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Chapter Twenty-Six

coming in half blind

Piper

"Ffoukes, a word?"

He looked up from his spot at the table, which was being vacated by the remaining members of the organisation committee. The room, once bathed in surprisingly warm light spilling from the windows, was now in need of artificial lighting, as evidenced by Ffoukes having to squint to read the files that Piper had handed out at the beginning of the meeting.

"Of course, Madam Prime Minister. To what I owe this pleasure? Surely you cannot have further instructions after hijacking this meeting and reassigning all our tasks weeks before the soirée." He gave her a thin-lipped smile that fooled nobody as to his dislike for her.

Piper was definitely spending too much time around Bartimaeus, because the first thing that occurred to her was rolling her eyes. But she resisted. And when her second knee-jerk reaction was to tell Ffoukes to stop being a big baby, Piper remembered the soldiers she'd visited and what she'd learned that day about being a leader.

"I'm going to need you to trust me, Ffoukes, when I say that this truly is for the best. I'll be personally handling the guest list so that it remains unknown. However, the most important task falls on you." Piper discreetly hid a smile behind her hand at Ffoukes's awestruck expression. "You are a talented magician, and I know you'll do everything in your power to ensure that all our guests are safe."

His brow furrowed, Ffoukes leaned closer and whispered, "Are we expecting complications?"

"We are." There was no point lying about that and leaving the security arrangements to him, was there? "But the less said about that, the better."

"I can't prepare if I don't know what to prepare for!"

Gone was the quiet conspiratorial tone, then. And as Ffoukes's cheeks reddened like they always did when he got angry, Kitty's furious face from the other day resurfaced in her mind in a pool of guilt. Piper pushed it away, considering what to say in reply. It wasn't an unreasonable reaction, nor an unreasonable request. But she just couldn't take the risk.

"I'm unaware of the extent of the threat at the moment. For now, you should prepare for physical and magical attacks, tighten the verification steps for staff entering the estate, and potentially create misinformation regarding the suppliers and guests."

Ffoukes was still staring open-mouthed at her when a polite knock sounded at the door. Ronald Kingston's baby face peeked in to say, "Is Piper—Oh, there you are. Alright, Ffoukes?"

Ffoukes grunted in reply, eyes averted to the windows, silently fuming.

Kingston ambled in carrying a bunch of folders under one arm and a piece of paper folded neatly in hand. In a tight-fitted suit and close-cropped hair, he rather reminded her of John Mandrake before the Spirit Uprisal. She was willing to bet good money that this was intentional.

"Here, I was passing by and your assistant asked me to give you this."

"Thanks," Piper said. Kingston had become marginally nicer since she'd saved his life during the hybrid attack they'd faced together. The way she'd handled the negotiations with North America seemed to have slightly improved his impression of her too. But did that mean that he'd stopped contesting her every proposal? Absolutely not.

Piper handed the note to the baby husky at her feet so she could have a good sniff. Ezekiel let out a happy yip to let her know it was all clear, and Piper shook her head as she removed the Seal on it (thank God for smart assistants). Unfolding the small paper, Piper read the neat handwriting:

Offering blueberry lemon muffins and mochaccinos in exchange for a piano lesson.

— Shakespeare

It was only due to her intense training as a magician that Piper repressed a smile. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, "Right. Have to go deal with this. See you both later, gentlemen."

She practically ran out of the room.

"One blueberry lemon muffin and one mochaccino for the lady," Romeo said as he placed a tray on top of the piano, arranging it so that Piper's 'order' faced her. He folded the sleeves of his chunky knit jumper before picking up his espresso from the tray and coming to sit on the bench beside her, only to immediately lean into her personal space. "I await my payment."

Piper scoffed. "I thought all this was for piano lessons?"

"You really believed that excuse?" Romeo grinned.

"Well, the café is deserted, so yes."

It was telling that she'd never been in a place this peaceful. There was something about an empty café in the evening—the soft whirring and humming of the unused machines, the lights of the cars outside chasing each other over the paintings on the wall, the lingering smell of coffee and lemon detergent.

It almost made her forget about the upcoming soiree. Almost.

"Will closes The Bean's Knees earlier on Mondays and is nice enough to let us rehearse just as long as we clean up afterwards. The rest of the band couldn't make it today, so I figured I would ask for a piano lesson." He punctuated this by playing an upward scale on the piano and quirking an eyebrow as if asking how it sounded.

"Now who's using the excuse?" Piper drawled, deadpanning at him.

"But look who turned up knowing it was an excuse," Romeo sang, rubbing his stubble against her jaw before kissing it.

Piper cupped his face, laughing, fingers knotting in his curly hair. Something shiny caught her eye. "Since when do you have your ears pierced?"

