Hiiiiiii! Can you tell she's nervous? Well, I'm not going to do a big speech. To sum it up, 2022 was... a lot. My work situation has been changing a lot for the past year, and every time I thought I was getting the hang of it... Bam, it changed again. My personal life has also been a lot. Everything's been a lot! But I never stopped writing this story (even if only in my head at times), and I always read and reread your comments to keep me going. You're the absolute best, and if I manage to somehow better your day half as much as you do mine with your lovely words, then I'll die a happy human.
Many thanks to anjumstar as always for putting up with my incessant rambling about this behemoth of a project, and here's to 10 years of tolerating each other!

Chapter Twenty-Five

the flood is rising up on your knees

Nathaniel

"I'll talk to my friend and she'll contact you very soon, alright?"

"Yes. Thank you, Sam. I'm sorry again that I bothered you on your day off. When I saw you on New Year's, I—"

"No need to apologise. I'm glad you came to me." Sam flashed Nathaniel one of his trademark gentle smiles. "This is a good step you're taking. I know it must be hard, and maybe you won't connect with Daria, in which case we can look at other options. But I hope that you will. She's very good and very discrete. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Nathaniel thanked Sam again as they exited the exam room they'd used for privacy, assaulted by the typical smell of disinfectant that Nathaniel just knew would linger in his nose even after he left the hospital. Sam disappeared down the busy hall overflowing with staff, visitors, and patients as usual. With the ongoing reconstruction work needed because of Asmodeus's impromptu visit, entire sections of the hospital had been temporarily closed. And with the thinning of resources and labour force due to the unending repairs in the city, everything was taking longer than normal. Which meant that while other hospitals slowly returned to regular operating levels, St Thomas' Hospital remained full to the brim, and its staff overworked.

Nathaniel wondered if the money he'd donated had made a dent of a difference. Should he have been more involved? He'd told himself he was staying home to recover and to not put others at risk in case Asmodeus returned, but now… Now he had recovered—well, physically—and Asmodeus was gone.

Was Bartimaeus right? Had Nathaniel just been avoiding and hiding the whole time?

It was due to this state of distraction that Nathaniel managed to collide with someone, files and folders flying and splatting onto the floor. All eyes turned to them. Ears and cheeks burning, Nathaniel immediately kneeled to gather the papers and save them from being trampled on.

"Mr Mandrake?" a familiar voice whispered.

Nathaniel looked up, finding Brunetti's amused brown eyes trained on him. "Mr Brunetti! Oh, here." Nathaniel gathered the last of the rogue papers and put them on top of the pile Brunetti had managed to defend against Nathaniel's uncharacteristic clumsiness. He noticed with some relief that their audience had lost interest.

"Thanks," Brunetti chuckled, turning a little so they could actually talk face to face. "I was hardly seeing where I was going."

Indeed, Nathaniel could barely understand it himself—Brunetti was carrying a pile that reached just under his nose. "Do you need a hand with that?"

"Oh, that's quite alright. I have an appointment with Dr Elgar in a minute."

Nathaniel's eyes widened of their own accord. Elgar was the doctor who'd treated Nathaniel, and as far as he knew, she specialised in injuries caused by magic. "I didn't know you were injured—"

"Oh! No, it's not for me." Brunetti cleared his throat, happy demeanour fading a little. "My wife, she's sick."

Nathaniel's mind jumped back to their conversation at the bar, and there it was—the hand clenching his throat, the punch to the stomach. Nathaniel had learned more than he'd expected about Brunetti's personal life that day. It was another boulder of guilt to carry on his shoulders. The death of Brunetti's son, the consequent loss of contact with his daughter… And somehow Nathaniel had thought that Brunetti's familial misfortunes extended only to his children, but what had he said then—

But what kind of man would I be, leaving my wife all alone during the holidays? Especially now that…

Brunetti had interrupted himself and Nathaniel had just assumed he'd been thinking of Andrea and Gabriella. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Oh no, that's fine. She'll make it!" Brunetti's eyes lit up again, the fire of his earlier cheer returning. "Dr Elgar is a brilliant physician. She's done all sorts of incredible research. I ask that this stay between us, however. My wife values her privacy."

"Yes, of course." Nathaniel frowned. "Sorry, but I thought that Dr Elgar—"

Brunetti let out an alarmed sound after checking his watch. "Really can't chat, I'm running late. Pleasure seeing you, Mr Mandrake. Good luck with your, er, research and see you at the soirée! I'll be sure to prepare only the best dishes!"

