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Chapter fifteen

the weight of a lifetime

Kitty

"Pardon me, what?"

"Oh my god, Bartimaeus," Kitty whisper-shouted as adrenaline started pumping in her veins. It took all her willpower to keep her butt on the chair, because they needed to get out now. "I worked at a pub for a while, he was the owner. That's where Mandrake found me on the night your friends decided to destroy London."

"Let's be reasonable about this," said Bartimaeus. "I'm here, you're wearing contacts and a wig, and we're in the back of a poorly lit room. As soon as his speech is over, we'll scatter. But doing so now would draw too much attention."

"I don't think a wig and contacts will do that much for someone who was used to seeing me regularly, but you're right. We can't leave now."

Easier said than done, however. The next fifteen minutes passed by excruciatingly slowly. Kitty spent them sitting rigidly in her chair, both hands tightened around the underside of the seat. Bartimaeus kept kicking her because her leg would start bouncing all on its own.

She watched the backs of the heads in front of her, as they shook with laughter at the jokes George Fox made about the magicians' underwear habits. Bartimaeus was laughing along and Kitty should too, but seeing a face from a past that seemed so distant had startled her more than she'd expected.

George hadn't exactly told her he'd close up business. One day, Kitty had showed up at the Frog Inn to find a sign informing costumers and workers alike that it was closed. Kitty had knocked and knocked, but no one had answered. After that, she hadn't bothered showing up to collect her wages. George was under no legal obligation to give Kitty her money because she'd never signed an agreement, and Kitty wasn't about to grovel for it.

The applause startled Kitty out of her stupor. Understanding that George had finished his speech, Kitty grabbed Bartimaeus's wrist and jumped off her chair. Together, they shouldered past other people, who shot them curious and annoyed looks. The whispers caught up to them right at the stairs, where the guy who'd been standing outside barred their exit. Peter, was it?

"Hello there," he said.

"Hi," Kitty replied, trying to keep her voice as level as possible. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well. We need to leave."

"There's a bathroom right by the bar," said a brunette woman, pointing in the opposite direction. She had appeared from nowhere, completely blindsiding Kitty, and was now sizing them up with narrowed eyes. "I don't recognise you from previous meetings. This your first time?"

"Oh no, Peter here can attest to that, can't you, Peter?" said Bartimaeus with an amicable grin.

There was electricity in the air now. If anyone in the room had resilience to magic, they'd be found out soon. Kitty suddenly missed the Amulet, which she'd left at home to avoid calling attention to it. She had her heart in her throat, in her temples, in the tips of her fingers. She desperately needed to move.

"Um, yeah… Yes, they've been here before," said Peter, eyes glazed. Too obvious. That was too bloody obvious.

"And when was that, Peter?" asked the woman, keeping her gaze pinned on them.

Out the corner of her eye, Kitty saw Bartimaeus tense up and frown in concentration. The woman focused her attention on him, as if daring him to try. That was when Kitty knew it didn't matter what Bartimaeus did—this woman clearly wasn't going to be as easily fooled as Peter. And worse still—they had garnered the attention of the remaining group, who was approaching them from all sides.

"What's wrong?" asked George Fox.

Kitty immediately did her best to hide her face, but there wasn't much she could do out in the open, completely surrounded by wary people and at least one woman with resilience to magic. Soon George Fox's face dissolved into arched eyebrows and a gaping mouth.

"Kitty Jones," he breathed, to her consternation.

The room filled with whispers once again, and Kitty cursed her luck.

"Well," said Bartimaeus cheerfully. "I suppose we do plan B?"

In a swift movement, Kitty removed a stick from her purse, said the words of activation and threw it onto the floor. A dark mushroom cloud erupted from it, engulfing the nearby people. Before Kitty gave her consent or the other people in the room could recover, she was being flung over a stony shoulder as Bartimaeus pushed past the crowd that had gathered around them.

There were screams, and there were multiple pairs of feet rushing after them, but Bartimaeus evaded them all, aiming weak explosions at beer cases and chairs to slow them down and using his wings to knock over those who avoided the flying objects. The woman was persistent, however, and she grabbed on Bartimaeus's gargoyle wing and yanked.

Bartimaeus lost his balance, foot slipping on step. Desperately, he shoved a clawed hand into the wall and held on, making the woman lose her grip and slide down. She managed to hold onto the railing just in time. Meanwhile, Kitty had been violently jostled on Bartimaeus's shoulder, having had the wind knocked out of her lungs. She was suddenly very glad she hadn't eaten in hours, but this would fucking bruise.