"Since I was twelve. Nona took me to get them pierced when I was four, but I went and yanked one off in the pool. Ran home bawling my eyes out. It soon got infected, of course, and she took the other off, said it looked silly." Romeo's eyes twinkled as he relived the memory. Piper smiled, tracing her fingers over the hoop. "When I turned twelve, I decided I wanted them pierced again, couldn't be a rockstar otherwise, now could I? And I can't believe you didn't notice on New Year's! Am I that distracting?"

Piper shook her head, trying very hard not to blush under Romeo's warm gaze. "Well, between the dim lights, your mane of hair, and the stage fright, I was distracted."

Romeo grinned and drank his espresso, not bothering with adding any sugar to it. "I can't believe you've just insulted these luscious locks. Do you know how hard it is to maintain them? It takes all my tips, that's how."

Her hand caught one of his thick curls and gently pulled it, watching it bounce back into place. "Not bad," she conceded, stealing another laugh from him. "Is it a normal thing in Italy, then? To pierce boys' ears as well as girls'?"

Romeo eyed her carefully, pondering his response. Piper couldn't for the life of her fathom what could warrant such consideration about piercing one's ears. She'd had hers pierced for as long as she could remember—probably a parting gift from her parents or that other person she could never remember fully; the one who was always surrounded by birds.

"No," Romeo finally replied. "Boys don't usually get their ears pierced in Italy."

Piper waited because he didn't seem finished. The mood had shifted. Romeo's smile had been snuffed out, replaced by a forced grin that didn't quite radiate the same mischievous warmth she'd come to associate with him. Maybe it was a family tradition that everyone got their ears pierced. Romeo mentioned his grandmother a lot, but never his parents. Piper understood not wanting to talk about one's parents, so she'd never asked. Maybe it was difficult to talk about because of them.

Romeo cleared his throat, giving her a last appraising look. "They pierced my ears because I was born in the body of a baby girl."

"Oh." That hadn't been what she'd expected at all. She didn't know how to react either. No one had ever come out to her. She definitely hadn't read enough about it to know what to say.

"But I was never truly a girl," Romeo continued softly, eyes never leaving her face. "It happens sometimes, people are born in the wrong bodies. I only figured it out when I was a teen, though. Was a little egg for a while. This wasn't something often talked about, you see. You doing alright over there?"

Piper started in surprise. She fervently hoped she hadn't been making her weird thinking face. Kitty had appeared in her mind again, viciously spitting out, It's easy to discount others' troubles when you've never experienced hardship in your life. "Me? Of course. Sorry, this is a first for me. But if you have some recommendations, I'll do some research so that I don't make a total fool of myself in the future."

Romeo blinked at her and then burst out laughing. He pulled her into him, hugging her as his body shook and rumbled. In the process, their elbows managed to hit some piano keys and produce a terribly dissonant chord. Not knowing what to do, Piper held him back and gave in to his contagious laughter, some of the tension melting from her body.

When he finally let her go, Romeo wiped some tears of mirth from his eyes and beamed. "I tell you I'm trans and your reaction is to head to the library?"

Piper's blush spread from her cheeks down to her chest so thoroughly she must've looked like a traffic light. "Well, I like to be prepared! It's served me well so far! I hate feeling ignorant."

"Then you're already ten steps ahead of most people," Romeo said, eyes softening again and only worsening Piper's flush. "You certainly took it better than my parents. But nobody could ever beat nona, sorry."

Piper couldn't help but smile at the affection that always flooded his voice whenever Romeo mentioned his grandmother. Then a memory popped into her mind from the night they met. "Wait—I do have a question. Didn't you say that your nona chose to name you Romeo?"

"She sure did," Romeo said. "Mom and dad thought I looked like a Giulietta, so nona decided it was hilarious to call me Romeo when I came out to her. I loved it so much I kept it. I think she figured me out before I did. She even went out and got me a binder when my parents wouldn't let me have one. You should've seen their faces."

"I'm really glad you had your nona through all that. It can't have been easy."

"I was more fortunate than most, but no, it wasn't always easy."

Romeo took her hand, lacing their fingers together. With her free hand, Piper reached up to tear off a piece of the muffin and fed it to him. He took it, kissing her fingers and then her cheek as thanks.

"Can I ask why you decided to move? You always speak so warmly of your nona… I thought you'd want to stay close to her." Piper knew before she'd even finished that she'd said the wrong thing. Romeo's hand tensed in hers, and she reflexively started tracing circles over his knuckles. "You don't have to—"

"No, it's fine." Piper waited as Romeo weighed his words. He plucked at the bass section of the piano with a vacant expression. Then, finally, he said, "I assumed it would take less time to transition—very foolish of me, of course. I delayed going to uni for a year, but waiting longer seemed unreasonable of me—my parents were paying, after all. So I went on to get a translation degree. I was especially interested in conference interpreting. Always thought it was a bit of a superpower, switching between languages like that."

Piper thought that partially explained his English level. At first she'd thought he'd been in England for a while, but then he'd nearly run her over on the way to get a document legalised, so maybe not.

