Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come on, Gerald,” I sigh, “you know I have to put an answer on your form. So just tell me. Have you eaten anything of note in the past month?” 

He shifts in his chair uncomfortably and makes a sound of annoyance in his throat. His glamour shimmers for a moment (probably because he’s pissed off at me) and I see his green skin and red lips for just a moment. Then he’s back to looking like a pop star. Smooth skin, shiny hair, chocolate brown eyes. 

“No humans,” he grumbles, “just rats and stray house pets for me this month. Satisfied?” He glares at me, and I don't blame him for being upset with me. (Although, to be fair, I don’t write the laws that keep goblins and other magical creatures in check. I just enforce them.) 

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I say, taking note in his file and tucking it neatly into my desk drawer. 

“Are we done, Snow?” he asks, voice gruff. 

“Yeah, we’re done,” I say. He gets up and starts walking towards the door. “Oh,” I say, and he turns to look at me. “Remember, next month is a home visit, so I’ll see you round your place.” 

“We’re still on monthly visits?!” he growls indignantly. 

“Don’t give me that,” I chide, “You’re the one who ate a protected magickal creature. You’ll be back to six months between check-ins by February.” 

“This is bollocks! It was one unicorn!” he shouts. 

I shrug my shoulders and lift my hands in a sorry, I don’t make the rules gesture, and he wrenches the door open and storms out of my office.

When he’s gone, I roll my neck and stretch my wings out a bit. I think this may have been the longest day I’ve had since starting this job five years ago. I stare at the massive stack of new client files on my desk and groan. My caseload was already overwhelming before Premal quit, but now that it has doubled in the span of a week, I don’t know how I’m going to manage it all.  

I push up the sleeves of my white dress shirt so they sit above my elbows. My work outfits are always the same: plain button-down collared shirt, trousers and trainers. Some of my co-workers wear ties and dress shoes, but once I left Watford and got used to dressing more casually at Uni, I felt less inclined to dress so formally when I started working for the Coven. At least I don’t have to hide my wings while I’m at work. I’ve gotten better at folding them up, but it’s uncomfortable to have to do it all day. And really, what’s the point when you’re working around magickal populations anyways? Plus, they can be helpful to make me look imposing to some of my more…obstinate clients. (Honestly, I keep my Excalibur in my office for similar reasons.) 

It’s an unfortunate part of my job, being the heavy that has to enforce strict guidelines related to my clients’ daily lives. But I’m much happier now that I’m working with goblins and werewolves from behind this desk, instead of battling them with my sword like I did as a teenager.

    I hear the trill of the lift, and my eyes flick to my computer screen to check the time. This must be my last appointment of the day. (A new client, if I remember correctly.) The sound of the lift always means someone is coming to our department because there aren’t any other offices on this floor. The Coven stuck us in the basement. (Probably to keep our clients away from other people.)

I hope this meeting goes quickly so I can go home, get takeaway and binge Netflix until I pass out from exhaustion. 

I hear the sound of dress shoes clicking on the linoleum floor in the hall. My door is open, so I holler, “You can come in!” I shuffle through the files on my desk to try and find the right forms. Just as I find the client’s file I look up and see a tall figure in a navy suit, black hair brushing his shoulders. I blink my eyes for a moment because I think I must be hallucinating. 

“Baz?” I say. I practically jump up, knocking my chair into the wall behind me, and my wings flair out. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

I haven’t seen Baz in years. Not since before…not since finding him in the woods, holding Agatha’s hand at the end of 7th year. 

Baz is standing there, motionless, his mouth open slightly. He almost looks like he’s holding his breath. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, until his eyes finally dart to the placard nailed to my open door. Simon Snow, Department of Magickal Creature Management . 

“I…” he starts, still looking at the placard. 

“Seriously, Baz, what are you doing here?” I think I’ve figured it out by now, so I don’t know why I’m making him say it. 

He stands a little straighter. “I have an appointment.” 

I frown at him, still only half believing it. I drag my chair forward and sit back down, pulling the file toward me. I usually read through a new client’s file before I meet with them, but I didn’t get a chance to read through any of Premal’s caseload before it was dropped on me. I open the folder and scan the cover page.

And there it is. Right at the top. 

Name: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Age: 27 years old

Magickal Creature Species: Vampire

My stomach lurches violently. I’d accused Baz of being a vampire for years back at Watford, but after all of the time I spent spying on him, I never did get any concrete proof. And now that I have it here, in black and white, it almost feels like some kind of fucked up joke. 

I want to read more but I can’t very well do it now and leave Baz standing there. 

I look back up at him, and Baz looks nervous for a moment, but then his face changes into a haughty expression I’m more familiar with from our school days. 

“I think this is the part where you ask me to take a seat,” he says. 

I try to swallow, but my mouth suddenly feels very dry. “Yeah, okay, sit,” I say. And then I add, “Please.”

He undoes the button on his suit jacket and sits in the chair opposite me. This feels backward somehow, with Baz all posh and dressed to the nines. It feels like he should be the one behind this desk running things. Instead of me. 

I see his eyes travel above my shoulders, and his mouth opens a bit. He’s looking at my wings. (We haven’t seen each other since before I had them, so I get it.) He catches himself and looks back down at the desk. I’m used to people staring at my wings. They’re huge, and hard to miss. Usually I don’t care when I meet new people and they can’t help but check them out. But something about seeing someone who knew me from before staring at them the way Baz just did feels a bit embarrassing. 

I tear my eyes away from him and start shuffling through my papers, trying to get the appropriate forms in order. My palms have suddenly gone clammy and it makes it difficult for me to turn the pages. 

“Sorry,” I mumble, “I didn’t get a chance to prepare before you got here, so I’m having a bit of trouble catching up.” I take a breath and run my hands through my hair, then before I know it I blurt out, “Did…did you know I was going to be here?” As soon as the words leave my mouth I try my damnedest not to close my eyes and growl at the stupidity of that question. It’s not at all appropriate and not the real question I wanted to ask anyhow. 

Baz raises an eyebrow. Seeing that gesture again is like being in a time warp. 

“No, Snow, I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Of course he didn’t. I could tell he was just as surprised to see me as I was. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. He must see that I’m flustered and confused because he sighs irritatedly and goes on. “Aren’t you the one who is supposed to be running the show here?”

“Well, yeah, obviously, but I already told you I didn’t…I don’t…” I growl frustratedly as I try to find the words. “I didn’t know you were coming today, okay? I didn’t even know you were in the system . Christ, Baz. What happened?” 

I look back up at him and see that he has his arms and legs crossed. He frowns at me but I stay silent, hoping he’ll answer me. 

Finally, he says, “I’m sure the transcripts from my hearing are in that file of yours. You can read all about it once I leave.” 

“You had a hearing? With the Coven?” 

“Yes, that’s usually what happens when an unregistered vampire is found living in the UK, is it not?” 

I think about Nico. “Baz, your wand. Did they…?”

“It was confiscated,” he says. “The Coven plans to reconvene when my probationary period is over. Before they decide whether to give it back or…” 

Snap it , I think. That’s what happened to Nico. Baz will only be the second vampire Mage in history. (That we know of, at least.) Nico was an adult who chose to be Turned. When was Baz Turned? How was he Turned? Does the circumstance matter? Is that why they haven’t snapped his wand yet? 

“Are you…are you okay?” 

Baz sits up even straighter, if possible. “I was told these check-in appointments would be fairly quick and would consist of an interview with basic questions about my diet and daily habits.” His expression is cold. Distant. 

“Yeah, well, usually this first appointment is just a chance for us to meet. Get to know each other,” I say, scratching the back of my head. “We’ll get to the interview stuff next time.” 

Baz sneers. “I think you know plenty about me. And what you don’t already know, you can read about in that file,” he says, nodding to the folder in front of me. 

“Yeah, but—“ 

“Are we done here?” 

I don’t really want him to leave yet. I still wish he’d just tell me what happened. I know he’s right, that I could read about it in the hearing transcripts. But I’d rather hear it from him. Obviously he doesn’t want to tell me though. And I shouldn’t make him. It’s awkward enough as it is. 

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We’re done.” 

Baz nods curtly. It feels so formal. He stands and buttons his suit jacket again, looking down his nose at me. I don’t like being below him so I stand, too. 

“Your next check-in is in two weeks,” I say. “I’ve got a lot of clients to fit in at the moment. Do mornings work for you?”

“Mornings are fine, Snow.”

“Good. I’ll text you to find a good time.”

Baz raises one eyebrow to an absurd height. I feel my cheeks flush at the miscommunication. 

“It’s an automated system!” I splutter. “You’ll be able to confirm or reschedule through it.” 

He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. 

“I’ll see myself out, then,” he says.

I don’t even say anything. I just watch him go, listening to his shoes click against the linoleum as he walks through the hall. When I hear the sound of the lift door closing to take him away, I collapse into my chair. 

I was so tired just a moment ago. Now I’m wired and itching with curiosity to find out just what the hell happened to Baz. 

I pull his file closer, open it and start reading. 

The transcripts from the hearing are pretty long. I could take it home to read, but I can’t imagine having to wait. I need to find out what happened now . So I start reading. 

It turns out the Coven found out about Baz’s vampirism through an anonymous tip. That happens sometimes. We have a phone number you can call, or you can fill out a form online. Then the Coven sends someone to check out the claim. Usually they tail the individual, get to know their habits and then attempt to find evidence of wrong-doing. In this case, all they really needed was proof that he was a vampire, as not being registered with our department is enough of an offense to be brought in. 

The transcripts go on to detail the evidence against him. After receiving the anonymous tip, the Coven sent magickal law enforcement officers to investigate. They followed Baz for a day and noticed him disappearing in an alleyway near his house. They figured he cast protection spells to hide what he was doing, so after he left they installed a camera to try and catch whatever he was doing on tape. There are different concealment spells for technology than there are for hiding yourself from sight, so this trick often works. Baz was caught feeding off of rats. The video was played before the Coven, and the transcripts go on to say that he didn’t even try to argue. When given a chance to defend himself, he merely declined. He had a barrister there with him and everything and just…didn’t even try. 

I close the file and shove it in my desk drawer. My skin feels hot and itchy and my leg starts bouncing uncontrollably. I grab my coat and rucksack and head to the lift. 

When I’m finally outside I feel like I can breathe a bit better, but I’m still agitated. I don’t really know why, I’ve read dozens of Coven transcripts just like this over the years. They’ve caught werewolves, sirens, incubi and all sorts of creatures hiding amongst the Normals since my department was formed. It’s never particularly bothered me before. But I guess I never knew any of the defendants personally. I’ve never known any of my clients personally, either. Not even on a casual basis. 

That has to be the problem, I realise, as I get on the tube to go home. It just feels weird because I know Baz. Because we grew up together at the top of a tower. We lived together for seven years, and even though we made each other’s lives miserable the entire time, there’s still a level of familiarity that makes this whole situation challenging. 

My spit feels sticky, so I fish for my water bottle in my bag and drink deeply. I just need to think about something else, and once I do, I’m sure this uncomfortable feeling in my stomach will pass. I pull out my mobile and try playing a game, but I’m just going through the motions. I groan frustratedly and shove it back in my pocket. I’m relieved when the train reaches my stop, hoping the walk home will distract me. 

It doesn’t distract me though, and I find my thoughts wandering to memories of Watford. I think about meeting Baz on the Great Lawn, that awful tugging sensation from the crucible beckoning me to him. I think about his cutting remarks in class disparaging my shit spell work, making me smoke and spark with rage. I remember fighting with fists and words and magic, to the point we’d have to be spelled apart by the staff. 

I run through the list of places I followed him, convinced I’d find proof he was a dark creature, if only I was clever enough to best him. Maybe that’s what’s bothering me, I think, as I turn the key to my flat and head inside. Maybe I’m jealous it was someone else who figured it out, when I tried desperately for years to uncover his secret. 

I drop my bag and flop onto the sofa, exhaling loudly. It would be easy if that were the answer, but I know that’s not it. I’m not envious that someone else proved what I couldn’t. I’m not even happy he got caught. I don’t know what I’m feeling. Do I feel guilty for telling everyone who would listen that he was a vampire back at school? Maybe a little. Even though no one listened at the time and that was years ago. I doubt the anonymous tip the Coven received had anything to do with the ramblings of a fifteen-year-old over a decade ago. 

Do I feel embarrassed about the way I acted in front of Baz? That’s definitely part of it. I’ve never felt less professional in my life, the way I blustered about during his appointment. But I know that’s only part of what I’m feeling. 

I sigh in frustration, sitting up and grabbing my mobile. I think I just need to talk to someone. I could probably talk to my therapist about this, but I’m not seeing her for another three days. I dial Penny’s number and hope she picks up. 

“Simon! Good. I need a sane person to back me up. Please tell Shepard that we’re not naming our child Cerys. I tried to tell him we went to school with someone named Keris but he thinks the varied spelling should differentiate it enough.” I sigh, trying not to get annoyed at Penny’s tendency to answer the phone as though we’re picking up in the middle of a conversation I know nothing about. 

“What’s wrong with Cerys?” I ask, knowing full well why she would hate to name her child that. 

“Why would I want to name my child after the girlfriend of my school roommate? The two of them made being in my own room intolerable! Why would I want to relive having to go to the library on a Friday night because Trixie couldn’t stop feeling her up while I was right bloody there?”

I laugh. 

“Fine!” I hear Shepard shout distantly. “I concede! I’ll cross it off the list!” 

“Thank you!” Penny shouts back. 

“Why was Shep fighting for that name anyhow?” I ask. 

“Oh, he’s trying to find a name that means love so he can pass on his name,” she explains. “Since someone magically and profoundly lost it and can’t pass his surname on in the normal way!” she shouts again. I move my mobile away from my ear. 

“Well, at least you took care of the imps who were promised his first born,” I say. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she says. “It’s been a year since that awful trip and it’s still too soon to talk about.” 

I grin, imagining Penny rubbing her belly defensively the way she always does every time the story is brought up. 

“Oh look, I made Shepard feel guilty again so now I’m getting a foot rub in penance,” she says. She sighs contentedly, and it makes me happy for her. And Shep. They deserve this domestic bliss after everything it took to get them here. 

“Sorry, Simon, I’m just now realising you called me. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

I hesitate, not knowing where to start. I feel a bit daft talking about it now, especially knowing that Shep is right there. I mean, Penny tells him everything, that’s not really the problem. It’s just that now I essentially have an audience of two instead of one. But I don’t really want to wait, so I just go for it. 

“I met with a new client today,” I say. “And it was someone we know.” 

“Someone we know?” she asks, clearly confused. “If you’re talking about someone Shep has met at the Whistling Ogre, you know I can’t be bothered to remember the name of every creature he talks up. Hey!” she shouts. “No pinching!” 

“I was only teasing!” I hear Shepard say. “No need to kick me!”

“Penny,” I say, interrupting their flirty fighting, “it was Baz.”

“Baz?” she asks and I can hear the shock in her tone. “Are you joking?”

I bark a laugh. “I wish I was. Apparently someone made an anonymous tip. He got caught in the act of feeding and everything.” 

“He got caught feeding?” she asks incredulously. “On a person?!” 

“No!” I say. “On rats. In an alley.” It’s not news to me, I’ve known that’s how he fed since finding rodent carcasses in the Catacombs, all pinched and used. But it still makes me squirm a bit, thinking about people watching him feed on video. 

“Gross,” she says. And then, “How did you handle it? Seeing him again?”

“Not well,” I confess. “I didn’t even know he was coming until he walked into my office. I still can’t believe Premal didn’t tell me. That no one thought to tell me! This is big fucking news! The great Basilton Pitch is a vampire! You’d think it’d be plastered all over The Record . Talked about by gossiping mages far and wide. And yet I was completely blindsided.” I’m getting agitated again but I think I’m getting somewhere by getting this out. Maybe this is the reason I’ve been so taken aback. How did Baz go to trial and everything and yet I heard nothing about it? 

“Premal knew? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it, then?” She sounds as annoyed as I feel. Premal and Penny aren’t particularly close. Their relationship has been strained since the Mage’s death. Premal’s relationship with his entire family has never been quite the same since then. But I understand her frustration. 

“Right?” I agree. “He knew our history with Baz from school! He heard me complain about him enough whenever I went to your house when we were kids. You’d think he’d at least give me a heads up. But no, he just dumped his file on my desk along with the rest of his caseload and left.”

“And now you’re his case worker? Aren’t there rules about familiarity with clients?”

“And what am I supposed to do about that?” I ask. “There’s no one else working in my department to pawn him off on.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” She pauses for a moment. “I still can’t believe it. Baz is a vampire. I mean we thought as much when we were younger, but this is huge.” 

“Yeah,” I say quietly. I try to think of something else to say, but I don’t know what else to say. I thought I had more to process and I think I still do. But I don’t think I have any more words right now. 

“Well,” she says, “you’re just going to have to do your best. Keep your cool, and don’t let him get a rise out of you. You can’t afford to lose your job over a decade-old rivalry.” 

“Christ, Penny, I’ll be fine! I’m not that much of an idiot.” 

“Mmm,” she hums, sounding like she’s less than convinced. 

We talk for a while longer. She tells me about more baby names they’re considering and I promise to come to their flat for dinner over the weekend. 

When I hang up, I realise it’s gotten dark while I’ve been on the phone, but I’m too tired to get up and turn the lights on. 

I pull up Instagram and start scrolling, but I’m barely paying attention. After a few minutes, I find myself staring at the magnifying lens icon at the bottom, my thumb hovering over it. I tap on it and type in his name. I find him easily, I’ve looked him up a few times over the years. (Okay, more than a few times.)

He hasn’t posted much in the last few months but he used to post quite a lot. I scroll further back and find several photos of him with the same guy over and over again that span about a year’s worth of posts. It’s clear they were in a relationship. There’s lots of selfies of them with their faces pressed together, posing at botanical gardens and outdoor restaurants with twinkling lights above them. I stop at a photo of the two of them at a Christmas tree lot. The boyfriend has his arms wrapped around Baz’s waist. His lips are pressed to Baz’s cheek, and Baz looks utterly content. 

I groan and toss my phone onto the carpet. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Clearly, internet stalking Baz isn’t going to relieve any of this weird stress I’m feeling. 

I stand up and stretch my back and wings. I think about turning on the telly, but I decide to just go to bed. It’s not even that late, but I’m knackered and clearly can’t seem to shut him out of my brain. Fucking typical. I feel like a teenager all over again. Like I’ve regressed into an angry, confused, hormonal mess and I don’t relish the thought of feeling this way every two weeks for the next six months. 

I crawl under the duvet and turn on the fan next to my bed in the hopes that the noise will drown out my thoughts. I think about relaxing my muscles and I focus on my breathing. Anything to clear my head. But even as I feel sleep creeping into the corners of my brain, I’ve still got the image of him dancing behind my eyelids. Navy suit. Black hair. Grey eyes. Try as I might, I can’t think of anything other than Baz Pitch. 

Chapter Text

I can’t believe today, of all days, I’m going to be late. 

Baz has his second appointment at 9:00 am. I wanted to get to work early this morning so I’d look more prepared this time. So of course this is the morning my alarm doesn’t go off. When I finally did wake up, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the time. I don’t think I ever got ready so fast in my life. Just threw on my clothes, brushed my teeth, and bolted out the door. 

I look at my mobile and see that I might make it on time, but I’ll be cutting it pretty close. My leg is bouncing uncontrollably while I wait for my stop. If I still had my magic I’d probably be able to make this train go faster by sheer nerves and impatience. 

I haven’t seen or heard from Baz since he first walked into my office two weeks ago. That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about him more than I’d like to admit. 

I did try to limit my thinking of him. I definitely did not look him up on Instagram again after that first night. Though I did look him up on LinkedIn. I know I could’ve waited until his next appointment to find out about his work history, but I was curious. According to his profile, he went to Uni after Watford, and then graduate school after that. He’s currently teaching linguistics at LSE. That was a relief, to find out he’s working with Normals. No need to notify his place of work if it’s not a magickal establishment. 

I wanted to bring Baz up in conversation with Nico during his appointment last Tuesday. It's been driving me mental trying to figure out what’s going to happen to Baz when his probationary period is over. I wanted so badly to ask Nico what he thought the Coven would do. The fact that Nico happened to have his six month check-in the same week as Baz’s first appointment had my mind running in circles at the potential opportunity to compare their cases. Ultimately, I kept my mouth shut, though. It would’ve been a major breach of confidentiality. Not to mention the fact that they don’t even know each other. (I mean, I think he and Ebb may have gone to school with Baz’s aunt, but apart from that I doubt he knows anything about Baz.) 

I thought about him while having an appointment with another client: a sixteen-year-old werewolf, who was Turned against her will. I know now from his files that Baz was a child when he was Turned, too. It happened during the vampire attacks at Watford. (The same attack that resulted in his mother’s death. Christ.) How does a child deal with being a vampire? I mean, I know enough about the affliction to know that the changes don’t start happening until puberty (the thirst, the fangs) but that’s still so young. How did he cope with it all? 

My werewolf client at least has a supportive family. They help her stay safe every full moon, and show her how much she’s loved despite what has happened to her. I wondered how Baz’s family dealt with his vampirism. Did they research his condition? There’s not a lot written on it (vampires are a secretive lot and mages have distrusted them forever) and there’s even less written about what happens to children who are Turned (because it’s so rare, thankfully). He had to have been at Watford while going through puberty, so there’s a good chance he went through most of it alone despite how his family dealt with it. 

But the bigger question that’s been on my mind is how did I not notice him in pain and suffering back then? I didn’t start to suspect he was a vampire until fifth year, and I’m sure he’d gone through the change by then. I didn’t know shit about vampires back then, but that didn’t stop me from acting as if I did. 

I’ve also thought far too much about the video of him caught feeding on tape. Every time, I wonder how the proud Baz Pitch handled having to watch it in front of an audience of disapproving mages. Except I know how he handled it. Not because of the transcripts, but because I know him . He’d have been stoic. Untouchable in an expensive suit, and it still wouldn’t have changed anything. 

I tried talking to Penny again, but it’s hard for me to get my point across with her at times. 

“You just have to do your job, Simon. It’s as simple as that,” Penny said matter of factly. 

    “I mean, obviously I’m going to do my job, Pen,” I replied. “I’ve already told you, until they replace Prem, there’s no one else to take him on.” 

    “You’re overthinking this whole situation. Seeing Baz again, worrying about your baggage with him from school. You can’t help any of that.” 

    That wasn’t what was keeping me up at night. I mean, it was. But that wasn’t all of it, and I didn’t know how to articulate the constant stream of Baz-thoughts coming from every direction. 

“You’ll just have to treat him like any other client,” she continued, expression softening once she saw me gripping my hair in frustration. “Stick to your interview questions. Be succinct and professional. And if he acts like a jerk, be assertive and put him in his place like you would any other client.” 

She was right, of course. That’s really all I can do. Just focus on the task at hand and what’s relevant at the moment. Let go of the rest. 

When the train arrives at my stop I snap out of my thought spiral and make a mad dash for the door, sprinting through the station and taking the stairs two at a time until I reach the street. I slow down a bit at the corner because I don’t want to arrive covered in sweat. I wish I could just fly there. What’s the use of having wings when I live in London? No, I guess the real question is what’s the point of having wings when I don’t have magic to hide myself. 

When I finally get on the lift at the office I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll be there five minutes before his appointment. (Not great, but at least I’ll have time to get the appropriate forms in order.) 

When the doors open on my floor though, I have to swallow the curse that threatens to escape. 

There, standing in the middle of the waiting room (in another fucking designer suit), is Baz. 

“We have chairs, you know,” I grouse as I make my way through the hallway that functions as our waiting area. 

“I didn’t plan on being here that long,” he drawls. He flexes his arm and checks his Rolex. Posh wanker. “My appointment starts momentarily.”

I exhale loudly as I unlock my office door, letting myself in. I set down my bag, take off my coat and go about getting things ready. Baz stands, cool and collected, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. I try not to let his presence rattle me, but it’s a challenge for sure. I’m still a little sweaty from all that rushing, and this room is stuffy and warm, which only makes me sweat further. 

Baz watches me as I turn on my computer and get my forms and files in order. 

“Would you like me to come in, or should I wait here?” he asks, smirking at me. He’s enjoying this. Seeing me fumbling about. 

I gesture a little too forcefully at the chair in front of my desk. I need to tamp down my irritation before we get started with the interview. Plus, it’s not his fault that I’m late. I’m more annoyed with myself than I am with him. (Though I am a little annoyed with him.) 

Baz pushes off of the doorframe lazily and walks to the chair. He does that stupid thing where he unbuttons his suit jacket before sitting down again. (Probably because it fits too tight to sit in. Where does he think he is? A movie premiere?) 

I take a breath and sit at my desk facing him. With pen in hand and interview forms stacked in front of me, I remind myself that I’ve done a thousand client interviews and that today’s no big deal. But I still feel like I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. 

“Okay. Well, I guess we can get started, then,” I say. 

Baz makes a gesture for me to begin. Why does it seem like he’s running the show again? The corner of his mouth is turned up, almost imperceptibly. But I know that look of smug condescension. I saw it nearly every day for seven years. 

Once we get into a rhythm, it becomes easier. Most of the questions are straightforward and banal. He tells me about his employment, where he lives, and his travel history. His answers are short and to the point. No elaboration. No chit-chat. That’s fine, a lot of my clients are the same way. 

His medical history was an interesting one. 

“I have none,” he replied. 

“What do you mean, you have no medical history?” 

He narrows his eyes at me. “I was bitten at the age of five and that was kept a secret until a month ago,” he replied. “Unless you’d like me to dig up pediatric records from twenty some odd years ago, then just take my word for it when I say my health is satisfactory.” 

“Fine,” I say. Then I add, “Any allergies?” 

His lip curls. He probably knows I know he’s allergic to silver. All vampires are. I don’t need to make him say it, I’m just being a dick. (I mean, like Penny said, I need to put him in his place somehow .)

He acquiesces and I add it to his form. 

I continue on to the section about his diet. This is the topic I was most curious about. I know he got caught drinking from rats, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s all he drinks. 

“How often do you feed?” I ask, keeping my eye on the form. 

“Every one to two days.”

“What do you typically eat?”

“Rats, mostly. Squirrels and other wild game occasionally.” 

“Do you ever feed from humans?” I look up at him then and try to keep eye contact. 

“Never.” He meets my eyes and doesn’t look away. I don’t know why, but I feel a sense of relief. I can’t know for certain, but I think he’s telling the truth. 

I look back down at my form. And read the last question to him. 

“Do you ever feed on other magickal creatures?” I look back up at Baz and his eyes are like daggers. 

“No,” he says, voice low. 

Fuck. 

I try to explain, but I sound a bit annoyed when I say, “You don’t need to look at me like that. That’s just what all the forms say.”

I watch Baz as he works his jaw and for a moment it looks as though his cheeks are fuller, as if his mouth is filling up with teeth. Then I blink and he looks normal again, a cruel sneer curving his lip to an impossible height. 

“You must love this,” he says.

“Oh come off it, Baz. Why would I love this?” I feel my tail whipping around and I clamp my legs around it to keep it still. 

“Because,” he says, “you spent our youth trying to prove what I am, and now here we are.” He gestures between us across the desk. The expanse has never felt wider. 

“I knew this was going to happen at some point. That we’d spiral back to stupid school bullshit!” I grab a fistful of my hair, tightening my fingers until my scalp burns. “And I knew this wouldn’t work because you hate me. But there’s literally no one else in this department but me anymore, so—“ 

Baz cuts me off. “Oh I hate you? That’s our problem? Sounds a bit one-sided, doesn’t it?”

This is derailing quickly. I have to fix this. 

With a deep breath, I try. “Look. I didn’t mean to call you a creature. Of course you’re not—“ 

He cuts me off. “Aren’t I, though?” he says, voice a little too even. “Isn’t that the precise reason I’m here?” His face is impassive, but I can still see him gritting his teeth ever so slightly. He’s got his hands clenched into fists on his lap, his knuckles white on grey. 

I try to think of something to say to counter that, but my mind is frustratingly blank. While the wheels in my head spin uselessly, and the spade tip of my tail beats against my calf, I hear the bell from the lift. Shit. 

“Sounds like your next appointment is here and I have a class to teach this morning,” he stands and buttons his suit jacket, signaling his impending departure. “So if we’re quite done here…” He pauses, the question floating between us. Despite his trying to maintain control, he and I both know I’m the one with the power to dismiss him. All of a sudden I don’t want that power over him anymore. 

“Yeah,” I say, “that was the last question.” I look at him meaningfully, trying to apologize lamely with just my expression since I can’t find the words. I think I see his eyes soften just a bit. But then he’s out the door and I’m left with a sinking feeling in my stomach. 

After Baz left I thought I’d be replaying those last five minutes of our interaction all day, but I end up being so busy I can barely keep my head on straight. 

I’ve shortened my appointment times to try and fit more clients in, so my office has had a revolving door for the past three weeks. It hasn’t really helped though, because I’m still playing catch-up getting to know Premal’s old clients. When these visits inevitably go long it throws off my entire day. Today has been one of those days and I have a Coven meeting this afternoon, so I guess I’ll be working through my lunch. 

By the time the meeting rolls around my brain is fried and the bag of crisps I inhaled moments ago has barely made a dent against the gnawing in my stomach. 

I enter the conference room and see that most seats are filled, but people are chatting quietly and the chair at the head of the table is empty. Good, they haven’t started yet. And it’s always fortuitous to arrive before the Head of the Coven. 

My wings pull close as I scoot between the row of chairs and the wall. A familiar face catches my attention as I take my seat.  Penny’s mum smiles at me. It’s rare to see her here. After the Mage died and she agreed to take over Watford she made it explicitly clear she didn’t want a role on the Coven, too. Said she had enough on her plate. (I don’t blame her.) The Coven ended up splitting the Mage’s role back into two, the way it was before he took over. It’s probably better this way. Mitali’s done loads for Watford over the past ten years, and I imagine she wouldn’t have gotten half of it done if she had to work here as well. 

I suddenly realize that, since it’s June, she’s probably here to give her annual update about the school. I groan quietly, as it dawns on me that this meeting is going to have a lot more on the agenda than I thought. 

I fish around in my bag to see if I’ve got any stray snacks and sigh happily when my fingers clasp around something in a wrapper. I pull out the granola bar and open it just as the sound of laughter echoes in the hallway. 

Jeremy and Stephen enter the room, still guffawing as they find their seats. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Jeremy says, as he takes a seat at the head of the table. 

Funny how if any of us were the ones who were late we’d get a stern comment. But I guess that’s one of the perks of running the Coven. No one to answer to. (That’s not entirely true. We are somewhat democratic. But the sentiment in regards to these meetings still stands.) 

“Thank you all for being here,” Jeremy says, gesturing to both sides of the long table. “I take it you all got the agenda that Miriam sent out to you?” 

Several people nod. Before I can feel guilty about not printing one out, a hand slides an extra copy my way. 

Thank you , I mouth to Miriam, smiling at her. 

She nods curtly, trying to suppress a small grin. 

“Good,” Jeremy’s deep voice rumbles again. “Mitali, we’ll start with you, since we all know you have a lot to do back at Watford.” 

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Mitali says. She clears her throat before she begins. 

“As you all know, enrollment has steadily grown over the past twenty years, as more and more children have become eligible for attending Watford. We now accept mages of all abilities, as well as mixed-species students that can speak with magic.”

Jeremy nods while sitting back slightly, resting his clasped hands on his protruding stomach. 

“We’ve done our best to expand staffing, build new dormitories and classrooms, and purchase new supplies. Over the past few years, the trust we’ve built in the magickal community has resulted in even more of these new families feeling confident in choosing Watford for their children’s education.” 

Mitali pauses, to let all of that sink in before she moves on to her next point. 