Sweat sprouting in beads on her face and limbs askew, Kitty growled at the approaching woman. Then, using her legs to hold on to a still staggering Bartimaeus, Kitty yanked off her wig and threw it with as much force as she could. It hit the woman square in the face. Luckily, she was too surprised to keep her balance and fell into a couple of people rushing up the stairs to help.

"Come on!" she yelled to Bartimaeus, throwing her weight back to help him regain his balance.

That was all he needed. Without another word, Bartimaeus extended his powerful wings, further slashing at the wall, and blessedly got a move on. They exploded out the door, startling a few rats and a couple who, by the looks of it, had been too distracted sucking face to notice the ruckus.

With the angry mob screaming bloody murder behind them as the soundtrack, Bartimaeus flapped his gravity-defying wings and took to the skies right before another hand could grab him. Kitty held on with all her might, too soon reminded of why she didn't like flying.

They were halfway home when she remembered they hadn't heard the Alliance's plans. Later there would be whispers of a loud 'Fuck!' being heard over Kensington well past midnight.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked a dishevelled Nathaniel, nursing his right hand. There was a first aid kit on the kitchen table, and a cup steaming just out of his reach.

"What the hell happened to you?" Kitty echoed, frowning at Nathaniel's hand and holding onto her sore stomach. Fine, they both looked like they'd been in a fight. Still. "We just sent you to a bridge and you come back hurt? I'm starting to think Bartimaeus is right in calling you a danger-magnet."

Bartimaeus, who'd marched in through the grand, wide front door still in the guise of the gargoyle with no trouble at all, was now stymied by the width of the kitchen's doorway. Grimacing at the doorframe like it had personally offended him by daring to be so small, Bartimaeus tried to position himself in different angles so he'd fit.

"Need a hand, buddy?" Kitty teased, unable to help herself. She might be the one with a bit of a cold and still recovering from a mild concussion, but Bartimaeus had all the symptoms.

"This. Blasted. Door!" He punctuated each word with a new attempt and it really wasn't Kitty's fault that a giggle escaped her.

"Maybe if you changed guises…?" came the hesitant suggestion from Nathaniel, who had halted his search in order to stare at Bartimaeus in deep confusion.

"I shouldn't have to do that! It's this door's fault!" Bartimaeus protested, changing into the dark-skinned heartthrob from Nathaniel's party anyway, all perfectly sculpted muscles made very obvious by the choice of clothing—belted jeans and nothing else. What? Kitty had eyes. And so had Nathaniel, who had quickly returned to rummaging in the first aid kit to hide his blush.

Kitty ignored them both to preserve her sanity. The adrenaline's effects were being replaced by a headache and shivers. Wanting to get this impromptu meeting over with, Kitty put her handbag on top of the table and very slowly sat down next to Nathaniel to look at his hand. Nathaniel yelped and pulled it out of her grip the moment she touched his palm.

"So, what happened?" he asked again, continuing to rummage inside the kit with his good hand, this time a little more fervently. "Where's the blasted salve? I know I got some earlier this year."

"Because he stuck his hand where he shouldn't," supplied Bartimaeus from behind her chair, looking bored. "As usual."

Nathaniel growled but made no comment. Giving him an annoyed look, Bartimaeus turned around and opened a cupboard. He removed a small, white tube, wrinkled and dented from use. Kitty pulled her chair back to allow Bartimaeus to wedge between them and apply some salve onto Nathaniel's palm.

Nathaniel hissed at the contact. "Cold, cold, cold. That's cold." He gently spread the cream over his palm with one finger, whimpering ever so often. Then he glanced up at Bartimaeus before losing his nerve again. Kitty sighed. "Thank you, Bartimaeus. I was beginning to think I'd thrown it away. How did you—?"

"I remembered I saw it last week when I was organising the kitchen."

"You were organising the kitchen?"

"You're welcome," Bartimaeus grumbled, cutting the conversation short. With a huff, he capped the tube and put it back in the cupboard.

Kitty was looking out the window, but it was hard to make out anything with all the condensation that had built around the frame. Mostly, however, she was trying not to laugh. Again. Because Nathaniel and Bartimaeus were the most ridiculous duo that had roamed the Earth and she would stand by that statement until the day of her demise.

"I need food," Kitty declared, partially to save them from their ridiculousness. She got up too quickly and was punished by a stab of pain coming from her stomach. Fantastic.

Under the worried looks of both Nathaniel and Bartimaeus, she started searching the kitchen for food, not finding what she wanted. She reopened each of the cabinets, coming up empty the second time around as well.

"Hey, what happened to the biscuits I brought when I moved?"

"You ate them," Bartimaeus stated. He was leaning against the counter, looking amused by her predicament. He shouldn't. Kitty needed her carbs.

"There were four packages," she countered, a frown etched deep in her face.

