Bartimaeus

The front door slammed shut. The force of the slamming door reverberated through the walls causing the hanging frames shake in place. I heard the heavy stomps of an angry magician go up the stairs and pause, perhaps to open his bedroom door. I waited from his study, sitting on the window sill. Another door slam; this time it was his bedroom door.

I rolled my eyes. Okay, so he had a bad date. I thought of the many different scenarios that could have played out. Knowing Jane, Nathaniel probably said something stupid or let something slip and she took advantage of it. It wouldn't surprise me. Perhaps she finally rejected him. Again, that also wouldn't surprise me. She seemed the type to use people for career and fame gain.

I gave Nathaniel ten minutes of alone time in his room to cool off. After practically raising the kid myself, I've learned that his anger needed to run its course. It was difficult to talk to him whenever he was in this mood. Or in any mood, really. I changed my form into a small sand cat for nostalgic sake. Whenever Ptolemy was ever upset or stressed, he often requested me to be a cat for him. I often sat on his lap as he gently pet me. I figured Nathaniel needed a feline companion as well.

The cat walked up the steps of the small swanky townhouse and sat in front of Nathaniel's bedroom door. It raised a paw and lightly scratched the aging wood. Shuffling could be heard and then the door opened slightly, revealing a very disheveled looking Nathaniel.

I blinked up at him. "What the hell happened to you?"

"An attempted assassination," he mumbled. His cropped dark hair was covered in dust; the suit wrinkled and stained.

I sniffed. Okay, so I hadn't thought about the possibility that an attempted murder might ruin his date. I tutted. He doesn't take me with him to one little date at an innocent restaurant and all hell breaks loose. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Was it Jane?"

He scoffed. "No. In fact, she was the reason I'm still alive. Her djinn saved us. She didn't feel safe without him, and it's a good thing she didn't dismiss him earlier today." He threw himself onto his bed. I padded on light feet behind him and hopped onto the bed, landing softly next to him. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

"I think it was Hopkins and the mercenary."

Ah, right. That failed task. Which is a shame, really. I would like to finally meet this elusive Hopkins and finally get rid of that annoying mercenary. Nothing would bring me much more pleasure than wringing that sorry man's neck with my claws and chucking those damn boots into the Mariana Trench. Nathaniel was tired of the search though; he believed they would come back again with a new plot anyways. Perhaps he was right.

I headbutted his hand, encouraging him to scratch behind my ears. "What makes you think that? How'd they do it?"

"Poisoned oyster. I don't have any reason. It's just a hunch." He absentmindly scratched behind my ear, his mind far away.

I laughed. "Oysters? Out of all the things to poison, they use oysters? Why not a double chocolate fudge cake or crème brule or – I dunno – Chicken!"

Nathaniel sighed and sat up on his bed, his back against the headboard. He looked at me with tired, sad eyes. I looked at him properly this time. The bags under his eyes were darker; a stark contrast to his pale skin. Stress lines were formed prematurely on his forehead. His shoulder sagged under the weight of his amounting paranoia and fears from the past year, the rising tension occurring in North America, and the increasing attacks of the Resistance. For someone so young, he looked much older.

"The oysters almost worked too…" He said as he rubbed his eyes. "I need to sleep. Bartimaeus, keep watch on the building. In the morning we need to devise a plan. I already have an idea, but I'll sleep on it."

The sand cat nodded and stretched. I was about to hop off the bed to head for the front entrance when Nathaniel stopped me.

"Wait. Can we…" He blushed, his pale cheeks finally getting some color.

"Oh. Right."

I don't know why or how the routine was able to continue. It was just one of those strange things that got carried away. A few months ago, back when Nathaniel was picking up the courage to ask out Jane Farrar, he called me up for a peculiar task. When I appeared before him, he avoided looking into my general direction and stammered out his demands. He demanded that I teach him how to kiss under one condition: I had to be in Jane's form. Of course, I had to tease him. It was his first kiss, no doubt. His face would redden out of humiliation every time we practiced. Sometimes I would bite his bottom lip and he would shriek and spew out all kinds of threats. It was all just a game to me, really.