Nathaniel opened and closed his mouth, unable to get a word in edgewise as Brunetti rushed all of that out and started walking backwards. Nathaniel was left staring after him.

(…)

Nathaniel was still trying to digest this new development when he finally got home. That train of thought went off the rails the moment he walked through the door, however—there was a screaming contest coming from upstairs.

Hurrying towards the source of the ruckus, Nathaniel was led straight to his library and there he was met with the oddest sight since the Bartimaeus Booty Bash (as Kitty called it) back on his birthday: Bartimaeus, Kitty, and Piper were playing a board game on the carpeted floor and sharing tea and biscuits like they were all mates from way back when.

"…It really is imperative that I get therapy if I've started hallucinating," he muttered, garnering the trio's attention.

"Look who's home!" Kitty cheered, patting the pillow between her and Bartimaeus. "Come, sit. We're almost done with this one, you can get in on the next."

Nathaniel settled down, careful not to look at Bartimaeus—who was in Ptolemy's guise, to add insult to injury. This went beyond not knowing how to act around Bartimaeus anymore; it was about survival now. After learning that Bartimaeus had probably saved him, and receiving the most thoughtful gift of his life, Nathaniel spent the majority of his waking hours dissecting every interaction they'd had recently.

Which meant he spent countless moments replaying the hug in the kitchen, the times they'd held hands, their warm laughter under the moonlight, the way Bartimaeus had cradled him in his arms after pulling them both from the Thames, the training session earlier that day, when Nathaniel had nearly kissed him… and again New Year's, the two of them under the mistletoe, the way Bartimaeus had looked at him, as if he wanted it too…

The sound of Piper cheering while Kitty and Bartimaeus protested brought him back to the present. Nathaniel examined the board and pieces laid out on the coffee table. The dark blue slots were covered in houses. "I thought Monopoly was supposed to take a while."

"Piper eats children's dreams for breakfast," Bartimaeus commented, sounding slightly impressed. He caught Nathaniel's eye, searching for something—probably the reason for his absence—and Nathaniel's traitorous stomach fluttered.

No, absolutely not. Nathaniel was an intelligent, reasonable man. He was an accomplished magician. He'd been promoted to Head of Internal Affairs at 14! Youngest minister ever! That morning he'd re-summoned Shubit—a powerful, powerful afrit—just before breakfast! His stomach hadn't fluttered because a djinni had looked at him.

Kitty hummed in agreement. "Absolutely ruthless."

For her part, Piper was trying not to preen. "I do have an unfair advantage at strategy." And then, after checking her money and cards: "Hmm, it might be time for a hotel…"

"Brilliant. Might as well just tap out now while I have some dignity left," Kitty said, dramatically flopping onto the floor.

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you lost your dignity somewhere between Oxford Street and Mayfair, Kitty dearest."

"Silence, Jailtime."

It was hard not to join in the laughter. As the three of them continued chattering about the game and gathering the pieces to begin a new one, Nathaniel noticed that the library was messier than usual. He didn't remember creating that book tower by the sofa or leaving any papers on his desk. The most glaring clue, however, was the huge blackboard tucked between two tall bookshelves.

"Have you been reorganising the shelves?" Nathaniel did try his best to keep the dread in his voice to a minimum, but it bled out regardless. He had a system. Shubit had once switched two books, putting them in each other's slots, and Nathaniel had been twitchy all morning until order had finally been restored.

"Would rather suffer through an entire shift of washing pans with burnt caramel, thanks," Kitty said as she arranged the cards by colour. "But we have been keeping busy. You were just out for too long and we got bored."

"What she means," Piper began, shooting Kitty an exasperated look, "is that we've been organising everything we know. It's rare that we both get a day off at the same time, so we figured we ought to take advantage of it."

Piper put down the game notes and shuffled over to the blackboard, dragging it between the desk and the coffee table. Nathaniel's jaw dropped as he studied the contents on the board.

"It was Bartimaeus's idea," Kitty said, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards in amusement as Bartimaeus grumbled something unintelligible. "We figured four heads are better than one, and well… you shouldn't have to do all of it alone."

Nathaniel focused on the board to keep from overanalysing Kitty's words—he couldn't quite go down that rabbit hole after his newest revelation. His heart didn't listen, however. It had decided that jumping around like a fool was a perfectly reasonable response. Brilliant. He couldn't trust his mind, couldn't trust his body. He was the human manifestation of self-sabotage.