"I know."

"Right." Nathaniel cleared his throat. Kitty kept her back turned to him as she perused the cabinets for a third time. "As I was saying, you look like you've been in a boxing ring. And what happened to your wig?"

Kitty gave up on the biscuits and grabbed a loaf of bread, telling Nathaniel what had happened with helpful commentary from Bartimaeus. Throughout her retelling, she managed to toast the bread and butter the toast, make a fresh cup of tea, and start to eat. All of this was thanks to Bartimaeus's very helpful commentary.

"And then I flung the wig at the woman while Bartimaeus here struggled to pull us back up, and we were out of there," Kitty finished before Bartimaeus could interrupt again, slipping the last piece of toast into her mouth.

"I was simply giving you the time to have your heroic moment. I know those are very important to you."

Kitty rolled her eyes at him, now a little more subdued by food. Weariness had crept up on her suddenly, and the food was dulling her brain further. "Sure, let's call it that." When Nathaniel kept staring expectantly at her, Kitty admitted, "We didn't hear their plans… And now I'll never be able to get anywhere near these meetings again, will I? Brilliant."

Nathaniel groaned and ran the good hand through his hair. Then a moment of silence ensued, which Kitty spent gulping down her chamomile tea and wishing to be soaking in the bathtub to remove all traces of cigarettes and pot from her body, especially her hair.

"There were mentions of an event."

Kitty and Nathaniel snapped their heads towards Bartimaeus, both throwing question after question at him. Bartimaeus let them get it out of their systems, magnanimously raising a hand to hush them.

"When did you even hear this?" Kitty demanded nonetheless, refusing to be appeased by Bartimaeus's attitude.

"When you were panicking about your identity. As soon as Fox got up there, the whispers began. 'Will he address the event?' and 'I wonder what we'll do for the event,' and 'the details for the event must be set,' et cetera. You get the idea."

Silence. Nathaniel looked congested working out all of this new information. Kitty's face shouldn't be much different. An event? Was the Commoners' Alliance planning an event? That didn't seem likely, unless they wanted to truly go public. Bartimaeus had said they weren't being very discrete. But still, no one had found them yet; Kitty had needed to be tipped off by a hybrid to boot. Would they be crashing an event, then? In that case, which event? Or maybe they were plotting to crash more than one? But Bartimaeus had said the event…

"So Adamastor was telling the truth," Nathaniel whispered at last, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Seems so..."

"There's a first."

Silence settled over them again. This time around, Kitty was weighing her options and reflecting on her promise to Adamastor. She had nothing to offer him and, in spite of her bold words to Rebecca the previous day, she wasn't satisfied with her own reasoning on the matter. Yes, she hadn't promised a solution, but if Adamastor was going to bring the goods to the table, then so should she.

But how could she do it? And who could help her? Mr Button might be on board, but he was so busy. Not to mention that he'd be highly suspicious of her motives. Kitty doubted Rebecca had let him in on anything yet, since so little time had passed between now and her conversation with Adamastor.

Would Nathaniel even be willing to do it? She looked at him, also lost in thought, and then peered up at Bartimaeus, who was watching Nathaniel with an odd look on his face. Kitty dismissed it, thinking it must be because of their argument of the day before. Still, Nathaniel was her best bet right now, so she had to ask.

Nathaniel beat her to it. "When are you going to meet up with Adamastor again?"

"We agreed we'd meet in Hyde Park in a couple days, since spirits and hybrids alike avoid it as a rule."

Bartimaeus made a sound in the back of his throat. "That's because that place was still charged with spent magic the last time I was there. Only will-o'-the-wisps would want to be there."

"I thought spirits enjoyed places where magic was more prevalent," said Nathaniel.

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Probably not when it feels that weird. It's not the same as our magic. It's a bit alien, that thing. A little bit too… solid?"

"Fascinating," Kitty drawled. "Circling back to my meeting—what am I supposed to tell Adamastor?"

"That we're working on it," said Nathaniel blandly. "You won't be lying."

"I don't understand."

"I am working on a pentacle to get the hybrids back to the Other Place."

Kitty gaped, utterly gobsmacked. When had Nathaniel even found the time to do this? It had barely been a month since he'd left the hospital. And why? But more importantly: why didn't Bartimaeus seem as surprised as she was?

There was much arguing about it for a while, Kitty demanding to know why she hadn't been included, and getting some lame-ass excuses, and then finally being told what Nathaniel had managed to do so far. It all seemed very impressive to her, despite what Nathaniel had to say about it and Bartimaeus's overall attitude on the matter.

"It is quite impressive," she insisted, not for the first time. "Not many magicians have managed to create a new pentacle, much less all by themselves." Or so she'd read.