“I think it’s time for the Coven to consider opening a second magickal school.” 

There are a few murmurs around the room. Penny had already told me that her mum has brought this up with Jeremy in private, but that he was dismissive of the idea. I guess after trying to get him on board for the last few years, she’s finally decided to go around him and bring it to the Coven herself. 

Jeremy blinks, his brow furrowed as if listening intently. The man has a great poker face. If I didn’t have inside knowledge of this situation, I’d have thought this was the first he’s heard about it. 

“Thank you for bringing this important topic to everyone, Mitali,” he says. “If you're serious about this, then I’d suggest you come back with a formal proposal to the Coven.” 

“Actually,” Mitali says, holding up a finger while bending down toward her bag. “I’ve already written one up.” She stands, holding a stack of folders, which she then hands to the other members. Damn. I can’t say I’m surprised. Clearly, Mitali Bunce is done having this topic brushed aside. 

Miriam gives her a time check, reminding her she’s got ten minutes left allotted to her on the agenda, so she quickly walks us through the contents of the folder. She’s got charts listing the budget needed and what we’ve got in savings from taxes allotted to Watford. She’s also got a list of potential locations, projections on enrollment over the next ten years, and a timeline for completion of construction. It’s incredibly thorough.

When she finishes, I look to Jeremy to see his response. His grey mustache twitches, but otherwise his face gives nothing away. 

“Well, thank you for getting the ball rolling on this.” He nods to her and then gestures to the folders in front of everyone. “Of course, we’ll let you all take this information home to read and digest at your own pace. We can discuss this in more detail at a future meeting.” 

“Miriam,” Mitali says, “how is the agenda looking at the next Coven meeting? Is there room for a discussion, followed by a vote?” 

Miriam looks up in alarm, then quickly unlocks the screen of her tablet. “Um, yes. It looks like we should have…” she hesitates, then looks up quickly between Mitali and Jeremy, not sure who to address her response to, “time.” 

Mitali smiles serenely and looks to Jeremy to make the final decision. 

“Well, that’s settled then, apparently,” he says, his voice a touch too jovial. 

I hate these sorts of passive aggressive work dynamics. You can cut the tension in here with a knife, even though nothing that dramatic actually happened. 

But somehow we move on to the next item of the agenda, and talks of taxes and budgets lull us back into a perfectly average (and I’ll admit slightly boring) meeting. 

When it finally ends, I try my best to slide out of the conference room without getting sucked into any additional conversations, but my luck fails me when Stephen corners me. 

“Alright, Simon?” 

I give him a tight grin in response. That’s been his greeting to me since I was a kid. I hated it then, and I still hate it now. Stephen’s a nice enough bloke, but I was always jealous of him because of how much time he spent with the Mage. 

“Fine, Stephen. Just tired,” I say. 

“I know how hard you've been working since Prem left,” he says, giving me a sympathetic look that feels less than sincere. 

“Have you found a replacement for him yet?” I ask. 

“Still on the hunt, I’m afraid.” He sucks his teeth and shakes his head. “I‘ll tell you, it’s one of the toughest positions to fill! No one seems to want to work with evil creatures. We’re lucky you like it so much!” He smacks my chest with the back of his hand. 

“They’re not all evil,” I mumble.  

“Course not,” he concedes. “Wouldn’t monitor them if they were, would we?” 

“So do you have some interviews set up, or…” 

He looks at me as though I haven’t been listening. “Simon, we’re doing the best we can with recruitment, but we just haven’t had any applicants.” 

“None?” I ask incredulously. “I thought you just meant, like, it was slim pickings. Merlin, it’s been weeks! You really haven’t had anyone?” 

“We’re looking, Simon! Don’t worry, we’ll find you someone.” Stephen winks and pats my back consolingly. He catches sight of Jeremy leaving and makes his excuses, following him out and leaving me more exhausted than I was moments ago. 

Despite the constant whirring of the fan that usually lulls me to sleep, I am wide awake. The noise in my head is too loud, the thoughts all consuming. I haven’t felt this anxious, this helpless in a while. My therapist, Cheryl, is always quick to correct me when I complain about backsliding.

“There’s no going backwards,” she told me once. “Anxiety is something everybody deals with, and even though it’s frightening to feel all of those familiar negative emotions coming back again, you're not in the same place anymore. You have tools at your disposal now that can help you cope.” 

I roll over onto my back, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. 

It doesn’t matter what “tools I have to cope” when I’m stuck doing the work of two people (let’s be honest, we could have a staff of three or four and still be working our asses off) for the foreseeable future. Stephen talks a good game about support and recruitment efforts but he’s never truly cared about our department. All he cares about is bagging the baddies and fuck what happens to them after that. 

I growl in frustration and roll over to my side again. 

One thing. You just need to focus on one thing you can control . I can practically hear the words in Cheryl’s voice. 

What’s one thing I can control? 

My mind is buzzing, a jumble of thoughts floating just out of reach. How can I decide on one thing when I literally can’t even focus on one simple thought? 

And then, finally, one thought surfaces above the static. One image, rather. A photo of Baz I saw while scrolling through Instagram as I inhaled my sad microwave dinner. (I caved and went back to stalking him alright?) 

Baz comes into focus, holding a cup from some boutique coffee shop. Somehow the image is calming. Probably because consumerism makes us believe happiness is as simple as buying your favorite coffee. But maybe there’s a grain of truth in that. 

And then, suddenly, I’ve got my one thing. When Baz comes back for his next appointment in two weeks, I’m going to bring him a coffee. 

I realise how much time I’ve been spending thinking about Baz, and how awful today went with him. Even if I can’t control anything else related to my job (or let’s face it, my life) maybe this is one thing I can fix.

I plan it all out. I’m going to pick it up on the way to work and offer it to him as a truce. If he and I can somehow get past all the bullshit that’s been standing between us for years (and really, how much of any of that matters at this point?) then maybe I can at least stop obsessing about him for the thirteen days between each appointment. 

I know it won’t fix everything. He’ll still be a vampire and I’ll still be his social worker, but there’s nothing either of us can do about that. But maybe, if we can just play nice, we’ll be able to make some progress. 

As the plan comes into focus, I feel myself relax. The frenzy of thoughts subside, the knot in my stomach loosens, and sleep finally paws at the edges of my consciousness. I drift off into an easy sleep. 

Chapter Text

There’s a thrum of nerves under my skin. Baz’ll be here for his appointment any minute now, and I’m hoping my attempt at a truce goes well. It’s times like these, when my emotions are running high, that I’m thankful I don’t have my magic anymore. If I did, Baz would probably be able to smell it before the lift even made it down to the basement. 

I’m early this time, and I keep compulsively checking the time. When I got to the coffee shop around the corner, I realised I didn’t know what he liked to drink. I remember him drinking coffee at breakfast when we were at school, though. I also remember how Baz would steal my mint Aero bars when we were kids. So I decided to get him a mocha. I got one for myself, too, so he wouldn’t feel weird drinking it by himself. 

I asked the barista to make them extra hot since neither of us would be able to spell them warmer. I’d hate for him to have a reminder of what he’s lost. This is supposed to fix things (at least a little), not make them worse. 

When I finally hear the bell from the lift, I stand up, my wings flaring out a bit. Then I think better of it (standing feels too formal) and sit back down. 

Baz comes into view, standing just inside the doorway. He’s wearing another suit. Charcoal grey, with a waistcoat, pink shirt and a burgundy tie. His hair hangs loose, in that way that’s supposed to look like it just fell that way, but probably took him forty-five minutes to get it just so. I try not to get too hung up about how good he looks. 

“Hi,” I say, looking up at him. (Now I wish I was standing.) I gesture for him to sit. 

His eyes flit between the coffee cup set in front of his seat and the one set in front of me. He looks back at me, narrowing his eyes. Fine. I expected him to be suspicious. 

“It’s a mocha. For you.” 

His eyes become even tinier slits. Christ. It’d almost be funny if I wasn’t so desperate for this plan to work. 

“Can you just sit, please,” I huff. 

He comes in finally, sitting stiffly in his chair. 

“What is this?” he asks. 

I roll my eyes. “I already told you. It’s a mocha.” 

“But why?”

I take a breath. 

“It’s a peace offering,” I say, keeping my tone peaceful, too. “Our last two meetings were…difficult.” 

Baz maintains eye contact with me, showing me he’s listening, but he doesn’t give away what he’s thinking. I choose my next words carefully. 

“I know we can’t really do anything about our history, but what we can do is try to make our time together as painless as possible.” 

He scoffs. “And you think that’s an option?”

I bite back a curse and keep my voice even. The way I do anytime a client gets upset. 

“We’re not teenagers anymore, Baz,” I say. “I think we’re more than capable of being civil to each other.” 

He eyes me warily, like he’s not quite convinced. 

“Friendly, even,” I add. 

His eyebrows raise in the center ever so slightly. Like he’s never considered I’d say those words. It’s such a subtle change, but he already looks softer. Open. I press on. 

“We haven’t seen each other in ten years. A lot has changed since then. You and I are both different people now. And there’s really no reason for us to slip back into old habits. To be at each other’s throats.” 

I see his expression shift and harden once more, and he opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not finished. 

“You know I read your file, Baz,” I say gently. “You did nothing wrong. You have every right to be upset, but taking it out on me isn’t going to change anything.”

He purses his lips for a moment, but I think that look means he’s considering all this. Like he’s given up the fight. 

I go on. “We’ve got a lot of appointments to get through over the next several months. It doesn’t have to be awful.” 

Baz is quiet, and I let him take it all in for a moment. I’ve said all I wanted to say, and even if it doesn’t fix what I want it to, I still feel loads better having laid it all out there. 

“Do you do this with all of your clients?” Baz asks. I can hear the sarcasm in his voice, but I can sense the curiosity beneath it. 

“No,” I answer honestly. 

“Come now,” he says, “You’ve never tried to bring a drink to a pretty girl?” 

I stare at him. The corner of his mouth quirks slightly. 

“I don’t hit on my clients, you prick,” I say with mock incredulity. 

“So you’re saying I’m special?” he offers. 

“I’m saying you’re a pain in my arse,” I say, smiling. He laughs and my shoulders relax a bit. Are Baz and I joking? I was hoping he’d accept my offer and be like, ten percent less icy with me. I was not expecting this. I like it. 

He straightens again. “Is this a one-time offer, or will it become a regular occurrence?” he asks, picking up the cup and taking a sip. 

“It can be a regular thing,” I say quickly. 

He pulls the lid off carefully and peers inside. 

“I prefer whipped cream on top,” he says, looking up through his eyelashes. He lifts an eyebrow in question. 

“Noted.” 

We get on with our regular check in after that. It feels safer that way. I suppose we could have spent a little more time chatting, but I don’t know if I could handle talking about normal things with Baz just yet. But even so, the momentousness of what just happened isn’t lost on me. 

We get through all of my questions with relative ease. (At least compared to how things were before.) He still bristles at the occasional invasive inquiry, but he’s forthcoming with his answers even if I can see it still makes him a little uncomfortable. Which is fair, and not much different from the way the rest of my clients behave. 

When we finish the last question, Baz’s face gets serious for a moment. It makes me worried for a split second. 

“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, lifting the cup in a cheers and giving me a small smile. 

I relax a bit. 

“‘Course.” 

His eyes are fixed on my desk, and he looks as though he wants to say more. He doesn’t have to. His calm demeanor says enough. 

I break the silence because I don’t know if I can handle whatever it is he wants to say to me. 

“Do you really wear that to work?” I ask. 

He looks up suddenly, blinking at me. 

“I’m a university professor, Snow,” he says, as if that settles it. “Of course I do.”

“A three piece suit?” 

His mouth twitches. 

“Does that seem so out of the ordinary?”

“Don’t remember any of my Uni professors dressed like that,” I admit, a grin on my lips. 

“Well, I take my job very seriously.” 

“It’s July,” I say. “You really get that dressed up for summer courses?” 

“I’m teaching a course on English language to international students,” he explains. “I want to make a good impression on them.” 

“On behalf of the country?” I say. “That’s awfully patriotic of you.” He’s ridiculous. I can’t stop smiling. 

He’s smiling, too. “Have you ever been abroad, Snow? Somewhere English isn’t spoken?” 

I roll my eyes. “English is spoken everywhere,” I say. “But yes,” I concede. 

“It can be overwhelming,” he says softly. “Being in a new place, hoping you have prepared enough. That you’ll be successful in your endeavors. My job is to prepare them for their courses in the fall. To make sure they have the tools they need. I want them to have complete confidence in me. To know they’re in good hands. Dressing the part is, admittedly, only a small part of that. But I like to think it helps.” 

I watch him, a bit mesmerized by that speech. I was just taking the piss before. Trying to lighten the mood. But I can’t help but be impressed. (He’s always been impressive. I shouldn’t be surprised.) 

I hear the sound of the lift, announcing my next appointment. It’s all I can do not to curse. Baz hears it, too. He stands, preparing to leave. I’m not ready for him to go.

I’m riding on the high of a successful mission and I find myself doing something impulsive. 

“Hey,” I say, “are you able to meet a little earlier next time? Say 8:30 instead of 9:00?” 

This is stupid. It’s quite an ungodly hour for an appointment, but I just want a little extra time with him. I envision padding our time together, giving us time to talk like this. I’m not afraid of it now. I want more of it. 

Baz looks at me searchingly. To my surprise, he answers, “Yes.”

“Cool,” I say, standing and feeling my tail whip around my legs. Thank Merlin I’m behind the desk and he can’t see it flailing about. 

“And I’ll bring your drink. With whipped cream,” I add. 

He smiles, nodding once. 

“Goodbye, Snow.”

The door to Penny and Shepard’s flat is unlocked when I arrive at theirs for dinner on Friday, so I let myself in. As soon as I open the door I can hear them bustling and talking animatedly in the kitchen. 

“I’m just saying, I would have bought tomatoes if I knew you were off pesto,” Shepard says. “What am I going to do with all of this basil?” 

“I’m playing the pregnancy card here,” Penny says. “Just thinking about the way pesto smells is putting me off.” 

“I’ll take the basil,” I say, shrugging off my coat and letting my wings free. 

“Do you even know how to make pesto?” Shepard asks, clutching the bunch of leaves protectively. 

“I’ll look it up,” I say, chuckling. 

He looks as though he’d rather not part with it, but he puts it back in the bag and sets it aside for me anyways. 

“Alright, Simon?” Penny asks. She’s standing at the island tearing lettuce leaves and setting them in a strainer. 

“Surviving,” I say, coming into the kitchen and leaning against a counter where I can stay out of their way. “We’ve got interviews next week for Prem’s replacement. So that’s good.”

“Finally!” she says. “Do any of the applicants seem like a good fit?” 

“I think so,” I say. “Though at this point, I’m desperate enough to take a warm body.” 

I watch Shepard rummage through a cupboard. “Do you want me to run back out and get tomatoes?” I ask.  

“Nope! Found some!” he says, brandishing a large tin. 

“How’re you two doing?” I ask, as Penny rounds the island and hands me a few carrots and a peeler. I grab a spare cutting board and get to work. 

“Finally starting to get some energy back,” Penny says, sighing a bit. “They say the second trimester is a lot easier, and I’m crossing my fingers that’s true, because that first leg was dreadful.” 

“Mmm,” I hum, glancing up and watching her properly. Penny had a rough go at the beginning. She was nauseated half of the time and knackered the other half. I didn’t really know much about pregnancy before this. Especially the early stages. I figured the hard part came when you were waddling about and complaining about your feet hurting. I knew from movies and stuff that it can make you sick up and all that, but I didn’t realise it happened almost right away. At least for some people, Penny tells me. And she wasn’t even telling that many people she was pregnant at the time. It had to be a bit of a mindfuck, feeling so shitty and having to evade inquiries she wasn’t ready to answer honestly. It sounds like things are easing up a bit, though. The nausea has more or less disappeared. Though certain smells and tastes still bother her. 

Penny cuts a long piece of French bread and starts smothering it with butter and minced garlic. She still doesn’t look very far along. Only the slightest bulge around the middle that most people probably wouldn’t even notice. But I often catch her rubbing her stomach idly. Almost as if it’s an unconscious gesture. 

“Don’t skimp on the butter,” I say, smiling at her. 

“Do I ever?” she says, hand on her hip. She doesn’t, bless her. 

“Am I being treated to another batch of Shepard’s homemade pasta?” I ask. 

“You know it, brother!” he answers, pulling a large bowl of fettuccine out of the fridge as proof. Penny bought him a pasta machine for his birthday, and he’s taken to the hobby with vigor. He’s cracking at it, too. 

“Excellent,” I say. 

“See, if I knew we were doing marinara, I’d have had it simmering a while ago. But I guess we’ll have to make do.”

Penny rolls her eyes at me when he can’t see, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“We can eat the salad and have a drink first,” I suggest. 

“That’s an excellent idea,” she says. 

I set the table while Penny brings over the salad and a bottle each of Pellegrino and cranberry juice. She pours a bit of both into glasses for all of us. This has become our substitute for wine the last few months. I don’t mind giving it up in solidarity. (I mean, it’s not like I don’t still drink. I just don’t do it while I’m with Penny.) 

Shepard finishes preparing the sauce and joins us while it simmers. 

“How’s work?” I ask him. “Did the artists take your suggestions for the orc design?” 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “They insist on keeping their skin blue. Plus, their teeth are all wrong, too. And don’t get me started on limb proportions. It’s like they have no interest in accuracy.” 

“Well they don’t, Shepard. They’re Normals. They don’t know that orcs exist,” Penny reminds him flatly (probably for the hundredth time), and passes him the salad bowl. 

He waves a hand dismissively, as if it’s irrelevant. 

Shepard works for a small video game studio that’s developing a new role playing game. It’s set in a complex mythical land that Shepard helps to write the lore for. It’s a perfect fit for him. Though he takes the accuracy of the magickal creatures very seriously. It’s a habit that makes it challenging at times when the other designers and artists try to share their own ideas. 

“Is it that hard to depict the merpeople with gills and webbed feet?” he’d asked me shortly after he started working there. “The Disney princess version promotes a narrow definition of beauty that’s harmful to the merperson community.”

“Do merpeople even watch movies? Or play video games?” I asked. “I mean, aren’t they usually underwater?” 

“I mean, yeah. Mostly,” he’d conceded. “But I still feel it’s my duty to at least try to push for proper representation.” 

It usually works out fine, even if he doesn’t always get his way. Shepard isn’t the type to make waves. Though he is passionate about the work. 

“You said they took your river sprite edits to heart, though,” I remind him. “That’s something.” 

“That’s true.” He smiles wistfully. “They couldn’t have turned out better if I’d drawn them myself.”

“They absolutely could,” Penny scoffs. “Because they are professional artists, and you can barely manage the sunset mural in the nursery.” 

“I’m being hyperbolic, obviously. But the point stands,” he says. “And the mural is coming along just fine, I might add.” 

“If by ‘just fine’ you mean taping pencil sketches and paint swatches to a blank wall, then yes, it sure is ‘coming along.’”

“I have a solid plan and five months until the deadline,” he says. “I’d say that’s ahead of schedule.”

“Please don’t call our due date a ‘deadline,’” she groans. 

I laugh, watching the two of them go back and forth. I remember feeling a little nervous when Shepard came back with us from our trip to America. I was in a shitty place myself, and I felt self-conscious about someone else coming into our orbit. I thought Penny was going to drift away from me. And that made me feel even shittier—that I was afraid of my best friend finding happiness because of what I might lose. 

I didn’t lose her, though. In fact, that whole trip to America was about getting me off the couch and out of a rut. (Penny’s thinly veiled references to my depression.) I mean, the trip was also about checking up on Agatha. (And eventually saving her from tech-bro vampires, as it turned out.) 

But when we got back, and when it was obvious to her that it hadn’t cheered me up as planned, she lovingly (and firmly) got on me about going back to therapy. It still makes my chest ache a bit, thinking about how she was falling for Shepard (and saving him from a cursed engagement to a demon!) and still she didn’t give up on me. In fact, once he went back to the states, Penny made room in her schedule to be home at the start of every therapy session. She’d hold my hand while I answered the video call, and then she’d bugger off to her room, or even leave our flat so I could have some privacy during the appointment itself. But she knew how likely it was I’d just skip the sessions if no one was on me, so she made it her mission to make sure I got the help I needed. 

Eventually, Shepard came to live with us, and while they never made me feel like a third wheel, within a few months I could see the writing on the wall. But by then I was in a good enough head space that I wasn’t scared to live alone. And they made a huge effort to keep me in their lives. 

“If you’re moving out, then you have to come round for dinner once a week. No excuses,” Penny had said. 

And here we are, six years later, and still having dinner almost every week. I love how easily they fit me into their lives. 

“How easily we fit Shepard into our lives,” Penny would correct me if I ever tried to get mushy about it. 

I can’t say I didn’t have new doubts that it would all change when Penny told me they were expecting. And to be fair, it should. They’re starting a family. Of course they’re not going to be able to sustain having their single friend over every week. 

Penny vehemently insists she still expects to see me just as often. “I need you to promise you’ll bring us takeaway,” she told me last week. “And then you can stay and hold the baby while I shower and Shepard washes the hippy cloth nappies he assures me we won’t regret buying.”

Maybe it’ll be fine. I could just be overreacting. They have asked me to be the baby’s godfather, after all. Penny even put me in charge of throwing her a baby shower. 

I’ve been meaning to talk to her about that. She sort of sprung it on me at the end of our phone conversation a few days ago, and we haven’t had a chance to properly discuss it. 

I decide now is as good a time as any to bring it up. 

“Don’t you think your mum or your sister would be better suited to this?” I say when she tries to brush off my concerns. 

“That’s extremely sexist of you to assume they’re the only ones capable, Simon,” she says. “They’re too busy anyways. Priya will be in the thick of her studies at Uni and you know Mum is working hard on her proposal for the new school site.” 

“Did your mum tell you about what happened at the last Coven meeting?” I ask, already getting distracted from my original goal when I started this conversation. 

“You mean how Jeremy ‘forgot’ it was supposed to be on the schedule and filled the time with other topics? Yes, I heard.” I grin at the sarcastic face she makes when she uses air quotes. 

“Yeah,” I say, “she wasn’t too happy about it when she saw the agenda.” 

“Mum thinks he’s trying to tire her out so she gives up.” 

I snort a laugh. “As if it’s that easy to outmaneuver Mitali Bunce.” 

“Exactly!” Penny agrees, brandishing her fork to emphasize her point. “Mum won’t be so easily dissuaded.” 

“Okay, but back to the baby shower,” I say, “are you sure you can’t be dissuaded from putting me in charge? Don’t you have any female friends who could volunteer?” 

“Again, sexist!” 

“Penny doesn’t have any female friends,” Shepard says through a mouthful of food, as he balances two serving bowls with the now finished garlic bread and pasta. “And she hates all of her female co-workers.” 

“I don’t hate them,” Penny sniffs. “I’ve simply reached my quota of interacting with them by the end of the day. I don’t need to spend any extra time with them than I already do.” 

Penny’s a barrister and works at a firm with other mages. They take both mage and Normal clients. They’re all super smart people, knowledgeable in both UK and magickal law. Penny likes and respects all of them well enough in a professional way, but she’s never exactly expressed any interest in being friends with them outside of work. 

Talking about Penny’s work reminds me of another question that’s been rolling around in my head. 

“Speaking of,” I say, “I have a legal question for you.” 

“Fire away,” she says, serving me a generous helping of pasta. 

“I keep thinking about Baz’s case, and the fact that it still hasn’t made it into The Record or anything. Do you think that might have been part of a plea agreement or something? That the Coven would keep it out of the press in exchange for his full cooperation?” 

Penny’s brow furrows like she’s thinking about it. 

“I suppose it’s possible they tried to negotiate something like that in the early proceedings,” she says slowly. “Though I doubt the Coven would have agreed to it. If he had a hearing, then it would have been open to the public. It’s sort of a foundational democratic principle.” 

“I still haven’t heard anyone talking about it though,” I say. What I don’t say is how uneasy it makes me. Like the other shoe is about to drop any day now. 

“Me either,” she says. 

“You lot really don’t talk about these things?” I ask. She knows what I mean, I’ve asked her this a few times already and her answer is always the same. 

“No, Simon. I don’t talk to barristers outside my firm about their client’s cases. We take confidentiality very seriously in our profession.” 

I knew her answer wouldn’t have changed, but I still couldn’t help asking all the same. 

Baz’s barrister, Alex Hawthorne, works for a rival firm that all of the Old Families use. They only take mage clients, and while Penny says that wouldn’t normally be enough to pay the bills, she acknowledges they probably charge their clients an arm and a leg. It baffles me that Baz would have paid through the nose to have representation at his hearing, only to decline making any defensive arguments. 

I want to ask Penny more questions, but she’s apparently gotten bored of this conversation, because she’s brought the topic of her baby shower back around. When we finish eating, she pulls out a legal pad and starts making lists for me to make my job easier. 

Shepard gently takes the pad and pen away from her, replacing them with an iPad. 

“Just make the lists in a spreadsheet, babe,” he says. “That’ll be easier.” 

By the end of the night, she emails me a Google sheet with six different tabs for guests, supplies, activities, gifts, RSVPs and To-Dos. My head is swimming with all of the details when I kiss her goodnight, but I’m honestly thankful for the distraction. I know the party’s weeks away, but at least it will give me something to do instead of constantly thinking about him. 

Mondays, as a general rule, are terrible. But today we’ve got interviews for Premal’s replacement (which, frustratingly, got pushed out an extra week because Stephen had to go out of town unexpectedly), so I’m in a particularly good mood. 

Baz had another appointment this morning, which is another reason I’m feeling upbeat, because things went a little better this time. I mean, it’s still proper awkward at times. But progress is progress.  

I scheduled him to come thirty minutes ahead of schedule. I didn’t mind the early start. I stopped to get us mochas again. (I was halfway up the block when I realised I’d forgotten the whipped cream and had to double back.)  It was actually a nice way to start the day, because we just sat and talked for the first bit. No interview questions. And no snide comments or icy cold shoulder from him either. 

He even looked more comfortable today. He still wore a suit. (Beige this time, no tie, and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top. I tried not to stare at the bit of chest hair that was visible.)

I made an idiotic comment when I saw his outfit. 

“Does that follow the school dress code?” I joked. 

Baz followed my eyes to his chest, then he looked back up at me, questioningly. 

My face immediately felt hot. Stupid, so stupid!  

He gave me a smirk that made me hide my face in my hands, then he finally broke the silence by explaining he didn’t have class today. 

“Well then why in Magic’s name are you wearing a suit?” I mumbled, looking up and trying to find somewhere to look that would let my face get back to normal. 

“I like to dress this way.” He was still smirking at me, the bastard. 

“Don’t you have, like, normal clothes?” I asked. “You don’t have to get so dressed up just to see me.” 

He raised his eyebrow to an impossible height at that. 

“Oh you think I dress this way for your benefit?” 

Merlin and Morgana, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole at that moment. I’m usually not this easily embarrassed, but something about Baz makes me feel utterly incapable of playing it cool. Something about the way he carries himself makes me feel…I dunno. Inadequate? That’s not quite it. But it’s close. 

He’s also dead handsome. I mean, I always knew he was good looking, even at school. Back then it used to make me angry. (I thought I was jealous.)

Now that I’m older, and have figured out that I’m attracted to both women and men, I can see how attractive he is. It’s downright distracting. (It definitely doesn’t help that I haven’t had a good shag in ages.) 

Not that I want to shag Baz. Merlin, can you imagine? Setting aside the fact that I’m his social worker, we’ve barely moved past hating each other. 

At least, I think Baz doesn’t hate me anymore. He agreed to meet me early today and didn’t seem to mind my attempts to chat about normal stuff. He told me about work and his family. I told him about Penny and Shep, and about finding Gran and Uncle Jamie a few years ago. He smiled and made the occasional joke. And even though things felt easier and less tense between us, he still seemed like he had his guard up. Like he didn’t quite want me to see everything. (Like he didn’t quite want me to see all of him.)

I mean, I get it. He’s been through something pretty traumatic. And being here with me is a reminder of that. I wish it wasn’t. I wish I could make him feel safe. I want him to trust me. Which is a tall ask, given everything we’ve been through. I know it will take time. Which is fine. I’m up for the task. 

Even with the extra half hour, it felt like our session went by quickly. When it was time for him to leave, I told him I’d probably be scheduling his next appointment in the afternoon, since I was expected to do a home visit next month. 

He frowned at that. “A home visit?” 

“Yeah. You knew that was part of the terms, right?” I felt myself mirroring his expression. 

“No, of course,” he said, shaking his head. “I just thought…I didn’t realise…” 

I looked at him helplessly. It was so fucking awkward. Just when things were getting marginally better, I had to remind him that we weren’t just old classmates catching up over a cup of coffee. He was here so I could make sure he was following the terms of his surveillance. 

He stood straighter, pulling back his shoulders. “It’s fine, Snow. I’ll see you then.” 

He hesitated for a moment, then thrust out his hand. I shook it, even though I felt like a berk. 

“Thank you for the coffee.” He made a little grimace then, almost imperceptibly. Then he was buttoning his jacket as he left. 

So yeah, things weren’t exactly easy between us, but at least we weren’t at each other’s throats anymore. Small victories, I suppose. 

I had a few more appointments after that, keeping me busy most of the morning. 

Now I’m in the conference room with Stephen, where we’ve just finished preparing for our long awaited interviews. 

Our first candidate is a woman named Ana. I remember liking her CV. She did some work previously on selkie habitat restoration, so she has some hands-on experience with magickal creatures. 

We go through the interview questions, and her answers are thorough and well prepared. 

“How would you prepare for a meeting with a client of a new species?” I read from the list. 

“Well I’m sure your department has various reading materials available and protocols in place,” she starts, “but I’ve always loved research, so I’d be happy to look more extensively for support materials, should we need it.” 

Excellent answer. I take a quick note on her file, as Stephen reads the next question on the list. 

“What would your approach be to dealing with a client who’s reluctant to share pertinent information with you?” 

“Building trust is paramount,” she says solemnly. “I’d make sure they knew I was there to support them. I’d also be very clear about the parameters of their surveillance, and what penalties could arise, should they neglect to be truthful. That way, they would know why it was important to be as forthcoming as they can be.” 

Hearing her answer these questions confidently and articulately makes me feel practically giddy. I’ve been treading water for so long, I’d probably be willing to take anyone at this point. But listening to Ana’s thoughtful answers makes me realise how crucial it will be to hire someone with the right attitude and experience. 

Just when I think things couldn’t be going any better, Stephen makes it all come crashing down. 

“And when all else fails, you can brandish a sword at them. Isn’t that right, Snow?” Stephen guffaws at his own joke. 

His comment twists in my stomach. 

Ana gives a weak smile, looking to me for confirmation. 

“It’s only a precaution,” I say. “You’ll have magic on your side, that should be enough.” Her eyes go a little wide at that. “But you honestly won’t need it,” I say, trying to reassure her. “By the time they get to us, our clients usually comply so they can get to the minimum level of surveillance without much fuss.” 

“That’s good,” she says politely, and I hope we haven’t scared her off. I could kill Stephen. 

Ana shakes both of our hands once we finish and I see her out. I kind of want to chew Stephen out a little, but I see our next candidate is sitting in the hall, so I let him in. 

When we enter the room, Stephen smiles widely at him.

“Adam!” he says, shaking his hand firmly. I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out why he looks familiar. Then I remember. He’s a friend of Stephen’s who interviewed to be a magickal law enforcement officer a few years back. He didn’t pass the spell portion of the test. (Not enough magic to handle the job.) 

We get started on the interview, and within a few questions, I’m far less impressed than I was with Ana. Stephen, on the other hand, seems extremely invested in Adam. I don’t understand why. Apart from their history, Adam appears to know next to nothing about our work, and what he lacks in knowledge he attempts to make up for with blind confidence. 