Well, that was leading him nowhere. Best to focus back on the board. Right, yes, the board. There were three columns, titled "CA/soirée", "wolf/hybrids" and "sword/Nimue". He commended their attempt at trying to compact six problems into three, but he still believed looking at them separately first would be a better strategy.

"We've sort of reached a dead end with all three," Kitty said with a frustrated sigh. "What's the word on the Amulet, by the way?"

Kitty had tried to sound nonchalant, but he knew better. Besides having an attachment to it, she was banking on having the Amulet ready for soirée just in case. To be honest, so was he. However…

"Still no word from Pinn, but I'll give him a nudge tomorrow." Deciding it was best to move on than dwell on it, Nathaniel said, "Alright, let's talk through each point… So the hybrid attacks have just stopped?"

Kitty and Piper stared at him as if he were being obtuse. Nathaniel looked away, wishing now that he'd bothered braving through the newspapers they always left on the kitchen table. He'd get there. Baby steps.

"Well, as far as we can tell… yes. The encounter with Asmodeus by the bridge seems to have been the last. But it doesn't make sense, since the number of hybrids we estimated to have survived the Spirit Uprisal doesn't match the number we've eliminated so far," Piper finally answered. "Naturally, we alerted the neighbouring authorities, including France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, in the unlikely case they managed to cross the Channel, but so far we've received no reports of any hybrid attacks."

"Piper thinks the wolf is behind it," Kitty said. "But we still don't know what it is, since someone didn't get a good look at it."

"Pardon me for being focused on saving your sorry arses," Bartimaeus drawled with an eye roll. "There was a lot happening that night."

"One of the reports I read identified the wolf as a spirit, not belonging to any of the officers at the scene, but no one involved managed to tell me why, and Commander Adgate didn't have any new information for me when we last spoke. So it either is a spirit working for a resourceful magician who always seems to know where to find the hybrids, or it's a Greyback, which doesn't seem to fit, since they are usually grey wolves—"

"Not to mention huge," Kitty whispered quite audibly, tone dripping with contempt.

"Right. It could also be a rogue hybrid, but it looks too…"

"Normal?" Nathaniel offered. "I talked to Shubit about it this morning, and he also couldn't get a proper look, but told me he didn't think it was a spirit."

"The wolf also didn't seem particularly concerned about getting close to the Amulet now that I think of it," Kitty commented, frowning.

"Brilliant," Piper groaned, making a note on the board. "It doesn't make sense why the police report would say otherwise, then. And while the hybrids we've seen so far have broken through their human guises, they don't usually take on a full animal form. And again, too small to be a Greyback…"

She paused for a moment, before settling back down on the floor. "What bothers me the most is that we don't know why the wolf's doing it, and I can't help but wonder if it'll come back to bite us."

"How so?" Kitty asked.

"No one works for free," Bartimaeus sang. "Especially not noble magicians."

Nathaniel ignored him. "Nothing we can do about it now, though, is there? Unless you plan on staging a hybrid attack to draw it out?"

Piper shrugged and got back up to write that down on the board. "Just in case. Might come in handy."

The three of them stared gloomily at the board in silence for a moment, a silence which was interrupted by Bartimaeus rolling around in the guise of a humungous orange. By now they all knew not to comment on it.

Maybe the hybrid issue wasn't the most pressing at the moment, but it was unnerving having to sit still while the other party made their move. It was especially frustrating because Nathaniel knew this was partly his fault. He'd been too slow in creating the pentacle, and now they didn't even know where the other hybrids were or who they were or if they were even alive. Not to mention that they could be plotting something for all they knew.

"Piper, do we have a list of the people who were used as vessels for the hybrids? And general numbers for active versus inactive hybrids?"

"No, but I can get my assistant on it. It might take a while to cross-reference names and the reports, though. Is this for the pentacle?"

"Yes. Best if we keep it discreet, though. Maybe Shubit could take a look at the files?"

"I'll see if I can get them copied for you." Again, Piper made a note on the board at the bottom of the column.

"If that's all, let's move on to the soirée," Kitty said. "I'd love to get some lunch before I'm thirty."

"Right," Nathaniel said, his own stomach grumbling for attention. "Remind me why you can't move the soirée's date?" Or cancel it altogether. If he were being honest, just the thought of being paraded around like a doll was giving him a headache.