Kitty could practically feel Bartimaeus vibrate on the spot. She knew he was thinking about Ptolemy, and by the way Nathaniel had turned away from Bartimaeus, she could tell that he had been doing the same. She almost regretted telling Nathaniel about the identity of Bartimaeus's favourite guise.

But she wasn't ready to let either of them off the hook yet. "And why exactly is Nathaniel doing this alone?"

"I thought it was better this way," said Nathaniel, but Kitty didn't believe him for one second; Bartimaeus looked too surprised. "But then I understood that I needed help, at least with locating the hybrids, so I decided to summon Shubit. He used to be at the service of Jessica Whitwell. Before she was killed, Whitwell summoned Shubit and ordered him to attack. He did," he concluded, like that explained everything.

Looking at Bartimaeus for confirmation, she found it was his turn to stare out the window. It took all the wind out of her somehow, to see him so unwilling to participate. This conversation had been odd enough, but now he was looking so forlorn that Kitty might hug him, even if just to get him to make her stop.

"Right, so that bit's settled. Great that I won't have to completely lie. But this time try and keep me in the loop, would you? God, imagine when Rebecca finds out…"

Nathaniel grumbled something about never being included himself, and she supposed he had a point, but she wasn't going to let this conversation get derailed again.

"That's one thing out of the way. Cheers to progress! Now, what did you and Shubit find?"

Nathaniel leaned back and fished in his pocket for a small object, which he then placed on the table right in front of her. Kitty blinked at the engraving, some sort of vague recognition gnawing at her memory. She couldn't place it, however, so she looked at Nathaniel for help.

"There was—probably—a Seal on the rock right by the foundation of London Bridge. That pebble came back engraved when I threw it. Shubit tried a few ways of dismantling and breaking this supposed Seal, but nothing worked."

Kitty picked it up and turned it in her palm, offering it to Bartimaeus when her mind came up blank once again. She took another sip of her tea. "So Pinn was telling the truth as well."

"No one was lying? What a change of pace!" sang Bartimaeus, giving her back the pebble. "Not familiar."

Nathaniel clicked his tongue. "I was hoping otherwise, since you've been alive a while. Shubit says it's old magic."

Bartimaeus again grimaced at the name. "Would have to see it to be able to tell."

"Oh, you can go whenever you want. It's not hard to find," said Nathaniel, which only seemed to further aggravate Bartimaeus. But Nathaniel carried on, blissfully oblivious. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to get a second opinion."

Kitty watched Bartimaeus closely, debating whether he'd snap at Nathaniel. She understood why communication between them could be so complicated, after so many years of ingrained mistrust, but sometimes she felt that locking them in a room and forcing them to stay in there until they worked it out would just get things moving so much faster.

Concluding that waiting for Bartimaeus to react wasn't the best idea, Kitty intervened: "It sort of looks like a pentacle, doesn't it?" She traced a finger through the lines.

"I hadn't thought of that… But what about the smaller circles?"

"Runes?" suggested Bartimaeus.

Something lit up in Nathaniel's eyes and excitement bubbled up inside Kitty. "Maybe that's why it's familiar! Maybe Kitty and I have seen this pentacle somewhere—in a book, perhaps."

Kitty nodded eagerly, smiling from ear to ear. "That would explain why Bartimaeus wouldn't know about it. If it wasn't used to summon him, then—"

"Then I wouldn't have seen it," Bartimaeus finished, grinning for the first time.

An idea popped into her head. "You know what we could do? Take this to Mr Button. He likes all sorts of obscure stuff and has more books than he can keep track of. I'm sure we'll find something. And if not, I'm sure he'll point us in the right direction."

No one disagreed, which—after finding out that neither Pinn nor Adamastor had lied—was definitely the third miracle of that night.

Piper

When the aircraft landed, Piper's legs and back were absolutely killing her, and she was so tired it would be a miracle if she didn't faceplant during the greeting.

All of the aches had been made especially prominent when Piper had got up to quickly change back into her suit and retouch her make-up a little before landing. Now, chastising herself for not having listened to Marcus's suggestion that she should rest, she was standing in the aisle with her djinn back in their lioness guises while security did a last check for deceitful magic, hidden spirits and the like.

Piper took that moment to breathe and recentre. She'd gone over the treaty a thousand times; she'd had actual specialists looking it over for weeks now (unlike annoying and incompetent George Ffoukes), and they'd negotiated the treaty with North America's specialists. She was here for signing these documents and greeting the new president, give her country's blessing and recognition. That was all she needed to do. It would be fine.

A little before they opened the hatch, Piper allowed herself to think of her friends back in London, who she hoped were long asleep and safe after their respective missions. She would have to try to get in touch later, but now she had a job to do.