“How would you respond to a client who felt they’d been treated unfairly?” I ask, looking up from my list. 

“I’d tell ‘em tough luck,” Adam says. “They can take it up with the Coven.” He leans back, propping his elbow up casually on the back of his chair. My fists ball up reflexively in my lap. 

“How would you deal with a client who hadn’t complied with the terms of their surveillance?” Stephen reads. The question is intentionally vague in order to make the candidates think critically about the situation. It’s of course nuanced, and your answer would differ depending on a variety of factors. Adam, however, completely misses the point of the question. 

“Well then I guess it’s time for me to be a hard ass,” he says. “You can’t let these creatures walk all over you. Once you do, you won’t be able to show them who’s boss. We mages are on top for a reason. We can’t let them forget that.” 

I shoot out of my chair, causing both of them to stare at me in surprise. 

“I think we’ve heard enough, thanks,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll show you out.” 

I stomp across the room, yanking the door open and holding it for him. 

Adam looks between us, while Stephen just continues to stare at me with his mouth open. 

Finally, Adam stands and takes his leave. 

“We’ll call you, mate!” Stephen hollers after him. 

I let go of the door, and once it closes, Stephen lets me have it. 

“What the hell was that, Snow?” 

“Clearly Ana is the strongest candidate here,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Didn’t seem necessary to keep him here when he clearly wasn’t a good fit.” 

“Adam is my friend,” he says, raising his voice. “I asked him to come in today as a favour to me, and you were completely disrespectful.” 

“I was disrespectful? Did you hear the way he talked about our clients? Like they’re beneath us?”

 “They’re dark creatures, Simon!” He’s practically yelling now. “Of course they are! It’s in their bloody nature.” 

For a moment I’m stunned into silence. I don’t know what to say if he truly believes that. And who am I to say otherwise? How many creatures have I cut down over the years because the Mage told me they were a threat to us? How could I expect him to be any different? 

I cross my arms tightly and hold firm. 

“We’re hiring Ana,” I say, keeping the anger out of my voice. “She has the knowledge, the skills, and the belief in fairness and rehabilitation that is needed for this job. Full stop.”

Stephen works his jaw like he wants to keep telling me what a twat I’ve been, but I think he knows I’m right. 

“I’m the one who has to work with this person. And you owe me. I’ve been doing the work of two people for over a month. Let me hire Ana.” 

“Fine,” he says through his teeth. 

He starts gathering up his paperwork and a sudden thought pops into my head. 

“One more thing.” 

It’s probably a little reckless of me. It’s definitely crossing a line. But I don’t care. After everything Baz has been put through, I’m going to fix one thing for him. I’m getting Baz’s wand back. 

Chapter Text

Today feels like the first time in a long while that I’m not on the verge of exhaustion at the end of the day. We were able to hire Ana, and after some training time, she started to meet with clients on her own. I gave her a smaller caseload than myself to start, but just having her take some of the load off of me has really made a difference. 

So, yeah, this week has been pretty good. And even though it’s Friday, I’m happy I’m not dead to the world the way I have been lately at the end of the week. 

Although, to be fair, I’m not done working yet. I’m heading to Chelsea to do a home visit with Baz today. Which I am, admittedly, a little nervous about. I know everything will go fine and that there won’t be any real issues. I’ve lived with Baz before, so I know he’s neat as a pin. And until very recently, he was trying to keep his condition a secret. So I’m sure everything will be in order. 

But still, I can’t help remembering the way he stiffened when I mentioned the home visit during our last appointment. Things were going pretty well between us up to that point. He’d relaxed a bit. I even thought he’d become somewhat comfortable with me. (Which is such a head spin to think about. Baz and I, being at ease talking to each other. If you told seventeen-year-old me that we’d get to this point, I’d never believe it.) 

The bus I’m on pulls up to the stop I need, so I head to the door and get off. I use my mobile to find my way to Baz’s building. I’m about to look for how to buzz his flat when another resident exits the building and holds the door open for me. I nod my thanks and head inside. I grin, imagining how Baz would probably be appalled that one of his neighbors cares so little about security. 

When I get to his door, I hesitate for just a moment and my stomach twists a bit. I normally don’t worry too much about home visits. Especially with clients who are rule followers like Baz. I wish I had been able to get Baz’s wand back for him, but Stephen was hearing none of it. I think he was trying to right the balance between us when I put my foot down about hiring Ana. 

Still, if I had gotten it back and been able to give it to him today, perhaps it would have overridden any awkwardness triggered by the home visit.

I sigh, pushing the thought out of my head and knocking lightly on the door. (No need to bang, I know he can hear me.)

After a moment, the door swings open and there’s Baz, again in a suit. It’s the most over-the-top one yet. Navy, covered in a pattern of roses, light pink shirt underneath. He looks like he’s ready to go to a wedding. Or be photographed for GQ.  

I blink, realising I’m staring, and jerk my eyes back up to his face. 

“‘Lo,” I mumble. 

The corner of Baz’s eyebrow quirks ever so slightly. He takes a step back and gestures for me to enter. 

I step across the threshold and he closes the door behind me. I look around. It’s a nice flat. Large windows. Rich, deep colours on the walls and furniture. I expected the decor to be posh and expensive looking, but it’s surprisingly simple. Homey. 

I turn back to Baz. “Another teaching outfit?” I joke, trying to set a light tone. 

“I have an engagement later,” he says, looking down and picking a piece of lint casually off of his sleeve. 

Oh. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a Friday. He probably has a date or something. I feel my ears go pink.

I clear my throat. “Well, this probably won’t take long, then.” I try to give him a reassuring smile, but my facial muscles seem to be less than cooperative. I’m sure it comes off looking like I’m constipated. 

“Right,” he says. 

Merlin, this is awkward. Just what I was afraid of. But to my surprise, Baz offers to put the kettle on. 

“Tea would be great. Thanks,” I say, feeling relieved. 

He nods and disappears around the corner to the kitchen. 

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. I feel like I’m already failing him. Here I should be the one making him feel comfortable with my intrusion into his home, and yet he’s the one making tea. 

I take a seat at the dining room table and pull out my clipboard from my rucksack, setting it in front of me. I can hear Baz puttering around in the kitchen, mugs clinking and drawers opening and closing gently. It soothes my nerves a little, listening to a familiar task of making tea. 

“You can take your coat off if you’d like,” Baz calls from the kitchen. “No need to keep your wings under cover.” 

“Um, thanks,” I call back. I think for a moment if I’d rather keep them hidden, but I’m already feeling hot, so I go ahead and take it off. I stretch them both out carefully, then decide there’s no use leaving my tail smashed in my trousers either. I let it out, and it whips about a few times before settling down behind me. I’m glad I did this while Baz was out of the room. It’s sort of embarrassing to let my monster bits out while someone is watching. 

“Would you like milk or sugar in yours?” Baz calls again. 

“Both, please,” I respond. 

A moment later, Baz rounds a corner, holding two mugs. He sets mine down gently in front of me, then sits at the table opposite me. 

“You’d think after living together for eight years, I’d know how you took your tea,” he muses. 

“Seven years,” I correct him. 

He blinks at me for a moment before shaking his head. “Yes, of course. I knew that. Of course I knew that. I just…” he clears his throat. 

I wave him off. “Slip of the tongue, I’m sure,” I say, finishing his thought. “And it’s not like we ever shared meals together or anything.” 

He gives me a funny look. Clearly, I’m making it awkward again. He was just making an idle comment, trying to break the ice, and here I am making it weird. We said we wouldn’t do this. Revert back to teenage fights. Although I’m hardly fighting. And I didn’t mean it as a dig or anything. Just stating the facts. 

“You went back and finished your eighth year, yeah?” I ask, trying to keep things friendly. 

“Yes.”

“Must’ve been nice. Having our room to yourself,” I say, giving him a small smile. 

“It was…quiet,” he says, gazing down at his hands clasped around his mug. That’s polite of him. Not to brag about how much easier his life was without me there. 

“Bet you got a lot more studying done. Without me there practicing my sword work in the middle of the room.” 

He looks up and catches me grinning at him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Well, since you brought it up, now I have to know. Did you do that while I was studying just to annoy me?”

“I mean, I was supposed to be practicing. It’s not my fault the space was small.” 

He narrows his eyes at me. “You haven’t answered my question.” 

I think about it for a moment, screwing my face up exaggeratedly. “I may have, occasionally, pulled it out at inopportune times.” 

He continues to glare at me. Staring me down and willing me to come clean. 

I cave. “Honestly, when you weren’t there, I would go down to the lawn to practice. More room.” 

“I knew it!” he shouts, pointing his finger at me. 

I laugh, throwing my head back in glee at his reaction. 

“Okay, but it’s not like you weren’t constantly trying to annoy the shit out of me, either!” 

“That sounds very undignified and not at all like me,” he sniffs, crossing his arms and sitting back cooly. 

“Oh yeah fucking right!” 

He lifts a shoulder while sipping his tea in a casual you-can’t-prove-anything gesture. So of course I accept the challenge. 

“What about that time in fifth year you kicked a football straight at my head?” 

“It’s football,” he says, dragging out the word. “The ball flies all over the place. It’s a risk you assume when you play.” 

“I wasn’t playing! I was sitting in the stands!” 

“And probably glaring at me the entire time.”

“So you admit you did it on purpose,” I say, taking my chance to be the one pointing a finger in his face. 

He bats my hand away. “I admit to nothing.” 

“What about all those times you spelled my shoelaces together in first year?” 

“If you had been able to spell them knotted in the first place, I’d never have been able to do it. I was merely giving you an education in the importance of basic spell work.” He grins at me wickedly and I can’t help but laugh. 

He’s such an arse. It’s weird, being able to look back and laugh at things that used to outrage me as a kid. I can see it for what it was now. A stupid rivalry, spurred on by adults who should have known better, that we dealt with the only way we knew how. By pulling hair and kicking shins. 

I can see that now because I can see him now. At least, what he’s willing to show me. Even if it isn’t all of him. I know how much he loves and is devoted to his family. It’s no wonder he did whatever they asked him to. It was the same with me and the Mage. I assume he can see how wrong that was, looking back as an adult. Even without all of the therapy I’ve had, I can see the way I was manipulated to serve an agenda I never should have been asked to do as a child. Baz was basically in the same position. 

“I think you’ve got top billing in the prank department, for the polecat incident,” Baz says, pulling me out of my own head. 

“My crowning achievement,” I say, lifting my mug in mock cheers. 

Baz scoffs. “How on Earth could you think that? It urinated all over your clothes as well.” 

“Collateral damage,” I say, shrugging. 

“You really are incredibly thick, Snow.” 

“Okay but what about the way you constantly flirted with my girlfriend for three years? I know you weren’t really interested in her.”

He raises an eyebrow in question. “How could you know that?”

“Because you’re gay!” I practically shout, stating the obvious. 

He looks a bit taken aback. “What makes you say that?” 

Fuck. Fuck. I guess he hasn’t outright told me that. How do I explain knowing that without giving away that I’ve stalked him on Instagram far too much? 

“I mean,” I gesture at him with my hand, as if his outfit (and, well, everything about him) explains it. (And honestly, it kind of does.)

“Plus, you know the World of Mages is small. You’ve come up over the years.” I busy myself with drinking my tea and praying it was the least creepy thing I could have said. Thankfully, he just hums quietly in acknowledgement.

“I suppose you’re right there,” he acquiesces. “I was never interested in Wellbelove.” 

I’m a little surprised he admitted it so freely when his schtick so far has been to deny or deflect. I kind of want to tell him how shitty that was. To have used her that way. That had to have been his reason. He must’ve just been trying to get a rise out of me. But we promised we wouldn’t open old wounds, and though we’ve been lightheartedly dancing around our past, I think that would be crossing the line. Plus, judging by the tone of his voice, I think he knows it was an awful thing he did. No use rubbing his nose in it when he already gets it. 

“Well I did break your nose,” I say, “guess that makes us even.” 

“You permanently altered my body, Snow. I’m not sure my fake flirting warranted that.” He furrows his brow, but his eyes remain soft. I think he might actually be asking me if I forgive him for the way he treated Agatha. It’s what I meant when I said we were even. I guess we’re both dancing around it, not saying what we actually mean. 

“It’s a good thing we’ve agreed to play nice, then,” I say. I smile at him and see his brow relax. There. I think he gets it. That I forgive him. I hope he forgives me, too. Maybe we’ll be able to talk about it all again one day and say the things that are coded underneath our words. But for now, this feels good. 

“Let’s rip the bandaid off, shall we Snow?” He nods at my clipboard. “What all does this visit entail? Do you need to see inside my medicine cabinet? Poke through my bedside drawer?” 

“Merlin, no,” I say. I laugh and silently curse him for saying that last thing, because now I am thinking about what he might keep there. “Nothing like that. I’m not actually allowed to open any drawers or closets or anything. You can just give me a tour.” 

“That’s it?” he asks. 

I nod. “Yup,” I say, popping my p. 

“And what exactly are you looking for? If you don’t mind me asking.” He takes another sip of tea casually. I wonder if he’s really feeling relaxed, or if he’s just putting on airs. 

“I’m supposed to check if my clients are managing their lives well, or if there’s anything that’s cause for concern. From what I can already see, your home looks clean and orderly and your basic needs look taken care of. That’s really all I need to see.”

“What kind of things would be concerning? Virgins hidden in the pantry for a late night snack?” He’s smirking, but he’s watching me carefully. He doesn’t need to worry. He’s going to pass this check with flying colours.

 As uncomfortable as it is to talk to Baz about the parameters of his parole, I’m not going to beat around the bush. It’s too important, and I want him to be fully informed so he can get through every step of this process easily. 

“Hopefully, your flat is virgin-free. But, yeah, anything that would suggest a client isn’t following the orders of their surveillance would be cause for concern. Or anything that suggests illegal activities, not being able to take care of themselves or their dependents, that sort of thing.” 

His eyebrows raise at that, like he’d never really thought about my other clients having families. 

“Most of my clients do fine with home visits. Especially when they have advanced warning.” I pause and look down at the mug in my hands. “But occasionally, I see people who are really struggling, even if they’ve been able to pass all of their interviews with ease. Sometimes they need help. And in those instances, I feel fortunate when I find that out. Because then there’s a chance that I could be of use to them.” 

I glance back up and see Baz sitting very still, giving me his full attention. 

“I don’t think,” he starts in a soft voice, then stops. He takes a breath and tries again. “I don’t think I really understood the scope of your job until just now.” 

He’s eyeing me like he’s trying to solve a jigsaw, and the full picture is just starting to come into focus. It makes my face flush a bit, being subjected to his intense, grey stare. I decide to shift gears because I can’t really stand it much longer. 

“Thought I was just here to bust your balls, didn’t ya?” I say, standing and grabbing my clipboard in one hand. I slap it down on my opposite palm, making a loud clapping sound. 

He lets out a breathy laugh and stands, too. 

“Do you have a quota for how long you can be a professional before devolving into a twelve-year-old?” 

“Three minutes. But only with you.” I give him a wink and a finger gun, which elicits a heavy eye roll from him, but he’s still grinning all the same. 

Baz gives me a tour of his flat, and I follow behind him. I enter each room after him, but stand close to the doorway to signal my goal to be as polite and non-invasive as I can be. 

It’s a nice place. He treats me as if I’m a normal houseguest. He says it was his Aunt Fiona’s until a few years ago. She gave it to him when she and her boyfriend bought a new place together. 

“She was quite the slob,” he tells me. “So I’ve had to do a lot of repairs on things she neglected. Got new carpet put in, new paint and window dressings. I had the bathroom completely redone because it looked like a nuclear fallout when she left.” 

The bathroom is really lovely. Beautiful white tiles and gold fixtures, which is something I would have thought would look naff, but here it looks good. 

His bedroom is last, and when I realise it’s next, I feel a familiar twist in my stomach. I always hate having to enter my client’s bedroom. It’s such a personal, intimate thing, seeing someone else’s bed. I don’t even like seeing anyone’s beds for that matter. (Unless I’m being invited to join them in their bed.) 

But once I follow Baz through the doorway, I’m overwhelmed with a strangely comforting feeling. It takes me a minute to figure out why. It reminds me of our room back at Watford. It looks almost nothing like it. Though there’s a photo of his mother on the dresser I recognize. But there’s a feeling that I get, just standing here, that brings back old memories. His bed, neatly made, with far too many pillows. The extra throw blanket on the end, just like at school. And when I take a deep breath, it smells like our room. Cedar and bergamot, still, after all these years. 

I realize Baz is talking. Something about what a disaster it was to get the armchair up the stairs when he moved in. I’m not really listening, I’m feeling foggy and sentimental and embarrassed all at the same time. I start backing out of the room, which probably seems rude since he’s still in the middle of his story, but I need a change of scenery so I can get a grip on myself. 

“It all looks really great, Baz,” I say, as I head back into the living room. 

He follows me out quietly and I’m not sure if it's because he’s finished his story, or because I interrupted him by practically bolting out of there. When he comes around the corner into the room, I can see he’s looking at me oddly, so I turn and point at one of his family photos to attempt to shift his attention. 

“Are these your siblings?” I ask. “They grew up fast, didn’t they?” 

He looks at the photo and smiles. “Yes. It's so rude how they do that.”

“Who’s this one? I only remember your sisters.”

“That’s Swithin.” 

I remember now that Baz’s step mum was pregnant my last year at Watford. It’s weird, hearing about things I’ve missed. Especially since I would have, had I stayed for my last year. If everything hadn’t been completely blown to shit. 

“He’s turning nine today,” Baz says, jarring me back to the present. 

“Wait,” I say, holding up both hands in front of me. “Is that your engagement tonight?” 

“Yes?” he says, looking at me like he doesn’t understand my shock. 

“You’re dressed in a suit for a child’s birthday party?” I ask incredulously. I know this seems to be a running joke between us about the way he dresses, but he has to admit this is massively extra. Even for him. 

Baz stands up straighter, like he’s accepting my challenge. 

“His party isn’t until next week. Tonight is just dinner with family.”

My eyebrows still raise in question, because even though that’s marginally better, it still seems extreme. 

He sighs. “Nine is a big year in our family. Swithin gets his magickal instrument tonight.” 

Oh. That is a big deal. I often forget about this kind of thing since I didn’t grow up with magic, but now that he says it, I remember Penny telling me she got her ring when she turned nine, too. I think it’s pretty common for families to give their children their instruments when they’re old enough to be responsible with learning a few basic spells. 

“That’s really exciting,” I say honestly. “You’ll have to tell Swithin congratulations for me.” Which is a daft thing to say, since I’ve never met him, but it still feels like I need to acknowledge how important this is for Baz and his family. 

He grins. “I’ll pass your well wishes on to him.”

“That had to make it hard for you to get him a gift, then,” I say, smiling. “Anything else must pale in comparison to that.” 

I watch a shadow pass over his face. I don’t know why I said it like that. I was only making a joke. I hope I haven’t upset him with my thoughtless comment.

“Well,” he starts carefully, “I had planned to teach him his first spell. But that’s not really in the cards now, so…” He trails off and gives a little shrug. The gesture is so casual, as if it’s a small thing he’s lost. It’s not. It’s a very big thing. 

“Baz, that’s…I’m…” I fumble for my words. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.” 

“My parents let me teach each of my sisters their first spell.” He looks at his family’s photo as he speaks. “It’s become sort of a tradition. I can’t help but feel I’ve let him down.” 

That hits me, low in my gut. Because I feel like I’m the one who’s let Baz down. I should have tried harder to get his wand back. I could have given it to him tonight. Right now! Instead, Baz has to watch as someone else teaches his youngest sibling his first spell, when he’s been expecting to do it himself for years. 

“You haven’t let him down, Baz,” I say, because I can’t not say something. Even though I don’t know whether it will help. 

He looks at me then, and for a moment he seems so unguarded. Vulnerable in a way he’s never shown me. I want to reach out and take his hand. Hold it to my chest until his worries float away. 

Then his face shifts. His brow smooths and his mouth quirks up in a humorless smirk. His defenses are back up again. 

“I suppose I’ll just have to get him a sports car for his eighteenth birthday to make up for it,” he drawls, turning back to face the photo on the wall so he doesn’t have to look at me. 

He’s trying to make a joke, but I know he’s deflecting from what he’s actually feeling. I wish he felt like he didn’t have to do that. That he could just be open and honest with me. I know it’s killing him not to be able to use magic. It’d be killing him even if it wasn’t his little brother’s birthday. He could admit that to me, if he wanted to. He could talk to me. I could be there for him, if he’d let me. 

But I’m not going to press him. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t make him. 

I wish there was something else I could say that could make him feel better, but before I can think of something to say, he glances down at his watch. 

“I should let you get on with your evening,” I say. 

He hums in polite agreement and I take that as my cue. 

We cross the room in silence to where my things are. He stands next to me while I pack up my clipboard and put on my coat. I hate this awkwardness that keeps slipping in between us. It nearly suffocates me as I make my way to the door, and I want to do something, anything, to relieve this feeling. 

I turn hastily, just before I get to the door and Baz stops short from where he was following to see me out. I open and close my mouth like a goddamn fish trying to think of what to say. I can feel the emotions roiling in my gut and before I can filter my thoughts they all come tumbling out. 

“You deserve better than what the Coven has put you through.” 

Baz’s eyes go wide and I look down at his chest to avoid seeing him stare at me like I’m some sort of lunatic. 

“I know it’s not really my place to say, but it was wrong of them to take your wand and ban you from using magic.” I feel my brow furrow and my breathing get heavy and I barrel through the rest before I lose my nerve. 

“I’m going to try to do better for you, Baz.” I gaze up at him then, meeting his eyes and not looking away. “I’ll be better. I promise.” 

Baz just stands still for a moment, watching me. I can see his chest moving slowly as he breathes in and out. Finally, he lets out a faint laugh through his nose, and his eyes flick away suddenly. 

“Why are you saying all of this? Why now?” It’s not accusatory. There’s no malice behind his words. He genuinely wants to know. 

“Because I’m your social worker,” I say without thinking. “And because it’s the right thing to do.” 

His eyes meet mine again. “I thought maybe you’d say it’s because we’re friends now.” 

I grin. “That, too. Although, officially we’ll say it’s the other reasons.” 

He huffs a laugh, and it almost sounds as though he was holding his breath. I watch him carefully for just a moment. I have no idea if I’ve made any of this better or worse, but I think he might believe me. That I want to do better for him. 

I smile at him one last time before reaching for the door. 

“See you in two weeks?” 

He nods, and I give a wave as I close the door behind me. 

When I get to the bus stop I make a feeble attempt to clear my head by focusing on the sounds of traffic around me. I take deep breaths as the cars whoosh past me. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. All I can think about is Baz and his brother and his wand and how I’ve let him down. I told him I’d do better. 

When the bus arrives, I realise it’s not even the bus I need to get me home to Camberwell. I’m so distracted I walked to the stop that would take me back to the Coven building. Instead of correcting my error, I get on. 

Once I’m seated, I pull out my mobile and text Shepard to see where he is. He tells me he and Penny are at her parents’ house for dinner but they’re just finishing now. 

Shepard: What’s up?

Simon: Can you give me a ride somewhere? It’s kind of important

Shepard: Say no more my friend

A sense of relief runs through me and although it doesn’t completely unknot the mess that’s in my stomach it helps a bit. I ask Shepard to meet me at work and he says he’ll be there as soon as he drops Penny off at home. Good. That’ll give me time to do what I need to do. 

When I get to the Coven building I head to the lift, hoping that Stephen is still here. Most of the offices are already pretty deserted. There’s probably a fifty-fifty chance he’s left for the day. As the doors slide open on the third floor I can see his door is propped open and the light is still on. When I get there, he’s standing behind his desk, packing up his things. He glances up when he notices I’m in the doorway. 

“Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait until Monday,” he says, as he continues to clean up. 

“This is important,” I say. “And it’ll only take a minute.” 

He eyes me warily for a moment before responding. 

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not true?” 

I ignore his comment and press on. “It’s about Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s wand. I want—“ 

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “No, no, no. We’ve already talked about this. It’s not our jurisdiction. I’m not stepping over the Coven. He’ll just have to wait until his next hearing.” 

“They shouldn’t have taken it in the first place! And I know you have access to contraband storage.” 

“That’s not for you to judge,” he says, leaning onto his desk with one hand while he points at me with the other. “And also, a vampire with a wand is unprecedented. This is not a simple thing you’re asking for.” 

“There’s been exactly one vampire mage in half a century,” I growl. “And any that may have existed before that were probably slaughtered.” I can feel myself starting to get upset. We’re basically rehashing the same argument we had last time I brought this up. And that got us nowhere. 

“And that mage got his wand taken!” Stephen’s voice is rising, but I’m already in this too deep. I’m not giving up now. 

“You’re comparing an adult who chose to be Turned, to someone who was attacked as a child.” I grit my teeth because holding Baz to the same standards as Nico is reprehensible. “They are not the same thing.” 

“He’s not a child now, though, is he?” Stephen’s willing himself to calm down, but instead of his voice returning to normal, it’s now low and menacing. “And regardless of how he was Turned, he broke the law when he hid from the Coven. He had seven years since the Department of Magickal Creature Management was created, and he never came forward.” 

“And does the punishment fit the crime? Was he caught using his thrall on people? Casting victims frozen in place so he could feed on them? No. He was caught drinking from rats in an alley. He’s done nothing except tried to live his life in peace!” I’m pacing now and I can feel my dragon appendages thrashing beneath my clothes. It’s hot in here with my coat on and I can feel myself starting to sweat. 

Stephen watches me move around his office. He looks like he’s inspecting a caged animal. He speaks softly, like he’s got said animal cornered. 

“What is it about him, hmm?” His mouth twists into a sneer. “You’ve never got this worked up about a client before.” His eyes flash for a moment. “ Has he used his thrall? On you, perhaps?” 

“Oh, sod off!” I shout, turning and glaring at him. Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that. I know he’s being a prick, but telling off my boss is the last thing I should be doing. 

He’s still watching me, eyes wide with shock now. We don’t do this, he and I. I don’t argue with him. At least, not like this. Shouting and pressing him on things he’s already put his foot down about. He’s not used to me standing up to him. 

I think about apologizing for that last outburst, but if I do, it might look like I’m backing down. I’m not backing down. 

“Look,” I try again, my hand fisted in my hair, “I’ll fully take the blame if the Coven gets angry, but this situation needs to be corrected. I truly think they grossly overstepped, and I’m simply advocating for my client. And if I don’t, no one will.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s overstepping here,” he says, but he already sounds as if his resolve to keep arguing with me is breaking. 

I pull out my last card, praying it works. I straighten up and let my hands fall to my sides. 

“Either I leave here with his wand, or I don’t come back.” 

The silence between us is heavy. I can tell he’s trying to see if I’m serious. I don’t break eye contact. I really do mean it, and I think he knows it. I’m sure he’s weighing his options. Let me quit and be stuck with a brand new hire to manage the entirety of the department, or let a subordinate deliver an ultimatum and win. 

The Mage was always big on hierarchy, even as he attempted to dismantle the archaic systems that preceded him in favour of more democratic means. Stephen was cut from the same cloth. He plays a good game around here, politicking and trying to assure everyone he’s completely on board with how the Coven has revamped things over the last decade. But I know he’s one of the Mage’s Men at heart. Still, I know he doesn’t want to be seen as inept, and having one of the departments he oversees crumble from under him is probably undesirable. 

I jut my chin out, letting him know this is a hill I’ll die on. 

Finally, he lets out a long breath, shaking his head. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a key at the end of a long chain. 

“I’m not going around the Coven’s decision, so if you want to go find his wand, you’re doing it on your own. I won’t be going down for your actions.” 

He holds the chain out for me over the desk, but when I reach for it, he snatches it back. 

“And no more ultimatums,” he adds. “After this, you’ll be the model employee.” He eyes me with one brow raised. 

“Fine,” I acquiesce. 

He continues to hold the key out of reach for a moment longer, but once he decides I’m sincere, he hands it over. 

“I hope this is all worth the mess you're making,” he says, as I head to the door. 

I look back over my shoulder. “It is.” 

My foot is bouncing so hard it’s actually shaking Shep’s truck while we’re stopped at a traffic light. I can see him eyeing me every now and then, but he doesn’t ask where we’re going. All I told him when he picked me up at work was that I needed a ride to Hampshire. I know I’m going to need to give him more specific directions to get to Pitch Manor (and then I’ll need to explain why we’re going there) but I don’t think I can funnel all of my thoughts into succinct sentences just yet. 

I could have taken a train to Hampshire, and then probably gotten an Uber to Baz’s family’s house. But I asked Shepard to take me because I wanted someone to talk to during the long ride. Partly, I just want someone to back me up. To assure me I’m doing the right thing and not blowing up my career over this. And maybe I haven’t. Maybe the Coven will just give me a stern talking to and leave it at that. The truth is I don’t really know what they’ll say or do, because I’ve never done anything like this before. I follow the letter of the law and ensure my clients do the same. I never question things. Never stand up against their decisions. But I know in my bones that this was an injustice. I know they got it wrong this time. And if no one is going to stand up for Baz, then I will. 

When we merge onto the motorway I shun my coat and let my wings spread in the limited space of the cab. They’re probably still somewhat visible if someone looked over, but at this point, I don’t care. If I left them tucked up for the whole ride I think I’d have a proper panic attack from feeling so claustrophobic. I usually do fine with my wings folded up like origami when they need to be, but when I’m stressed I literally can’t stand it. 

“You’re gonna love the hatchback we’re buying next month,” he says. “Way more space for your wings.” 

I smile, grateful for the distraction and the easy topic of conversation. 

“I hope you don’t plan on sitting me in the back with the baby,” I say. “These spikes are sharp.” I flare out my wing and tap him with it to emphasize my point. 

He chuckles. “You’ll be fine. We trust you.” 

“I can’t believe you’ll be selling this truck soon,” I say, changing the subject, because I don’t think I can do emotions right now. “It’s like the end of an era.”

“Eh, what can you do.” He shrugs. “We’re turning into parents soon. We’ll become sensible and boring as is the natural order of things.” 

I shake my head. “Nah. You’ll be the cool mum and dad. I can already tell.” 

“Am I the kind of cool dad you can tell anything to?” he asks. “Like, say, why we’re going to Hampshire at the last minute on a Friday night?” 

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Might as well get on with it, then. 

“We’re going to Baz’s house,” I say. “Well, his family’s house. I’m…I’m giving him back his wand.” 

I watch his eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline, but he keeps his voice neutral when he says, “Oh?” 

“Yeah.” 

I’d already told him and Penny about trying to get his wand back after my last attempt, so he’s already heard my rants against the system. He also knows I’m not one to make waves at work, and that I take the boundaries between myself and my clients very seriously. I can see the wheels in his head turning, trying to figure out what he should say. So I make an attempt at explaining. I tell him about my home visit with Baz and finding out about his brother’s birthday and its significance. Then I tell him about my conversation with Stephen and the ultimatum I gave him. He listens quietly through my whole recap. It makes it easier to get through, without worrying about his reaction.

“It isn’t fair what they did to him,” I finish softly. “I’m only trying to make things right. It’s my job to protect him.” 

“Is it?” he asks gently. 

I turn and look at him, brow furrowed. “Yes, it is.” 

“I just mean,” he tries again, “do you think it’s within the scope of your job to go around the Coven’s decision and threaten to quit if you don’t get your way?” He asks the question without judgement, like he really wants me to consider this for myself, no matter what he might think. 

I cross my arms. “I just didn’t see it working out any other way.” 

“And having Baz wait until his next hearing wasn’t an option?” 

“That’s months away!” I say, as if that explains everything. 

“But aren’t you at all afraid this might jeopardize his case?” 