"Well, for starters, it's already been changed once, and the longer we wait, the less likely it is people will be willing to donate. Time and distance are powerful memory erasers, you know. And we'd be upsetting very important people with limited generosity. Then there's the issue that we don't know who to trust with this information—the committee responsible for the event is comprised of both magicians and commoners. Which presents other sets of problems, because the more details they get, the more details they can feed the Alliance too."

"If they're members," Kitty chimed. "And before anyone asks, I don't think Norwood's involved. He hasn't done anything suspicious since Adamastor said he was being mentioned by the Alliance. Except maybe yell at a customer, but I can't fault him. I've wanted to do the same on more than one occasion. Anyway, why would another member come to recruit his daughter without his knowledge? It just doesn't make sense."

"I can't speak to their recruitment tactics, but Norwood would know to be careful around you, wouldn't he?" Piper said. "Regardless, he's not in the committee, so unless someone there is passing on information to him and/or the Alliance, he wouldn't know the specifics of what we have planned for the evening."

"I thought he was providing some food?"

"Yes, but the committee is handling the transport, so, again, unless they're in cahoots…"

"Are you leaving that channel open so you can trace it back to him? Because it'd be an easy way to smuggle in some people or weapons," Bartimaeus pointed out, coming to a halt beside the board before rolling away in the opposite direction. "It's the exact tactic Nat and I used to sneak in a few years ago, after all."

Nathaniel blushed, remembering that he'd been in his pants for a good portion of that.

"Of course not. It will all be monitored. Besides, the food will arrive much earlier, won't it? And the team inside will be provided by Brunetti, something which hasn't been disclosed yet. Honestly, we're lucky he stepped up. Nobody else seemed to want to work the event."

Nathaniel frowned. "I ran into him this morning and he told me he'd be sure to prepare the best dishes."

"Oh, dear god. Why can't anyone keep their mouth shut?"

"Quite obvious, isn't it? Marketing opportunities," Bartimaeus said with a grin.

Piper didn't seem the least bit consoled by this.

"Alright, we're getting nowhere," Kitty said. "If you don't think you can trust the commoners, what about the magicians in the committee?"

Piper sighed, massaging her temples as if the thought alone was giving her a migraine. "Not really. There's been some… friction between Ffoukes and me. I doubt he'd do anything I ask, especially if I sound desperate, which I am."

"Appeal to his ego," Bartimaeus suggested. He had settled on the floor next to Kitty, finally back in Ptolemy's guise, and was fiddling with two of the game's tokens. When his words were met with silence, he propped himself up on his bony elbows to glance at them. "What? I assumed that by friction you meant that his pride was hurt—find a way to fix it, and he might just come around."

"That is actually a solid plan," Nathaniel said.

"Don't sound so surprised," Bartimaeus huffed, settling back down, and resuming his antics.

Piper had taken to pacing around with her hand to her mouth. "I could put him in charge of security for the Richmond estate and make sure no one else knows about it—that way we prevent the information from leaking and Ffoukes gets his ego sufficiently stroked. Thoughts?"

"Just make sure you present it as the highest honour and I think you're golden," Kitty said. "Don't be too obvious, though. Even magicians can tell when they're being deceived from time to time."

"Alright, that's one concrete action I can take. Fantastic." Piper scribbled furiously on the board. "This could also work for other elements of the evening. We can't disclose the full guest list, for starters. This way not everyone knows everything, right? Now I just need to make sure people can keep quiet this time around." She didn't wait for anyone's reply before adding that as well in tiny cursive underneath the last note.

"Or you can spread rumours that are so ludicrous, no one knows what the truth is anymore. For example, that you'll be bringing in elephants for entertainment, or parade peacocks around the garden. Maybe the food is coming from France, and the tableware from Sheffield, exclusively in silver for everyone's protection. Embrace the chaos."

"Won't that just make the actual soirée underwhelming?"

Bartimaeus shrugged. "We can't have everything. It's not my fault you lot can't plan a party to save your lives."

"What about George Fox?" Nathaniel interrupted. "I take it your spirits haven't managed to find him nor gathered any new information from Rotten Bones?"

"Absolutely nothing. It's like he just vanished—all of them, in fact. Not a single meeting has taken place in Rotten Bones since, and the staff refuse to give us any information. As for the other places and people Adamastor gave us… it's exactly the same."

"It might be too much for a few djinn to keep track of," Nathaniel suggested. "I could help, or maybe it's time to open a formal investigation—"

"So that they tear those commoners apart?" Kitty intervened, glaring at him and Piper.