"Did you get it?"

Romeo gave her a lopsided smile. "No. I kept having to come out, people were just awful. The school didn't care, the teachers seemed to think I was contagious. But I had my nona, a safe place to go back to. When she passed, I just didn't have the will to go back. Or stay in Italy with two parents who had all these plans for me, a role I would never be able to fill.

"So I came here, made a fresh start. Mr Brunetti was… incredible, really. I owe him a great deal. All in all, it's been great not having to constantly come out or deal with bigoted people. I don't hide, but it's also nobody's business. I do miss my dogs, though. I think Ezekiel took the brunt of it."

They shared a smile.

"I've been thinking of this for a while, but you work for Brunetti, right?"

"I do, mostly as a bartender these days. It turns out emptying a dozen glasses of champagne on the Prime Minister herself will get you shoved behind a bar. But that's alright," he continued before she could express her regret. "I rather like mixing drinks. It gives me more time to get to know the people who come in too."

Piper hummed thoughtfully. "Does this mean you'll be at the soirée?"

"Is that the secret event we're working in February that Brunetti refuses to tell us about?"

"Eh, at least he deigns to be a little discrete about it."

"If it makes you feel any better, he really is keeping everything to himself. Sadly, this means I'll have to turn down your invitation to be your date for the night."

Piper gaped, face reddening at an alarming rate, and Romeo laughed, face lighting up like a cosy fire and making it impossible to look away or not join in. It was also impossible not to want to kiss him. So she did. Right below the jaw, lips prickling from his stubble. Romeo smiled at her, eyebrow quirked.

Piper didn't know where this newfound boldness had come from—if it was her position as Prime Minister, if her friends were rubbing off on her, or if Romeo simply brought it out. It wasn't the same brand of self-assurance she needed to exude anywhere else, after all. But he made her want more. He pushed buttons and tugged at parts of her she hadn't known about until now. He made her feel like a human being, not a job, not a role. And this was possibly a very ill-advised relationship, the PM and the musician—a PR nightmare in the making, the motorway straight to heartbreak. Not to mention that she barely knew him and was enjoying remedying that more than she should. So why didn't any of that daunt her spirits?

"Did you know that you narrow your eyes and pout when you're thinking hard?" Romeo asked, bursting her bubble. "It's adorable."

"I think you mean imposing or majestic."

"Regal."

"Better."

Reaching a hand to tuck a curl behind his ear, Piper leaned in. Romeo met her halfway in a kiss that was infinitely more tender and sweeter than their first, all soft lips and happy sighs mingled with the taste of coffee, lemon, and blueberry. Romeo peppered her face with kisses, stealing smile after smile from her. Piper was ready to retaliate when the noise of a door closing startled her.

On the other end of the café, standing behind the bar and staring at them was Edward Norwood. Will, the café owner, had nearly bumped into him on his way out. Piper watched, breathless, as Norwood nodded at her, shook Will's hand, and left.

Kitty

Kitty was lying on her stomach, sprawled in the starfish position, when a particularly bright sunray woke her up. Groaning, she barely dared open her eyes—the headache that greeted her was widespread, pounding away mercilessly, and her nose was clogged.

The remnants of a dream swirled in the air around her. She had gone to her parents' to celebrate the new year like they always did. There was turkey and board games, music coming in from the radio and then the countdown. Dad was cutting the turkey, and Mum had lost the horse token again. Jakob was there—he'd brought dessert. Piper, Nathaniel, and Bartimaeus too, all three dancing, Piper tugging at her hand for her to join. Adamastor was watching them, sitting on the couch, and thoroughly amused by the radio. Adamastor…

Oh.

The dream dissipated. For a moment, she'd forgot that she was an orphan. And that she'd let someone die on her watch once more. As the knowledge resurfaced in her mind uninvited, Kitty let out a breathy, bitter laugh and sniffed. She had been crying in her sleep again.

This would be the time to think of mending things with Piper. Someone ought to interpret her presence in Kitty's dream as her subconsciousness telling her to get on with it, that the longer she waited the harder it'd be. But Kitty wasn't particularly interested in apologising to someone who saw only the Resistance member, the angry commoner.

Kitty's hand patted at the air around her in search of a tissue, not finding the bedside table like she'd expected. With a muffled grunt, she wormed to the edge of the bed and kept patting to no avail. And then came the cursing—both due to frustration and fact that she'd hit something hard—followed by cautious squirming around to face right. Upon opening her eyes, she discovered that she'd somehow ended up sleeping with her feet to the headboard and that she was surrounded by books. Right. She'd stayed up late researching again. No wonder her head was killing her.

"What the…" She squinted at the book she'd used as a pillow, making out something about how the Roman smiths had tried to create a shield to defeat the sword. Kitty pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and eyebrows to lessen the throbbing. "From the looks of it, not very successful, were you?"