His words sting. I hadn’t thought of that. I thought I’d be able to take the blame and shield him from any repercussions. But what if the Coven takes this out on him? What if it complicates things for him even further? 

I push the creeping doubt aside. 

“I’ll take full responsibility,” I say firmly. “It was my call. He didn’t ask me for anything. I won’t let this touch him.” 

Shepard shakes his head and he looks sad. “For his sake, I hope you’re right.” 

When we get close, I type in the address I looked up from Baz’s file. It’s ludicrous how much information they had him put in there, but I’m grateful he was required to put down the addresses for every residence he’s ever lived in. Otherwise, I don’t know how I would have been able to get this address. I suppose Gran might’ve had it, but that would have opened a whole can of worms I wasn’t prepared to delve into at the moment. 

We find the house easily enough. Shepard pulls into the long driveway and tells me he’ll wait in the truck. 

I really am grateful he drove me, even if it was tough to hear some of the things he had to say. I’m even less sure I’m doing the right thing now, but I still feel a tugging sensation in my gut, even after everything. It reminds me of the Crucible, and how it brought me to him when we were kids. It’s like that now. A compulsion. It’s gnawing at my insides, and I don’t think it’ll be sated until I make things right. Even if it causes more trouble. 

It’s late now, and I wonder if I’ve missed the window to get his wand to him. I just wanted him to be able to teach Swithin his first spell. To have that moment that I know means so much to him. 

The doorbell rings faintly, and I wait anxiously with his wand tucked in my back pocket. 

The door swings open, and thank fuck it’s Baz because I don’t know how I’d explain being here if it was anyone else. The shock on his face is almost comedic. It reminds me of the way it looked the day he pushed me down the stairs. (I always maintained he did it on purpose, but I knew from that look it was an accident.) 

“Snow, what are you doing here?” 

I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist and tug him across the threshold. 

“I just needed to bring you something,” I say, as I back down the steps and onto the gravel driveway. I want to make sure we’re out of earshot of his family, even though I doubt anyone could hear us. That foyer looked huge. 

He stares at my hand around his wrist the whole way. When it feels like we’re a safe distance from the house, I let him go. 

“Here,” I say, reaching behind me and pulling out his wand. I hold it out to him, and his eyes go even wider. 

“How did you…? Why are you…?” When he can’t finish his sentence he just stares at his wand in my palm. Even in my anxious state, I can still appreciate the humor in Baz Pitch not being able to get his words out. That was always my problem. 

“Am I too late?” I ask. 

He’s still not taking his wand. He’s just been staring at it. He looks up at me now. “Late for what?” 

“Did someone else teach Swithin his first spell?” I say. I shove his wand further toward him. 

He looks from it to me again. 

“No,” he says finally. “We were waiting until sunset to give him his instrument.” I can see the sun sinking just below the horizon behind him. I couldn’t have cut it any closer if I tried. 

“Take it,” I say. “You deserve to carry on the tradition.” 

He reaches out and grasps his wand, his long fingers caressing my palm as he picks it up. 

“Is this…” He pauses and then tries again. “Am I really allowed to have this back?” He watches me carefully, like he’s holding his hope at bay. 

“Of course you are,” I assure him. “You’ve been the model of a magickal citizen. And it shouldn’t have been taken from you in the first place.” 

That gets his attention, and he looks as though he wants to ask what I mean. 

I wave a hand. “Let me worry about the Coven. I made an executive decision for a client in my care.” 

I see the worry and confusion on his face. 

“So I’m not supposed to have this?” He holds it out toward me in question. 

I wrap his fingers back around it with both of my hands and hold them there for emphasis. 

“You are. Because I’ve decided. You won’t get in trouble. I promise.” I probably shouldn’t be assuring him, because I don’t actually know that. I only know I’ll fight tooth and nail to make it true. 

He looks down at my hands wrapped around his and when his eyes meet mine again they’re shining slightly in the fading sunlight. 

He clears his throat. “Thank you, Simon. You don’t know what this means to me.”

I do know. But I don’t say that. I nod, and let go of his hands. I feel the tugging in my gut slowly dissipate. The tension leaves my shoulders, and I finally feel like I can relax for the first time in four hours. 

I gesture to Shepard waiting in his truck with my thumb over my shoulder. “I should go. You should get back to your family.” 

I start to turn but he reaches out and grabs my arm. 

“Stay,” he says, and I feel my mouth drop open because I was not expecting that. 

I shake my head. “No, this is your family’s special night. And my friend is waiting for me.”

“I want you to,” he says, still gripping my arm. “And I know Swithin would, too. He’d be ecstatic to see your wings.” 

I groan a laugh. Kids really do love them. 

“Your friend can stay, too,” he says, and that really does surprise me, because Baz doesn’t even know him. 

“That really does sound like we’d be intruding,” I say. “Plus, he’s a Normal.”  

“Oh,” Baz says, and I feel his grip loosen a bit, but he still doesn’t let go. I don’t know why, but I like it. I like that he’s got a hold on me. And that he’s inviting me to stay (even though it feels like it isn’t my place to be here). I like that he called me Simon, too. I think I just like him. 

“He’s marrying Penny, so he knows all about magic. But I still don’t think we should crash your brother’s special day.” 

“Then you both should stay,” he says, as though explaining that Penny’s entrusted him with magickal secrets means all is well. 

“I don’t know,” I say, but Baz smiles at me like he can tell I’m about to give in. 

“Is that Simon Snow?!” A childish voice calls out from the house and I see the front door wrench open. A boy wearing a suit is ogling me with a huge grin on his face. He doesn’t really look like Baz, except for the widow’s peak, but something about the way the suit fits on his tiny body reminds me of Baz from our first year at Watford. He’s tall and lanky, but he’s got a confident sense of self that’s apparent as he walks down the stairs and starts toward us. 

Baz turns and grins at me. 

“You’re not going to disappoint the birthday boy, are you?” 

I laugh and shake my head. 

“Suppose not.” 

I gesture for Shepard to join us as Baz’s brother hops around us excitedly. 

Shepard’s boots crunch as he exits the cab and Swithin asks a thousand questions without pausing to wait for me to answer. But the only sound I seem to want to focus on is Baz’s laughter as he beams at his brother. 

And it finally feels like I’ve set something right. 

Chapter Text

I am such a fucking idiot. 

I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I must have gone temporarily insane or something, because I’ve just gone and texted Baz from my personal number. (As if I haven’t crossed enough client boundaries as of late.) 

I’d just found a form I forgot to have Baz sign, and even though it’s technically past due, no one ever comes and looks at this stuff. So it’s not like it couldn’t have waited until his next appointment in a week. (Ten days. But who’s counting.) 

Also, the appropriate line of contact would have been a phone call or email, either of which would have needed to come through official channels. Not through a fucking text. From my own fucking phone.

I’ve been distracted this week. I can admit that. I keep replaying the dinner with Baz and his family in my head. But that doesn’t mean I should have gone and texted him. 

I think that it keeps popping into my head because I honestly enjoyed myself more than I thought I would. I mean, Baz and I have been getting on alright, but I had no idea how his family would react to Shepard and I crashing their party. But to my surprise, they were all lovely. 

Baz’s sisters showed the same enthusiasm for me and my wings as Swithin. (Well, his eldest sister, Mordelia, seemed less impressed. Which is why I humored her when she dared me to fly to the roof. Her jaw actually dropped when I gave the weather vane a spin with my tail.) (Baz’s face was equally priceless. His eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his sockets.)

Mr and Mrs Grimm insisted that we stay for dinner. I think it started out as a simple polite gesture. But then Baz showed them his wand and Mrs Grimm cried while Mr Grimm coughed and clapped him on the back. 

I was worried Baz’s dad would be less than pleased that I was there, considering all of the baggage he had with the Mage. And maybe that would have been his reaction, had I shown up for any other reason. But I think the whole wand thing trumped any old grudges he might’ve been holding. 

Shepard and him hit it off right away. I think he enjoyed having someone’s rapt attention while he talked about magickal animal husbandry. 

But the best part of the night was the spell lesson. It was truly something to behold. If I had any lingering doubts about giving Baz his wand, they would have melted away watching him teach Swithin how to send up a magickal flare. (I should have guessed Baz would have taught him something grand and ostentatious like that. The twat.) Swithin’s face lit up in wonder when he conjured his own. He was so proud, he was practically walking on air the rest of the night. 

And it wasn’t just him. Everyone was ecstatic to witness this momentous event. His sisters tackled him onto the lawn the moment the colors burst into the darkening sky. Mrs Grimm began weeping again. (Maybe she’s just a crier.) (Though I do remember her attending the Smith-Richards meetings. I heard her sharing her worries about whether her children would have much power. So I guess I can’t blame her for being emotional.) Even Mr Grimm appeared to wipe his eyes. (Maybe it’s just an emotional event for parents in general.) 

And Baz. I don’t know if I can ever recall a time I saw him smiling so brightly. Or laughing with such pure joy. I was mesmerized by it. The shape of his mouth as it curved impossibly higher as he lifted his brother into his arms. I felt my own face split into a grin just watching them. I couldn’t help it. 

I guess that’s the real reason I texted Baz. I felt so honored getting to share in such a special moment, that I wanted to show my appreciation. 

And I have a plan. Sort of. At least, I have a goal in mind. How I’m going to get there remains to be seen. But if I can just get Baz here, under normal pretenses, then maybe I can pull it off. 

When I hear a soft knock on my open door I nearly jump out of my chair. At first, I think it might be Baz. But that’s impossible, as I’ve only just texted him. 

I look up and catch Ana staring at me from the doorway, hand still raised from when she’d knocked. She’s looking just above my head and I realise my wings have spread wide from being startled. 

“Sorry,” I say, “you just surprised me.” I pull my wings back into a less menacing position and gesture for her to come in. 

“Sorry,” she shakes her head, “ I saw you were concentrating on something, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.” She looks so apologetic, and she really shouldn’t be. 

I laugh. “Ana, you didn’t sneak up on me. You came in through an open door. And you knocked. It’s fine.” 

She nods. “Were you in the middle of something?”

I follow her eyes to my phone in my hand. “No, not really.” 

She nods again and just stares at me some more. 

“So,” I start, “was there a reason you stopped by?”

“Yes! Sorry. It’s the Coven meeting. It’s starting in five minutes. Did you want to go up together?” She gestures behind her with her thumb and half turns in suggestion. 

Fuck. I’d almost forgotten we had a meeting today. I’m just about to say yes when my phone vibrates in my hand. I see a message notification pop up on my screen with Baz’s name on it and my brain nearly short circuits. 

“Actually, I have to take care of something first,” I say, almost dropping my phone as I fumble to unlock the screen. “Fuck,” I mutter, then a little louder: “Why don’t you go ahead. I‘ll be up soon.” 

She gives me a small smile, and I can’t tell if she’s just being polite or if she’s suppressing a laugh at my nervous state. Before I can think on it she’s gone, leaving me alone to read Baz’s reply. I open the message and stare down at the screen. 

I can stop by at lunch today, if that works for you. How’s noon? 

I let out a breath that I seemed to be holding and relax into my chair. He’s coming. Today. 

Perfect. See you then. 

As I enter the conference room I’m immediately thankful to see Ana has saved me a spot, because the room is packed. I take my seat (near the door, so luckily I don’t have to shoulder past anyone) and see that most everyone is here, plus quite a few extra people standing around the outside of the table. It’s cramped and loud, and for a moment I can’t figure out why there are so many bodies in here. 

When I see Mitali Bunce at the head of the room, pulling up a slide show, I realise why it’s a full house today. We’re finally voting on whether to open a second magickal school. 

Our monthly meetings are open to the magickal public, but people rarely come to observe. I think I’ve only seen a handful of meetings with more than half a dozen members of the public attending. That’s probably because our meetings are boring as hell. And also because only Coven employees in management positions or above are allowed to vote, so it’s not like they get to actively participate. 

It used to confuse me as a kid, because whenever anyone talked about the Coven, they were usually talking about the High Council specifically. They’re the ones who are actually elected officials, and who are in charge of both executive and judicial matters. But no one ever calls them that. It took me years to realise the entire government was also called the Coven. I didn’t figure it out until I failed an essay in political science on why the legislative process was undemocratic. (I said it wasn’t, because the High Council members were all elected.) Turns out, the point of the essay was to critique why bureaucrats (like me, now) get to vote on motions that affect the World of Mages, when they aren’t even elected officials. (I suppose I could have argued that the High Council has veto power, but again, I didn’t know all of that at the time.) 

I glance around the room once more and catch sight of Stephen across the table. He meets my eyes with a surly expression but looks away after a beat. I’m not surprised he’s still angry about the ultimatum I gave him about Baz’s wand. I wonder, for a moment, if he’s told anyone else about it. I casually glance around the room again, but no one else seems to be looking my way. They’re probably all more occupied with the upcoming vote, but I’d like to think that if Stephen had ratted me out to anyone that they’d be looking my way and whispering to their neighbor. But nothing even close to that happens. That’s good. That means I don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. Yet. 

I was torn between trying to keep the wand situation under wraps or fessing up to what I’d done. The tricky part is that somehow, miraculously, Baz’s trial still hasn’t been reported on in The Record. As far as I know, no one really knows about it, either. Which is insane to think about. Nothing stays secret in the World of Mages for long. Certainly nothing this huge. 

But because no one seems to know that Baz is a vampire, it’s not like I could just go to the High Council and make some grand statement. The likelihood of that staying under wraps seems extremely unlikely. 

Ultimately, I decided to simply make note of it in his file, in my records about his home visit. That way, I’m not necessarily keeping it secret, but on the flip side, it might stay under the radar for a bit longer. I have no idea if this will be better or worse in the long run, but at least I can say I’m not being intentionally dishonest when it all comes out. 

At 10 on the dot, Jeremy starts the meeting by ringing the ceremonial bells. Well, it’s only one bell, but it’s spelled to sound like several bells ringing in unison. It’s really old, and we don’t usually use it, because it’s out of tune and no one knows how to spell it fixed. But I guess Jeremy felt like being more formal today since we have a full house. The high-pitched noise of one of the notes grates on my nerves and sends goosebumps down my arms, but it’s over soon enough. 

The noise hushes the crowd, though the anticipation in the room is still palpable. 

I’m still in awe of how many people are here today. I guess opening a new magickal school is a big deal. I wonder whether the majority of these people are for or against the motion. Probably for it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re mainly parents coming to hear whether their child will get to benefit from smaller class sizes. On the other hand, they could be nervous about their child going to the new school, instead of the illustrious Watford. Though, from what Penny’s told me, plenty of parents have told Mitali how nice it would be to be able to visit their children more regularly, if the school was closer to their home. The proposed location is somewhere near Manchester, which would mean a significantly shorter drive for families who live in the North. 

Jeremy clears his throat and issues his welcoming remarks. I wonder how he’s feeling about all of this? He’s got his typical jovial expression on his face, but his neck is slowly turning red. We’ve all heard the gossip about why this vote is happening nearly three months after it was first slated to be on the agenda. Mitali was thrown every possible obstacle in what Penny assumed was an attempt to tire her out and make her give up. She’s had to wade through miles of red-tape, make dozens of edits to her proposal and deal with a slew of excuses about why her initiative had to get bumped from the agenda for items that seemingly took precedence over hers. She finally resorted to collecting signatures on a petition to force the vote into the spotlight. 

When she steps up to the podium after Jeremy’s introduction and shakes his hand, you’d never know from their friendly smiles how much bad blood has been simmering between them. 

“Good morning, Coven members,” she starts. “And welcome to the community members who have come to join us for this very important discussion. Our children’s education has always been of the utmost importance in the World of Mages. This is because we value both teaching magickal tradition, as well as preparing our future citizens and magicians to keep our society healthy and strong.”

She pauses to let that message sink in. 

“We are here today to vote on whether or not to move forward with plans to open a second magickal school in Britain,” she continues. “Before we move forward with the vote, however, I want to take some time to go over all of the necessary information related to the proposal, so that you can make the most informed choice possible. Most of this information has already been shared with you, even through multiple changes and edits.” 

Another pause. She doesn’t look in Jeremy’s direction, but I can only assume she’s silently flipping him the V in her head. 

“But I think it’s still helpful to look at the whole picture once more, together, before we make our final decision.” 

She opens her PowerPoint and starts walking us through an incredibly well laid out proposal. She’s got even more information on it than before. In addition to budgets, staffing, construction and timelines, she’s added more direct arguments on the potential benefits of building a new school. She’s included quotes from educational journals about the benefits of small class and school sizes. She also has a chart that shows the student population (both current and projected several years into the future) and where their families originate in the UK. She flips to a graph that compares how many families would shave 4 hours off of a trip to visit their children on the weekend. She even has new updated architectural plans, which she magickally projects a 3D model of onto the conference table. 

By the end of her presentation, I’m grinning with pride for her. She’s done such a thorough job, and presented her case so logically, that I can’t see how this vote wouldn’t pass with an overwhelming majority. 

When she steps aside to let Jeremy lead the official vote, however, something unexpected happens. 

“Before we move forward with a vote, I think it would behoove us to hear some comments from the public,” he says. A few murmurs run through the crowd, and several of us look to our neighbors, confused. We don’t typically hold space for public comments during meetings unless we’ve set time aside for it at the start. And usually, if we do, comments are only permitted for issues that aren’t directly on the agenda. 

Mitali is the first to speak up. “While I appreciate the sentiment of wanting public feedback, I must remind you that the time for that has passed. As you saw in the presentation, we solicited feedback via surveys and forums already.” 

Jeremy purses his lips, which makes his mustache stick out absurdly. 

“Yes, but we have quite the crowd here, and I’m sure some of them came all this way hoping they could share their thoughts on the matter.” He addresses the crowd again. “Show of hands, would anyone like to share a comment?” 

A few hands go up, and he gestures for one man to step forward. 

“What the hell is going on?” I whisper to Ana. She frowns and shrugs her shoulders as the weedy man Jeremy calls on clears his throat. 

“M’ name’s Atticus Hornsby. My son’s slated to attend Watford next year.” 

Several of us are looking from Jeremy and Mitali to this man as he speaks. Mitali looks like she’d like to interrupt, but when the man says Watford, she shifts a bit in place and decides to give him her attention. 

“He’s been excited to go there ever since he was a lil ‘un,” the man continues. “Only now, what if he gets assigned to go to this new school?” He stands a little straighter, and when he goes on, his voice raises a bit. “And if the whole point is to expand schooling in the World of Mages, what’s going to happen to his quality of education? If we’re just letting in any old riff-raff, what will it even mean?”

I look to Mitali and wonder if she plans to address his comments, but she just stands still, stoic as ever. Good. She needn’t bother, all of that was addressed in her presentation. The admittance process and standards of education will remain the same. We all heard it, but it’s still irritating hearing this bloke try and insinuate otherwise. 

Jeremy nods to the man and quickly gestures to another woman before anyone can put a stop to this. 

“You, madame. In the blue. You had your hand raised, yes?” 

A thin woman with a pinched expression, hands tightly clutching her purse, steps forward. 

“Watford has educated the magickal community for centuries,” she starts. “These problems with overcrowding have only started since the rules to admittance were changed under the Mage.” 

She’s right about that. The Mage expanded entry to anyone who can speak with magic and did away with entry tests. Mitali did bring back the admittance tests, but left them open to anyone who applied to take them. No blanket bans to students with magickal creature backgrounds. 

“It seems to me that the more simple solution would be to go back to tradition and only let in the students Watford was meant to serve.” 

If Penny were here, she’d probably clap back that Watford was originally built for men. Should we roll things back to how it was done in the 1500s? I can practically hear her snark. 

Jeremy nods to another fellow who has his hand raised. The man steps forward, taking the woman’s place. 

“Seems to me,” the man says gruffly, “that this is all an excuse to give more power and autonomy to the creatures. It’s bad enough our children have to go to school with pixies and centaurs. What’s next? Hobgoblins? Vampires?” 

It takes everything in me not to leap across the conference table and lunge at this man’s throat. My fists are balled up in my lap and I hold my wings tight to my back to keep them from flapping. My tail thrashes behind me and thankfully it’s sort of pinned between my back and the chair. 

A low murmur thrums through the crowd. I look around, trying to spot the members of the High Council in the room. They’re always spread out, sitting amongst the rest of us in meetings. It’s times like this I wish they all sat at the front like they do during trials. It’d give them more authority, and maybe make them better at holding meeting norms in place. 

“Alright, I think that’s quite enough.” Mitali steps forward and raises her hands to quell the crowd. I hate that she has to be the one coming to her own defence. I wish one of the other people whose job it is to fucking lead would have done it. But at least everyone seems to be listening to her as the volume drops. 

“I’m going to insist that we stick to protocol and move forward with our vote.” 

Jeremy returns to his seat without so much as a comment or a sidelong glance. His face is unreadable, but he holds his head high. 

It suddenly occurs to me that those people were plants. They had to have been. This was all some elaborate plan to throw doubt on the proposal right before the vote. I can barely believe it, but the more I think about it, that has to be what’s happened here. I’ve always thought Jeremy was sort of sleazy, but I never thought he’d go so far as to try to publicly sabotage someone in quite this way. 

I’m still seething when the vote finally takes place. We all bubble in a “yea” or “nay” onto a slip of paper. Then Mitali taps her wand on the collection box and the papers all zoom through the air, landing softly inside the box. The lid snaps shut and we hear the papers rustle around a bit before they settle. Then, the box glows with a soft, greenish hue. 

I sigh in relief. The motion has passed. 

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur. The school presentation and vote went well past its allotted time, so we basically go through the rest of the items on the agenda and decide what could be postponed until the next meeting and what could be dealt with over email. I’m barely paying attention to any of it. It takes me a while to get past any residual anger from that shit show, but by the time it’s over, I’ve more or less calmed down. 

Ana and I walk out together and once we’re in the hall, she leans over to me and whispers, “That was the most insane thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve worked at some pretty toxic places before.” 

I shake my head in disbelief. “Jeremy must’ve been pretty desperate to pull a stunt like that.” 

She nods. “Do you think he planned for those people to be there and say those things?” 

Hearing Ana say it, too, I think it must be true. 

“It’s very possible he arranged for them to be there,” I say.  

“At least it didn’t stop the vote from passing,” she says. 

I hum in agreement, but I still don’t like how unsettling the whole scene was. Especially since Jeremy possibly (probably) set it all up to try and derail everything. 

I’m pulled out of this thought pattern when I notice Mitali standing at the end of the hall, saying goodbye to a handful of people who’ve congregated to congratulate her. I realise I should probably do the same. 

I let Ana know I’ll see her back down at the office and head over. 

“Hello, Simon,” she sighs wearily, but she’s at least smiling, so that’s good. 

“Congrats on finally getting everything approved,” I say. 

She gives a tired laugh. “Oh, I’m sure there will be dozens of things I’ll still need to seek approval on. But at least it’s a start.”

“I’m sorry things got so…I don’t even know what to call that ,” I say, gesturing vaguely to the conference room behind us. 

“Honestly, neither do I.” She sighs again. “I thought I knew what I was up against.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think any of us saw that coming.” 

I watch her expression shift, the exhaustion gone in a flash. Her brow furrows and her jaw clenches. But then, in an instant, she seems to gain control of herself again. 

“I’ve decided I’m not expending any more energy over that gross mismanagement of meeting norms.” She lifts her chin. “Let the Coven decide how to reign Jeremy in. I’ve got more important things to do now.”

I laugh, because I can’t help but be impressed by the way she’s choosing to let it go. If only I had as much restraint. 

“You really do!” 

“In fact, I’ve got at least a dozen phone calls I’ve got to make before we can break ground. As exhausted as I am, I think I’m going to head home to do a bit of work before I have to head back to Watford.”

She gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. 

“It was good seeing you, Simon.” 

I nod and give her a small smile, then watch her head out the front doors that lead to the street. There are still loads of people hanging about and chatting. I’m surprised she was able to slip away so easily without getting cornered again.

 I’m just about to head back down to the basement when I see Baz through the double glass doors. A smile immediately blooms on my face, until I see Baz’s expression as he opens the door. As soon as he sees the crowd of mages, he looks worried. Instantly, I remember why. News of his trial has still been kept quiet. I don’t know how he’s been coming here for months and word still hasn’t gotten out. And all of that would change if he was seen getting into a lift and heading down to the only offices below the ground floor: the Department of Magickal Creature Management. 

I can’t let that happen. I won’t. 

I head straight to him, thinking on my feet. 

“Hey, you’re here! Ready to go to lunch?” I say, smiling suggestively at him. 

He watches me and follows my eyes as they dart from side to side, acknowledging the milieu of people behind us. He eyes me meaningfully before answering. 

“Yes. Yes, let’s do it,” he answers. 

I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s caught on, and hastily wrestle my coat out of my rucksack so I can throw it on. I pull my wings tight to my back and button it up quickly so we can get the hell out of here. 

“Come on,” I say. 

I place a hand on the small of his back and reach past him to open one of the doors behind him. He turns and lets me guide him out of the building and back onto the street. 

“Keep going,” I say, voice low as I lean into his ear. “There’s a cafe up here that has great sandwiches. We’ll go there.” 

I leave my hand on his back as I lead him up the street. He walks in time with me, and it’s obvious he’s going along with it all, so I guess I could take my hand back. But I don’t for some reason. I think I just want to know that I’ve got him somewhere safe. Like I’m not quite sure if our ruse has worked. Though I don’t know why it wouldn’t have.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Baz says as I open the door to the cafe and guide him in. I finally let my hand drop from where it was resting on his back. 

I don’t really know what to say to that. So I just say, “It’s no problem.” 

He looks at me funny, then. Head tilted and grey eyes questioning. Like he doesn’t know what to say either. (Or maybe he just doesn’t know what to make of me.)

“Find us a table. I’ll order for us, I know what’s good here.” Then I disappear towards the counter before I have to think too hard about what more to say. 

I order two of my favorites, bacon and turkey. They’re cut in half when the cashier hands me them on a tray. I swap two halves on the plates (so Baz can try one of each) before heading over to the booth in the corner he’s staked out. 

When I get there, he’s busy wiping the tabletop down with a moist towelette. 

“Where did you even find one of those? Do you just carry them around in your pocket?”

“Maybe I do,” he sniffs. 

I’m shaking my head as I squeeze into the booth. I slide the tray onto the table and wriggle free of my rucksack, which I set next to me on the seat. 

Sometimes I feel a bit naff wearing it to work every day. Like I must look like a too-old Uni student. But I’m really glad I had it with me this morning, because the whole reason I wanted Baz to come in today was so I could give him something that (thankfully) I’ve got stuffed away in there.

“Here,” I say, setting Baz’s plate in front of him. “One half is bacon, the other is turkey. Both are excellent. You can thank me once you’ve tried both and realise I’m a supreme sandwich selector.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt that’s true,” he says with mock sincerity. 

He makes a show of preparing himself, putting a napkin on his lap, rolling up his sleeves and shaking his hair out of his face. 

“You’re such a wanker,” I laugh. “Just eat the damn sandwich.” 

He smirks at me, but finally lifts one half-sandwich and takes a bite. 

His expression changes. He looks at me, eyes wide in surprise. Then he closes them and moans. Actually moans! 

“Crowley, this is magnificent,” he murmurs with his mouthful. 

He’s eating the turkey sandwich. It’s got thick slices of meat, gobs of gooey brie cheese and a smear of cranberry chutney. He’s right. It is magnificent. 

My grin grows wider, watching him enjoy it. 

“It’s good, innit?” I say. 

“I think this is the best damn sandwich I’ve ever eaten,” he says through another bite.

“I never took you for a foodie.” I furrow my brow in confusion at this nearly ecstatic version of Baz I’ve never seen before, but I’m grinning so much I probably look mad. 

“Fuck off, Snow, everybody likes food.” 

“Ok, but apart from your secret stash of salt and vinegar crisps, I never saw you like, invested in your food.” 

He scoffs at that and switches to the bacon sandwich. 

“Just because I didn’t inhale my food like you did, doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it.” He takes a bite and it’s a whole production again. This one’s a BLT with avocado. The bacon slices are massive. Baz looks like he might actually cry. 

“But the food at Watford was really good! And I’ve never seen you like this.” 

“Like what, Snow?” 

“This!” I gesture to him. “You’re like, having a full-on experience right now.” 

He swallows and considers that for a moment. 

“I had a hard time with good food back then,” he says finally. “Particularly with meat. It made it hard to control my…” He looks around the cafe and then lifts his upper lip and points to his eye teeth. 

Ah. 

“That must’ve been hard.”

He nods. “Sometimes I’d try to come late to meals, to eat when there were less people. Cook Pritchard even let me eat alone in the kitchen if I asked.” 

Fuck. I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that? I followed him around so much back at school. I definitely remember him at meals. And he always came to tea. But just because I saw him frequently doesn’t mean there couldn’t have been plenty of times I missed him. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t know that,” I say. 

He lifts one shoulder and frowns indifferently, and it’s such a foreign gesture from him. I’m the one who answers with grunts and shrugs. (Maybe I’m rubbing off on him.)

I watch him continue to eat as if nothing he said was of much consequence. And I could let it go. Only I feel compelled to let out some of what I’m feeling. 

“I hate finding out stuff about you from back then that I didn’t know.”

“Why?” His brow furrows, and his eyes drift down to where I’m crumpling a napkin in my hand. 

“Dunno,” I say, shrugging. (There, see?) 

But I decide to go on. “Makes me mental though. I thought I knew everything about you.” 

I thought I had him clocked back then. I thought he was cruel, ruthless and spoiled. I thought he wanted to do everything in his power to take me down. And most of all I thought he was manipulating everyone and everything around him to keep us from seeing who he really was. 

Now I know that isn’t who he is at all. He’s kind, caring and devoted to those closest to him. I know he puts on a brave face and a cool demeanor to keep himself from losing control. (Probably to keep himself from getting hurt, too.)

I guess there’s some truth to the way he hid from the world. But it wasn’t like he was hiding who he was as part of some dark plot. He was keeping his vampirism a secret to protect himself. Because he was terrified of what would happen to him if anyone found out. 

“You knew very little about me.”

I shake my head, even though I know it’s true. But I don’t want this to devolve into something melancholy. That wasn’t my intention. 

“That’s not true. I followed your every move.” 

He watches me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction. So I let the corner of my mouth quirk up. His brow relaxes and his expression mimics mine. 

“You were quite obsessed with me, weren’t you?”

I huff a laugh. 

“Was there any doubt?” 

He eyes me again, like he’s trying to figure me out, and I’m sure my meaning is written all over my face. I feel my ears burning and before long I have to look down and start busying myself with my sandwich because I can’t seem to look at him without my whole face turning red. 

“So what changed?” I say, picking up my bacon sandwich. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. I look up. 

“With the…” I point to my own eye teeth. 

“Oh,” he says. He shrugs again. “I got older and wiser. Met someone who taught me how to control them.” 

“Another vampire?” I ask, and it comes out sounding strangled. (Christ. I sound jealous.)

“Mmm,” he nods. He’s not eating anymore. I wish he would. I feel sorry that this conversation has turned him off his food. 

“Well I’m glad, then,” I say, sitting up straighter and lifting up my own sandwich, in an awkward gesture. I hope he gets the hint. 

And then I decide not to beat around the bush. I don’t need to play games and give him signals. I’ll just be honest. 

“I’m glad you’re able to eat whatever you want, whenever you want. I like watching you enjoy your sandwiches,” I say, nodding my head to his plate. 

He squints at me. “You just like being right about how good they are.” 

I shake my head. “I mean it, Baz. It makes me happy to see you happy. Even with the little things.” 

Even though it isn’t a little thing. Not based on what he’s told me and what his life used to be like before this revelation. 

He doesn’t give in though. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table. He laces his fingers together and stares me down meaningfully. It isn’t a soft look. (I wish it was.) 