I didn't mind the task. I've done far worse things during my 5,000 years of service. A simple kiss wasn't a problem for me. I once had to seduce a horse for an elderly magician to coax it out of hiding, but that's a different story. A bit after he demanded we practice, things began to change. One day, he demanded that we practice again 'one last time'. He felt that he was finally ready to have his 'first real kiss' with Jane that night. Just as I was about to change into her form, he stopped me. It was perplexing at first. But then I got curious. Next thing I knew, Nathaniel practiced kissing me in Ptolemy's form. Few days after that, he started to ask for a simple kiss. He no longer demanded. I don't really understand why I continued the act. I felt that it was something the boy needed; some comfort that humans tend to seek. I think I was just mostly curious as to what this was leading. After every kiss, Nathaniel always said the same thing, which was reassuring I suppose. It was just a kiss, and it meant nothing. I didn't really question him. I just did the act. I was, after all, still his slave.

I changed my form into Ptolemy. Nathaniel looked up at me, clear blue eyes searching mine. Not prolonging the situation, I bent down to meet his lips and kissed him gently. I didn't try to do anything funny; he had a long day already and I wasn't really in the mood. His lips moved against mine with a slight pressure. With my hands, I gently caressed his face. I've seen humans do that whenever they kissed; it must be a comforting thing. Nathaniel leaned into my hands, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Then we pulled back away from each other. Simple and short.

"It was just a kiss," he said.

"I know," was my routine reply.

"I'll speak to you in the morning."

With that, Nathaniel dismissed me. It was time for me to watch over the quiet house. I kept my eyes and ears open, scanning every corner of the building. Many things ran through my mind: the attempted assassination, the evil Mr. Hopkins, the annoying mercenary with the damn seven-league boots. It was a restless kind of night.

-0o0o0o-

Like clockwork, Nathaniel woke up early morning. As usual, after a brisk shower, he spent his mornings sipping coffee, absentmindedly reading the newspaper, sorting through his mails. He preferred to be alone in the mornings and didn't talk much. These were his private moments. In the mornings, he was Nathaniel. When the time came, he donned on his Mandrake persona and set himself into business. While he prepares himself for the day, I usually lay stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling and counting the days that I haven't been dismissed. Yeah, I've been keeping count down to the second. It's been 197 days and 17 hours and 54 minutes and 2 seconds since he last let me go.

I often thought of the different ways I could torture the kid to let me go. I think I'm going to try out the medieval style: the one with the flaying. Medieval Europe had some really good ones back in the day; humans were very creative back then. I guess they had to be since all that was left to do was watch the horse kick some sod's head in. But that's besides the point. I have an inkling suspicion that Nathaniel refuses to dismiss me because I'm probably his only friend. And I'm using that term loosely. I also think its because I'm his last link to his childhood. I'm just some nostalgic being that keeps him company when he's lonely. I've had tried to talk to him to reason with him about these suspicion but he wouldn't have it. I'm guessing he doesn't even know it himself either. Well, whatever his reasoning is, it's literally killing me.

"Bartimaeus."

From the comfort of the couch, I looked up at Nathaniel. He was dressed in his usual attire: black slacks and a white buttoned up collared shirt. He really needs to buy new clothes.

"Here's the plan Bartimaeus: Do you remember that book we found in an old library that had Mr. Hopkins's signature?"

"Yeah. That chicken scratch signature."

"Yes, that one. Well, we need to find that book. It could have evidence in it, perhaps even some clue that could lead us somewhere."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean, you didn't keep that book? As evidence? Ha! Sorry, kid. That book is probably checked out by somebody else or something. You're not gonna find it again."

Nathaniel glared at me and crossed his arms. "It did not occur to me that the book could have been useful. But given the circumstances, I think it is important that we retrieve it."

"And then what?"

"We figure out any clues within the book."

"That's it? You're not gonna go to Jane and her hellhounds to search and ransack the city? And what if there is no clue? Or better yet: what if there is no book?"

"Enough questions," he snapped. "There is a book and it will be there. And don't mention Jane again. I don't want her meddling in my work."

I shrugged. "Okay, fine. When do we leave?"

He squared his shoulders, presumably trying to look like an authority figure. Goodbye Nathaniel, and hello to John Mandrake.

He shrugged a coat on. "We leave now."