The sound of a muffled explosion startled her. Kitty dragged her body out of bed and, clutching her head, wobbled over to the window. Usually she'd see the overgrown garden at the back of the house. This time, however, there was a bear dancing around, dodging poorly aimed spells shooting out of a rusty sword held by a red-faced Nathaniel. Falling snow flurried around both of them. From her vantage point, Kitty could make out rings of varying sizes imprinted on the snow and grass, and at least one lopsided tree, but it was impossible to tell if all this was new or additions to yesterday's session. Or the day before that. His need for control was glaring.

Deciding she needed a buttload of tea and paracetamol before butting into this, Kitty collected the books and left her room.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathaniel looked redder and Kitty's head wasn't contributing as much to her hating recent life choices.

She dumped the pile of books on a bench and her tea on top of it, sitting down to watch Nathaniel. He was now trying to react quickly enough to Shubit's attacks by putting up Shields around himself. Surprisingly, Shubit had changed into the guise of a middle-aged man—something Kitty had never seen him do—and wasn't going easy on Nathaniel at all, which made her appreciate how far her friend had come since November, when he could barely get out of bed without help. Bartimaeus really had pushed him hard.

Kitty smiled to herself as she recalled Bartimaeus's face when she'd called him "Mr Mistletoe" the other day. When she'd summoned him again a few days ago, after giving him two weeks of well-deserved rest back in the Other Place due to the run-in with George Fox, Bartimaeus had gone straight into business mode, volunteering for the hunt on Fox immediately. He hadn't returned yet.

As for Nathaniel, he'd used Bartimaeus's absence to experiment with the sword. And by experimenting, she meant that he was slightly obsessed. It made sense that he wanted to learn as much as possible, given that Nimue knew his birth name and had threatened to destroy London—which was just a typical day in their lives by now, all things considered. But he barely stopped to eat. Nathaniel was up before her, and when Kitty returned from her shift, he was either sparring with Shubit or holed up in the library surrounded by books.

Nathaniel's yelp startled her. Shubit had managed to elude the Shield and had Nathaniel pinned in a headlock. But instead of tapping out like Kitty had expected him to, Nathaniel kicked the heel of his foot to Shubit's knee, making the afrit lose balance and loosen his grip. Before he could recover, Nathaniel swept Shubit's leg from under him in one smooth movement. The afrit fell on his back, causing a flurry of snow to jump in the air.

Wheezing from the effort, Nathaniel came to a kneeling position on the snow. He stabbed the sword there and then lay down panting and staring at the grey sky. Soon his hair had gathered an array of white dots. Upon seeing this, Shubit changed back into his black bear guise, walked off to the nearest tree, climbed it and spread out on a particularly thick branch for a kip.

Kitty sipped her tea and waited.

"Found anything of interest?" Nathaniel called from the grass when his breathing was slightly more under control.

"You mean besides the fact that Merlin seemed to have a fetish for female elementals? Or that the Romans were trying to create a shield that matched the sword in power? Not much that we don't already know. Powerful artefact, capable of producing spells upon command, which you've clearly demonstrated, even rumoured to act on instinct when wielded in battle—didn't you say it put up a Shield around you after you decimated that poor fountain?"

"Yes, I found something along those lines too. Well, it certainly hasn't created any Shields around me now, so maybe it was a reaction to the close-range Detonation."

Kitty nodded, taking another sip. "Apart from that, some believe in the 'worthy' aspect, some say it's rubbish. But it's quite hard to believe them when no one's been near this thing since Merlin buried it. There has to be something to it, though, right? Why could the three of us pull it out together but not separately? Are we one-third worthy each? Then why can you use it without a problem by yourself?"

"I would hardly say without a problem," Nathaniel protested weakly, as he rustled in the snow to come to a sitting position. "And what about Nimue?"

"Nothing," Kitty said, eliciting a groan from Nathaniel. He fell back down, just as dramatically as Bartimaeus would have. Kitty shook her head and finished the tea. "Just the general codswallop from your spirit register books. Water elemental rivalling the power of a supermarid in her prime. Great for us that she's not that powerful now—we would've been dead in seconds."

"Those swords and shields really took a toll on her." His voice sounded closer now. Kitty looked up in time to see Nathaniel plop down next to her with a sigh, shaking snow from his hair. His face was returning to its usual shade, but there were drops of sweat lining his forehead and clinging to his hair. His jumper and trousers were thoroughly ruined from the snow, mud, and grass. "Maybe there is some merit in the idea of removing all of them. Not sure how we would accomplish that without magic, however…"

Kitty stared at the sword sticking out of the ground. So much rust eating away at it and yet still so powerful. She hated the thing on principle—it had so many spirits trapped inside, suffering for so many centuries. She wanted to free them just as much as she wanted to free the spirit in the Amulet and Nimue, but doing so could prove catastrophic. The Staff had taken down a huge building with it—who knew what this legendary sword could do?