Now it was her turn.

"Madam Prime Minister, whenever you're ready," said Marcus, getting into her line of vision from behind. There was a small crystal ball in his huge hand, where Piper could vaguely make out the face of another security guard, Carl. "The President and his fiancée are waiting for you."

Piper rolled back her shoulders and gave a curt nod, and then they were moving. Her legs carried her out of the plane and into a wide, open field with overgrown grass stretching for miles. Piper immediately sensed the water all around them. She had lived on an island her entire life, but she might as well have been living in the heart of Africa for how little she saw the ocean. Now she could hear it in the waves lapping at the invisible shoreline, smell the brine in the air.

They weren't in the main city, but rather south-east of Boston, in a small, secluded area that had seemingly escaped man's touch up until now. There were light dots further west, trembling like fireflies in the night. Those had to be the tents.

They had chosen to land away from Boston in order to make less of a fuss. There would be press, but the trees and the soldiers guarding the camp would dissuade most of them, or at least limit their prying. On the other hand, should Piper and her team be attacked, there would be no opportunity for hiding; they would have to get the aircraft up in the air in record time. Fortunately, it was bullet-proof. Unfortunately, that meant nothing when it came to magic.

So she'd gambled.

Torches had been lit up in two neat rows, both to signal the way to the aircraft and for the humans to know where to step. It was entirely thanks to the torches that Piper noticed when Marcus and Carl positioned themselves in front of her. They were so quiet it bordered on creepy sometimes. She couldn't tell if anyone else was behind her, and now wasn't the time to look back.

Even with the additional lighting, it was hard to make out the shapes on the other end, except that they had begun moving. Prompted by Marcus, Piper began doing the same.

As they neared, the figures began being sculpted right before her eyes. There were four security guards to match her own detail, dressed in dark uniforms, all proper posture and alert eyes. Piper immediately readjusted her own posture to impart an air of confidence and wisdom.

And then there were the figures in the middle: a woman, tall and slender, with olive skin and a mass of curly hair thrown over her shoulders, and a bald Black man, with such prominent muscles that Piper would have mistaken him for security if not for the business suit. Both emanated such charisma that Piper felt immediately inadequate. She had half a mind to turn around and go home.

However, she did neither of those things. Piper marched right into the middle of the field, took one last calming breath, and extended her hand to the future president of North America.

"Madam Prime Minister," said Alexander Williams in a rough voice, shaking her hand. Piper had grown somewhat used to the weird accent during their remote meetings, but she couldn't help noticing it now. It was so unlike any accent she'd heard in her life—flatter than any other American accent she'd heard. Plus, she still didn't know why he was butchering the O's. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you face to face."

"Likewise, Mr President." The word choice was very deliberate, and the small smile on Williams's face did not go unnoticed.

"This is my fiancée, Malia."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Piper said, extending her hand once again.

Malia clasped it in both of her own, nearly blinding Piper with a huge smile. "I'm so happy we finally got the chance to meet! And it's such a pleasure to have you. I'm sure we'll be able to reach an agreement that's suitable to all of us."

Piper blinked. It slowly dawned on her that these should have been her words, not Malia's, and that her one option was to reciprocate the feelings as fervently as possible without sounding overeager and dishonest.

"We're all very happy with this development, and I would like to take this chance to apologise for all the unnecessary suffering this war has brought, beginning with returning something we once stole from you." And she was very purposefully doing it before the press could even breathe near it.

Prompted by her words, Marcus stepped forward, carrying a long box in his arms. One of Alexander's personal guards broke formation to examine it. Piper only saw glimpses of a small imp on his shoulder, whispering into his ear. Finally, he nodded, and Alexander opened the box, revealing a long staff with a plaited head.

Malia smiled down at it and Alexander nodded solemnly at Piper. For her part, Piper felt time stand still at this momentous occasion, where she had taken a first step of many towards the right direction. It wasn't enough. Piper didn't know if it'd ever be enough, if there were enough words and actions to right this wrong, but she would lead her country in doing so for as long as it let her.

Piper had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Now she was groggily squinting up at a canvas roofing and wondering where the hell she was, and why the light was so bright, and she couldn't believe Kitty had convinced her to drink again after Nathaniel's birthday dinner—Oh.

Piper bolted upright from her sleeping bag, turning to look at the clothes she'd dropped onto the floor the night before. Dressing quickly and doing the best she could with her hair and face, Piper walked out into the piercing cold morning air.

Her tent was turned east, and the sun was peeking through the trees and painting the world golden. Said paint nearly blinded Piper. She squinted up at sun for a moment, barely making out the aircraft parked under the trees' shade, but a tad grateful for the warmth.

