"There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back / Well, tell her that I miss our little talks"

"Little Talks" - Of Monsters And Men

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There was something about Will's voice.

Usually, Tessa couldn't stand being read to. She could never fully picture the story and after a while, she grew annoyed by the person reading, the cadence of their voice became less relaxing and more of an endless buzz of nonsensical words.

But Will.

If everybody sounded like Will, she reckoned, the world would be a much lovelier place.

His voice wasn't very clear or declarative, like Nate's was. In fact, the speechy way her brother spoke was probably one of the reasons why she hated going to the plays.

And it wasn't very smooth or soft like Jem's. He held all the clipped syllables of a high British accent, not a trace of the common London speech.

Nor was it soft like Charlotte's. Or broad like Henry's. It wasn't even like Cecily's, which was rolling and long—Tessa swore that it took her ten minutes to get through 'Where is the bathroom at?'

Every night, if he wasn't busy on a mission or she wasn't busy managing the Institute, he would pick up a book, and read it to her. Usually they got through fifteen chapters a night if they were short, five if they were tired or the chapters were tedious.

Tessa didn't even mind not comprehending the story itself. She would be around until the end of time. There'd be more than enough time to reread Emma or Great Expectations.

His accent had levels. Different cadences and lilts depending on how he was feeling.

When he got angry—which was rare unless it was when the children had messed up something terrible—it was clipped and short, and he ran his words together, too angry to articulate properly.

Normally, it was close to Jem's. Perfectly English, the sort that made commoners frown at him on the street and turn their noses up. Or turn their wares out, ready to sell.

But when he was tired—that was Tessa's favourite. Bits of his Welsh upbringing crept in, not too much to make it all sing-songsy like Cecily, but just enough to make Tessa swoon. His vowels went just a tad longer, though most of his consonants stayed short, and he dropped all t's and h's and most g's. He rolled his r's and his voice went a few octaves lower, like the rumble of a storm before it came in.

She loved his tired voice, and made sure to tell him everytime she noticed that he was speaking like it.

He was proud of it and he teased her relentlessly with it, using it for unmentionable means.

'Oi, Missus 'Erondale,' he whispered. 'Am I puddin' you to sleep, am I?'

'Mmm,' she replied, not opening her eyes. 'You are, you are.'

He leaned down, burying his nose into her hair. 'Would you like me to stop? Is it time for bed?'

'No, no, by all means.' She smiled, leaning back and saying against his lips. 'Continue.'

She felt him smile. 'Of course, Missus 'Erondale.' And he took a breath, and went on reading.

~~~

'You're starting to speak like him.'

Tessa looked up, tilting her head at him. 'I beg your pardon?' She closed the book, setting it on her lap.

Magnus waved his hand lazily and repeated, 'You're starting to speak like him.' Then clarified, 'Will, that is.'

Tessa frowned. 'What do you mean?'

Magnus sighed, easing gracefully up the back of the sofa. 'I've seen it before—it's happened to me on multiple occasions. It was bound to happen to you, considering everything.'

'Skip the dramatics, Magnus. Please.'

Magnus's eyes reflected yellow in the light. 'Say, "You're so smart and awesome, Magnus. You're so strong and powerful. God, I wish my warlock powers were as cool as yours."' He nodded, gesturing for her.

Tessa rolled her eyes, picking her book back up. 'Don't be an arse, Magnus.'

He shot up. 'Exactly my point! What did you just call me?'

'An arse?'

'Yes, and given my time in America, it's pronounced, "ah-sss". You're starting to speak like Will.'

Tessa scowled. 'Yes, Magnus. After living in England for centuries, it's more likely for me to grow another head than for me to adopt the accent.'

'You were reading just now,' Magnus tried again. 'You put on a different voice when you read, I've never noticed it before but then you said something, you said, whatever it was that you said, and I heard it and I thought, "Well, that doesn't sound like Tessa."

She looked at him dubiously. 'I don't read aloud.'

Magnus folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. 'Well, what did I hear then? Was it a ghost? Do we have a neighbour that you had forgotten to tell me about?'

Tessa ignored him and stubbornly held her book up to her face.

'Fine,' Magnus snapped. 'Be like that.'

~~~

'Proof!'

Magnus bound into the room, a satisfied smirk on his face. He held a silver device over his head and he waved it under Tessa's nose. 'I have proof!'

'Oh, thank God,' Tessa sighed and sat up. She scooted down the cushions, making room for him. 'What did you find out? Have you ran the tapes yet? Is there any information on Debussy?'

Magnus froze. 'Debussy?'

'Yes… Why wouldn't I mean Debussy?'

Magnus pursed his lips.

Tessa stood, towering over him. 'Are those tapes on the serial killer whom, might I remind you, we have been trying to get a lead on for the past six weeks? Yes or no?'

Magnus smiled. 'No?'

'For God's sake, Magnus!' She threw her hands up. 'If they're not proof on Debussy, then what are they proof of?'

'You,' Magnus said, sitting up. 'You said that you didn't speak like Will.'

Tessa sank to the cushions. 'Magnus, that was months ago.'

'You didn't believe me. And I finally got my hands on a recorder and I've figured out how to use it.'

Tessa held a hand out. 'Magnus, I've got work to do.'

'No,' he insisted, setting the device between them. 'You're gonna listen. And you're gonna admit that I was right.'

'Magnus, please—'

He pressed play.

And her voice came out, crackly and broken, but there.

And it sounded exactly like Will did when he was reading.

Long vowels, short consonants. Round with rising and falling syllables. She even spoke lower, almost muttering.

'Tessa?'

Magnus stopped the tape, but Tessa could still hear Will, the cadence of his voice. She had forgotten the sound of it.

There was a great many things she had forgotten about him.

And she hated it.

It was easy to think she could remember, that she could conjure some vague memory of him and pretend that she could remember the exact slant of his jaw or the tilt of his lips.

'Tessa, are you all right?' Magnus reached out, pulling her against his chest. 'Oh, dear,' he muttered.

'I used to—' she gasped, trying to find air. 'I used to- to shift or change or- or whatever.' She wiped at her face, a jolt of surprise going through her when she realised that it was wet. 'When- when- I used to shift in—' She sniffed, gasping again.

'Shhh,' Magnus hushed, caressing her air. 'You don't need to explain.'

She did though, she didn't know why. 'I used to shift into him. And I—I used to pretend that he was there.' She smeared his palms down her face. 'I remember pretending to be him more than I remember actually being with him.' She swallowed.

'What's the point, Magnus? We're given so much power, all this stupid magic, and we can't even help them survive.'

Magnus didn't say anything. He only ran his fingers through her hair, letting her soak his shirt. She quieted after a while, down to whimpers.

She didn't fall asleep though, he still felt the tremors as they ran up and down her body. Her fingers curled against his shirt. He wondered if she was pretending that he was Will.

And then he remembered her question.

'Will survived,' he told her. 'He survived as best as I've ever seen someone. But living and surviving aren't synonymous. In the end, living gave out, and you can't survive if you're not alive anymore.'

He pressed his lips against her head and stared at the sofa beneath them. He stared at the silver box, taunting him with its luster.

He wished he had never brought it.