Before she could question what she was doing, Kitty walked over and pulled it from the ground. She was used to daggers. They were fast, discrete, underestimated—a deadly combination. But this sword was surprisingly well-balanced and, as she gave it a few experimental swings, she finally understood the appeal. If Nathaniel could wield it so easily, even though he'd never fought with a sword, and it also felt like an extension of her arm, then the spirits inside had to be doing something. At the very least, they had to be matching the sword's weight to her preferences.

"Give it a whirl, then," said a deep voice. Shubit was standing in front of her with his paws on his bear hips, a sight which would have sent her on a laughing fit at any other time.

Kitty smirked. And then she charged.

Shubit deflected her downward slice with a small, controlled Detonation, which had Kitty sliding back in the wet grass. No Shield had popped up to protect her from that. Test number two, so be it.

"Send a small one at me," she told Shubit, bracing herself with the sword raised in front of her face.

Shubit complied, hurling another small green orb right at her. Kitty didn't move, mentally willing the sword to put up a Shield around her. It never did. Instead, the Detonation caught her on the shoulder, eating away at the fabric of her cardigan and the shirt beneath it. Kitty cursed as she put out the fizzling embers with her hand. Her skin was smarting from the hit, but otherwise intact.

"That's decent resilience," Shubit commented before jumping at her.

Kitty parried, digging her boots on the ground in a desperate effort to push Shubit off. Nathaniel sure hadn't made him look as heavy. "Spasm," Kitty ground out.

Shubit hopped away before the spell landed. The green-grey blasts—already thinner than she had expected—barely reached the wall. The bricks shook and crumbled away, leaving a football-sized hole. Kitty and Shubit stared at it in confusion.

"Shubit, hit me again."

Shubit put some distance between them, paws glowing an electric blue.

"Shield!"

The Compression fiercely thundered down on the Shield to no avail besides making Kitty's hair stand on end. Sweat pooled between her shoulder blades as she held the Shield in place, as her energy was drained away. When the Compression fizzled out, so did the Shield.

"Hurricane!" she shouted before she had the time to change her mind.

Just like with the Spasm, the Hurricane was not what she had expected. It lacked power and volume and speed. Shubit caught it in a Void with barely any trouble. Mystified, Kitty speared the snow with the sword and leaned on it to sit down, muscles trembling like she'd been moving vegetable crates for the past hour.

"It seems the sword acts differently with you," Shubit said, coming up beside her. Kitty squinted up at him; the sky had turned a blinding grey. "Your Shield was more powerful than those Mr Mandrake has produced, but your offensive spells lack power."

"Oh, joy. Yet another mystery."

Bartimaeus

If you want something done right, do it yourself is possibly the most accurate human expression that ever graced the Earth.

As stated before, Piper hired the most incompetent tracker djinn I've ever encountered. What are the odds of Nathaniel and I running into George Fox after the djinn had a month to look for him? (1) At least she'd had the sense to employ me, Ezekiel, and Amare this time. After much begging from the humans, I'd accepted, and all other versions of these events should be labelled as false.

(1) If you're reaching for a calculator, don't bother. The answer is 'abysmal'.

All in all, I'd faced worse. London's perpetual humidity soured my mood, but it also sharpened my mind. And it was better than the warmer alternative. After all, a house was no place for a djinni. Not that the Other Place was much of a home for this djinni lately. But that too should pass with time.

I had given myself a deadline to leave for good. For the better. Asmodeus was gone. Maybe I should have expected that it would make no difference, bear no weight on Ptolemy's death. Instead, it was relief that had flooded my essence. They would be safe from him now. Besides, Kitty couldn't say I hadn't thoroughly fulfilled the favour she'd asked for nearly three months ago. He was recovering nicely, going to therapy, practicing sword-fighting with Shubit of all things, it seemed. He could find his own protection if he needed it.

All that was irrelevant at the moment, however. I had a job to do.

The guise of a black cat served me well for this. The moon had barely entered its waning phase, casting long shadows that were perfect for camouflage. Under their cover, the cat padded softly from smelly alley to smelly alley, shadow glued to the buildings as it avoided rubbish and humans alike. A green-blue marble rolled out of the nearest house, coming to a halt between the cat's front paws. It evaporated once the cat touched it. I moved on to the next.

A few buildings down, lazily stretched on top of a brick fence, a cat white as snow watched him through one emerald eye. It rolled onto its back as I approached. "Blasted itching," the cat growled. It turned its back to me the moment I hopped onto the fence. "Would you mind giving it a good scratch? You'd think a cat's flexibility would be good for this sort of thing."

With a long-suffering sigh, I approached and put my claws to good use. "Don't you have Amare for this?"