"Good morning, Madam Prime Minister," said a rough voice beside her. Piper blinked away from the sun, finding Marcus next to her, a large hand extending her a thermos. She took a whiff and smiled. Coffee.

"Lifesaver," Piper mumbled gratefully, taking a sip, burning her tongue and not caring. "Good morning, by the way. Where are the others?"

Marcus grinned politely. "Carl went to check the perimeter, and Robin and Casey are asleep. We've just switched shifts. The crew should be in the aircraft, along with the doctor and the diplomat—"

"Mike and Grace," Piper intervened, nodding thoughtfully. She made it a point to address people by their names. It was both the right thing to do and helpful for her memory.

If Marcus's pride had been wounded by the silent rebuttal, he didn't show it. "Of course." He gave her a little nod. "I was informed you could get food at the cafeteria." Marcus pointed at a large brown tent by the water. "Then you're scheduled—"

"To meet up with Malia, I know," Piper said, the coffee having revived her brain enough for her memory to function. "Well, I suppose I am hungry. Do we have time?"

It turned out that they did. Shadowed by Marcus and her djinn, Piper followed the irregular trodden path that snaked between the soldiers' tents. She garnered many curious looks and did her best to politely smile and greet each person that passed her by, getting very little in return. Piper refused to be dispirited.

Besides, what truly struck Piper was how freely the spirits roamed among the soldiers, who were all mostly up and about, jogging in pairs or stretching by their tents. The spirits were guised as just about anything they fancied—animals, mythical creatures, and Piper was sure she'd seen a spirit guised as a walking stool. It boggled the mind how anyone would feel comfortable like this. She was so used to hiding their existence from commoners that this was a culture shock on a massive scale.

But Piper didn't comment on it, not wanting to sound ignorant, especially not in front of Marcus.

A full stomach later, Piper arrived at the beach, finding Malia target practicing with a long, thin bow. Malia's security detail was standing aside at a respectful distance and formally greeted Piper upon arrival. Malia didn't seem to notice them, however, as she grabbed another arrow from the quiver on her shoulder and pulled the bowstring further and further back. The world stilled as Malia aimed, took a deep breath, and then released the arrow.

It flew fast as a Detonation, hitting the target straight in the heart.

"That was quite impressive," Marcus whispered, face as blank as ever. High praise, nonetheless, considering Marcus's training and position as Head of Security to the Prime Minister of England. "Longbows are hard to master in that they offer you no assistance like more modern bows. You rely solely on your strength and skill."

Piper didn't know all that much about archery, but seeing the sweat glistening on Malia's face and imagining the strength it required to hold an arrow against such resistance were enough to impress her. She certainly hadn't expected the President's fiancée to be weapon training.

Before Piper could decide whether to interrupt, Malia grabbed another arrow, this time with red feathers instead of white. She shot it and the target exploded on the spot, decimating the two nearby targets along with it. Marcus pulled Piper behind him immediately, quickly stepping back.

Malia barely moved a millimetre, face breaking into a huge grin. Soon the flames receded, the remaining embers winking at them before being snuffed out by the sand. Piper was left gaping and uncomprehending as Malia walked over to one of her bodyguards and told him to congratulate the 'Head Magician' on a splendid job.

The bodyguard nodded and gave her a towel, which Malia used to wipe her face. Then he motioned at Piper and Marcus, who were still rooted to the spot with twin confused faces. As Piper's heartrate came back down, she noticed her djinn had erected a protective Shield around her. She gestured for them to lift it.

"Rebecca!" Malia called, still a little out of breath and putting the towel around her neck. A silver cuff bracelet glistened on her wrist. "Lovely to see you. How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," Piper said truthfully. "That was quite impressive."

Malia grinned. "I'll pass that on to our Head Magician. I'm sure he'll be humbled to receive such praise from the Prime Minister of England."

Piper kept her face blank. She knew that the North American interim government wasn't entirely made up of magicians. In fact, there were rumours that Alexander Williams was a commoner. There were also rumours that they had a powerful magician advisor, Williams's own right-hand man, but little was known about him.

"Your fiancé won't be joining us today?"

"Maybe later. Thank you, Rita," she told the guard who'd handed her a water bottle. "Alex usually runs or swims in the mornings, then moves on to resistance training—whatever he's got on his schedule for that day."

Piper watched Malia carefully. She was delivering private information about her fiancé's routine like she was talking to a friend, but this was a power move. Malia was conveying that they had nothing to worry about from Piper, should she choose to target the President.

"That's quite the routine," Piper said, her admiration not entirely fake. "I should definitely incorporate exercise into mine, but I've never really made time for it before and now that things are so chaotic, it's hard."