“Why did you bring me here, Snow,” he says quietly. I hate when he gets like this. He does this sometimes, when things get too personal for him. He puts his guard up and changes the subject. I wish he wouldn’t do that. I wish he felt like he could open up to me. Well, open up more.  

“I told you,” I say, taking another bite of my sandwich and trying to feign nonchalance. “I needed you to come sign a form.” 

He wrinkles his nose after watching me talk with my mouth full. 

“I assume you don’t have it with you now, though.” 

I swallow.

“No,” I concede. “But I do have something else I wanted to give to you.” 

I nod my head toward my rucksack and set down my sandwich so I can unzip it. I’m not sure if this will shift things for him. Help him pull that wall back down he’s trying to put up again. But this was my plan from the start, so I figure now is as good a time as any to try. I pull out a book and set it down on the table between us. 

“That’s for me?” he asks, looking down at the new copy of The Lightning Thief I’ve laid out for him. 

“It’s not exactly for you,” I say. “It’s for Swithin. Well, it’s supposed to be for Swithin, from you.”

“What?” he asks, though he doesn’t look confused. His features soften as he picks up the book. I think he gets what I mean, but he just wants me to say it. 

“I thought he might like it. After, you know, what happened the other night.”

Baz had picked out several books to give to Swithin at his birthday dinner. Apparently, Daphne had been fretting about Swithin not being much of a reader, so Baz took it upon himself to try and pick some titles he thought his brother might like. He gifted him an array of children’s books, but Swithin was less than enthused by them.

I was sitting next to Baz on the sofa when he gave them to Swithin. The collection of books were tied together with a gold ribbon. Swithin gave each one a cursory glance before tossing them aside to tear into more presents. 

“Swithin, darling,” his mum had started, “don’t you want to see what books your brother got you?” 

He shrugged. “I already looked. Can I open this big one?” He lifted a large package and started shaking it furiously. 

“Basil brought you some of his favorite books from when he was your age,” she tried again, lifting the books to show him once more. 

I caught a glimpse of The Secret Garden and Little Men before Swithin replied, “They look old. And kind of boring. No offense, Baz.” 

“Excuse me,” Baz scoffed, “but The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is a classic.” 

Swithin ignored him and started tearing open the biggest box. 

Baz looks at me now, his brow raised.

“Why?”

“I thought he might like something a bit more contemporary,” I explain. “Plus it’s got lots of action, which, for a kid as active as your brother, makes it a bit more tolerable having to sit still to read it.” Baz looks impressed, and I don’t blame him. I didn’t read a ton back at Watford, so I probably don’t seem like the best person for literature advice. But I did read this. 

“I used to be obsessed with this series,” I add. 

“I remember,” Baz says, turning the book over in his hands. He looks as though he’s looking at a time capsule, instead of a brand new book. “You came back with it after summer holiday. In third year, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm,” I say. “Penny gave it to me as a birthday present.”

I’d never gotten a gift from a friend before. I used every spare minute I had to read until I finished it. I was so sad when it was over, that I started it again. That Christmas, Penny brought me back the whole series from her house. She and Premal had read them all. I had to give them back eventually, because all of her other siblings wanted to read them, too, but I treasured my copy of the first book. I still have it. 

“I wasn’t much of a reader myself before that, but those books really shifted reading into something I enjoyed.”

Baz is giving me that soft look again. It makes me a little self-conscious. 

“I know Swithin’s not the same age I was, but a lot of younger kids read them, too. I think Penny’s youngest brother, Pip, was about nine or ten when he read them,” I finish lamely. I hope he doesn’t think all of this is stupid. I’m suddenly very worried he might. 

“I meant,” Baz starts, “why did you feel the need to do this?” 

I watch Baz’s features for a moment. He looks unsure. Nervous. I don’t think he meant for that to come out sounding rude. But I’m still a little ticked off that he doesn’t get it. 

“I didn’t do it because I felt like I needed to,” I say, and I know I sound exasperated. “I did it because I wanted to.”

His brow goes up again, like he’s surprised. The pillock. Doesn’t he know? I spell it out for him.

“I thought we established that we’re friends now.”

He huffs a laugh and finally cracks a smile. 

“I suppose that’s true.” 

“Good,” I say, hoping that clears everything up. I pick up one of my sandwiches again and start eating it so I have something to do with my hands. 

Baz is quiet for a moment, then he clears his throat as if he’s got a crowd of people who he needs attention from. Instead of just me. 

I gawk at him. 

“Do you have an announcement, your majesty?” 

“Shut up,” he says, and I laugh. “Firstly, I wanted to thank you for the book. It was an incredibly thoughtful gesture, and I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful.”

“You didn’t seem ungrateful. Confused, maybe. Which I was still miffed about, but whatever.” I smirk at him, so he knows I’m teasing. 

“For fuck’s sake, Snow, I said I was sorry!”

I laugh again. I like him like this. Snarky. Biting. It puts me at ease somehow. 

“Additionally,” he says, and I guess he wasn’t done with his speech, “I should thank you for earlier as well.” 

I put my sandwich down because I think Baz is about to talk to me about something real. I give him my full attention because I want him to know that he can. He can tell me anything. 

“Thank you for whisking me away from that crowd,” he says. He takes a breath. “But you don’t have to do things like that. For me. People will find out. Eventually. You don’t have to protect me.” 

I do, I think. Or, at least, I want to. 

“How is it that people still don’t know?” I ask softly. I wasn’t going to ask. I was going to just let it lie. But since he’s bringing it up again, I’m sort of dying to know. 

He meets my eyes and doesn’t look away. 

“My father is friends with the editor of The Magickal Record. He asked him not to publish anything about my trial.” 

I figured as much had to be true. It at least explains how it’s been kept out of the papers.

“Okay, but the World of Mages is small. How has the gossip not spread? At least, I haven’t heard anyone talking about it.”

He sighs. “I’ve gone to pretty great lengths to keep it under wraps.” 

He tells me about the way he’s been entering the Coven building and taking detours over the past few months to attempt to keep everything under wraps. He explains that he arrives earlier than his appointments, entering the lift and riding it up to another floor to pretend he has business there. 

“I fill out papers for my father’s farm, sign census documents in person instead of completing them online. Anything I can think of. I have a cousin in the finance department that I haven’t seen in eight years, but you can bet I visited her just to have some excuse for entering the building.” 

My jaw drops. That is a lot of sneaking around. And, impossibly, it worked. 

“Then, I just head down to the basement to have my appointment with you. And so far, no one’s been the wiser.”

“I mean, good for you,” I say sincerely. Baz gives me a flat look. “If it gives you some privacy, then that’s good, isn’t it?” I ask. 

Baz sighs, looking down at his abandoned food. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m living half a life!” Baz whisper-shouts. “Afraid the other shoe is going to drop and I’ll be left in the dust.”

Baz glances around surreptitiously to see if anyone heard his near-breakdown.

I reach a hand across the table and rest it on his. Baz takes a shuddering breath and exhales slowly. 

I stay quiet and match my breathing to his, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. Baz doesn’t say anything either. Just watches our hands entwined for a while. 

Finally, he breaks the silence. 

“I heard the Coven was voting today on whether to open the new school.” 

“You did? I mean, you heard about that?” I don’t really know why he’s bringing it up right now. It doesn’t really feel as though he’s saying it to change the subject. In fact, it very much seems as though he’s bringing it up because it’s relevant, though I haven’t quite worked out how. 

“Mmm.” He seems anxious. I’m still holding his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind it, so I don’t stop.

“I want to apply for a job at the new school. I’d like to teach. Maybe help set the curriculum.”

“You do?” I ask incredulously. 

He nods, finally looking up from our hands. “I always thought I’d want to teach at Watford. I got my current position at LSE because I figured I’d wait for a position to open up. Get some experience under my belt.” 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Only Baz would think of teaching linguistics at LSE as a stepping stone to something else. Like it isn’t impressive as hell already. 

“But I knew it wasn’t in the cards for me when…” he pauses. “When everything happened,” he finishes. He means when that anonymous call happened and ruined his life. His plans for his future. He wouldn’t be able to work at Watford, or any magickal school now. Not with his record as a dark creature. 

I keep rubbing his knuckles. I don’t know if he wants to keep talking. But I rub them anyway, hoping I can coax the words out of him. If he wants someone to listen, I’m here. 

“I got my hopes up when I heard news about Headmistress Bunce’s proposal. I thought I might not have to wait for an opening at Watford. And I sort of got excited about the prospect of being there from the ground up. Of creating a new school culture. Maybe find a focus that might set it apart from Watford. Something like magic of the natural world. Or teaching different dialects.” 

Baz looks down at our hands again and a piece of hair falls over his eyes. I want to push it back and tuck it behind his ear. 

“That sounds amazing,” I say. Because it does. It sounds fucking brilliant. And yet he’d never be allowed. 

I’m so angry. I’m angry for him. That there’s no path forward now for him to do his dream job. Maybe this is better. That it happened now instead of later. I can’t imagine what would have happened if he’d been working there and been fired publicly. The disgrace. The humiliation. 

It’s all bullshite. 

“It’s not fair,” I say, shaking my head. “You’d be brilliant at teaching anywhere. But especially at a magickal school. And the fact that you aren’t allowed to, simply because you’re a vampire? It’s unacceptable.” 

Baz scoffs. “You say that like it’s nothing. Can you imagine parents sending their children off to be taught by a blood drinking creature?” 

“No,” I say, tugging his hand forward. “That’s crap and you know it. You’ve never hurt anyone. Not even close. And you never would. That should be all that matters.” 

Baz is looking down at my hand holding his. He’s frowning, and I realise I’ve got him in a death grip. I let go. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says bitterly. “Even if I somehow managed to get the position, you’d have to put a stop to it.” He gestures toward me and makes a face that shows just how miserable it makes him to say it. 

“I wouldn’t,” I say firmly. 

“Snow,” he says seriously, and it comes out nearly a growl. “You’d have to. It’s your job.”

“I don’t care!” I nearly shout, and we both know that wouldn’t fix anything. Not permanently. 

“Simon, you can’t keep breaking the rules for me!”

“Fuck the rules!” I say, clutching my hair. I can feel my tail straining in my trousers. “Some rules were meant to be broken.” 

“It’s the law,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining it to a child. Like it isn’t my fucking job to uphold said law. 

“Fine!” I say, struggling to get a handle on my frustration. “Then let’s change it!” 

Baz scoffs, throwing his head back. His throat catches the light. 

“Brilliant, Snow,” he says with as much sarcasm as he can put into two words. 

And for a moment, I think it might be. 

“Let’s do it,” I say quietly. 

Baz rolls his eyes. “Drop the act, it isn’t funny.”

“I’m serious,” I say, as a thousand thoughts fall into place. I feel a buzz along my skin. I haven’t felt this way since I used to have magic. 

I go on. “The system is fucking broken, Baz. I’ve probably always known it. And I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner to fix it.” I grab his hand again because I need him to know that I mean it. “But ever since you walked into my office, it’s been glaringly obvious to me that it’s doing more harm than good.” I squeeze. “It doesn’t need to be this way.” 

“Yes, alright, let’s just go and change it then, hmm? Do you have some grand plan, Snow?”

“Call me Simon,” I say, surprising both of us.

His eyebrows raise. “What?”

“You called me Simon before. And also when I gave you your wand. I like it.”

He shakes his head. “Simon,” he says, and he tries to pull back his hand but I won’t let him. I hold tight.

“And I do have a plan,” I say, lifting my chin. “We start with you.”

His eyes fly to mine. “Excuse me?” 

“We build a case about how your probation has been unfair and unwarranted. We come prepared to your next hearing before the Coven and argue that the Dark Creature Protections should be removed and that you should be given the right to live freely. As any moral, law abiding magickal citizen should.”

He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but the way that his eyes are wild and shining, I think there might be a sliver of hope there. I think I might be able to convince him. 

I can feel my heart beating fast as I continue to lay out my ideas.

“I’ve told you Penny is a lawyer. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help us build your case.”

His eyes flit between mine. 

“You’re serious.” It isn’t a question. 

“Dead serious.”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a moment. 

“And do you think there’s even the slightest chance it might work?” I can see him trying to temper his expectations, and I know I shouldn’t be giving him hope where there might be none. And yet at the same time, I do feel like it might be possible. 

“I think we have to try.” I look down at my hand holding his and start rubbing his knuckles again. “I don’t know that I can sit back and just watch this happen anymore.”

“You aren’t,” he says quickly. Emphatically. 

“But nothing is going to change if we don’t try,” I press. I tug his hand once. 

“Baz. Will you try? With me?” 

I know this won’t work without him. He has to want this. But if he does, I’ll make this the fight of my life. I’d never give up on him. 

I think, at first, that he might need some time to decide. But soon enough he answers, firm and true. 

“I will, Simon.” 

Chapter Text

The navigation system in Baz’s car lets us know we’re about 20 kilometres from our destination. I’m surprised the ride is almost over. Even though he drives slower than my Gran (a fact that I ribbed him on mercilessly) the trip went by fairly quickly. Between playful arguments over the music and animated discussions about whatever media we’re each consuming we pass the time easily. I told him I finally read The Song of Achilles and that I cried at the end. He stared at me curiously for a moment before telling me he couldn’t believe I didn’t see it coming. The Odyssey and The Iliad were both required reading our sixth year. I reminded him I was too busy chasing down those bloody hares.

What we don’t talk about is where we’re going and why. But now that we’re close, I feel a need to check in on him. 

  “How are you feeling?” I ask. I think I already know the answer. We’ve talked about it enough since coming up with this plan a few weeks ago. Still, I’d like to give him the space to talk about it. If he wants to. 

“A little nervous,” he admits. “But mostly good. I have a path forward. Something to work towards.” He glances quickly at me, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s nice. Having that bit of hope. Even if it isn’t a sure thing.” 

I inhale through my nose and hum my agreement. I get what he means. He’s trying to be cautious. To not get his hopes up too much. In case it doesn’t work, despite our best efforts. But I think this can work. And the possibility flares warmly inside me. 

It was mostly Penny’s idea. She agreed to have lunch with me and Baz shortly after he said he was willing to fight his charges. She was reluctant at first, reminding me she thought I’d crossed enough boundaries for him. But I was like a dog with a bone, and I eventually got her to cave. 

It took her a while to warm up to him. She spent the first half of the meal staring at him with calculating eyes and interrogating him on things that very clearly had less to do with his case and more to do with his relationship with me. I love Penny but Merlin she can be protective sometimes. I guess I spent so many years talking her ear off about Baz plotting that she had to see for herself whether he was. 

But once we got to the details of Baz’s probation and the particulars of the charges against him, Penny’s compulsion to solve a problem kicked in.

Which is why we’re heading to Watford today. She suggested that, in order to build the case that Baz is an upstanding magickal citizen, he should collect a variety of glowing personal references. 

“People outside your family and friends who’ve known you for years and who can attest to what kind of person you are,” she’d said. 

He’d started listing colleagues and old Uni professors, but she quickly squashed anyone Normal. 

“The Coven might want to ask them to appear as character witnesses. In which case, they’ll need to be mages.”

 “And,” she paused, before adding delicately, “it’ll carry more weight if they’re people you’ve already come out to.” His eyebrows rose at that until she clarified, “As a vampire.” 

I know that’s the other part he’s nervous about today. No one outside his family knows he’s a vampire. Which means he has to tell people first and then ask if they’d write a letter for him and potentially vouch for him in front of the Coven. It’s a lot to ask. And Penny’s criteria left him with few options. People outside family and friends. That you’ve known for years. And are also mages. 

Who else would that leave except teachers and former classmates who spent nine months of the year with him for eight straight years? 

“I get why you’d be nervous,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road in front of us. “But I don’t think you need to be. You were top of your class. And you were quite the teacher’s pet, if I remember.” I grin at him. “Plus, some of the teachers there still remember your mum. That has to count for something.” 

“Ok, one, I most certainly was not a teacher’s pet,” he says with so much defensiveness I bark out a laugh at how ridiculous he is. “Two,” he goes on, ignoring my outburst, “Not everyone was a fan of my mother and her policies—”

“And I’m sure you know exactly who loved working with her. So don’t go acting like it’s some big obstacle,” I say, cutting him off. 

“And three ,” he ploughs on, “I was only top of our class because Bunce wasn’t there to claim the crown.” 

There’s no crown. Only a stuffy old sash the top student wears while giving their speech that they don’t actually get to keep. And a plaque that they do. (I’ve seen it, casually displayed on a bookcase in Baz’s living room, close to where his certificate from Oxford hangs on a wall. The prat.) 

“Your attempts at modesty and self-deprecating aren’t working on me, so you might as well accept that you were an accomplished and memorable student and that your former teachers are going to be happy to see you.” 

He makes an annoyed noise in his throat but doesn’t argue with me. 

“Still,” he starts, checking his mirrors while he changes lanes, “I can’t help but think our timing is less than desirable.” 

That’s true. It’s the last weekend before the start of term, and I’m sure the staff are crazy busy. Baz is mildly panicked about skiving off from his own prep work this weekend. But, ultimately, he thought he and the staff would all be too busy over the next few weeks and that now was the best option. 

“They’ve all already agreed to meet with you,” I remind him. “There’s no reason to worry about it now.” 

Baz emailed everyone he wanted to ask, and set up various meetings so he could ask them all in person. Today he’s planning on talking to half a dozen staff members who still work at Watford, and has plans to reach out to others who are retired or moved on, plus several former classmates he’s still in touch with. I was impressed with his list. I hardly talk to anyone from school anymore. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he says quietly, and I see his shoulders relax a bit. It makes me relax, too. I rest back against the headrest, grinning slightly. This is exactly why I was so relieved when he asked me to come with him. (I was already planning on offering, but he surprised me when he asked first.) I knew that if I came, I’d be able to calm him when he got too in his head about everything. And it’s not like I’m glad it’s already happening. I’m just glad my being here seems to be helping. 

We’re both quiet for the last stretch of the ride and it’s good. When the gates of Watford loom up ahead, however, I suddenly realise I did not fully think this trip through. 

I feel my stomach churn a bit when Baz rounds the corner and the school comes into full view. I guess I was so preoccupied with the prospect of coming here with Baz that I didn’t realise I haven’t been back here since I left. 

I haven’t been back here since I left. 

“Can you see it?” Baz asks. “The school, I mean.” He glances over at me quickly. 

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. “Go figure.” 

I thought I wouldn’t be able to. That my eyes would burn just looking in that direction, or whatever happens when Normals encounter the school. But there it is. Clear as day, just as it ever was. I almost wish I couldn’t see it. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with all the bullshite trying to weasel its way to the front of my brain. 

“Perhaps there’s a fail safe. For anyone who’s seen it before,” Baz says, but I’m barely listening. 

“Maybe,” I say, though it comes out more like may-he as I chew on my thumbnail. 

Baz eyes me, then turns his attention to parking the car. I think for a moment that he’s picked up on the barrage of thoughts pinging around my head, but then he starts prattling on about the gates. Something about how small they made him feel as a child and I really hate that I can’t pay attention to him right now. 

“Do you remember how the Mage used to always park his car inside the gates?” He asks as we both get out and start walking. “Right there on the lawn. Like a heathen.” 

This was a huge mistake. 

But I can’t back out now. I promised Baz. I promised him. 

“We’re a bit early,” Baz says, checking his watch, “but Miss Possibelf said she’d be working in her office this morning, so I suppose we could head up now and see if she’s ready for us.” 

I follow Baz numbly as he takes us across the Great Lawn, over the draw bridge and through the inner gates. When we reach the courtyard and the White Chapel comes into view, I feel my breath catch in my throat. I practically choke on it. My tail starts to thrash and my wings spread wide and flap once like they want to take me far away from here. Like they did when they first burst through my skin. When he…When…

Baz turns around, his brow furrowed in concern as he takes me in. 

“Simon, are you alright?” 

I shake my head. I don’t have the words to explain. He takes a step toward me but I take a step back, keeping this distance between us. 

I shouldn’t have come. 

“You’re alright, Simon,” Baz says calmly. Soothingly. “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you.” 

He takes another tentative step toward me and I start to cry. 

We sit in silence for some time. Baz found us a bench shaded by a willow. The White Chapel is behind us (probably also his doing). I don’t even remember how we got here. He must have guided me to it. I don’t even know how long we’ve been sitting here. It could be hours. 

Baz is rubbing circles in my back. He kept a firm pressure and slow rhythm while my shoulders heaved with sobs. At some point he moved closer. I can feel his thigh flush against mine. 

He knows why I’m crying, I’m sure of it. (Everyone does. It was in The Record, after all.) But he doesn’t pressure me to talk about it. I wouldn’t even know what to say. I tell him as much but he just shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assures me. “Unless you want to.”

I swallow and nod. Part of me wants to. I just don’t know if I have the words. 

“We can leave, if you want to,” he says. 

“We can’t,” I murmur. “Your meetings…”

“Fuck that.” I feel him shift and the warmth of him leaves as he gets off the bench. Then, suddenly, he’s kneeling on the cobblestones in front of me, his hands on my knees. My eyes find his and he stares at me intently before he continues. “It doesn’t matter. Do you hear me?” His eyes flit between mine. “We can leave. Right now. Do you want to?” 

I take a few deep breaths and keep my eyes trained on his. It grounds me. 

Slowly, I stand. His hands slide off of me as I do, and I know he’s watching me even as I turn away from him. I stare at the White Chapel for a moment, and when Baz stands by my side I make my decision. 

“I want to stay,” I say firmly. 

He faces the Chapel with me, even though I know he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye. 

“Are you sure?” 

I nod. “He’s taken enough from me.” 

He turns his head away and I pretend not to see when he wipes a tear from his eye. It reminds me that my own face is wet and I dry it hastily with the back of my hands. 

“We should get going,” I say. “I’m sure we’re late by now.” He doesn’t move, so I start walking toward the Weeping Tower. He follows then, catching up quickly and walking beside me. I sort of wish he’d reach out and hold my hand. Then again, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep it together if he did. 

The meeting with Miss Possibelf goes well. Really well, and I thank Magic I keep myself together enough not to fuck it up. 

She wasn’t even surprised when Baz told her he was a vampire. She just stared at him, her dark brown eyes twinkling knowingly. And she was more than happy to write him a personal reference. 

“An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” she said, reaching across her desk and taking his hand. Baz was a bit speechless when she said that, but she just squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. “Wouldn’t you agree, Simon?” she said, turning to look at me. 

I jutted my chin out. “I do.” 

She nodded curtly. “Good.” 

Mr Minos was next. Penny pushed for the two of them to be first on our list. She thought it would be a powerful and not so subtle reminder to the Coven that not all creatures were under their watch. And, perhaps, a rebuttal to how those distinctions are made. 

He, too, seemed unphased when Baz explained his own creature status. He offered his aid, even before Baz got around to asking for a letter. 

“It wasn’t so long ago I was considered a second class citizen.” I saw Baz visibly flinch at that. No doubt because his own mother had him relegated to grounds work when she was headmistress. But Mr Minos went on. “You’ll have my help, whatever you need.” 

On and on it went like that. A few of the human teachers seemed a bit taken aback by the news, but everyone agreed unequivocally to write him a reference. 

“I have to say, I’m glad you didn’t tell me back when you were in school,” Coach Mac says. He smirks and presses on before Baz can ask why. “Would’ve been an unfair advantage to have kept you on the team.” 

“I never used my supernatural abilities when I played,” Baz said seriously. 

“Sure you didn’t,” he said, winking at us. 

We’d saved Coach Mac for last because Baz knew that if it went well, he’d probably cajole us to join him at the pub in town for a drink afterwards. Sure enough, he did, though Baz hesitated in the moment, looking at me with indecision. I knew he was worried he’d dragged me all over campus while he thought I was quietly suppressing another nervous breakdown, but I nodded at him subtly before turning to Mac to answer for both of us. 

“We’d love to.” 

The pub and town are crowded compared to the school. The students don’t start arriving until Monday, and although they weren’t on campus just yet, plenty of them are staying in town with their families in preparation for move-in day. It’s a beautiful day, so everyone seems to be out and about, crowds bustling along the streets. When we got to the pub, we had to shoulder our way past patrons, careful not to spill our drinks as we made our way to a booth.

I sit back contentedly and listen to Baz and Coach Mac reminisce about the past. They laugh as they stroll down memory lane, rehashing the best games from Baz’s heyday. Baz asks about the current team and does a decent job appearing to be interested as Coach tells him all about his players and his hopes for the upcoming season. I doubt Mac can tell he’s faking it, at least a bit, but I can, because Baz’s left leg is bobbing uncontrollably under the table. I can tell he’s going mad wondering whether I’m okay. I do my best to reassure him, placing my hand on his knee. His leg finally stills. I know he won’t be completely satisfied until we’re alone and he can check on me properly, but for now, this will do. 

In reality, I’m not okay, but I do my best to push everything aside. I know I’ll have to deal with it, eventually. But I can process it all back home with Penny, or during my next therapy session. I don’t need to burden Baz with any of this. He’s got enough shit of his own to deal with. 

“You’ll have to come up for a game this season,” Mac says as he slides out of the booth. “I’ll save you a ticket.”

Baz stands, shaking his hand. “You charge admission now?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

Mac shakes his head. “Nah, but it sounds better. People love free shit, don’t they?” 

Baz grins and promises to make it to a match this season. Once we’re alone, Baz turns the full force of his attention on me. 

“How are you? I’m so sorry that took so long.” He looks me up and down like he’s checking me for wounds. He doesn’t need to. This isn't the kind of trauma that leaves scars. None you can see, anyway. 

“‘S no problem,” I say, popping up out of the booth. I attempt a smile that I’m sure appears less than genuine, but I’m doing my best here. “Let’s get some food, yeah? I’m starving, and the food here is all a bit shite, from what I remember.”

A server looks up from a table he’s bussing and gives me an unimpressed look. 

“Sorry, mate.”

We head out onto the street and I attempt to orient myself, then head in the direction of a restaurant I remember having good curry. Penny and I used to eat there a lot on the occasions we made it off campus on the weekends. 

Baz stays close, but is mostly quiet. I wish he’d fill the space, so I wouldn’t need to, because I don’t think I can do quiet right now. So I jabber on about one thing or another. None of it makes a lick of sense, but Baz just sticks by me, listening and keeping pace with my probably too fast stride. 

Merlin, I’m such a mess. My head is fuzzy, and I’m feeling slightly manic. Earlier, I was probably a little comatose while Baz was leading the conversations with everyone we met with. Now, it’s like a switch was flipped and I can’t slow down. Baz must think I’m mental. How can he not? 

We get to the restaurant and I prattle on about what’s good. Baz just nods and lets me order for the both of us and I try not to spiral about the fact that he must think I’m a freak. I think about having to wait for our food and having to fill even more silence and instead I make excuses about finding the loo. 

I take a piss and wash my hands, just to kill some time, which takes all of ninety seconds. I have the place to myself (mercifully) so instead of leaving I just wait. I place my palms on the cool granite countertops and just…wait. For the thoughts in my head to stop bashing against my skull. For my shallow breathing to even out. For the fear that Baz won’t want to be within ten metres of me after all of this to lessen. 

After a while, my mobile buzzes in my pocket. I see a text from Baz appear on my screen. 

Food is ready, whenever you are. No rush, take your time.

Fuck. I must have been here for ages. But I think I’ve managed to calm down a bit. I’m breathing more normally and my chest only mildly hurts now. I’m okay. I’ll be fine. 

When I step out of the loo, I see Baz, standing by the counter, holding two large takeaway bags. I frown at him. 

“I thought we were eating here?”

“I changed the order,” he says simply. “Thought a change of scenery was warranted.” 

He nods his head toward the door and turns to leave. I take a breath and follow. 

“Fuck me, this is really ‘ood,” Baz says through a mouthful of curry, one hand obscuring his chewing. It makes me laugh, seeing him drop his manners just to lighten the mood. 

“Told you,” I say, grinning, and it feels real this time. 

Baz brought us to a nearby park and found us a spot atop a grassy knoll to sit. He carried the food all the way here, putting both bags in one hand so he could take mine in his other. My brain nearly short-circuited when he did that, his long fingers threading through mine. I know I’ve touched him a few times, but this felt different. He initiated it. He was supporting me.  

People don’t really do that. Touch me, that is. Besides Penny and Shep, I live my life relatively untouched. It’s fine. It’s whatever. It’s hard to miss something you don’t really have. 

But as Baz’s cool hands warmed in mine, his thumb running softly along my skin, I felt like a man in the desert, finally offered a drink.  

I feel calmer now. I take a breath and it’s easy. The silence fills the space between us and I’m okay with it this time. I think I’d prefer it if Baz were still holding my hand, but I know he can’t while we’re eating. I’ll settle for his knee pressed lightly against my thigh. 

It’s starting to cool down as evening approaches. I focus on eating and the feeling of the breeze against my skin. Baz keeps looking at me, but not in a way that suggests he thinks I might break at any moment. More like, he can tell I’ve chilled out, and that makes him happy. Every time I catch his eye he arches an eyebrow at me, but not like he used to do in school. It’s playful. He tries to suppress a grin but he’s shit at it. 

I realise now why I’ve been so on edge. It’s not just facing what happened ten years ago. I realise I’ve been worried about Baz witnessing my breakdown. He’s really seen the mess I am now. (I mean, he’s already seen the wings and tail. He knows I’m a wreck.) I keep thinking he’s going to hightail it out of here as soon as he can. And in reality, he hasn’t. We’ve accomplished what we’ve set out to do today. He could have easily made excuses to get back to London. Yet here he is, next to me. Like he’s got nowhere else to be. Looking at me like he’s got nowhere else he wants to be. Merlin, that’s a thought. 

Finally, he pushes his knee lightly into my leg. It gets my attention. 

“I just want to say,” he starts, setting his takeaway container on the grass next to him, “that, if you wanted to, you could talk to me.” 

We’re sitting side by side, and he continues to look out onto the park in front of us. But he glances at me out of the side of his eye as he continues. 

“And you don’t have to, either. If you don’t want to. But if you did, I’m…here.” He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear as he turns to look at me. 

And then he just…waits. He doesn’t pry. And he doesn’t try to talk his way into it with any you poor thing or fuck the Mage comments that some people try when they want to talk to me about what happened. He’s really letting this be on my terms. If I want it.

So I let myself open. Just a bit. 

“I, um. I haven’t been back. Since it happened.” 

He nods and shifts a bit toward me, to give me his attention. 

I go on. “I really didn’t, uh, think I was going to have such a strong reaction. Coming back. Otherwise I would have…I wouldn’t—”

“Please don’t apologise,” he says. 

I definitely need to. 

“Yeah, but I almost ruined—”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He puts a hand on my leg. “Even if we had left, like I told you we could, nothing would have been ruined. We could have just come back. Nothing about today was more important than you being okay.” 

How can he say that? This is probably the most important thing in his life right now. 

“Fuck off, today was important,” I say. 

He can tell I’m getting angry and he gives me an exasperated look.  

“You don’t have to help everyone else at the expense of yourself, Simon,” he says, voice tinged in frustration. 

He doesn’t understand. My skin starts to feel hot and prickly. My hands curl reflexively into fists. 

“Helping people is literally all I’m good for!” I shout. I’m on my feet now, even though I don’t remember standing. I seem to have knocked over my can of Coke and it rolls sadly down the hill. 

Baz looks up at me, stricken. 

“That’s not true,” he says quietly. 

I laugh at that. It comes out cold. “It is.” I turn and look out over the park, to keep myself from bloody crying again. “It’s all I’ve ever been good at,” I murmur. 

Find the key. Break the curse. Slay the dragon. It was all in service to the World of Mages, wasn’t it? And here I am, still doing more of the same. Only with less murder. 

“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

There it is. Fuck the Mage. 

I don’t say anything. Instead I just continue to watch two dogs chasing each other in the distance. 