"I thought she'd have returned by now," Ezekiel said through a deep groan of relief. "Thanks, I was desperate. Anyway—" she shook herself off as if trying to get rid of water—"I'm afraid I couldn't find Fox in the area I covered. We should find Amare and move further North."

"Works for me. He and I need to have a little chat about manners."

The looming grey clouds above obscured the moon from view for a moment. The wind howled, causing passers-by to pull up scarves and press down hats. The two cats trotted down the frozen fence, careful to steer clear of human ears.

Ezekiel watched me out the corner of her eye. "It was strange hearing you were coming along. You never do these jobs."

"Hence the low success rate." I easily cleared an iron spiked gate, essence momentarily shivering from the proximity. But my paws skidded in all directions on the ice upon landing, causing me to perform the ever-famous belly flop.

Ezekiel laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, but still distinctly feminine. She landed softly beside me, balance true as a cat's. "Tell me, is it true that you are a human-lover? I've been curious for a while."

My cat's hair shot up in defiance. "Bold move. I see Shubit has been spreading some rumours." Ezekiel merely tilted her head at me in a silent dare to refute her claim. "I don't hate humans. I hate some individuals, others vex me deeply, most I'm indifferent to, and I tolerate a select few."

"Like commoner Kitty Jones and magician John Mandrake." Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she had graphs and statistics ready to back it all up.

Tail flickering indignantly, I answered, "Yes. They've showed me kindness, so I won't harm them. Putting everyone in the same bag is what got us into this mess in the first place. Satisfied?"

Ezekiel didn't say anything for a while. If she thought that tactic would get me talking, she had another thing coming. I had 5,000 years' worth of reverse psychology to pull from. When she spoke again, her voice had changed—it was a bit distant, deeper, as if she'd left the gates to the Other Place ajar and it was partly bleeding into her very being. Her eyes glowed green, not all here, not all there.

"I like Earth well enough, and some humans aren't complete knobs. I could do without the pain, but some things are too valuable to miss out on." Her eyes cleared as they found a water dog shivering at the entrance to yet another alley. Tail shooting up in the air in the shape of an interrogation mark, Ezekiel made her way over—the ultimate paradox for a human to witness, no doubt.

And also extremely embarrassing. You'd think she was in love, the way she was mooning over Amare. Pete's sake, this job was supposed to keep me focused until I wasn't needed anymore! First Shubit had questioned my integrity as a spirit, and now Ezekiel was making me apply human concepts to spirits. The Glass Palace incident had to have turned the world upside down without anyone noticing. That much magical energy was bound to cause unprecedented effects.

And here are some more. Entirely Ezekiel's fault, if you ask me. I was distracted by her blatant and ridiculous display of affection, and too late I realised the dog was barking out a warning. Too late I noticed the blade pressed to her hind leg.

An Elemental Sphere exploded in the middle of the street, blasting tendrils of magic everywhere. I grabbed Ezekiel by the scruff with my teeth and jumped out of the way of a boulder. The ground shook violently, toppling the nearest lampposts. Car alarms wailed, lights blinked on behind curtained windows. Unstable from the quaking, I couldn't move away in time. A wave crashed into us. Ezekiel and I were driven down the street, rolling to a halt into a sad kitty heap.

Oh look, my essence was soaked again! Brilliant.

There were about two dozen of them—all adults, all wearing nondescript, dark clothing, silvery blades in their hands. And as I caught a glimpse of a crooked nose that was about to be flattened again, I said to Ezekiel with a wicked grin: "Shall we?"

Ezekiel growled and took off first, tripling in size to become a snow leopard and slamming into the unfortunate man who was holding Amare hostage. He fainted immediately. Taking a page from Ezekiel's book, Amare shifted into a white tiger (2) and roared at a handful of approaching men. They weren't making a mess of their trousers yet, but I hadn't entered the ring either.

(2) Oh no, they are the kind of couple that coordinate. And it's not clothes—it's guises. Other Place preserve me from this level of commitment.

Eager to join in the fun, I slid under a man's open legs, scratching the back of his knees with gusto. Before his bald chum could try anything, I became a crow to mercilessly peck at his shiny pride and glory.

Now, I am always a fan of terrified faces. You can hardly find a more genuine human emotion. So when I say that these folks were not expecting this, you best believe I'm not resorting to hyperbole. I almost felt sorry for this lot of misinformed mingers. They truly had no idea who they were dealing with.

But I could respect their enthusiasm. Soon, daggers and Inferno sticks alike were raining down on us, melting the snow into a shoddy soup that greatly hindered the humans. To my right, Amare elegantly weaved between bewildered humans, using part of a lamppost to kick felled daggers into the flames that had broken out all over like a hockey champion. To my left, Ezekiel dodged punch after punch by shifting back and forth between the cat and the leopard. Eventually one landed… on another human, that is. A truly classic manoeuvre. Top marks all around.

More lampposts were toppled, creative curse words were shouted, fists were flying. It was chaos. It was madness.