There—a little candour, a little praise, a little modesty. The recipe for success. And Malia seemed to think so too, because she awarded Piper's efforts with another smile.

"To answer your other question, I thought we could go visit your wounded soldiers. A visit from their new PM is sure to lift their spirits, no? I've read that you volunteered for quite some time at St. Thomas' Hospital, even with all the work and the chaos of leading an interim council."

Piper hadn't the foggiest idea what Malia was on about. She'd never volunteered at any hospital, she'd only gone there because of—Oh. That had been Piper and Kitty's cover story for visiting so often! Piper couldn't believe that had followed her across the bloody ocean of all things.

"I'd love to see them," Piper said quickly. She wasn't convincing anyone, she knew. Malia had probably detected that there was something not quite right with the hospital visits, but she didn't pry, and Piper wasn't about to offer up the information.

"Wonderful," Malia retorted, raising her water bottle as if in a toast. Piper touched her thermos to Malia's bottle and got a laugh. "Any way I can bribe you to give me some of that?"

Kitty

"Hey, have you seen my black tu—what are you doing?"

Kitty stood in the doorway to the small living room—the one Nathaniel didn't visit anymore because Bartimaeus had put up the terrible poem about his ocean-blue orbs on the wall. It was sparsely decorated in the usual neutral tones of the house, the most extravagant piece being an elaborate glass vase sitting on the sleek coffee table.

More often than not, this was where Kitty could find Bartimaeus these days when he preferred to stay inside, which was whenever it rained. Which, in turn, was often, because it was December in London. Kitty had begun suspecting Bartimaeus had framed the poem for this specific reason; maybe he needed a break from them all more than she'd realised.

"Reading." He closed the book and enlarged Ptolemy's mouth until he could fit the book inside.

Kitty's eyebrows disappeared under her hair. "Wow, that's dramatic, even for you. Are you reading porn? You know I won't judge."

Bartimaeus spat out the book, and it landed on the other end of the sofa. "No. And I think I saw a foliot hanging your black tunic to air dry this morning, so you'll have to wear something else."

Kitty cursed. "I have nothing to wear."

Bartimaeus tilted his head back against the armrest to look up at her. "That blue blouse looks fine to me. I thought you were friends with this Mr Button."

"I am—we are. It's not for him, it's—" Kitty stopped herself, not wanting to elaborate. It felt a little ridiculous to want to uphold this tradition of dressing in black when she wasn't entirely okay with her need to mourn her parents. Besides, Bartimaeus would probably just tell her she was being silly.

"You know, I'm sure Piper wouldn't mind if you borrowed something black from her wardrobe," Bartimaeus said.

Kitty smiled at him and wondered why he ever thought he wasn't good at comfort. Maybe it had been the experience of sharing a mind with Nathaniel that had made him improve, or maybe it was that she and him were now friends and thus he knew better what to say and do. Either way, it was rooted in his good nature, that much she was sure of.

The book caught her eye again. It was sprawled open on the opposite side of the sofa. When Bartimaeus made no motion to stop her, Kitty went and grabbed it. Trauma and Recovery, it read. Again Kitty's eyebrows did all the work to express her surprise.

Black tunic out of mind, she plopped down at Bartimaeus's feet and waved the book in front of him.

"I like to keep myself educated."

"Sure you do, but never about humans. Or is this for you?"

Bartimaeus rolled his eyes. "After five-thousand years of enslavement, I reckon it wouldn't be this that broke me."

No, maybe not this. But he'd been broken by Ptolemy's death, and she imagined that Nathaniel's gesture had stirred up some of his ghosts, no matter how much time had passed. Maybe even because of it, since he'd never truly addressed it. She wasn't soon forgetting about the time she'd mentioned Ptolemy by name and he'd lost his marbles.

Kitty decided not to comment on it, however. For one thing, she wasn't a therapist. For another, she wasn't exactly in a position to give anyone any lectures on therapy, since she should probably be getting some herself. And lastly, Bartimaeus was a djinni and she didn't entirely understand how his psyche worked or if it'd be possible for djinn to have mental health issues similar to humans' or even at all. No, they probably did have mental health issues, she decided, once again thinking of Bartimaeus's background and Ptolemy.

"Fine," she said instead, dropping the book on his bony knees. "So what is it then? I didn't even know Nathaniel had this kind of books lying around. Doesn't seem in character…"

Bartimaeus clicked his tongue and grabbed the book, flipping through it for a little while before saying, "That's because this isn't his."

"No?"

"No."

"So?"

"So it's someone else's."

"Did you steal it?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Fine."

"Brilliant."

"…So?"