"I still think this is happening because your tracker djinn are fools," Bartimaeus sang, somewhat dispelling the tension.

"Are you volunteering, then?"

"Not in your wildest dreams, Pipes."

Nathaniel did a double-take. Pipes? Since when did Bartimaeus have a nickname for Piper? A cute nickname no less—much better than Natty boy or Strawberry Cheeks. Nathaniel hugged his knees closer to his chest, definitely not sulking. In fact, he was glad Bartimaeus had redirected his attention. Who knew how many more ridiculous names he would've found for Nathaniel?

"They're probably moving in smaller groups now," Kitty said, rescuing Nathaniel from his mental labyrinth. "And there were many of them, so it's easier to create confusion and not send the same people to the same place repeatedly. And since we don't know who the leader is—if there is a leader—it's harder to tease out a hierarchy."

"Well put," Bartimaeus said, raising a token in salute.

"We also don't know if what Bartimaeus heard was about the upcoming soirée. But," Piper added quickly, before Bartimaeus could interject, "it most likely is. Which means we need to be prepared. And we're running out of time."

Bartimaeus shook his head. "We've been talking about things that might hinder them, but honestly your best bet is calling off the whole thing."

"We need those donations. And we can't change the date again, like I've said. We've already received confirmation from some country leaders, including North America. It's the perfect opportunity to showcase and strengthen these relationships. Besides, if push comes to shove, what can they do against proper security?"

"Let's not be arrogant about this," Kitty intervened. "Weren't you the one complaining about all the looting going around? Bartimaeus and I saw them—they had daggers. They'll know to bring silver or iron weapons, and there'll be people with some resilience to magic. Pretty sure we met one at Rotten Bones that day. And from what you've told us, they might've acquired magical artefacts as well."

"That's why we have both spirits and humans protecting the place. Look, I'm not saying it's not risky, but we can't keep rebuilding and rehoming without the resources these dignitaries will provide. If the Commoners' Alliance attacks, it'll only make them look bad."

Kitty's eyes widened and her lips thinned into a nearly invisible line. Nathaniel quietly moved aside, sensing what was coming. "Look bad? What if they get someone hurt? Not all of the people attending are magicians, you know. Besides, I know very well what your security will do to these people."

"I'll instruct to apprehend, Kitty, not kill. But if it gets violent, it's because they instigated it."

Kitty shot up to her feet, eyes blazing furiously. "Because they feel trapped and they've been ignored and screwed over millions of times! And by people in your exact position no less!"

"You're sounding an awful lot like you sympathise," Piper said, a warning in her voice. "Maybe deep down you're hoping they succeed."

Kitty's jaw dropped as if she'd been stricken. She laughed humourlessly and shook her head. "No, you know what? I can't do this with you right now. It's easy to discount others' troubles when you've never experienced hardship in your life."

And with that, Kitty stormed out of the room, slamming the door on her way out.

A heavy silence settled over them. Piper's face was so red Nathaniel thought she might explode or burst into tears. For his part, he didn't know what to say to diffuse the tension. He could see the merit in both sides, and was even inclined to agree with Piper—that is, until she'd made it personal—but that was the magician in him weighing pros and cons from standards different than Kitty's. It was easy to lose people in numbers when you didn't have to consider them as individuals, after all. On the other hand, he'd rather cancel the event, but if Piper was saying the truth about the lack of resources…

"Well, that went great." With a great sigh, Bartimaeus got up, threw the tokens back onto the box, and went after Kitty.

Nathaniel pursed his lips, again not knowing what to say as Piper gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa holding her middle like she might come apart otherwise. He considered the last column they hadn't addressed, and noticed there were only two bullet points underneath the title: "read Brunetti's books," and "could the swords and shields be trapping Nimue?"

Ignoring the weight in his stomach, Nathaniel opened the first book on the pile.

(…)

Bartimaeus

Chasing after Kitty didn't lead anywhere. She paced and raged in her room, mistreating her clothes some more, and then kicked me out so she could do it "without unhelpful commentary". This from the person who'd spent that entire morning teasing me about getting stuck under the mistletoe with Nathaniel. Who needs enemies, right?

Still, Kitty is hot-headed, so I figured she and Piper would make up eventually, what with their earlier enthusiasm for working on the board. Naturally, I'd been mistaken, as both parties resorted to silence. Hard work always falls on the biggest shoulders, after all, and mine were used to carrying the burden of cumbersome humans. I was stymied, however. It was impossible to discuss things with others when others refused to be in the same space at the same time. And Nathaniel was clearly avoiding me to boot. Me. The cheek. I was the one who'd been humiliated, left under that godforsaken twig like yesterday's rags, but he couldn't bother with doing more than protesting against getting his arse kicked every morning.