It was perfection.

George the Slippery Fox took the opportunity to discreetly slip away down the alley. Or so he thought. I was on him in a heartbeat, this time landing on his face for good measure. "If you try the same trick again, I'll use your face as a canvas for a painting Picasso would weep over, capisce?" I shouted over the ruckus. A postbox flew over my head, crashing with finality onto a litter bin.

Fox nodded vigorously, which could either be interpreted as agreement or an attempt to dislodge me.

"Glad we see eye to eye."

I glanced back, spotting adult men and women strewn about, on the ground, on top of smoking cars, inside rolling litter bins. There was much groaning and even more pained swearing—the song of a job well done. Ezekiel and Amare were tying up the last one with Amare's makeshift hockey stick and making proud eyes at each other.

I couldn't wait to see Nathaniel's face.

Nathaniel

Nathaniel's face contorted into a scowl as he stared down at the papers Shubit had compiled for him. It was just a list of names, that was all. Just names. Just homework for his therapy.

His thumb traced the outline of the paper, pressed against the sharp corner. Just a combination of letters on paper.

Trembling fingers turned a trembling page.

Gail Bowes, status unknown.

Matthew Kaufman, status unknown.

Taylor Gilbert, status unknown.

A sense of fickle familiarity washed over him. Back then their names had evaded him; he'd been focused on hatching a plan to get him and Kitty out of there. But now he saw them standing in pentacles, summoning spirits under the watchful gazes of Makepeace and Hopkins. A shiver ran down his spine as a vivid image of the scene flashed in his mind.

Nathaniel shook it off, grasping for the details and pushing away the rest. Who had these magicians called? He strained to remember past his hushed conversation with Kitty, the flurry of activity in his brain...

Tchue! Yes, an afrit famous for his way with words, so much so that even Bartimaeus would mention him from time to time. Gilbert had summoned him, Nathaniel was sure of it. He had a vague memory of her delight as words spilled freely and eloquently from her mouth. Nathaniel jotted down the connection, beyond thrilled that his memory—his mind—hadn't failed him this once. Maybe therapy really was paying off, after all.

There was also the infamous marid Atlas, who had been freed from his punishment by Bowes. Hopkins had made a remark on it. In fact, he might even have suggested that Bowes summon Atlas specifically. Which had been a clue as to Faquarl's true influence, now that he thought about it.

Nathaniel rubbed his clammy hands against his trousers. He could do this. His mind was his own again. As if to prove his point, the last name materialised. Ammet, another marid freed. A different memory sought his attention. Nathaniel frowned at the paper, confused. Bartimaeus knew Ammet too. A vague glimpse of cages, a ring and a bottle blurred by his mind's eye. He would have to ask Bartimaeus when he got back. For now, Nathaniel wrote down the marid's name in front of Kaufman's.

Nathaniel moved down the list, adding comments when his memory served him, and skipping names when it didn't. With each passing name, his confidence grew. Despite the discomfort, he'd persevered. It was just paper and ink, two trusted companions. And then, he reached the bottom—

Clive Jenkins, dead.

Helen Malbindi, dead.

Rupert Devereaux, dead.

Every name was accompanied by a mental short film, with Nathaniel watching again as each of them died by his hand. Breath trembling in his lungs, Nathaniel fought to keep his wits about him. Paper and ink. Nothing else.

Helen Malbindi had been one of the first they'd felled, along with three other hybrids Nathaniel wasn't sure he could identify even now. If Bartimaeus hadn't been there, Nathaniel wasn't sure he would've acted as quickly against his fellow ministers. Regardless, he didn't know which spirit had inhabited her, only that it'd been an afrit. But it didn't matter now. He had to move on.

Rupert Deveraux he and Bartimaeus had struck down with the Staff. He had murdered the Prime Minister—no, it hadn't been Devereaux anymore. Nathaniel had killed his killer, like Bartimaeus had said. Jenkins had summoned Naeryan, whom they'd also killed. Forcing his fingers to cooperate, Nathaniel jotted that bit of information down.

Rufus Lime, dead.

Clem Hopkins, dead.

Quentin Makepeace, dead.

Nathaniel stared at the next round of names, queasiness only increasing. He touched his side over the dress shirt. Lime had left a parting gift, one Nathaniel would be reminded of every day. His memory of it was fuzzy, either because he'd been nearly unconscious or because his mind had tried to purge it. But he remembered Bartimaeus acting quickly, remembered their combined pain and Bartimaeus's protective rage that had torn Lime in two.

Heartened by the thought of Bartimaeus, Nathaniel moved on to the next name.

Clem Hopkins had started it all. Or rather, Faquarl had. Bartimaeus's distress at fighting Faquarl, both of their hesitation to kill the other, and then Faquarl's last words—

Your discovery is remarkable. But it comes too late for me.