Bartimaeus groaned and threw his head back. Then he hopped off the sofa and went to the window, from where sunlight beams filtered in and made Ptolemy's skin glisten as if he truly were a ghost and not a living creature.

"Sam lent them to me."

"Them? There's more than one?"

Wrinkling his nose in resignation, Bartimaeus came back and pulled up the sofa's cushion. Underneath, there was another book, this one on human anatomy and overall physical health. "I've already read that one and I'll return it the next time Nathaniel has an appointment. Satisfied?"

It was then that Kitty remembered the package Sam had given Bartimaeus when he'd come over on Friday. So that was the reason for the enigmatic looks.

"Not really. Why are you reading these?"

Alright, so maybe she did have a theory, but she'd be damned if she let Bartimaeus smooth-talk his way out of this one. Plus, Kitty had always preferred bluntness to this kind of dancing around a topic that had become so obvious it was pointless to be dancing in the first place. She'd stopped the music, and now it was time for Bartimaeus to take a bloody bow.

Bartimaeus gave a long-suffering sigh. "Sam thought it would be good for me to have a general idea of what might be going on with Nathaniel, since he was discharged early and I'm the one who fortunately gets to spend all this time with him, and I know very little about your odd human needs, so—"

"Huh, so it was Sam's idea."

"That's right."

Kitty didn't believe him. First Nathaniel and now Bartimaeus. It was a little infuriating. Still, she supposed this was as good an answer as she was going to get for now. Which didn't mean she couldn't keep torturing Bartimaeus with other similar topics.

"Was it also Sam's idea to use less… beastly guises? Or was that in the book?"

"Please, I can think for myself. It doesn't take a djinni to understand that right now one of Nathaniel's triggers would be odd-looking creatures, especially those with many tentacles and odd wings. I'd say fiery hooves would be on the list as well, thanks to Asmodeus, but Nat went and summoned Shubit anyway, didn't he? So what do I know?"

"And the music?"

"Look, this house depresses me, alright? Besides, it keeps making all sorts of weird noises and I figured I should give his clothes some respite from tea stains."

Kitty frowned. "I thought the foliots handled the washing and the cleaning and that you were only taking care of his meals and exercise routine?"

"Only's an interesting word to use in this situation," Bartimaeus grumbled, giving her an annoyed glance. "And if you must know, those foliots are idiots and they'd ruin his clothes and who do you think would get blamed for it?"

"…The foliots?" Kitty offered, certain that Nathaniel wouldn't be that unreasonable, especially when it had been expressly stipulated that Bartimaeus was only around for helping out as long as he felt comfortable doing so. "You know I was joking the other day when you were being weird about the moving boxes, but are you becoming a clean freak, Bartimaeus?"

Bartimaeus scoffed. "Again, I keep telling you that that experience harmed me more than I thought. And now I'm trapped here, cooking for him, cleaning for him, reading these blasted books for him, and for what? He went and summoned Shubit, because clearly I wasn't doing a good job, was I?"

Kitty wanted to facepalm so hard in that moment, maybe put her head through the wall. She managed not to do either of those things through the power of sheer will. "And here I thought sharing a mind would give you some perspective. Look," she placed her hands on Bartimaeus's shoulders, crouching a little to be eye-level with him, "his judgement was… clouded at best. But can you truly not see what he was trying to accomplish with that summons? I know it was a bit roundabout, but you've known him for years now—"

"Kitty." Bartimaeus shrugged off her hands. "Have you ever heard of the proverb that says that the road to hell is paved with good intention? It's not enough. This is no different from before, is it?"

"From what you've told me—"

"Doesn't matter, you wouldn't understand." Bartimaeus irritably went back to the window, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"Really?" Kitty scoffed, not finding this as funny or endearing anymore, and very much ready to be offended by Bartimaeus's attitude towards her. "Look here, Bartimaeus, I can't fix what happened, nor can I imagine what life's been like for you being treated so poorly for so long. But don't pretend you aren't free to do as you please.

"You could go back to the Other Place this instant, or to Russia, or Japan—wherever! And fine, maybe the Other Place isn't your biggest fan right now, but you do have options. You are here because you want to be. I get that that can be scary and confusing—I'm here, aren't I?—but it's okay to want to be here. And for what it's worth, I am very glad that you're here."

Bartimaeus didn't turn around, but his foot had stilled. Feeling like she could do nothing more at the moment, Kitty left him to his thoughts and went to scavenge Rebecca's wardrobe.

And now a big hug for anjumstar. We've been working on this for over a year, and there are not enough words to express my appreciation. Plus, she sent me a bunch of Bart art the other day just because I was feeling unmotivated and being overly critical. Again. Cheers to you, my friend.