To nobody's surprise, silence reigned over the house for days. That is, until Nathaniel came to breakfast on Wednesday, sheepishly informing me that he had an appointment scheduled for the evening. He'd of course failed to mention until now that he'd already talked to Sam. No, that'd be too much of a hassle. Or maybe too hard to swallow—admitting I was right about this must have cost him half his pride at least. Imagine what telling me did to the rest of it. Regardless, I am a djinni of my word, and he looked quite pathetic attempting to understate how much this meant to him.

So here we were, walking down the windy streets of Paddington under the dim light of rusting lampposts, brown-bricked buildings saluting us left and right. We came to a stop before a tiny building squeezed between two towering twins. This one had settled for white instead of the typical brown. By the door was a plaque that read: "Rachel Whitewood, Psychiatry & Daria Malinowska, Clinical Psychology".

"Looks like the right place," I said, glancing over at Nathaniel. His face had taken on a greenish hue that dramatically clashed with the street's colour palette. On the other hand, his shoulders were as rigid as the bricks before us. All within expectations, then. "So, are we going to stand around gawking or…?"

"I'm mentally preparing myself," Nathaniel mumbled into his scarf, shoving his gloved hands further into his coat's pockets.

"You're stalling," I corrected with a smirk. Officially, I was here for moral support like promised. But we both knew that my true motivation was revelling in yet another victory.

"I—" Nathaniel snapped his mouth shut, directing a frown that was unmistakably meant for me at the door.

"Come on, you'll freeze out here."

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed his elbow and dragged him inside with me. White was clearly the running theme—both the tiled floor and the walls were almost blinding, something someone had tried to offset by hanging a number of plants off the ceiling. And if that wasn't enough offense, symmetry was the second attribute—there was a large desk in the middle of the hall with no one behind it, and two doors on each side with two identical sofas opposite them. The corridor behind split off in two paths hidden by the consultation rooms. You could tell someone had designed half the floor and then held up a mirror and declared it done. What an uncreative nightmare.

The sound of shuffling papers came from the door on the right, which had been left ajar. Nathaniel threw me a panicked look, and I nudged him gently forward. "Breathe. The papers have been thoroughly read and signed, right? You've nothing to worry about."

Nathaniel fiddled inside his coat, face still drawn in a frown that accentuated the scars on his brow. "Here," he muttered, shoving two small books and a pen against my chest, and marching towards the door like he was about to face his mortal enemy.

Sudoku and crossword puzzles. Chuckling and shaking my head, I made my way to the sofa and plopped down, ready to breeze through these so-called puzzles. They did keep me going for a while. Optimism was on the horizon—maybe I could survive the endless waiting after all. But one mustn't let their guard down. And so I was betrayed by a crossword puzzle.

Four letters. To care for. Deep affection.

I closed the book and threw it onto the pillow beside me. Master level my tasteful hat. First Kitty with her infuriating innuendos and now this stupid puzzle. Pete's sake. Humans are so eager to paint hearts over the most trivial things. So I had cared for Nathaniel during trying times. Kitty had asked me to, and being home wasn't all that great these days. So I had let him hold my hand. It was the decent thing to do; anyone would've done the same. So I had bought him pencils and notebooks. I deserved to be represented with a fair amount of quality, thank you very much. If he was going to attempt to capture my likeness, might as well have the materials necessary for such an endeavour. And so I had been willing to kiss him underneath the mistletoe. Someone resurrect Makepeace and hand him a pen! As if being willing and wanting were the same thing!

Honestly, who would want to kiss such an annoying, obtuse, pig-headed, annoying, demanding, meticulous, frustrating, annoying brat? I swear—that idiot woke up in the morning and trouble rose with him. His daily routine consisted of sacrificing himself for breakfast, taking on the weight of the world for lunch, ignoring my very sound advice for dinner and then being all stupidly sweet and kind for supper. Not to mention offering other spirits who shall remain nameless good deals in exchange for insignificant tasks I could've done with access to a single plane right before bed. And then rinse and repeat the next day. It was madness. If my essence reacted whenever he was near, that was what I was reacting to—deep contempt for that level of recklessness.