Had he imagined a twinge of regret? Perhaps Bartimaeus's perception had clouded his, or perhaps it had rather shone some light onto Faquarl's real character. Still, Bartimaeus wouldn't have struck first, that much had been clear. So Nathaniel had done it for both of them. It was legitimate self-defence.

Nathaniel took in a shuddering breath, massaging his anxious stomach. He'd avoided it long enough, this name that always shook him to the core. Quentin Makepeace. Nouda. The rows of people lining up to be eaten, the smell of burnt flesh, Nouda's grotesque appearance, his jaw opening to swallow Nathaniel whole.

Stomach spasming, Nathaniel grabbed the waste bin and retched.

"I'm gone for two weeks, and you get yourself a stomach bug," a familiar voice said from the door. "Don't tell me you've already finished all that food I so zealously prepped."

Nathaniel groaned in response, dizzy and disgusted. His hand searched for the tissues on top of the desk and, dampening a handful with a water bottle, he wiped his mouth. He gave up on his chair entirely. The floor was better and closer to the bin. If he fainted, the fall wouldn't be as hard.

He felt Bartimaeus before he saw him. Kneeling beside him, Bartimaeus put an arm around Nathaniel's back as he grabbed more tissues and gently patted away the sweat on Nathaniel's brow. Then he crumpled all the tissues into a ball, threw them in the bin and floated it away with a gust of wind. Nathaniel watched it land softly on the other side of the room with detachment.

"What is it with you humans and bodily fluids?" Bartimaeus asked merrily. He was in the guise of the tanned blonde again from that night on the roof, with that irritating blinding smile on top of it all. "I know you're supposed to be around three-quarters water, but this is a smidge ridiculous."

"More ridiculous than expelling a silver substance that's not really liquid and not really gas?" Nathaniel countered, throat burning from the acids. He was careful to keep his breath away from Bartimaeus's face; he'd had enough embarrassment for the day. "I'm not sure I managed to get it all off, see?"

He waved a hand in Bartimaeus's face, who caught it in his. This was really not the time for his stomach to do some more exercise. So, naturally, Bartimaeus's thumb traced a deliberate line down Nathaniel's palm. He hadn't seen Bartimaeus for over two weeks, and that time had done nothing to stifle the goosebumps or the thrill of being near him. How long would it take for the mere mention of his name to cease to affect Nathaniel after he left for good?

"You look like you bathed in starlight, you'll be fine. Now, what is all this?"

Nathaniel should have guessed Bartimaeus had noticed the paper. "Homework," he blurted out.

"Ah. Maybe you should've started smaller. I thought that was the point?" Bartimaeus made to grab the papers, and Nathaniel let him.

"Well…" Nathaniel shifted, surprised when Bartimaeus didn't take his arm away. Not that he minded one bit. Which was a huge problem. But one for later. "Daria suggested I pick one of the people whom I'd killed and write down what I wanted to tell them, separating them from the spirit. I picked Devereaux. It's, uh, complicated. But then I decided I might as well get started on the hybrid list, and, well…"

Bartimaeus scoffed, but not maliciously. "Incorrigible overachiever. Wait—" He was frowning at the paper just like how Nathaniel had been a few minutes ago. "Tchue got summoned? Did we get him?"

"I don't know. And there's another name I think—"

"Ammet." It was uttered as a whisper, tone lower and more resonant than Bartimaeus's usual colour. But Nathaniel knew the voice—this happened whenever Bartimaeus was visiting a particularly old memory. Conflicting emotions danced over his face. Nathaniel had the very disturbing thought that Makepeace would have wanted to "discover" Bartimaeus as an actor just from this bit alone. That seemed to be how he'd cast for his roles, anyway.

"Nat, maybe we should—Why are you green again?"

"No reason. Just imagined a very deranged situation. Anyway, should we try the pentacle? Let me just—"

But his body wasn't having it, forcing him to drop his arse firmly back onto the carpet.

Bartimaeus watched all this with amusement written all over his face. "Mhm, deep breaths, you traumatised watermelon." He ran his fingers through Nathaniel's matted hair, pushing it back gently.

Nathaniel tsked in annoyance, hiding his reddening face in the crook of Bartimaeus's neck. He still felt dreadful. With a headache on the way and a burning throat and an upset stomach, it would be a miracle if he managed to get any decent sleep tonight. Not to mention the nightmares he was sure to get of Bartimaeus prowling about on stage with gauzy wings, because of course Makepeace would include them.

But all of that fluttered away from his mind at present, entirely inconsequential and weightless. Bartimaeus made everything less daunting, less impossible, insults and all.

"We got him, by the way," Bartimaeus whispered eventually. His hand was now rubbing at the baby hairs on Nathaniel's nape, so it took him a while to figure out what Bartimaeus meant.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

One less tie, then. Nathaniel held onto Bartimaeus, knowing he would have to let go soon. Permanently. He held on, already missing him.