how they liked being cubed and sliced.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel was gaping like a fish. I could hear his mouth opening and closing. It fuelled my knife.

He cleared his throat, swallowed. "Cooking wasn't part of the deal," Nathaniel said eventually.

My essence sizzled. "Not very smart of you, was it? Anyway, where's Kitty? You should both listen to my instructions before I go."

"You're leaving?" he blurted, shifting to get into my field of vision.

I forced my essence to settle down, to ignore his tone. "Expected me to stay forever, did you?" I sneered.

"No, I—"

"Where is Kitty?" I repeated, unwilling to listen to his excuses. Not again.

Nathaniel huffed, growing annoyed. "She went to meet Adamastor."

My hand dropped the green bell pepper it was recovering from the pile. "She what? She told me—Oh, that sneaky, little—" I stabbed the knife into the cutting board with a frustrated grunt. Nathaniel visibly flinched and there it was, that useless pang of guilt, one of the many things that had landed me in this predicament.

"Yes, well. She was annoyed at us for hovering. Told me to tell you she'd go whether you liked it or not."

I looked at him properly for the first time since he'd entered the kitchen, and for the first time in a while, truth be told. In typical magician fashion, Nathaniel had a book pressed to his side and eyebrows already drawn. He looked pale and fidgety, although I supposed he'd put on a little bit of weight since leaving the hospital, probably a little bit of muscle as well. (2) His clothes, already needlessly tight from day one, showcased the newfound definition of his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his—

(2) Yes, is there anything I can't do?

"Well, I couldn't give two farts about what that hybrid wannabe wants," I snapped, my irritation easily making my essence boil. "I'm going to find Kathleen Jones and drag her by the hair if I have to."

And I was on my merry way to do just that—beyond unsettled and food all but forgotten—when Nathaniel spun around and grabbed my wrist.

"Wait!" I stared down at his hand, uncomprehending. He cleared his throat, his face the shade of one of the tomatoes I'd just murdered. "Please. Can we talk?"

Did I want to talk? What a ridiculous notion, was it not? Did he think I was going to be easily swayed by his lies and deceit after all these years? After breaking promises, just like he'd been doing since I'd met him? There was nothing to be accomplished by mere words, a mere conversation. And to think I'd gone out of my way to save him just to get myself into deeper trouble.

With his blue eyes bearing pleadingly into mine, my traitorous fingers curled around his hand in silent consent. Nathaniel gasped and the sound drew my attention to his lips. He squeezed my wrist, gave it a gentle pull that had me following him to the table. We sat side by side, at a respectful distance, facing each other, and Nathaniel set his book down on the table.

"Right, I need to—" Nathaniel cleared his throat again, letting go of my wrist to rub both of his palms against his trousers. "I need to… Well, I need to find the right words apparently." A nervous laugh bubbled out of him.

I didn't say anything, unwilling to offer more than my attention. I'd already reacted like a complete and utter fool once; I wasn't going to do it twice.

Nathaniel took a deep breath and exhaled, body relaxing the slightest bit. "Bartimaeus, I wanted to apologise." He was staring right at me as he said this, a feat that was just as surprising as his words. "I'm sorry for offering those conditions to Shubit and not doing the same for you. I thought—" Here he looked away, face burning again. "I thought you knew that I'd done it for you."

A pause.

"For me?"

Nathaniel swallowed and grimaced, fighting with himself. "Well, partly… I was frustrated. I needed help with the pentacle, and you refused—which I understand and don't blame you for."

"Cheers," I grumbled. Like I needed his permission.

"That's not—" Nathaniel clicked his tongue and rubbed an impatient hand over his face. "I may have summoned Shubit without binding him to my will, but it was because of you."

"So you've said."

Nathaniel groaned in frustration. "Not that! You're getting it all wrong!"

"Am I, though?"

Nathaniel jumped to his feet and started pacing the kitchen. I rested my head in my hand, lazily watching him. "Well?" I prompted. "Go on."