We'd been like this since forever. Naturally things were different now that I'd glimpsed the inside of his mind and he'd seen too much of mine for my liking. But what Kitty was suggesting was a Makepeace production, not reality, and I didn't dwell in fantasy. Oh yes, we had mastered heated stares, and charged arguments, but that didn't equate to longing. Surely I'd have developed other symptoms in the meantime. Humans like to talk about having butterflies in their stomachs like this is anything other than a medical nightmare. And shivers and breathlessness like they aren't clear signs of the flu. But I am not human. I couldn't have butterflies nor be rendered breathless. If anything, my essence should perhaps flutter, or spin faster, or heat up, or—Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

(…)

I spent the next hour debating with myself. Very Sensible Me believed it was absolutely impossible, no sir, not me. I'd managed five thousand years without becoming a lovestruck teenager, surely I couldn't be now entering this phase. Unreasonable Me insisted on pointing out why it was possible, complete with replaying very specific, irritating moments as exhibits for their arguments. It was a very close debate. In the end, Avoidant Me won and I went back to decimating sudokus and crosswords to maintain my sanity. After all, it didn't matter how I felt if I was to return home soon.

Besides, what could come out of this—rejection? Disgust? I could do without.

Nathaniel exited out of the room when I was in the middle of a particularly annoying puzzle, looking worn out but relieved. I jumped out of my seat like I'd been burned. He stared at me, eyes a little red and cheeks a little puffy. Unreasonable Me was certain that I wanted to pull him closer for a reason. Yes, the reason being that I was too kind for my own good.

A woman came out of the room next, turning off the lights and closing the door on her way out. She was younger than I'd pictured—early thirties at most—with long, shiny black hair pulled back in a braid, caramel eyes, and light tawny skin. Nathaniel looked comically short next to her, something he seemed to be noticing just now.

"Oh, I didn't know you were bringing someone. I'm Daria Malinowska, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said warmly, gliding forward to shake my hand. It was now confirmed that healthcare professionals were weirdly eager to shake a spirit's hand, even if this one probably didn't know she was doing it.

Still trying to gather my wits, I could only manage a simple, "Pleasure. I'm Bartimaeus."

A flicker of recognition registered in her eyes before quickly fading away. "I still need to take care of a few things in the back, so you two take your time. I'll be seeing you next week, Mr Mandrake. Don't forget your exercises and think about what I've said." She extended her hand again, this time to Nathaniel, who took it half-heartedly.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Nathaniel glanced around the room like it offended his sensibilities (1) and said, "Let's go home."

(1) For once, we were in agreement. I hate it.

"So…" I drawled five minutes later, as we braved the winds howling up the street in search of Nathaniel's town car. "How, uh—how did you like her?"

"She's great," he replied curtly, moving closer to avoid bumping into a woman trying to wrestle two kids forward while keeping her bags brimming with groceries from spilling. "Very professional, and very kind too."

And—dear me—I leaped out of the way. Nathaniel gave me a confused glance before putting some much-needed space between us. "Right, that's fantastic." I needlessly cleared my throat. "Do you want to talk about it…?"

Nathaniel sighed and came to a halt. It was only thanks to my quick reflexes that I avoided running into him. I shoulder-checked a lamppost instead. Again Nathaniel gave me a look full of confusion.

"Are you alright?"

"Splendid. You?"

"Better, I suppose. I… I'd rather not repeat what I told her. It's quite tiring, you see. Really didn't expect that since we basically just talked. But I feel so drained. And she gave me homework." He said this last bit with a healthy dose of indignation, nose scrunching up adorably in disgust.

I smiled to myself. "I've heard that all of that's normal."

Nathaniel nodded, but his expression was blank, as if he were looking in rather than out. "Daria specialises in cognitive behavioural therapy, so that's what we'll try for now. She thinks I should also talk to her business partner—she's a psychiatrist, so she could prescribe me medication. But I don't know if I can handle another person knowing about my business." He gave a great sigh, finally turning to look at me properly. "Anyway, thank you for coming with me. I really… It means a lot."

"Don't mention it. You're lucky you managed to get an appointment before the soirée, though. Otherwise you would have had to ask Kitty or Piper instead. Imagine that."

"Oh… So you're leaving afterwards?"

"Sure am. Now where's that car?"

As I marched away eagerly—not wanting to dissect his crestfallen expression one bit—I collided with someone going the opposite way. I reached out a hand to steady the poor bloke and the dim light of the lamppost bathed his face. A middle-aged man blinked back at me, fuzzy eyebrows still raised in alarm, jaw dropped open in silent surprise. And as I looked closer, I made out the contours of a familiar prominent nose that had certainly been broken once or twice.

