Chapter Fourteen
Simon
He's dead.
Baz is dead.
I can't breathe. I can't see. It's like everything I know is falling in on me.
And he's just lying there, eyes open, his whole chest covered in blood. Staring and staring. The attack came so fucking fast, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I could do.
So much magic, now.
But too late.
It's all too late.
I throw my head back and I scream and scream and scream.
Damien
The sound just splits my ears. It feels like I'm bleeding from the outside in.
It's magic. Raw magic. You can almost hear the bold text of it; the punctuation. Exclamation points and this wordless shriek, going on and on and on.
I throw up a shield, quick as I can, but Nicodemus and Isabel aren't so lucky.
Simon
They go away.
I don't know another way to describe it. As I'm screaming, pieces of them are just crumbling. Blowing away. Bits of Nicodemus, scattering. It takes five seconds, and then there's nothing left.
But I can't think. Can't feel any kind of triumph or sorrow. Because that's my Baz, lying on the ground, looking at the sky. That's my Baz. Dead.
I stumble to him, and go down on one knee, and the magic's still pulsing through me, so that when I fall onto his chest, gripping his shoulders, my wings in a paradox around me, I can feel the thrum of it through my fingertips.
"Baz," I sob. "Baz. Baz, come back. Come back. I love you, Baz, you arsehole-please."
Damien
It's hard to watch.
I can't even wonder at the strangeness of it all-Isabel and Nicodemus blowing away, the Snow boy's aching scream. There's no room for anything but Simon's pain.
Baz
"I love you, Baz."
and there's this voice in my head and i'm trying to remember who it is because it sounds like someone i used to know but it can't be because there's nothing nothing at all and i'm made of little pieces and
"Come back. Come back."
And SIMON.
Simon
He takes a breath.
I swear I see it. The rough inhale. The rise and fall of his chest.
Most of the magic has drained away, but there's enough for me to try one last time.
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
It was a breath. Aleister Crowley. He took a fucking breath.
Baz
He's leaning over me, his face streaked with tears, his whole body weighed down with magic. Just talking and talking and crying until the power bleeds out of his words.
And I remember:
I love you.
"Simon," I whisper.
Simon
"You called me Simon," is all I can think to say. Stupidly.
"You twat. Of course I did."
"Baz, I don't understand-"
"I don't either."
"Baz-"
"Shhh."
"I just-"
"Hush."
"I worry-"
"Don't."
"But-"
"Simon?"
"Baz?"
"Here."