"You're impossible."

Ha, figures. "Well then, if that's all." I made to get up as well, but Nathaniel's hands were on my shoulders the next moment, pushing me back down. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Just—Give me a second, will you? I've never done this before, and you're ruining it."

I was ruining it? The cheek of this puny little asshole! "Look here, Nat—"

"I'm really, really sorry about not offering you the same conditions as I did Shubit." I shut my mouth as Nathaniel's fingers dug into my chef's coat. The bastard had my gaze locked with his now. "You should have been the first. I thought I was killing two birds with one stone, summoning Shubit to help me and giving you more time to do whatever you liked, but it's come to my attention that I was only running away.

"You clearly don't want to be here, Bartimaeus, and I thought that this would be a step in the right direction. In a way, it is. I'm hoping asking instead of ordering becomes the new norm for summoning spirits. Still, you should have been the first spirit I offered those conditions to, Bartimaeus… But I've also promised not to summon you again, and I intend to keep that promise."

I stared at him, long and hard, finding no trace of dishonesty. My first real apology, and it had to come from this insufferable, annoying brat. The tragedy was that it had resonated with me.

"No one's ever apologised to me."

Nathaniel's eyebrows raised in surprise and his grip on my shoulders loosed. "No one?" There was something odd about his tone, some subtext I couldn't read, but I let it go for now.

"No one. So you want me to go for good?"

"What? No! I—That's the last thing I want."

I had been half joking, half fishing for a reaction, but this was a little more than what I'd bargained for. Nathaniel was astonished at his own words and had shut his mouth to keep more from pouring out. He looked like he'd swallowed fishbones.

As for me, my essence had begun boiling again. I was acutely aware of his closeness, yet I did nothing to correct it. Instead, I shoved my hands under my thighs, where they couldn't do stupid things.

"Anyway, I've kept you long enough. I only wanted to apologise, and of course I don't expect you to forgive me straight away or—or ever, but now that's out, so…"

I blinked at him, finding this last bit a little rehearsed but still not dishonest.

"Nat…"

He looked at me expectantly. I stared right back.

"That was a terrible apology."

"Wha—"

"My first real apology, and this is what I get." Nathaniel kept closing and opening his mouth as I got up from the chair. Magicians. "I suppose this sets the bar quite low for whatever comes next, though. I've a long list."

It seemed to take a great deal of effort for Nathaniel to keep his wits about him. "Fine," he said like someone had tortured it out of him. "I guess this just means I'll have to do better next time." He finished this stellar delivery with a haughty quirk of his eyebrow. I itched to yank on it.

"I suppose it does."

The thing was that since he'd finished his terrible speech, the anger and frustration I had been carrying around these past days had melted away. It wasn't a perfect apology, and it certainly didn't account for everything that he'd done over the years, but it was a start, and meaningful and very awkward.

"And I forgive you," I said blandly.

Nathaniel's face opened up, wanting to break into a grin. He was barely holding it together for confirmation. "You do?" he breathed.

I swallowed down the urge to poke his cheek. Pete's sake, I should have let him stew on it a little while longer. "Yes, I forgive you for being an asshole this time around."

"Oh." Nathaniel smiled, exhaling the last of his anxiety through his nose. His hands dropped to his sides. "That's… Thank you, Bartimaeus. I'll try to do better."

I hummed noncommittally, but it did nothing to dampen his smile. I was still convinced that Nathaniel was an asshole most of the time, but he could be a sweet asshole when he put his mind to it.

When his gaze got too intense for my liking, I looked away and started turning off the appliances before I burned perfectly good food.

"I really should go get Kitty now," I told the bell peppers. "I'll finish up later."

"I'm coming too," he declared, standing up and joining me. "And maybe I can help you out when we come back. I should learn the basics at least."

Two very different responses fought for dominance in my mind. "Maybe," I said instead.

Nathaniel grinned up at me, because he was that ruthless.

I cleared my throat and looked away.

"Let's just go."