"George Fox."

It was in that moment that I fully appreciated what talking too much meant. Because after muttering his name, George the Fox immediately slipped away and all but flew down the street, crashing into the lady and her children and sending them reeling, oranges and apples flying everywhere.

I let out an amused snort. "Should I give him five more seconds?"

Nathaniel shook his head, but a lilt of laughter coloured his voice when he spoke. "Just go get him before he runs over someone's grandma. I'll try to save the fruit."

I gave him a charming grin. "You're no fun."

Nathaniel opened his mouth to reply, but I was already gone, using the lampposts to propel me forward. Fox ran desperately ahead, constantly throwing glances over his shoulder. It ought to have been comical seeing me getting closer each time. (2) And he put up a good fight for a man who enjoyed sulking inside dark rooms making grandiose speeches. But alas, he was no match for yours truly. Under a minute later, I had him pinned down, face eating gravel as I settled nicely on his back.

(2) I imagined it was similar to taking a set of photographs a few seconds apart. I had a master who enjoyed riling up his wife and do exactly this. He even caught the time she emptied a bag of flour on him.

"You know, I truly appreciate the extra cushioning you have going on in your shoulder area, but we've got to work on the rest. I can feel your spine digging into my leg, which is so very inconsiderate of you."

"I don't know anything," he mumbled over and over, voice and pants muffled by his face being squished down.

"Truly remarkable, considering you ran at the mere mention of your name."

"Not my name. Dunno who that is."

I rolled my eyes, desperate for rescue from this idiocy. "Yes, yes. Save it for those who care. Now be a good cushion and shut up."

I sensed it before I actually felt it. One moment there was the stinging cold approaching me, and the next I was being rudely stabbed in the leg with a blasted silver dagger. Fox took the opportunity to shake me off him. His blurry shape disappeared down the street. Mind swimming and hands trembling, I tried to pry the blade off my bleeding leg, but each attempt burned me, bringing me greater pain.

"Bartimaeus!" Nathaniel's voice pierced through the fog, and I registered his footsteps ringing in the night like thunderclaps.

I stumbled backwards into his chest, quivering and unable to form a coherent sentence. And then the blade was being ripped off my leg. I yelped and started. Nathaniel caught me again, pulling me closer as he threw the dagger away.

"Shh, I've got you, I've got you." He pushed a hand against the wound. Soon it was drenched in a gleaming silver substance. My poor essence, subjected to this cruel, cruel world. "Is this right? Does it help?"

It hurt, that's what. "Can't say. Never had a human attempt that. Did you see where he went? I thought we were having a pleasant conversation."

Nathaniel cursed and jostled me some more. I quickly realised why—he'd removed his scarf and was tying it around my leg. "No, I had my back turned. But never mind that now. Can you walk? If you could heal me, maybe another spirit can help you. Should I call Shubit?"

"Would rather you didn't. I feel like a deflating balloon and that'll just inflate his ego."

Nathaniel had the audacity to laugh. And clearly I was still affected, because I joined in, leaning back against his warmth, enveloped in the familiar scent of cedar, agave, and… Ah, black walnut. Of course. How had I not noticed before?

As my senses slowly returned, I could see a few people gathering around us, including the lady who'd been knocked over. Nathaniel was trying to reassure the crowd and dissuading more than one person from calling an ambulance, which was a shame. I could picture Sam's face at seeing me being wheeled in.

"You know," he said after the strangers' kindness had been exhausted and they'd left us alone, "you could simply… go home."

This led to another fit of breathless laughter. Nathaniel checked his scarf, now thoroughly drenched and shimmering silver like starlight.

"Yeah…" I mumbled, too comfortable in his arms to bother with reproaching this nonsensical, out-of-character behaviour on my part. "Yes, I suppose I could."

I can hear you screaming at me because they haven't kissed yet (again). Music to my ears, muahahahah. Also also, I have a Tumblr now! (I can't link it here, but it's csmelody. Very original, I know.) I don't post a whole lot, but I thought about maybe doing previews for the upcoming chapters a few days beforehand (tea help me keep to a schedule). What do we think? Plus, you can always drop me a question or a very aggressive: "Where's the next chapter, you fiend!" I'll reply to both.

Okay, now we're done. Happy 2023, you beautiful beans! See you on the 15th!