“I’m sorry,” he continues. His voice sounds so sorrowful. I hate it. I don’t want his pity. It’s the last thing I want from him. “I told you I was here if you wanted to talk about anything and then I just…” He sighs. “I’m a terrible listener.”  

Maybe he isn’t feeling sorry for me. Maybe it’s just guilt for being the reason we came here today. And I definitely don’t want that. So I finally turn around. The sun is setting, casting a warm, fiery glow behind him. He’s so beautiful, it hurts. He’s wringing his hands, but once he sees me looking at them he stops, forcing his hands to his sides. 

“‘S fine,” I say, trying to make my tone sound lighter than I feel. “I pay a professional to listen to my griping. She’s very good.”

Baz’s mouth goes flat. He gives me a curt nod. “Noted.”

“I was only trying to make a joke.” I grab my curls with my fist. “And I’m also, like, just generally trying to let you off the hook. I killed my mentor. It isn’t the easiest story to listen to!” 

Fuck. 

Baz watches me carefully, like he doesn’t want to spook me. Like I can go on if I want to. 

“And you’re wrong, about him doing a number on me,” I say, pacing a bit. “I mean, he did, but so did everyone else. Everyone expected me to be the hero. And then I wasn’t.”

“You defeated the Humdrum,” he says quietly but firmly. 

“I was the Humdrum!” I shout. 

Baz looks at me and shrugs, like it’s just a technicality. 

“And you gave him your magic to save the world’s,” Baz says matter of factly. 

I shake my head. “I’m a fraud.”

“You’re anything but,” he says, head held high like he’s daring me to argue with him again. “You’re incredibly brave, unwaveringly kind and selfless to a fault. And at no point did you deceive anyone. So just take that word out of your vocabulary right now.” 

“It’s strange, hearing Baz Pitch call me brave and kind. If seventeen year old you could hear you now,” I say, smirking a little at him. I can’t help making a joke, because hearing him say that with so much sincerity is making me all sweaty. But also, I kind of want him to say it again. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out both hands and takes each of mine, holding me softly but firmly. 

It’s enough. 

“I don’t think he wanted the world to know,” I say quietly. So quietly, only a vampire could hear me. 

“He told me he needed to take my magic to defeat the Humdrum, but I don’t think that was it. I think he just didn’t want the world to know he had fucked up his little experiment that badly.” I look down at my hands held safely in his. It gives me the strength to keep going. “I was a fraud. A failure. A cracked vessel. But the Humdrum was the biggest mistake of all. I don’t think he could handle the idea of it getting out that he looked like me. He needed it dealt with.”

I keep my eyes steadily on our hands as I tell him all of it. About the Mage telling me I could stay with him in the summer after the Humdrum took Penny and me at the end of seventh year. How he really just meant staying at school while he secreted around, trying to come up with a plan. I knew he had freaked out when I told him the Humdrum had my face, but I didn’t fully comprehend the extent. It wasn’t until I found him bloody and standing over Ebb’s body in the White Chapel that I understood the severity of his madness. I tried to get away. Even gave myself wings and a fucking tail. In the end, I put my fucked up magic into words that shouldn’t have been a spell. He dropped dead and it was over. 

When I finish, Baz takes a long breath. He tugs my hands gently. “You know it’s not your fault.” It’s not a question. He knows I do know. But he also knows it probably doesn’t hurt to hear it over and over again. 

“I know.” 

“And you know it wasn’t your fault what happened to Ebb.” 

I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I look up at him searchingly. Pleadingly. 

“I can’t help but think, if I’d been there earlier…”

“You can’t save everyone, Simon.” 

“I don’t need to save everyone. But Ebb…I needed…” I can’t finish my sentence because I know if I do I’ll start crying again and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop this time. 

Baz tugs at my hands and I fall into him, clutching at his shirt while his arms wrap around my shoulders. My breath comes haltingly as I try to keep the tears at bay. I focus on the scent of him. Citrus and musk and cool water. It calms me better than any breathing exercises ever could. 

We stay like that for a very long time. Baz doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. I can feel the tension and anxiety start to melt away, but it’s replaced by a dull ache. Because I don’t want to let him go. Now that I’m here, in his arms, I never want to leave. I wish I could have him like this. Always. But I know once this trip is over, once we get back to London, we’ll be back to normal. 

I suppose I should be grateful. That I’ve had him like this at all. But I’m not. It just makes me want more of him. 

When I finally pull away from him, I have the urge to make a joke to soothe the ache that continues to spread at the loss of his touch.

“I guess I really do have a saviour complex, don’t I?” 

“I don’t think it’s a complex if you actually are one.”

By the time we get back to London, it’s very late. Part of me hoped we could have stayed in Watford, so whatever spell was cast between us could have lasted longer. But I suppose all good things must come to an end. 

When we get to my street, Baz lucks out and finds a spot right in front of my building. I want to invite him up with me. I don’t.

“Thanks again for driving.” I smile at him. I want to thank him for more, but I don’t know if I have it in me to get too emotional again. I hope he knows what all my thank you entails. 

He smiles and nods, his hands still on the steering wheel. I grab the handle and let myself out. I force myself not to look back as I make my way up the front steps. 

I listen for the sound of Baz’s car engine. Instead, I hear his car door open and close. By the time I turn around he’s already at the bottom step. 

“I keep thinking about what you said earlier.” 

I stare at him, confused. 

“When you said helping people was all you’re good for.” 

Ah. 

“I just wanted you to know that you’re cared for. Just the way you are.” 

I wonder if he’s been stressing about this the whole drive. 

“You sound like my therapist,” I say, laughing a little and trying to lessen his worry. “I know,” I say, bobbing my head, “I’ve got Penny and Shepard. Gran and Uncle Jamie. I had Ebb.” 

Baz clicks his tongue. It’s dark and his face is thrown into shadow from the street light behind him, but I can imagine the eye roll that comes with it. 

“I was talking about me, you numpty.” His voice is gentle, yet determined. “I care about you.” 

I feel my eyebrows climb nearly to my hairline. 

“I just wanted you to know,” he says. 

And then he’s gone, leaving me breathless at my door. 

Chapter Text

It’s been almost a month since going to Watford with Baz. I’ve hardly seen him, save for one check-in appointment two weeks ago. We met at a Costa, so Baz didn’t have to come to my office. It was my idea, though Baz thought it was a bit silly at that point. 

“I’m actively coming out to people as a vampire already, Snow,” he’d said over the phone. “I think it’s probably time I stop hiding my visits to your department.”

He had a point. But I noticed the brief pause before he said your department, and I couldn’t help thinking it was because he didn’t want to say Department of Magickal Creature Management. And I get it. Hell, I have wings and a tail, and I still don’t go around calling myself a creature. 

“We’re doing this in stages,” I said. “There’s no need to rush things if you aren’t ready. Plus,” I added, “I’m still committed to getting you a coffee every visit, as per our agreement. This way, I don’t have to carry it all the way back to my office.” 

In the end, I had him convinced and we met at a location between the Coven building and LSE. We picked a Friday, as Baz’s class load was lighter that day, and I usually don’t have meetings at the end of the week, save for client check-ins that I can schedule late enough in the morning that I wouldn’t have to rush. 

I tried not to put too much expectation on things changing between us. (Even though it had felt like there had been a shift.) (How am I supposed to think otherwise when Baz had held my hand and told me he cared about me?) After all, I could have just chalked it up to Baz being a decent person. I had basically had a nervous breakdown in front of him. Twice. It’s only to be expected he would have tried to help. 

But when he walked through the door, the wind whisking his hair off of his face as he spotted me across the room, he smiled so softly that it made my stomach flip. Because it wasn’t a look of pity in his eyes (which, frankly, I wouldn’t have blamed him for). It was more like, he looked so fucking fond. 

I never did figure out how to respond. How to fucking be. I thought I’d be able to just carry on as we’d been so far. That it wouldn’t matter how fucking gone I was for him because there was never a world in which Baz Pitch would feel the same. Only now it felt like there might be a chance he did, and I didn’t know what to do with that. 

Needless to say, I was little more than a bumbling idiot. 

I felt like I was fifteen again, suddenly clueless how to talk to Agatha once I found out she liked me, too. Everything had been so easy with her up until then. But when I was faced with a different role, I clammed up. I went from simply reacting to overthinking every bloody moment. 

And now, here I was. Twenty-seven years old and feeling not very different from a hormonal teen with low self-esteem. 

Baz didn’t seem the least bit flustered. Then again, he’s always been able to keep his cool better than me. He made small talk and joked with ease. Meanwhile, I felt my palms go clammy any time I wondered whether he was teasing me or flirting with me. Merlin, is it possible he’s been flirting with me for a while? 

Thankfully, I had my stupid clipboard with my stupid interview checklist that I could refer to anytime I couldn’t think what to say. 

Thank you for complimenting my shirt. It’s possible I bought it while thinking of you. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, can you please indicate, on a scale of 1 to 10, how energized you felt after the last time you drank six rats?

Okay, it wasn’t quite as awful as that. But it felt pretty damn close. 

We’re meeting again today and I’m doing my best to psych myself up, hoping it will ward off any awkwardness. It’s helped that we’ve been texting a bit back and forth since then. It’s much easier to engage in silly banter when I can take a few extra seconds to compose my response. And, if I feel flustered, Baz can’t see me turn red as a tomato. So that’s a plus.

I got up early this morning and went for a run, in hopes it might calm my nerves and clear my head. Physical work usually does that for me and I feel loads better heading to Costa today than I did last time. 

I get there a few minutes before nine and order for both of us. When our drinks are finished, I scoop them both up and head to the same table by the window we sat at before. 

Baz arrives at nine on the dot, windswept and devastatingly gorgeous as always. I feel my arse cheeks clench reflexively and my tail twitch in my trousers but I take a steadying breath and force myself to return his smile. 

Stay cool. You’re fine. It’s just Baz. 

Famous last words. 

“Morning,” I say when he sits gracefully across from me. 

“Morning,” he says with a sigh, taking his cup when I slide it across the table to him. “Please tell me this is still hot.” He pops off the lid and sniffs. 

“Course it is,” I say. “I just got here. And I asked the barista to make it extra hot. Just the way you like it.”

“You know me too well,” he says, lifting the paper cup and holding it with two hands. You’d think it was the dead of winter instead of a warm September morning, the way he clutches it. 

“Are you always going to arrive early now?” he asks. “It seems to be your mission lately to arrive anywhere before me.” 

“Absolutely,” I say, nodding once. “Things don’t go well for me when you come first.” 

I was referring to our second appointment, when Baz beat me to my office and I was a huffy, disoriented mess. I realise my poor word choice, however, when Baz arches a coy eyebrow at me. 

“Is that so?” he purrs, tongue flicking forward and licking a glob of whipped cream off of his drink. It isn’t even overtly obscene and yet it’s still probably the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Everything Baz does is sexy. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I say, shifting and hating that the room feels suddenly hotter. 

“Pity,” he says teasingly. He clicks the lid back on his drink, thank Merlin. 

Then his phone buzzes on the table where he set it down earlier. He looks down at the screen and frowns. 

“Something wrong?” I ask. 

He sighs, running his hands through his hair. It’s an attempt to push it off of his face but it simply falls back into place. I try not to get distracted by it. 

“My father is being…difficult. About my coming out to people as a vampire.”

I relax a little. It’s not that I’m happy he and his dad are having a hard time. It’s just that solving a problem gives me something to do. It’s an easy dynamic I can fall into. 

“Want to talk about it?” I ask. 

He waves a hand. “It’s fine. He just keeps arguing with me about the way I’m going about this. He thinks it will cause more problems in the long run than if I keep my head down and don’t talk about it. Which is always his solution for everything. If you don’t acknowledge the elephant in the room, it doesn’t exist.” 

“I mean, I get it,” I say. “You kept it a secret for a really long time. It’s understandable he’s nervous.” 

He tilts his head to the side and shrugs, acknowledging. 

“What about the rest of your family? What do they think?” 

“Daphne will be in lockstep with whatever my father thinks. They’re a package deal, those two. Though she did squeeze my hand meaningfully a half dozen times when I saw her last. So I think that’s her way of being supportive. Mordelia thinks fighting for my freedom is terribly romantic, until I start discussing the details. Then she thinks it’s all terribly boring.” 

I snort a laugh. I don’t think I would expect anything less from a fifteen-year-old girl. 

“And my Aunt Fiona thinks I should burn the Coven to the ground.” I bark a laugh at that, throwing my head back. He grins at me with that fond look again. “So they run the gamut, you see,” he finishes. 

“Well, maybe your father and your aunt will eventually come round to see that you’re trying to land somewhere in the middle.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “One can dream.” 

He sips his coffee thoughtfully, keeping his eyes trained on me. I do my best not to look away, despite the warmth that spreads to my cheeks. I try not to feel weird about the silence that follows. 

After a moment he sets down his drink and nods at me. “How about you? How are things?” 

“Me? Fine.”

“Have any plans for the weekend?” he asks casually. 

I really don’t have much going on, apart from going to see Penny later this evening. I tell him about that. Then, because I don’t want to seem so lame that I have nothing else going on, I tell him that I might be working on plans for Penny’s baby shower. (Which I should be working on, anyways.) 

“You’re throwing Penelope Bunce a baby shower?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“Yeah.” 

“She didn’t want her mother to do it?” 

“Her mum never had one when she was pregnant,” I explain. “Didn’t see the point. Plus, she’s busy with work all the time. And Penny didn’t want to ask her sister, since Priya is in the thick of Uni.”

“So she chose you.” He arches an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. 

I chuckle. “Well, they’ve already made me the baby’s godfather, so that’s their justification.” I say. “Shep was the one really pushing for them to have one. He wants it to be co-ed.” 

“How very American of him.” 

I nod. “But, honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

“I could help,” he offers in that carefully casual way again that makes me wonder if it isn’t as nonchalant as it seems. 

“Yeah?” I grin at him. 

He nods. “Daphne had one for every single one of her pregnancies,” he explains. “And she made sure I was involved with all of them.”

He shakes his head, playing it off like he was put off by all the fuss, but the smile that crosses his lips betrays how much it meant to him to be included. I know how much his stepmum means to him. I’ve seen the way she dotes on him in the exact same way she does the rest of her children. It’s sweet, listening to him talk about the games they played and the elaborate tea they had at the club. I can imagine twelve-year-old Baz, hair slicked back, eating dainty finger sandwiches with all the older ladies at the club. I wonder if my grandmother attended any of them. 

“That all sounds much more elaborate than I thought Penny’s was going to be.” 

He must hear the slight panic in my voice because he waves a hand at that. 

“Oh, I doubt Bunce would want anything at that level,” he assures me. “My family is quite over the top.” 

That’s true. I’ve seen the gargoyles on his childhood bed at Pitch manor. Everything at their house was a bit extra. 

“Are you sure?” I ask. “That you’d want to help? I wouldn’t want to put you out.” 

He leans back in his chair. “I mean, if you have it handled, I wouldn’t want to impede on your vision.” 

I scoff. “If by ‘vision’ you mean putting out cheese and crackers and a few beers and borrowing some extra chairs from my neighbours…”

He grimaces slightly. I can see he’s holding back his opinion. 

“Yeah, okay, I could really use your help,” I concede. “I think I’m in way over my head.” 

He smiles and claps his hands together once. “Good. Call me this weekend. We can put a plan together. Do you have a guest list?” 

I tell him that Penny gave me one ages ago, but that I hadn’t gotten around to sending out invitations. 

“That’s good. That’ll give us the option of finding a new venue, should your place not have sufficient room.” 

I nod, feeling slightly worried that this may end up a bigger endeavour than I had initially thought, but also feeling relieved that I have someone as competent as Baz to help me through it. 

We finish up with our regular check-in questions and before I know it, our time is up. I feel a buzz along my skin and a warmth in my chest, knowing we have a plan to talk this weekend. Maybe I can even convince him to come over to see the space. 

I can’t stop smiling the whole way back to my office. 

“Wait, what do you mean Baz Pitch is helping with my shower?” 

Penny twists on her sofa to look at me head-on. One of her feet falls off of my lap, but I hold onto the other one, rubbing my knuckles along the sole. 

“It came up and he offered to help,” I say, shrugging and avoiding her eyes. She continues to stare at me, not saying anything, and when I finally look up she’s evaluating me carefully. 

“It’s just weird,” she says, settling back into the cushions and bringing her foot back to my lap. “You and Baz as friends. I can’t quite wrap my head around it.” 

“I can’t imagine them as anything but,” Shep’s voice echoes from the kitchen. He pops his head around the corner of the doorframe. “They seemed very friendly at Pitch Manor.” Shepard tilts his chin down and looks over his glasses at us, the innuendo clear in his smirk. 

I stare fixedly at my hands kneading her arch and hope I don’t start blushing. Merlin, was it obvious even way back when I gave him his wand back how I felt about him? I’m not even sure I quite understood the depths of what I was feeling then. 

“Is that so?” Penny asks. 

There’s a sizzling sound from the stove getting louder.

“Shit! My stir fry!” he yells, then disappears back around the corner. 

I switch to the other foot, even though I started with that one, but I need to keep my hands busy. Penny keeps watching me quietly, not saying anything else. After a few minutes, I give up trying to pretend I don’t know she’s scrutinizing me. 

“You might as well tell me what you’re thinking,” I say, looking up at her. 

“Everything’s starting to make sense,” she says. 

“What?”

“Your obsession with Baz when we were at school,” she says and I roll my eyes. She goes on. “And your obsession with him now.” 

“I am not obsessed.” 

She ignores me. “You like him,” she says softly. “Don’t you?”

“We’re friends now. Of course I like him,” I say evasively. She isn’t buying it. 

“It’s okay.” She puts a hand on my arm reassuringly but I move her feet gently off my lap and stand up. 

“It’s really not,” I say. My feet carry me to the open space in front of the coffee table and I start pacing. 

“I know it’s not the ideal situation,” she starts, “but—”

“Not ideal?” I scoff, cutting her off. “Aren’t you the one who’s been on my case from the start? Keep things professional. Set firm boundaries. Just do your job. I can’t fancy Baz! Can’t you see that’s kept me from doing my job from the very beginning?” 

I pause and think about the words that have just tumbled out of my mouth. Have I fancied Baz from that first day he walked into my office? I think about him standing in my doorway in his navy blue suit, hair brushing his shoulders and eyes downcast. I remember the way my gut twisted when I read his file, and how I couldn’t get him out of my head for weeks. I think about what Penny said, about being obsessed with Baz in school. Could I even pinpoint where this feeling started? He’s in me so deep, I think I’d get lost if I went looking for the spark. 

“No,” she says, “your sense of right and wrong led you to make the decisions you have.” 

I turn to her with my arms crossed. That’s the kindest thing she’s said about the way I’ve handled Baz’s case. 

“I thought you disagreed with just about everything I’ve done so far,” I say. 

“I’ve worried about the consequences of you taking action when it wasn’t your place to do so,” she says. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t agree about why you did it.” 

The sounds of plates clinking and cabinets and drawers opening and closing has ceased. I think Shepard has finished plating our dinner, which means he’s probably hiding out in the kitchen until we finish. 

“I can’t have feelings for Baz,” I say quietly, shaking my head slowly from side to side. “I’ll just fuck up everything more because of it.” 

She tilts her head. “Do you think he feels the same way?” 

I think about the day we went to Watford and how good it felt to be close to him. How he held my hand and hugged me when I collapsed into him. How he listened to all of my bullshite and told me he cared afterwards. I think about the flirting and the texting and the way he offered to help with Penny’s shower and I can’t help but wonder if maybe he does feel the same way. But what would it matter? 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m his social worker!” My tail thrashes behind me and knocks the spindly leg of an end table. It rocks back and forth a bit but thankfully doesn’t tip over. Penny doesn’t move, but her eyes flit to the table and she watches it wobble until it stills. I had a hard time controlling my dragon appendages in the beginning. It’s gotten easier over the years. But Penny knows I have a harder time reigning them in when my emotions get the better of me. 

“You don’t have to be,” she says simply. “You’ve got Anna now. You could put him on her caseload.” 

Honestly, I’ve thought about it. A lot. But any time I think about the case we’re trying to put together to take before the Coven, I think it would be more compelling to his case if I remain his social worker from the start. They’re bound to ask me about his progress, and I can’t help but wonder if they’ll grill me about things I’ve done like giving him his wand back.

“Alright,” I say, pacing again. “Let’s play hypotheticals. Put your law hat on for this one. Let’s take this all the way and think through what could happen if Baz and I started dating. How do you think the Coven would react to his former social worker, whom he is now dating, encouraging him to fight his charges?” 

She inhales deeply and doesn’t take long to think. “It wouldn’t look good,” she admits. 

“Exactly,” I say. I slump down into a squashy armchair across from her. My wings sag over the back. “I can’t hurt his chances of winning his freedom and autonomy back.” 

Penny just watches me then, quietly rubbing her stomach over her royal blue sundress. The expression in her eyes makes her already look like a mum. 

“I’m sorry if I’m making this harder for you,” she says softly. “I just know it’s been a very long time since you’ve felt this way about anyone.” 

She’s definitely right about that. I haven’t dated anyone properly since Uni, and even then, those relationships were short-lived. After Agatha there was Catherine. We dated for three months my first year. Then, in my last year, there was Keith. Also only three months. Both of them were Mages. (It’s sort of hard to date Normals when you have wings and a tail.) (Though I have hooked up with a few over the years. Usually quickies in a toilet stall, or something similar where I don’t have to get completely undressed.) 

But falling this hard for someone? Yeah, I’d say it’s been a while. It’s possible I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone, ever. 

After a moment, Shepard peeks his head into the living room. “I don’t suppose a delicious bowl of stir fry could turn things around?” 

“I don’t suppose this is one of your ‘clear out the fridge’ stir fries?” 

He gives me a roguish smile. “Different ingredients. Always bangin’.” 

I feel the edge of my mouth quirk up. “Alright. Let’s have it, then.” 

Penny and I follow him back into the kitchen to set the table and within a few minutes we’re sitting down to a steaming bowl complete with microwave rice, broccoli, bell peppers, peas, egg and at least three different kinds of reanimated meat that Shep has seasoned with various sauces to make the dish vaguely Asian in flavour. It works surprisingly well. 

“What’s this?” I ask, holding up a dark leaf with a red vein in the middle that I’ve got speared on my fork. 

“Swiss chard,” Shepard explains. “I’m growing some on the balcony. I’d love to do beets next.” 

Leave it to Shep to raise the most disgusting vegetables. Though anyone who wears patchouli is naturally someone whose tastes you should question. This chard is actually okay. Probably because it’s smothered in so much sauce. 

“Shepard,” Penny says, “No one likes beets. They taste like dirt.” 

“Lots of people like beets. I like beets,” he says, putting a hand over his heart. “My niece loved beets when she was a baby. I’m convinced ours will, too.” Penny gives him a skeptical look and I bite my lip to keep from smiling. 

Shepard leans forward and strokes her arm softly. 

“This is where having a garden would come in handy.” 

Someone’s leg bangs loudly into the underside of the table. Shep yelps and Penny gives him a pointed look. 

“Are you guys thinking about moving, then?” I keep my voice casual, since Penny’s obviously worried about discussing this in front of me. 

She sighs while he mumbles a sorry under his breath. I hear his hand rubbing against his corduroys under the table. 

“We’ve been entertaining the idea of looking for more space,” she concedes. “Nothing’s set in stone.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I say. 

“You do?” 

“‘Course. A garden would be great.”

She nods tentatively. “And obviously, our choices are more affordable the further we get.” 

I was prepared for this possibility. I nod to show I’m listening, and focus on eating. 

“But obviously we wouldn’t go too far, since both of our jobs are here,” Shepard adds. 

That makes sense. I know neither of them would want too extreme of a commute with an infant. 

This is going to be fine, and for once I believe it when my brain tells me so. 

“You guys don’t have to tiptoe around me,” I assure them. “I’ll be happy for you no matter where you end up. And I’ll find a way to visit, even if the train and bus routes are shit.” 

Penny’s shoulders relax. “I’m holding you to that,” she says, pointing at me. 

“Maybe I’ll finally get a car,” I say, smiling. 

Shepard claps me on the shoulder. “I’ve got a truck I could sell you, my friend.” 

I pause briefly from assembling my sad looking cheese plate to glance at the clock. It’s nearly six. Baz is going to be arriving at my flat any minute now and I am totally unfucking prepared. 

I spent the afternoon tidying and felt relatively okay about having invited him over to start party planning. Then, while thinking if there was anything else I should do to prepare, I realised it's a Saturday evening, and that was a very strange time to get together to organise a baby shower, and Merlin, was this a date? 

And of course, in the sane part of my brain I know it very much is not a date. But the part of my brain that seems to be responsible for making my armpits sweat seems to think otherwise. (Hence my hasty trip to Tesco’s to grab a few snacks and drinks that I’m haphazardly throwing together now.) (Why did I think I could invite Baz over at dinner time and not feed him?) (Why did I think I could fucking invite him over on a Saturday night at all?)

It’s also not lost on me that I claimed all I was capable of in putting Penny’s shower together was putting out a cheese plate and a few beers and that’s literally all I could wrap my head around doing tonight. Siegfried and fucking Roy, I really am a numpty. 

The bell rings and I quickly bring the plate and beers out to the coffee table before letting Baz in. I open the door and as soon as our eyes meet we both smile. 

Baz is wearing a soft, light blue jumper and dark wash jeans. It’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him dressed. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in jeans. Not even when we were kids. Even though I’m sure his outfit is more expensive than anything I own, something about seeing Baz dressed so laid back is definitely doing it for me. 

“Hi,” I finally manage to say. My wings flap stupidly behind me. 

“Hello,” he says, grinning. 

It takes me about two seconds to remember I need to invite him in and I nearly trip on my own feet trying to open the door wider for him. 

“Um, come in,” I say hastily.

He chuckles quietly as he steps across the threshold. He’s got two bags with him and when I ask about them he says they’re supplies. 

“My computer,” he says, holding up a laptop bag, “for sending out evites. And wine,” he says, holding up a slimmer bag, “because, well, I didn’t know how painful this would be.” 

He smirks at me and I return it when I say, “Oh please, you brought your own computer for this. Don’t pretend you aren’t getting off on organising.” 

He huffs a laugh and I suppress the niggling thought that Baz brought wine because he, too, might have thought this was a date while I go and fetch some wine glasses.

When I come back, he follows me to the living room but when he sees the spread I’ve made, his smile falters. 

“I know, I know,” I say, “We’ve already established I’m a crap host. That’s why you’re here.” 

“Oh, Snow,” he hesitates before saying, “I already ate before I came. I didn’t realise…”

So he doesn’t think this is a date. (It isn’t, so why would he?) 

“It’s fine,” I say, waving a hand. “I just, you know, didn’t want to like, not put something out.” 

He nods, but he still looks guilty. He needn’t. 

“And I bought alcohol, too,” I say, gesturing at the beers. “For when you realise what you’ve gotten yourself into. It’ll help soothe your irritation with me.” 

“Promises, promises,” Baz teases. 

He pulls his laptop out of its case and I make some room for it on the coffee table, rearranging the plates and bottles. Baz arranges himself on the floor, his long legs tucked under the table, ankles crossed casually. I can’t really sit like that, tucked up against the sofa with my wings squashed, so I sit on the edge of the cushions. It’s funny, I usually like being above Baz, but right now I’d rather be down on his level next to him, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. 

“So,” he says, opening his computer, “I took the liberty of drafting up some menu options since you’d mentioned meal planning wasn’t one of your strong suits.” Baz pulls up a spreadsheet with columns for beverages, appetizers, lunch and desserts. Plus an extra one for additional supplies like disposable plates and cutlery, cups, ice, etc. It looks awfully familiar. 

“I’ve also got a tab here for games and activities, decorations, and one to keep track of invites sent and RSVPs,” he continues, showing me each in turn. 

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Oh, God. I think Penny made some very similar lists and sent them to me ages ago.” Baz narrows his eyes at me and I make an apologetic face. 

“Simon Snow, did I do all of this work for nothing?” 

“I’m sorry! I only just remembered right now!” 

He shakes his head and grabs the bottle of wine, then thrusts it into my hands. 

“I’m going to need a drink.” 

Once I’ve poured us each a glass of wine, I manage to find the various spreadsheets Penny had sent me months ago. I pull them up on my iPad and prop it up next to Baz’s laptop. It ends up being helpful that she’d put so many details into them because Baz doesn’t know her that well and through them he’s able to learn a bit more about her tastes and preferences. We end up blending between the two sets of lists. He cuts his dessert menu in half and adds some savory dishes based on her food lists. He insists we double the number of drinks she initially planned and nix the champagne. 

“Nobody needs to get drunk at this thing,” he insists. 

There’s still plenty missing from Penny’s lists that I would have had to figure out myself and I’m really thankful Baz is here to confidently walk me through everything. I wouldn’t have even thought of decorations but Baz is adamant we need them. 

“Trust me on this. It’s essential.” 

And of course, Baz has loads of opinions on every aspect of the party. “For the love of magic, please do not play the ‘guess the melted chocolate bar in the nappy’ game.”

“The what?” 

He shows me where Penny had it itemized on a list of pre-approved party games. 

“It’s a game where you melt different chocolate bars in a nappy so it looks like a poo and people try and guess what kind of candy it was.” He shudders and I fail miserably at suppressing my giggles. 

“I’m sorry, I know the game. I just couldn’t resist making you explain it.” 

He smacks me in the stomach with the back of his hand and a groan escapes between fits of laughter. 

“I hate you.” He turns and stares resolutely at his screen. 

“Aw, but you’re so cute when you talk about poo.”

He gives me a funny look from the corner of his eye, then darts them back to his screen. 

“If I can barely describe it, then it should be obvious how grotesque this game is and why it should be eliminated.” 

“I think Shep really wanted it,” I say with mock sincerity. 

“Americans,” he says, shaking his head. 

“You can’t always blame everything odd or different about him on his being American.” 

“Normal, then.” 

I shake my head. “That isn’t the half of it.” 

He sighs. “Your friends are so weird.” 

We go through the rest of Penny’s list of games. Baz’s frown deepens as we go. 

“I’ve never heard of any of these,” he mumbles. 

I’ve never been to a baby shower before, so we end up looking most of them up ourselves. The video we find of a room full of adults trying to chug beer through baby bottles is what finally puts him over the edge. 

“Penelope Bunce wants to do this?” He looks truly aghast. 

“I mean, she won’t be participating herself. Cuz, you know.” I pantomime a pregnant stomach. “But yeah, she likes a good time.” 

He sighs and starts looking for baby bottles on Amazon.

I take a moment to watch him while he’s busy scrolling. The blue light from his computer screen casts him in a soft glow. It compliments him, somehow. Everything looks good on Baz. It shimmers in his hair, which has currently fallen from where it had been tucked behind his ear. I want to reach out and push it back into place. I think about running my hands through it. I wonder if he’d like it. If he’d lean into my touch, fitting his cheek into the palm of my hand. 

“You’re staring, Snow,” he says, not taking his eyes off the screen. Fuck. 

“Guilty,” I confess. “I just…I’m really glad you’re here. It’s made all of this seem a lot less overwhelming. So thank you.” It isn’t everything that I want to say. Not by a long shot. But it’s true enough. 

He meets my eyes then. “Not a problem.”

We both smile and I try to think of something else to say, but nothing I want to say is anything I can say. So I just keep staring at him like an idiot, searching for something, anything I can do that would keep him as close as I dare. 

“Could you, um, would you be available, or able, to um…help me? The day of? With like, the set up and whatnot?” 

Merlin, is that the best I can do? 

Baz, you’re magnificent. I adore you. You’re in my head day and night. Would you please do me the honour of being my party planner? 

But to my surprise he answers quickly. 

“Yes, of course.” 

I let out a breath, the relief is instant in my chest. It’s something. And if this is all I can have right now, I’ll take it. 

Chapter Text

It’s finally the day of Penny’s shower and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it’s going to go great.

Obviously, this is all down to Baz. I really don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s helped me loads this past week. We tackled the party supply store last Friday and yesterday we went food shopping and decorated my flat. I’m still surprised he thought my home was an adequate enough venue, but when he saw the size of the guest list, he figured everyone could fit if he magicked up a few more chairs. 

As I was readying myself for bed last night, I walked through the living room, feeling a bit out of place with the streamers and balloons in pastel colors covering the walls. 

But when I remembered Baz helping me bring in the groceries, stuffing my fridge together until it was nearly bursting, and hearing his soft goodnight as he left, knowing I’d see him here first thing in the morning, well. I don’t think this place has ever felt so much like home in all the years I’ve lived here.

He promised he’d be here early today to help prep the last of the food and I’m not the least bit surprised when he arrives at noon on the dot, exactly when he said he would. 

“What is all of that?” I ask when I open the door and see Baz with several bouquets of flowers in his hands. I wave him in and he frowns at me, as if it isn’t obvious. The plastic wrap crinkles as he comes inside the flat. 

“Flowers are never a bad decor choice, Snow,” he says, heading straight to the kitchen with his haul. How many are there? Half a dozen bouquets? 

“I know, but they weren’t on our list. I could have ran and gotten them myself if I knew that was the plan. What are you looking for?” 

Baz has dumped the flowers on the counter and is now searching through my cabinets. 

“Something to put these in. Obviously.” 

He finally gives up opening them one at a time and pulls out his wand to cast Open Sesame so that they all fly open simultaneously. 

“Oi! You could just ask.” 

He stops his search, sighs, and with his hands on his hips asks, “Do you have any vases?” 

It finally dawns on me what’s going on here and a smile slowly spreads on my lips. 

“Are you nervous?” 

He huffs, spinning away from me to continue his search. “Well, it’s not exactly like I’ve been invited. The least I can do is make a good impression.” He pushes up to his tiptoes to peer into the cabinet above my fridge. 

Merlin, he’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. 

“Hey,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently turning him towards me. He lets his torso be guided my way, but keeps craning his neck behind him, not giving up on his mission. I bring my other hand round so I’ve got both shoulders, which finally forces him to look at me. I keep them there, just to be sure he stays. 

“Penny knows you’re coming. She knows you’ve been helping me.” 

“Again, not the same as being invited.” There’s a little crease between his eyebrows. It’s adorable. 

“Clerical error,” I say. “Your invitation must have gotten lost.” 

“You can’t lie to me, I helped you send them.”

I laugh. 

“Okay, but Shep and I literally crashed your brother’s birthday party. You have to know this is far better than that.” 

He shakes his head. “You brought back my wand. You saved the day.” 

I grin at the fierce look on his face as he forces me to accept how significant that was. Fine. 

“I think Penny and Shep will see that you’ve saved the day here, too,” I say. “They know what I’m capable of. And this,” I gesture behind me toward the living room, “far exceeds my talents.” I grip his shoulders a little tighter for emphasis. “They’ll be so grateful for everything you’ve done.” 

He takes a breath and his worry lines relax. 

“Okay.” 

I rub his arms a little and his expression shifts ever so slightly. I think for a minute that he might be blushing under my attention, even though I don’t think it’s possible for his color to change that way. 

I finally have to drop my hands and step away after a beat because I can’t just stand here touching him and looking into his eyes without him seeing everything I feel for him written on my face.

I find him half a dozen pint glasses that he magicks into vases. Afterwards, he berates me for not having a single one of my own. 

“Why would I, as a single man, own a vase?” 

“I’m a single man. And I have several,” he says, as he hands me one to fill with water. 

“For all the times you’re given flowers?” I tease. 

“Yes,” he says, looking down his nose at me and daring me to say something about it. I don’t, even though I feel myself frown just a bit at the thought of someone else buying Baz flowers. 

“Or,” he says, “for when I buy my own.” He takes the full vase out to the dining table and I grin a little, wondering if he caught the face I was making. Probably not, but it warms my cheeks just thinking about it. 

We continue our work, putting out flowers, prepping food, and getting everything in order. I keep cracking jokes or bumping his hip playfully to keep him from fretting anymore. I’m not even sure I need to, as he’s in pretty good spirits now, but I keep at it because I get a thrill anytime I can make him smile or laugh. 

Before we know it, people begin to arrive, starting with the guests of honour. When Penny and Shepard arrive, bustling in and talking animatedly about baby names (I really don’t know if they’ll ever agree. They’ve been battling it out for months) they stop when Penny finally takes in her surroundings. 

“Oh, Simon,” she breathes, looking all around her and taking it all in. Shepard whistles. His eyes travel from the table laden with sandwiches, salads and appetizers to the colourful baubles and balloons hanging from the ceiling. Penny marvels at the wall display with the words A Gift of Joy framed with tea lights and under which a table waits to fill up with presents from their guests. 

“This is lovely,” she says, voice wobbly.

“You’ve outdone yourselves, mates,” Shepard says, and I see Baz’s mouth quirk at the adopted Britishism, but I know the comment also made him proud, because he can’t seem to school it away. 

“Thank you,” Penny says simply, looking to both of us in turn. 

I hip-check him once more and am rewarded with an eye roll I take to mean fine, you were right, no need to be insufferable about it. I just grin at him in return while he offers Penny and Shepard drinks. 

Before we know it, more guests arrive in quick succession and we’re playing hosts left and right. 

First, the Bunces arrive, somehow all together even though they’re all spread out these days. I’m glad they went for co-ed, because it’s nice to see them all in one place. They all talk over each other, joining different conversations left and right as they fill their plates with food. Baz looks a little overwhelmed at first. He has a big family, too, but I don’t know if they’re as chaotic as this bunch. Eventually, he finds himself in conversation with Martin Bunce. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see him nodding along while Martin gestures enthusiastically. Probably nerding out about magic together. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hit it off. (If Penny gets sucked in they’d probably be there for hours.)

Gran arrives shortly thereafter, with cake in hand as usual. 

“I told you, you didn’t have to bring anything. We had the food handled,” I take her famous Victoria Sponge from her hands while I bend down to kiss her cheek. 

“Nonsense,” she says. “I always come with cake.” She pats my cheek as I straighten, smiling warmly up at me. She looks around then and her eyes go wide as she marvels at the way my home has been transformed. 

“Did you do all of this?”

“I had help,” I say, waving Baz over from where he’s replenishing the punch. 

“Basilton! I didn’t know you boys were still in touch,” she says, pulling him into a hug when he reaches us. I feel a bit guilty about that. She knew we were roommates back at school. I guess I haven’t seen her much since Baz and I started spending more time together. I make a mental note to fix that. Maybe I can visit her next weekend. 

“How are you, Lady Ruth? It’s lovely to see you.”

“I’m well, dear,” she says, patting his cheek the same way she did mine. Something about it warms my chest. “How did you two reconnect?” She asks, looking between us. 

Baz opens his mouth to answer but I say, “It’s rather a long story.”

He looks at me and smiles, eyes soft. I think it means he wouldn’t mind telling her, but I don’t think this is the time or place for it. 

“We’ll have to catch up soon,” he offers. 

She nods, smiling. She takes his hand in both of hers. “You’ll have to come pay me a visit then.” She turns to me. “Simon, you’ll have to bring Basilton by for a visit soon.” 

I promise that I will, and Baz helps her find a comfy seat while I set her cake on the table with the other desserts. 

Eventually, the party is in full swing. The place is busy with voices, the room full with family and friends. Penny’s co-workers mingle with the magickal creatures Shepard has met over the years. (I wasn’t sure the Ent was going to fit through the door, but somehow he shuffles himself in just fine.)

In the early stages of planning, they weren’t sure whether to invite Shepard’s magickal friends or his Normal co-workers. In the end, the deciding factor was Penny’s desire to have a few mage traditions at the event, helping to weed out any Normals. 

I’m glad that’s where they landed, because the tea leaf reading and the magickal melding of Penny and Shepard’s baby photos end up being the highlights of the party. 

“Is this really accurate? Is this what our little one will look like?” Shepard asks in amazement as he studies the finished product after Mitali completes the spell. 

“It’s no more accurate than software that can make the same approximations,” Penny’s dad explains. “It’s still fun to play around with, though.” 

Shepard clutches the photo as if it’s a prophecy, studying it carefully. 

“The only sure bet is the baby will be nearsighted,” Penny muses. 

“Ha!” says Baz, flicking his wand and capturing the safety pin from her. It unclips from her dress strap and flies lazily over to him, attaching itself to his lapel, along with seven others. 

“Dammit,” she curses. “Who have you won those from? I haven’t heard anyone say baby at all!” 

I don’t throw him under the bus, but I’m fairly certain he’s using his super hearing to trounce us all at this game. 

“You’re doing it again,” she says softly so only I can hear. 

“What?”

“Looking at Baz as if he’s the only one in the room.”

I know she’s right. I definitely am. I just didn’t realise I was being that obvious about it. 

I mean, how could I not? He’s just standing there, laughing at something my gran said while she foists another piece of cake on him. He’s so lovely. He seems so at ease here. Which is saying something considering how nervous he was this morning. But now it’s like he was meant to be here. It makes it all the more easy to picture him in my life. A steady presence (even more so than he’s already been) accompanying me to parties with friends or visits with Gran. Or just being here in my flat. 

I can picture it so clearly. I see him coming home from work with flowers and a bottle of wine. I’d be making dinner for the two of us and he’d come into the kitchen, stopping to kiss my neck before he’s even taken off his coat. 

“I gotta get some more ice,” I say. Maybe sticking my head in the freezer for a moment will help cool me down. 

I head to the kitchen and start filling a bowl with ice. I don’t even know if we need it. I just needed something to do with my hands. 

“Alright, Simon?” 

It’s Premal. I didn’t even hear him approach. 

“Oh, hey.” I turn to face him, closing the freezer door. 

“How’s the workload?” He grins at me. 

“You’re such a dick,” I say, laughing at his audacity. 

Prem’s always been like that, never one to beat around the bush. When he quit our department all those months ago, there was no preamble. Just dumped his files on my desk and said he was ‘ off to greener pastures.’ Said he’d got some new job in marketing for a Normal company. I didn’t even know he was looking. 

“Heard you finally found my replacement. She any good?” 

“The best,” I say. “Should’ve taken over for you years ago.” 

He laughs at that. 

“How’s the new job, then?” I ask. 

“Good. Really good. I, uh.” He pauses, his face turning serious. “I didn’t realise how unhappy I was until I left.” 

His frankness catches me off guard for a moment. I wasn’t expecting this conversation to take such a serious turn. I keep quiet, in case he wants to say more. 

“I don’t think I understood how deeply that job had affected me and my well-being.” 

I nod, because I of all people know exactly what he means. 

He shrugs. “I think I thought I didn’t have to let it touch me. What our clients were going through. What we were putting them through. Not all of them,” he says quickly, “but, you know.”

I do. He doesn’t have to elaborate. 

“Anyways, getting some space from there really, really helped.”

I smile at him. I’m glad things are better.

“And I’m sorry for leaving you there alone—”

“No,” I shake my head, cutting him off. “You don’t have to apologise. You did what you had to do. And I’m happy for you.” 

He takes a breath and lets it out. He sounds relieved. 

“And how about you?” he asks. “Looks like you’re taking the opposite approach.” 

I give him a confused look. He nods toward the living room where Baz is refilling a bowl of crisps. 

He lowers his voice, even though there’s no one else in here with us. “Bringing your work home with you?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

“Shut up,” I say, pushing him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Hey, I get it,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. “I’ve nearly been tempted by a coquettish imp or a seductive Siren.” 

My brow pinches a little. “It’s not like that. I’ve known Baz forever.”

“I know, I know. It’s different,” he concedes. “And yet,” he pauses. Catches my eye. “Is it?” 

I don’t like what he’s implying. Even though, sure, he’s technically right. It’s just the way he’s saying it. Like I’m taking advantage or something. 

I’m sure he can tell he’s touched a nerve because he pats me on the back and his voice is jovial again when he says he’s sure there’s nothing to worry about. 

When I hear Penny’s mum say it’s time for gifts, I use it as an excuse to leave the conversation. 

I busy myself with sprucing up the food table while the crowd ohs and ahs over unisex onesies. Baz has spelled a paper and pen to hover over her shoulder, taking notes of what gifts came from whom. The Ent, Ed, is in the corner talking to Shepard and Baz about nappies. He’s making a passionate argument that a compostable service is the most environmentally friendly option. Shepard is nodding along intently while Baz frowns slightly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He looks so cute and I hate that that’s the first thing I think.

Am I being selfish? Can literally everyone else see how badly I want him? Is it unfair of me to feel this way, to try and keep him close, when we have a professional relationship we’re trying to maintain? I thought I was handling it. That I could spend time with him platonically while I wait for his case to be over but maybe I’m failing there, too. 

I do my best through the rest of the party to keep busy. To engage in small talk. To laugh at jokes and keep up appearances but inside my head it's all doubts and endless questions. Merlin, I used to be better at not thinking so much. I used to just act. Sometimes I yearn to have that reckless bravado back. 

 Somehow or other, I make it to the end of the party. The guests say their goodbyes. Penny’s family helps Baz and I load their new Volvo with gifts and leftovers. 

“This is pretty spacious,” says Premal, adding the large nappy tower to the boot. “Is it spelled bigger on the inside?” 

“Nope!” Shepard shuts the hatchback and pats the roof proudly. “This puppy’s made for hauling.”

“Don’t get him started on storage capacity and towing power,” Penny says, waving a hand to disperse them as she makes her way to the passenger door. “My feet are killing me.” 

“You two are being very cliche right now. You know that, right?” says Priya. Penny responds with a rude gesture out the window, to which Priya blows a kiss back. 

“Language,” chides Martin. 

“I didn’t say any words,” Penny says. She leans further out the window. “And besides, there are no children here.”

 “Your brother—” he starts, but Penny interupts him. 

“Is eighteen!” 

Pacey makes a confused face. “Pip’s seventeen.” 

“I’m eighteen!” Pip calls from where he’s leaning against his family’s car, not looking up from his phone. 

“Shit,” Pacey murmurs. 

Their bickering continues as they finish their goodbyes. 

Baz has been helping Mitali load some of the copious leftovers in her car and they’ve been in an animated conversation for a while, but I can’t quite hear from where I’ve been standing. As they make their way towards the rest of us, I catch a little of it. 

“Well I really enjoyed talking to you, Basil. I must say, we could really benefit from a unique perspective like yours.” 

“Thank you, Headmistress. That…means a lot.” I can see him tamping down his enthusiasm. Biting back his smile and clearing his throat. I wish he wouldn’t. He doesn’t have to hide himself like he’s so apt to do. 

She pulls out her phone, swiping through her screen as she talks. “I’d love to discuss this further. Can we do a call? Maybe,” she pauses, I’m assuming because she’s looking through her calendar. “Thursday?” 

He nods and they exchange numbers. I catch his eye after they shake hands but all I get is a cheeky smirk. 

“Simon?” Penny calls. I jog over to the window and bend down to kiss her head. “Talk to him,” she whispers. I muss her hair in response and she swats my hand. 

“Basil,” she calls and he turns his head from where he’s standing on the pavement, “it’s very annoying how good you are at everything.” 

“Charming as ever, Bunce.” 

She winks and waves at him. 

“That’s high praise from Pen, believe it or not,” I say as I sidle up next to him. 

“Oh, I know.” We watch as everyone clambers into their cars and they depart one by one. And just like that, we’re alone again. 

We head back up the stairs to my flat together. He didn’t specifically say he was going to stay and clean up with me, but I know he will. I’m glad we have a little more time alone together. It gives me a chance to say what I need to say. 

Once inside, I take off my jumper to let my wings loose. It just seemed easier to have them tucked away where they wouldn’t hit anyone during the party, but now that everyone’s gone, I badly need to stretch them out.

We start tackling the food first. Luckily, Penny and her family took most of it, but there’s still quite a lot that has to be dealt with. Baz starts putting the last few sandwiches in containers to put in the fridge while I start collecting the errant plates and cups. 

“Does it bother you? Having your wings bunched up all day?”

I shrug. “It’s not so bad. But it's kind of like wearing a slightly uncomfortable pair of shoes. The urge to take them out as soon as I can is strong.” 

He hums, looking back down at his task.

“So are you going to tell me what you and Headmistress Bunce were talking about?”

 He clicks the lid on the container. 

“We were talking about curriculum, actually.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” And there it is. His smile aimed full force at me. It’s lovely. “I asked her about plans for the new magickal school and shared some ideas of mine.”

“Wait, and she wanted to talk some more this week?” 

“It was quite a surprise, but yes.”

I toss the paper plates I’ve collected in the bin and step closer to him. 

“I’m not surprised.” 

He arches an eyebrow at me. 

“You’ve told me some of your ideas. They’re brilliant.” 

You’re brilliant, I want to say. 

He busies himself with tidying the crisps. 

“Yes, well there's the matter of my not being able to work with magickal children at the moment.” 

“We’re going to get that sorted,” I say, with more confidence than I should. 

“We’re going to try,” he corrects me. I move closer until I’m just beside him. He looks up from what he’s doing. 

“You’re right. We are going to try. Because you deserve to get that job if she offers it to you. Baz, you deserve so much.” 

“You’re too good to me,” he teases. Flirts. And I have to say it now before I lose my nerve. 

“I don’t think I should be your social worker anymore.” 

Baz freezes. His smile fades and he shifts to turn to me fully. 

“What? Why?”

“I’ll still help you with your case!” I say quickly. “I just…think it’s for the best.”

“Why?” 

I swallow. “I’ll put you on Ana’s caseload. We can still be friends and stuff, but I just think…” 

I start backing away from him because I don’t think I have the words to explain this part. 

“Simon,” he says, stepping forward like he’s not going to let me run away. “I thought we had a lovely day today. Why…” He takes a breath and tries again. “Why are you doing this? Why now?” 

I shake my head, still trying to back away but Baz is following. He’s almost backed me into the kitchen bar. My wings flair out instinctively. 

“Because I want too much from you!” I nearly shout. Baz stops moving toward me and I wish I could eat my words. Swallow them whole and never let them leave me again. But it’s already out there, so I may as well try to explain myself. 

“It’s not fair to you,” I say. “You’ve worked so hard and I can’t fuck that up for you. I won’t.” 

I hope he understands. I hope he can forgive me. But this is the only way. And it’s what’s right. 

Baz’s face looked almost pained before but now his features have softened into something different. 

“You can have it,” he breathes. 

“What?” My tail flicks behind me impatiently. 

“You can have it all. Whatever it is you want from me. You can have it, Simon.”

I huff. “Baz that’s not…I’m…I can’t just…” 

“Kiss me.” 

My breath catches in my throat, like the wind’s just been knocked out of me. I shouldn’t. I can’t. 

“You can,” he says, like he’s read my fucking mind. 

“Baz,” I whimper. I try to say more, to shake my head, to do something. But all I can manage is his name. And even then I can’t hide the bloody want in it. 

He’s waiting, looking at me expectantly and when I continue to stand there like I’m frozen in place his brow furrows. 

“Simon Snow, if you don’t kiss me right now—”

I reach out, pulling him toward me and catching the next word with my mouth. Baz makes a surprised noise and I pull him closer, fisting the back of his shirt with one hand while the other holds the back of his neck. I kiss him and it’s like a drink of cool water. His lips part slightly and I lick my way into his mouth. He lets out a soft moan and my mind goes completely blank of anything other than trying to get Baz to make that sound again. 

My hand wanders up from his neck and into his hair and fuck me it’s soft. 

Baz’s surprise is gone and now his hands are all over me. He's got one hand gripping my waist for dear life while the other finds its way to my hair. He grips the curls at the back of my head and I moan obscenely. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my tail has wrapped itself around his wrist at my waist. 

“Shit,” I say into his mouth before pulling away slightly. Neither of us lets go but he follows my eyes as I look down between us. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “It has a mind of its own sometimes.” 

“Can I touch it?” Baz asks. He doesn’t look put off in the slightest. In fact, he looks quite keen. 

“Sure?” I say. 

He catches the hesitancy and looks up at me questioningly. His hand is still cradling my head and it’s giving me goose pimples down my neck. 

“I mean, no one’s really done that before.”

His eyebrows shoot up and I clarify. 

“I mean, Penny and Shep have, out of curiosity more than anything else. And it’s been stepped on plenty, but no one’s ever done it…” 

“Intimately?” He ventures. He reaches down and strokes the black spade tip gently. My breath hitches at the sensation. 

He runs his fingers along its length a little more boldly and I shiver. I’ve never had anyone touch me like this. I certainly never expected it to be this good. 

I surge forward, kissing him fiercely again. Now that he’s opened the floodgates, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. He kisses me back, meeting my intensity, and I’m powerless to it. His lips are so soft, his kiss so reverent and so hungry at the same time, it’s all I can do to keep my legs under me as I chase the way he makes me feel. Each kiss is so perfect, it’s like its own little movie, paired with the sweetest soundtrack of soft noises he makes. Punctuated by fingers digging into my hips. Pulling me impossibly closer. I feel drunk on it. I’m obsessed with it. And all I have to do is grab him tighter or groan into his mouth and the movie starts replaying again. 

At some point, his leg has found the length of me, and when he rubs it deliberately against my painfully hard erection my brain finally clicks back online. 

“Fuck,” I growl, moving my hips to put some space between us. I keep my hands on him, keeping him close, and rest my forehead on his shoulder. “I need a minute.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. His breath ghosts across my scalp. It takes everything in me to let go of him. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” I say, backing away from him and looking around for my phone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, although he does walk over to the sofa and sit back on it languidly. Fuck. 

I finally find my phone and open up my email. 

“What are you doing?” Baz asks. 

“Emailing Ana,” I say, typing as quickly as I can. 

Baz makes an offended noise. “Your work life balance is appalling.” 

I snort a laugh. A soft whoosh confirms it’s sent, so I lock my screen and set it on the table, heading over to join him on the sofa. I sit right next to him, my leg pressed against his and my wings over the back. 

“I meant it before when I said I couldn’t be your social worker anymore,” I say softly, resting a hand on his thigh. “And now I really can’t.” I squeeze his leg for emphasis. “I just emailed Ana to tell her I’m putting you on her caseload.”

Baz’s fingers brush against my hand on his leg. I turn it over, offering it to him, and he laces his fingers through mine. It feels as though our hands were meant to fit like this. Two pieces of the same puzzle. 

“What does that mean for us?” 

I sigh. “Baz, this has the potential to cause even more problems for your case.” I look up from our hands in his lap. “I don’t want that for you. And I can wait.” 

“But what if I can’t?” His eyes find mine. They’re so intense. “The Coven has taken enough from me. I won’t let them take you, too.” 

“I’m still right here,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

He takes my face in both hands, cupping my jaw gently. “Simon, I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t keep waiting to live my life. I won’t.” 

My chest aches thinking of all the things Baz can’t let himself have because of these stupid fucking laws. 

“Please, Simon,” he pleads. I hate it. He doesn’t have to beg. “If you want this too, then let me choose what to do with my life.” 

I kiss him swiftly in answer and he grips my face tighter. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say, resting my forehead on his. “I like you so much. And all I kept thinking about was how it would fuck everything up.”

He kisses the top of my head. 

“Isn’t that the point of all this? To fuck things up?” 

I push my face into his neck and laugh. He squirms and leans back into the cushions, pulling me halfway on top of him. I follow him easily. Now that I know he wants this too, I’ll follow him wherever he wants. 

 “Shall we do it then?” I ask, kissing him again. “Shall we set the world on fire?” 

“Oh, darling,” he says, grinning devilishly. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Chapter Text

“Simon!”

Penny calls to me as I enter the cafe and I’m pleasantly surprised to see she’s already ordered sandwiches.

“I thought I was treating you to lunch,” I say. She stands and I pull her into a hug. 

“Yes, well, I have limited time today so I thought I’d keep us on schedule.” She pushes a tray toward me as I take a seat across from her. “Where’s Baz?”

“He’s coming. This one for him?” She nods and I pull the other tray to the seat next to mine. She watches me, one eyebrow raised. 

“So?” 

“Thank you?” I venture through a mouthful of sandwich. Penny rolls her eyes. 

“We haven’t spoken in a week! What happened after my shower?” 

Ah, yes. I haven’t talked to Penny about me and Baz yet. We’ve been a little…preoccupied. 

I set down my sandwich. I’d better get on with it now before he arrives. 

“Baz and I kissed after everyone left,” I say, grinning despite my best efforts to stay cool. 

She squeals so loudly that several people turn and look at us. “Eeee! Nicks and Slick! Are you serious?” 

“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice low in hopes she’ll mimic my volume. 

“So are you, like, together now? Are you still his social worker? What about his case?” She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. Her enthusiasm mixed with concern is palpable. 

“Not his social worker anymore. I put him on Ana’s caseload.” She nods her approval. “And I suppose we’re together? I dunno, we haven’t really labeled it but we have been… spending a lot of time together,” I say carefully, sipping my water and trying hard not to blush. 

I’ve always had a difficult time talking about my (previously barely existent) sex life with Penny. (Not that we’re having sex yet, but the point still stands.) It’s like talking about sex with your sister. Plus, Penny is far too blunt about everything, and hearing her ask questions with so much frankness and uninterrupted eye contact takes more bravery than facing down a herd of Drama Llamas. 

“Well, I can’t say that I’m happy about what that could do to his case. Baz has worked hard at getting everything in order, and if the Coven accepts his appeal, they won’t be happy to hear this. But I will say that I’m exceedingly happy for the both of you.” She squeezes my hand once more before letting go. 

“Thanks, Pen,” I say. “And that’s we wanted your help today.” 

She nods. Penny had already suggested to Baz that he have everything ready for a hearing before he submitted his appeal paperwork. I’ve been through this before with a handful of clients who protested the conditions of their probation, and it’s true that sometimes the Coven grants the request and gives them a new hearing quite quickly. That’s why Baz has been collecting things like personal reference letters alongside drafting a request for a termination of his probation and any further surveillance. We want to be as prepared as possible, and having Penny look everything over is our last step. 

“Oh, look. Here’s Baz,” she says.  

I practically jump up from my chair to turn and look for him. 

He winds his way through the tables and chairs toward us, clutching his laptop bag to his chest. He smiles when he sees me and Morgana and Methuselah, will I ever be able to see him smile at me from across the room and not have it feel like my heart is going to drop out of my arse? 

“Hi,” I say, grinning like an idiot when he reaches us. 

“Hello.” He smirks at me. 

I have a strong urge to kiss him stupid (which is what I’ve done nearly every day this week when one of us ends up at the other’s flat after work) but we haven’t exactly met up outside of that yet. Do we kiss in public? Does Baz do PDA? 

I can’t just stand here wondering, so I pull out his chair and invite him to sit. I take a seat next to him and rest my hand palm up on his thigh in invitation, hoping we can at least hold hands under the table. He looks down at it, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He laces his fingers through mine and I immediately feel content. 

“Am I late?” he asks, looking worriedly at the food. “You’ve already ordered.” 

“Penny ordered for us.”

“I got here early and thought it would be more efficient,” she explains. 

Baz furrows his brow. “I was hoping I could pay for lunch. You’re already going out of your way to help me again.”

Penny waves him off. “Think of it as a thank you for all the work you did organizing my shower.”

“Hey!” I say. 

“Oh, we all know Baz was the brains behind that operation.” 

“And yet you still chose me to handle it in the first place,” I say, my eyes narrowing at her.  

She shrugs. “It worked out, didn’t it?” 

I turn and look at Baz, smiling. “I suppose it did.” 

I must stare at him for a beat too long because Penny declares, “You’re definitely boyfriends now.” She’s staring at us with her chin propped on her hand. 

“Merlin,” I murmur, while Baz coughs a little. “It’s only been a week, Pen. I told you we haven’t… talked about labeling it…” I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. We have talked, obviously. But we’ve also been a bit swept up in it all. We’ve been trying to bang out the rest of this paperwork nearly every night at one of our flats. Everything has been about this next step. Getting an earlier hearing approved. Preparing arguments for when the time comes. And, okay, we’ve done a lot of snogging in between. But other than that, I haven’t even had time to take Baz on a proper date, let alone talk about labels. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Penny mimes zipping her lip. “I’ll keep it professional.” 

She doesn’t, but I don’t mind. 

We decide to eat first before getting down to business, which inevitably means we get to talking about anything and everything. I almost forget that neither of them have seen each other much in over a decade, and boy do they make up for lost time. It’s nice, watching them talking and getting along. Penny isn’t one to feign interest in someone, so it’s a relief to see her genuinely interested in him. They discuss everything from mage politics to spell creation to theories on magickal evolution. Honestly, most of it is over my head, but I can’t help grinning, listening to their enthusiastic debates.  

Eventually, our conversations turn to the more personal. The highlight has to be witnessing Baz’s reaction to how Shepard and Penny got together. 

“Wait, wait. You summoned a demon to break your husband out of an engagement contract?” Baz stares at her in awe. 

“He wasn’t my husband yet,” Penny says through a mouthful of sandwich. She puts a finger over her mouth and finishes chewing before clarifying. “In fact, we weren’t even dating yet. Well, not technically, I don’t think.” 

“You’re focusing on the wrong part of the story,” Baz says impatiently. “Tell me more about how you faced down a bloody demon to break a curse.” 

“It’s a great story,” I say. “I’m still jealous I wasn’t there.” 

She launches into the story. Penny loves telling it. Almost as much as she loves hearing Shepard’s version of it. (Too bad he isn’t here. He tells it so enthusiastically. It’s really cute.) 

Baz is riveted through all of it. 

“I can see why you chose the profession you did,” he says. “Clearly you’re a natural.” 

“Speaking of,” she says, wiping her hands and pushing her tray aside. “We should get down to business.” 

Baz nods, pulling his laptop out of his bag and moving to sit on the other side of the table next to her. I clear the table as the two of them go through everything step by step. Penny asks questions and makes suggestions a few times but mostly she’s impressed. 

“This all looks really good,” she says. “I think you’re ready.” 

Baz breathes a sigh of relief. I do, too. Her confidence in us means a lot. 

“Thanks, Pen,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze across the table. 

“You’ve done a remarkable job, Basil,” she says. “You should be proud.” She closes the laptop, handing it back to him. 

“Do you think I have a shot?” he asks. 

“I do,” she says, and I can see the conviction in her eyes. 

He nods his head once, then lifts his chin. “Then I have a proposition for you.” 

She tilts her head in question. 

“I’d like to hire you to represent me at the hearing, should they grant me one.” 

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline and I feel mine do the same. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Very much so, yes.” 

“What about your father’s man?” I ask. 

“Hawthorne?” Baz waves a hand dismissively. “He’s a shark, but I doubt he’d be any match for a demon.” 

He smirks at Penny and she rolls her eyes. “Last I checked, there aren’t any demons on the Coven,” she says. 

He turns to her more fully. “Listen, all jokes aside, I know this isn’t the best timing.” He gestures to her stomach pointedly and she narrows her eyes at him. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head before course correcting. “I just meant, I know there’s a chance you won’t be available, should we not get a hearing quickly enough. But there really isn’t anyone I’d rather have by my side than you.” 

She clears her throat, then pushes her glasses up before offering her hand. They shake and it warms my heart, thinking that Baz will have her in his corner. I’ve always been stronger with her by my side. Ready to take on any challenge. Now he will be, too. 

“Well if that’s the case, then I’ll do my best not to let you down,” she says.  

“You won’t.”  

“Oh I know,” she says lightly. “It just seemed like the thing to say.” 

Baz barks a laugh.

 “You realise I’m going to bill you for the last hour. Plus the food,” she says, grinning. 

“Fair enough.” 

“But don’t worry,” she says, clapping him on the back. “I’ll give you the friends and family discount.” 

When we’ve finished and said bye to Penny, it takes everything in me not to toss the rest of my day aside and spend the day with Baz. But sadly, both of us have a bit more work to do before we can call it quits on a Thursday. I do make an excuse to walk him to the bus station. I tell myself that ten minutes isn’t going to make much of a difference. 

I thread my fingers through his as we exit the restaurant. “Is this ok?” 

He looks at me and smiles, giving my hand a squeeze. “Of course.” 

“So Penny’s going to be your barrister now, eh? I didn’t even know you were thinking of asking her.” 

He shrugs. “I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had definitely been thinking about it.” 

I bump his shoulder. “Aren’t you full of secrets.”

He chuckles. “Keep playing your cards right, Snow, and you’ll learn all my secrets.” 

“All of them?” I ask playfully. 

He purses his lips, a small smile threatening to break his cool demeanor. 

“I suppose you’ll find out.” 

We walk together quietly for a while and it’s good. I like this, being out with Baz. I want to do more of it. I haven’t really been thinking about anything beyond his case. In all honesty, I probably became a little too fixated on it. Like it was this end goal we had to race towards. Like nothing was going to be able to start until after it was all over. But that’s not really true, is it? He’s here with me, right now. The appeal paperwork is finished. (Penny plans to file it with the Coven tomorrow.) There’s not much more we need to do. Which means, maybe I can do more of this. Holding his hand. Taking him out. Spending time in the present. 

“Listen,” I say, “I know things are potentially going to get very busy.” He nods. “But I’d like to take you out on a proper date, while we have a second to breathe. Maybe tomorrow night?” 

“Simon Snow, are you trying to woo me?” He smirks at me but his eyes betray him. They’re impossibly soft. 

“So what if I am, Pitch?” I tease. We’ve reached his stop, so I tug him to me, holding him close around the waist. Sod any worries I had about PDA. I’m going to kiss him, passerby be damned. 

“You’ll have to bring your A-game,” he says, draping his arms over my shoulders. (I guess he doesn’t mind where we are, either.) “I’m quite the catch, you know.” 

I lean in closer, ghosting my words over his lips. “Oh, I know.” I let our lips touch just slightly, giving him the option to make the next move. He doesn’t disappoint, pressing in. Cool and soft and perfect. Mine. 

The sound of the bus makes me groan into his mouth. I let go, reluctantly, and suddenly wish I had made plans with him tonight instead of tomorrow. How am I going to go a whole day without seeing him? 

I watch him get on, hips sashaying up the steps. (I swear he’s fucking doing it on purpose because he knows I’m looking.) 

When the bus finally leaves, I turn to head to the tube. I realise, regrettably, that I foolishly made plans with him without actually making plans. I just wanted to take Baz out. I didn’t really think about where or to do what. 

I was planning on using the ride back to work to catch up on emails. Which, I could still do, considering I could do some research tonight. Instead, I pull open Yelp to search best London date spots . 

When Friday night finally rolls around, I’m so nervous that my hands are in a constant state of clamminess as I head to Baz’s flat. I ended up feeling grateful that I gave myself just over twenty-four hours to get ready because I needed every minute of it. Not only did I have zero ideas of where to take him, I also realised I had nothing to wear, and was well overdue for a haircut, too. I probably went a little overboard cleaning my entire flat from top to bottom and changing my sheets in hopes that he might stay over for the first time afterwards, but I rationalised it by telling myself it was better to be fully prepared. 

By the time I was done shopping, cleaning, researching places to go, and making myself look halfway presentable, I barely had time to fit in work and sleep. 

When I reach Baz’s building, he buzzes me in, and I head up, wiping my hands on my trousers for the umpteenth time. I’m glad I picked this charcoal grey. Not that my hands are so sweaty that they’d actually leave a wet mark, but I’m still thankful they won’t show anything else if I accidentally spill my dinner on them or something. 

When Baz opens the door to his flat, I unconsciously let out, “Holy hell.” 

He’s wearing a shimmery pale blue top under a navy coat. It’s almost translucent, with a floral pattern woven on it with delicate stitching. He is, quite possibly, the hottest person I’ve ever seen in my life. 

“You look… Christ, Baz.” 

He smirks at me. “Should I be pleased I’ve got you swearing like a Normal?” His eyes travel down the length of me, too. He looks almost hungry. I hope that means I chose well. I’m wearing a suit, too. No tie, I thought it made me look like a used car salesman. Instead, I opted to leave the top to the burgundy shirt undone. (I guess he’s rubbing off on me.) 

Before I let him comment, I bring my left hand from round the back of me, thrusting a bouquet of roses at him. I didn’t know what flowers to get him, so I just chose something that matched my shirt. But now, looking at the delicate red roses on his own shirt, I think I might not have chosen too badly. 

“I know you have a vase for them,” I grin. 

His mouth opens in a little ‘O’ before he takes them from me. “Right you are.” 

I follow him inside where he pulls a simple glass vase from a kitchen cabinet and fills it with water. I take it from him, turning to set it on the table. 

He offers me a drink but I shake my head. 

“We have somewhere to be at seven,” I say, smiling at him. “Best be on our way.” 

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Any chance I get to know where we’re going?” 

I shake my head again and grab his hand, tugging him with me as I turn toward the door. He hastily grabs his coat and keys as we pass through the entranceway. 

“I never took you as a man of mystery, Snow.” 

We’re only halfway down the stairs when I turn and press him up against the corner of the stairwell. 

“I’m a man of many surprises,” I say, threading my hands into his hair and kissing him deeply. 

I don’t really know where my nerves went. I think my urge to taste and touch him overrode the gentle thrum of date night anxiety. 

Ans Merlin, does he feel good under my hands and at the tip of my tongue. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of kissing him. It’s like our lips were made to fit together like this. I could get lost in this, if I let myself. 

“I have neighbors, Snow,” he says, and I feel victorious at the way he sounds slightly breathless. 

I press in closer, refusing to relent. “No one can see us from here.” I kiss him again, just to prove a point, and we stay like that for what feels like ages. I feel drunk on this. Lulled into the rhythm that’s just our own. 

Dimly, I remember that, as easily as I could do this forever, we’re on a schedule. 

“Come on,” I say, finally directing us down the stairs. 

“Menace,” he murmurs and I think I see him adjusting his trousers from the corner of my eye. I don’t say anything, but I have a hard time keeping the grin off my face. 

When we get outside, I’m almost glad for the walk to the tube. There’s a pleasant chill that makes me feel less hot and cramped in this jacket. I sometimes wish I wasn’t immune to magic and that I could spell my wings invisible (Or even just away) because I know I look like Quasimodo with them bunched under my clothes. But somehow, with the way Baz is looking at me tonight, it makes me feel like I mustn’t look half bad. 

We hold hands the whole walk, and on the train, too. We talk and laugh and it makes me feel like we’re off to a good start. Like I can make this night memorable for him if I play my cards right. I just hope he likes the part that comes next. 

When the Barbican comes into view, I tell Baz we’re nearly there. He turns to me and gives me a quizzical look. I grin at him, confirming his suspicion. 

“Are you taking me to the symphony?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes?” I say tentatively, hoping I got this right. He blinks, his eyebrows raised impossibly high. 

“Is classical music even your thing?” he asks. 

I shrug, feeling a little self-conscious at his insinuation that I’m too plebeian for this sort of thing. “It’s still music, innit? Everyone likes music.” 

He leans over and kisses my cheek. “It’s very thoughtful,” he says, and it serves as a balm on my worries for now. 

We find our seats and I’m pleasantly surprised that the view is pretty good. We’re sat close to the strings, which I can see makes Baz pleased. 

“How long since you’ve been here?” I ask in a low voice, as the lights have already dimmed. 

“Hmm? Oh, I came a few times last season,” he says.

“Really?” 

He nods. 

“Here I was thinking this night was going to be special.” 

He whips his head a little too fast to look at me and I groan internally. I didn’t mean it like that. Well, maybe I did, but I didn’t mean to make him feel bad. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, as a voice from the speakers asks us to silence our phones. “I just didn’t realise you were a regular here.” 

He turns his hand toward me, lifting his palm just like I did yesterday. I take it. 

“It’s special because you’re here,” he says and fuck. That should have been my line. 

I squeeze his hand and turn to watch as the conductor takes his place. 

When it’s over, we head out into the lobby, hand in hand. Baz is talking about the clarity of the horns section in one of the songs we heard tonight, but I’m not sure I know which one he’s referring to. 

“And the percussion section!” He adds. “Obviously, I’m more apt to notice the violin performance…”

“Obviously,” I echo. 

He gives me a sidelong glance before continuing. “But I have to say, I was quite enthralled with how dynamic they were tonight.” 

“Mmm,” I hum. 

He glances at me again. I hope I’m not being too much of a tit. I just don’t know what I would say. This was all for him. I don’t know enough about this stuff to comment. 

“What did you think?” He asks, because of course he’s not going to let me off that easily. 

“Um. Yeah, no. It was cool,” I say vaguely. 

“Not too boring?”

“What?” I scoff. “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he agrees. “It’s not like it put you to sleep or anything.” He smirks at me knowingly, and I realise he caught me. Because I did nod off for a bit there. I didn’t think it was long enough for him to notice. 

“Shit. I’m sorry. It wasn’t boring! There was just a stretch where it was sort of mellow, so I thought I’d close my eyes for a minute…” 

We’re almost to the doors outside but he pulls me to the side. His smile is cautious. “You don’t have to do things like this for me if you’re not into them.” 

“I’m not not into it. I just…I don’t know.” I sigh, dropping his hand and thrusting it into my curls. “I thought this would be something you’d like. But clearly I’m not the right person to take you to this sort of thing.”

He frowns. “Simon, we’re allowed to have different interests.” 

“Sure,” I mumble, shoving my hands in my pockets. 

“Aleister fucking Crowley,” Baz says under his breath and I think for a minute he’s cursing at me for pouting. (Which, fair.) But then he looks up over my shoulder and nods his head at someone. 

“Hello, Ansel,” he says. 

I turn around and see a man and a woman have just walked up to us. 

“You look well, Baz,” says the man who must be Ansel. He’s about my height, with brown hair and a beard. He smiles, full lips parting to show slightly crooked teeth. They’re not bad looking, just enough of an imperfection to make a handsome man look that much more compelling. The same way Baz’s nose does for him. And that’s when I realise why this man looks familiar. I recognise him from Baz’s Instagram. This is his ex-boyfriend. 

“As do you,” Baz says cooly. 

Ansel gestures to the woman next to him, his arm casually around her waist. Is this his girlfriend? She’s a slim woman wearing a glittering green dress. Her red lipstick is stark against her pale skin. “Did you ever meet Greta?” 

I almost choke at that. Ansel and Greta? Are they off to find a house made of sweets in the woods? 

“I don’t think I ever had the pleasure,” Baz says. He shifts next to me and I think he might be standing straighter. 

I wait to see if either of them will shake hands or something but neither moves. Greta keeps her arms crossed, looking slightly put off and not saying anything. After another awkward beat, Baz decides to introduce me. 

“This is Simon Snow.”

Greta’s eyes dart to me and Ansel’s eyebrows raise. 

“Really?” He says, another guileless smile spreading on his lips. Mages, then. 

“Hi,” I say. I keep my hands in my pockets because if no one else is shaking hands, I’m sure as hell not starting now. 

“Did you both enjoy the show?” Ansel asks, looking from me to Baz. 

“Oh, yeah,” I say before Baz can answer. “Baz enjoyed the…what was it?” I snap my fingers. “Oh, yes. The clarity of the horns.” Baz gives me a look. “I fell asleep. So, you know.” I shrug. 

Ansel laughs. His second top incisor pushes out past the rest, drawing my eyes to his smile. 

“Well, I suppose the symphony isn’t for everyone.” 

I know I basically told him as much, but I kind of want to punch him right in his pretty mouth. 

“Greta’s no musician, but at least she stays awake.” He tugs her a bit closer to his side and she frowns at him. “Right, Honey?” 

What a dick. I take Baz’s hand in mine. 

 “Well, we have dinner reservations. So.” I don’t even finish that sentence. I just start walking with Baz toward the door. 

“It was nice seeing you,” Ansel calls after us. “We should catch up sometime.”

 Baz turns and makes a pitying face in his direction. “I think I’m busy.” 

I take us out into the cool night air, neither of us looking back. 

Luckily, I found a highly rated restaurant just a few minutes walk from the theater, and it doesn’t take us long to get there. When we’re finally seated, menus in hand, I ask about him. 

“So, that was your ex?” 

“Mmm,” Baz hums, still perusing the menu.

“Kind of a twat.”

“Not kind of,” he says, flipping a page. 

“That bad?” I press. 

Baz sighs and sets down his menu. He finally looks at me. “Do you really want to talk about my ex-boyfriend right now?” 

I huff. “Not really, but we just ran into him, and he was a fucking dick. But he seemed all cool and casual and you looked like you’d swallowed a lemon and his girlfriend looked worse. So, I don’t know. Is there something we need to talk about?” 

I gesture vaguely with my hands and let them land a little too loudly on the table. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know I’m being an idiot and yet I can’t get a grip on myself.

Baz leans back into his chair and crosses his arms. 

“You want to know why I wasn’t happy running into my ex?” He asks. “Or why his current girlfriend might have been upset to see me?” 

I shrug. It sounds obvious when he says it like that. But, I don’t know. I wouldn’t be weird if I ran into Agatha. And hopefully whoever she was dating now wouldn’t give a shit about me. 

“Fine,” he says. “Ansel was dating Greta at the same time he was dating me. Though neither of us knew it. Hence the sore feelings.”

My mouth drops open at that. 

“What?”

He nods. “It was only the last three months or so that he and I were together. But he had the audacity to act as though it was no big deal.” I scoff at that. “Said we’d never specified whether we were monogamous. Though we’d been together for over a year.” 

“That’s bollocks! What an arsehole.”

“Indeed.” 

I sigh. “I’m sorry I pried. I should have let you tell me when you wanted to. And I get why you would’ve been upset seeing him.”

“Fuck Ansel. I wasn’t upset about seeing him,” Baz says, arms still crossed. 

“What?” 

He leans forward, eyes intent on mine. “I was upset about the way you were acting.”

Shit. My shoulders sag hearing him confirm it. I know I’m being a complete dickhead tonight. And I can’t seem to snap out of it. Baz doesn’t deserve to be at the blunt end of all of my insecurities. 

I try to find the words to apologise but before I can, I watch Baz’s face shift. His eyes turn from daggers to soft and pleading as he asks, “Do you think I’m a snob?” 

“What?” I splutter. “Why would I think that?”

He shakes his head, lifting his hands in exasperated confusion. 

“First you take me to the symphony, where you get all weird when I talk about the music. Like I’m insufferable.”

“Baz, that’s not…I wasn’t…” 

“Then you take me to this overly posh restaurant.” He gestures at the glittering chandeliers above us. It’s definitely more over the top than I expected. But I thought Baz would like it. Now I feel even more out of my depth than before. 

“Simon,” he says softly. “You and I go to sandwich shops and eat takeaway on grassy hills. We order pizza at your flat. You buy me coffee.”

I take his hand. 

“Don’t you want more than that?” I ask. I sound miserable. I hate it. 

He shakes his head, his hair falling forward in soft waves. He looks up at me through dark lashes.

“I’ve wanted you for a very, very long time.” 

I swallow. It does nothing to soothe the ache in my chest. If anything, it makes it worse. Why can’t I trust this thing between us?

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” I finally manage. 

“I know.”

“And I fucked it up by being all insecure.” I hang my head and shake it slowly before looking back up at him. “I’m so sorry, Baz.” 

He stands, pulling me up with him. 

“Come on. There’s a pub ‘round the corner.” 

We each order a pint and then settle into a corner booth. Baz makes me scoot so he can sit on the same side as me. I lift my arm so he can slide in close, and pull him the last inch or so for good measure. 

“This better?” He asks.

I listen to the familiar sounds of glasses clinking, football on the telly, raucous conversations and laughter. It puts me at ease, lulling me into security. 

I kiss his cheek. “Infinitely.” 

He hums, leaning into me so more of his back rests on my chest. I like feeling his weight on me. 

“I’m sorry I was such a wanker earlier,” I say. 

He shakes his head, his hair tickles my chin. 

“No more apologies,” he says firmly. “We’re salvaging this date, no matter what it takes.”

I laugh, and he bounces a bit on my chest. 

“Alright, what do you suggest?”

“This. Right here.” He takes a sip of his beer and sighs when I kiss his hair. I’m not used to this. I’ve never dated anyone long enough to linger in this space. Kissing and cuddling in public. I doubt anyone is looking at us, we’re all the way in the back corner, but even if they were, I can’t care. I’ve got Baz right where I want him. I’m not giving this up for anything. 

Well, almost anything. 

“Budge up. We’re playing darts.” 

“Are you serious?” He asks, but he must know I am because he’s already sliding over and exiting the booth.

“Absolutely.” I follow him out and head to the bar to secure some loaners. Baz hurries behind me, laughing at my quickened pace, but I don’t want to miss a chance at nabbing the only free board. 

“You really want to play against someone with superior reflexes?” He smirks. 

“Excuse you,” I say, handing him three well worn darts. “I’m quite good, you know.” 

“Alright, Snow. Let’s see your master skills.” 

We decide on a game of cricket and Baz insists I go first. When I start us out with two double twenties, followed by a nineteen, he stares at me incredulously. 

“What the fuck, Snow, am I already twenty points in the hole?” 

I write my score on the chalkboard, then grab my darts before heading back to him. 

“I mean, I have to be able to keep up with an opponent with super reflexes, don’t I?”

“The cheek,” he says, shaking his head in mock condemnation. I laugh, leaning back on the high table where we’ve set our drinks. 

“Do your worst, Pitch.” 

He cocks an eyebrow, then sets up at the start line. He leans forward a bit, eying the board in concentration. He lifts his arm to aim and at first I think his form is pretty good. Until he throws the dart. 

He sort of throws his whole body into it, shoulder jumping forward with the effort. The dart flies sideways as soon as it leaves his hand, then hits the board with a sad thud before plummeting to the floor. 

I bite my lip with the effort not to laugh. 

“Don’t say a word, Snow,” he says without even turning around. 

“I haven’t, have I?” I say, unable to hold back a chuckle at how pissed off he sounds. 

He tries again but the same thing happens. 

“What the fuck?” He shouts. 

His indignation is adorable. 

“Have you never thrown a dart before?” I ask gently. 

He spins and narrows his eyes at me. “Of course I’ve thrown a fucking dart. I’m just rusty.”

I nod at him seriously and he turns to take his last shot. It hits the seven but isn’t stuck into the board with enough force so it just tilts downward until it falls out onto the floor. 

Baz makes an exasperated noise, complete with matching hand waving. 

“Can I give you some pointers?” I ask, sidling up next to him. He makes a sarcastic sweeping motion with his hand, before stepping aside to let me take my turn. 

“Right. Well, you’ll want to keep your upper arm perpendicular to the floor and keep it that way.” I demonstrate for him. “Then take aim, and when you pull your forearm back, just follow through.” I let go and hit the double nineteen. 

I turn to see Baz with his arms crossed. 

“I feel like you’re mocking me.” 

“Come on,” I laugh. “Try again. We won’t keep score.” 

He huffs, but relents, coming up alongside me. I help him get set, gently nudging his arm into a better position. 

“There. Just keep it like that when you release.” I show him again. He concentrates on the board for a moment, before pulling back and letting go, just like I taught him. It hits the board firmly with a satisfying sound and I grin proudly. 

“See?” 

He frowns. “That wasn’t at all where I was aiming.” 

We both laugh and soldier on. We play for a long while. Baz purses his lips in concentration, which nearly drives me to distraction. After a few more drinks I slowly get more handsy, rubbing his back or grabbing his arm playfully. By the end of my third drink, I can hardly keep my hands off of him. 

We’re both standing close, elbows propped on the table. Darts forgotten next to us as Baz traces patterns along my palm. It makes me desperate to have him touching me everywhere that he can’t while we’re in public. 

“Any chance we can take this party elsewhere?” I ask, swallowing to keep the want at bay. It smolders just beneath my skin. “Say, somewhere more private?”

“I don’t know, Snow,” he says, tracing up my wrist. He grazes his finger under my shirt sleeve and I can’t understand why it’s so sensual for him to touch my fucking arm, but it is. “I’m not sure I’m ready to quit. I was just getting good. I may even be close to beating you now.” 

It should be funny, I should be laughing, but I can’t concentrate much past the blood rushing in my ears.

 “I forfeit,” I finally manage. “You win by default.”

 He smiles, satisfied. 

“Alright then, Darling. You lead the way.” 

I take his hand, pulling him out through the crowded pub and back outside. I’ve been leading the way all evening, and I wonder if that’s something he likes. Me taking charge. (He basically directed me to, so I suppose it’s possible.) Merlin, I hope so. I hope he asks for what he wants. It certainly would make me feel more grounded, having a mission. A purpose. I’d take him apart if he wanted me to. 

We get to a corner and I pause, needing to know which direction we’re going. 

“My flat or yours?” I ask. 

“You choose,” he says, grabbing my waist and pressing his hips into mine. He bites his bottom lip and I wish it were in between my teeth instead. 

“Mine,” I say, leaning in to taste him. “I want to wake up tomorrow with you in my bed,” I say, pulling back and finding his eyes. “Is that okay?” 

“Who says we’ll sleep?” He teases, voice low. It drives me mental. 

I pull him close, mouthing at his throat. 

“I can’t decide if I need to get my hands on you right now.” I nip at his skin. “Or if I need to get you back to mine so I can get my hands everywhere else.” I grab his arse to emphasize my point. 

“That’s quite the dilemma,” he says, tipping his head back to give me access to more of his neck. I groan in response. 

“We’re getting an Uber,” I breathe. “It’ll be faster, and I can maul you in the back seat in the meantime.”

He laughs and I feel it vibrate through the sinewy muscles under my lips. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it the twenty-plus minutes it’ll take to get back to mine. 

We get a ride quite quickly, but end up simply holding hands in the backseat, as our driver, a sweet, older Armenian man, ends up telling us all about his grandson, Grigor, and his new boyfriend. It’s cute, the way he wants to connect with us and make us feel welcome in his car, but never has the drive to Hackney Wick felt longer. 

Finally, mercifully, we make it home. 

And that’s exactly what it is. Home. 

When we stumble through the door, dropping keys and kicking off shoes. When I follow Baz to my room, even though we never let ourselves venture here before. (Because we both knew we would have zero restraint.) When we strip each other and tumble into bed, Baz’s long, inky black hair spilled over the pillow. When I hover above him, wings spread above us like a canopy, my arms bracketing his head, and I think I’ve never wanted anything more than having him here with me. Under me. So responsive to every touch. Home with me. 

My bed will forever feel empty without him in it. 

I guess that means I’ll have to make it good for him. So he wants to stay. 

And I will. 

I’ll keep getting better for him. I’ll keep trying, even when I do or say the wrong thing. 

I’ll keep touching him like this, learning what he likes. Studying every sound he makes. Repeating the things that make him grip the sheets or wrap his legs around me, pulling me tighter. Giving him everything I have until he’s shuddering and coming undone. 

I’ll make it good for him. 

Come what may, we have each other. And as long as we keep trying, nothing will get between us. 

Chapter Text

It's been three weeks since the appeal request was submitted, but there’s been no word from the Coven. Baz does his best not to dwell on it, but I know he’s anxious to hear back from them. Who wouldn’t be? 

We carry on, and in some ways, it’s nice. We’ve got this little oasis of time where nothing’s really been upended yet. It’s tempting to think that this could be enough. We’ve got each other, and this honeymoon phase has been really good. I like being able to distract him from the waiting. To make him happy in all the ways I can. 

We spend nearly all our free time together, and it lets us pretend we’ve got everything we could ever want. Taking Sunday trips to the market. Cooking dinner together. Falling in bed after a long day at work and exploring ways to make the other unwind. I pride myself in the way I can make him go boneless. It’s mesmerising, watching how he can give himself over to me completely. How he can trust me with his pleasure. 

It’s something I’m working on, letting him do the same for me. 

I like having a mission. It helps that he’s so responsive, and when I’m brave enough to ask what he wants, that he’ll tell me. Sometimes that helps, watching him writhe beneath me, or hearing my name dripping from his lips with ecstasy. And sometimes, I can follow him over the edge like that, Baz singing my name into my mouth.  

Penny calls him from time to time. I can usually hear her excited, frenzied voice as she talks through some new angle she’s thought of for his case. He’s always excited (if a little overwhelmed) after these calls end. I like to wrap him up afterwards, hugging him with wings and all, and gently reminding him it’s probably for the best that we don't have a date yet, if she’s still adding things to her ever growing argument. 

Baz continues with his meetings with Anna. He really likes her, all things considered. Said she doesn’t tease him about how formally he dresses. I just roll my eyes and pinch his side until he squeals and squirms away from me, swatting my hand with indignation. 

I still buy him a coffee on days he has his check-in appointments. Only now, I leave it on a table outside Anna’s office, Baz’s name scrawled on the side of the paper cup. I don’t always get to see him when he comes in, but we see each other most days after work anyways, so I can’t complain. 

Baz has been talking to Headmistress Bunce a lot over the past few weeks, too. I think that’s been the hardest part, knowing that working with her at the new school in Harrogate might not come to fruition. She’s been adamant she would like to hire him if she can. In fact, she already sort of has. He’s been helping her write the mission statement for the new school, picking a unique focus to help set it apart from Watford. Baz suggested language and dialect, especially since the new school will be located in the north. The idea that proper dialect and pronunciation is the key to effective casting has been largely debunked in recent years. The new train of thought is that teaching a variety of languages and dialects will actually give a magician more power and effectiveness in their spell casting, especially if used strategically based on location and how Normals around them are speaking.

 They’ve even started work on the curriculum. Headmistress Bunce is incredibly busy as it is, and she was eager to get Baz on board with a lot of the planning and leg work. And technically, he’s allowed to do this sort of background work for now. As long as he isn’t working directly with children, it doesn’t violate his probation. 

It’s been another good distraction, keeping him from fretting over the hearing. He’s been incredibly busy, too, since he’s doing it all alongside his regular teaching job at LSE. I do my best to leave him be when he’s in the zone. I like to watch him while he works, brow scrunched as he types away on his laptop, feet propped up on the coffee table. He wears these ridiculous blue light glasses that make him look dead sexy. As if a vampire needs to worry about damaging his eyesight. He claims they’re meant to keep his circadian rhythm from being disrupted. I think he’s just doing it because he knows they make me mental. Sometimes I plant myself next to him, gently lifting his legs and placing his feet in my lap. I’ll rub my knuckles along the arches of his feet, or massage his calves while he works. And if it makes him finally look up from his screen, a smile playing on his lips, well. I can’t be blamed for him packing it in early. 

Today’s Sunday, and we’re meant to be heading to Gran’s soon. She’s already had us round once, and was all too pleased to find out we’d started dating. In fact, it was the first time I got to call Baz my boyfriend. She shed a few happy tears for us. Then again, Gran’s always been a little weepy. 

We ate our weight in cakes and sandwiches and she made us promise to come for tea again soon. Baz told her we would as he hugged her goodbye, and she texted us with a proposed date for the following weekend before we’d pulled out of the drive. I told him I could go on my own if he was too busy. I know it’s been a bear for him, juggling everything. But he was emphatic about us both coming today. I wondered if that meant he just really likes spending time with her, or if he didn’t want to spend a Sunday without me. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Both reasons warm my heart. 

Baz is in the kitchen making a salad. He was appalled we went empty handed last time when Gran had made such a spectacular spread. I told him she always makes too much food, and that she usually sends me home with leftovers, but Baz wouldn’t be deterred. He played it off like it all comes down to social niceties but I know it’s really because he wants to impress her. It’s pretty fucking cute, honestly.

I’m just finishing getting dressed when my phone rings. I see Gran’s photo on the screen and I wonder if we’re late because she sounds sort of panicked when I answer. 

“Hello? Simon? Oh,” she sighs, practically sobs, and my first instinct is to soothe her even though I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t get the chance because she carries on. “I just heard the news. I’m so sorry it happened this way. How is Basilton holding up? Please tell him it makes absolutely no difference to me.” 

“Gran, hold on. What are you talking about? Has something happened?” 

“You haven’t seen?” she asks hesitantly. Now I’m starting to panic. 

“Seen what?” I ask. 

“The Record,” she says. “It just came out this morning.” 

I feel my stomach sink before she even explains. 

She hesitates, as if she doesn’t want to be the one to tell me. “They’re reporting that Basilton has been charged for being an unregistered vampire.” It doesn’t matter that she delivers the news softly. It still hits me like a ton of bricks. Even though it’s been six months since his initial charge and nothing has ever been made public. Until now. 

“Shit. I’m sorry, Gran, I’ve got to go.” I’m already at the bedroom door in two strides, wrenching it open and making my way to the kitchen. “Thank you for calling me. I have to talk to Baz. I’ll call you later.” 

“Of course, darling. Please let me know if you boys need anything.” 

I hang up just as I get to him. He’s staring numbly down at his phone as a million notifications, calls and texts blare at him from his palm. Fuck. He’s already heard. 

“You don’t have to deal with any of it right now,” I say, taking his phone gently from him and switching it to silent. I set it down on the counter, then do the same with mine. He nods. His eyes look sort of vacant. I take his hand and guide him out to the living room. He follows me, chopped vegetables forgotten on the cutting board. We sit on the sofa, side by side, and I try to think of what to say. I’ve had months to think about it, but I never came up with anything good. The fact is, it’s a shitty situation all around, and I have no idea how to make it better. 

“My family’s probably trying to call me right now,” he says quietly. 

I rub my thumb along his. “It’s fine,” I say. “They can handle being ghosted for a few hours.” 

“Lady Ruth…We’re due for tea.” 

“Cancelled,” I say gently. “But she says she’s here for you, whatever you need.” 

He nods his head slowly, eyes trained on the carpet. 

We stay like that for a long while. Eventually, he rests his head on my shoulder. I continue to rub soothing circles into his skin. Arm, stomach, wherever I can reach. We sink further into the cushions, until he’s half laying on top of me. My tail curls around his thigh. He pets the spade with a firm pressure, since he knows I don’t like feather-light touches. It makes my chest ache, the way he can think of my own needs in a time like this. 

“I knew this could happen — would happen, eventually,” Baz says. 

“I know,” I say. 

He sits up a little, propping himself up on my stomach. “So why does this feel so heavy?” 

“I think that might be grief,” I say quietly. 

He lets out a ragged breath before slumping back down on top of me. He’s flipped over this time, his chest on my belly and head over my heart. I rub his back, then card my fingers through his hair. He sighs when I start to massage his scalp, so I keep at it, as if I can coax the worry out with my touch. 

When his breathing finally slows I think about letting him sleep, but this sofa’s a crap place for a nap. (At least with both of us scrunched on here.) So instead, I gently sit us up, and guide him to the bedroom. 

“Shouldn’t I check…” He gestures toward the kitchen where we’ve left our phones. I shake my head. 

“You don’t need to yet. Come on, let's get more comfy.”

I take off most of my clothes first, and I’m thankful when Baz follows suit, stripping until we’re both down to our pants. I slide under the covers, then lift the duvet to help him join me. 

“I liked you right here,” I say, patting my chest in invitation. He blinks slowly, a small smile twitches on his lips. He looks tired, and I hope he’ll be able to slip back into sleep easily. He lies his head on my chest again, and slots one leg between mine. I curl my arms around him, holding him close. 

We both sleep, that sometimes fitful, sometimes deep way you do when you fall asleep in the middle of the day. I run my fingers through his hair when I wake, then get lulled back towards the edges of sleep by Baz’s steady breathing. 

I love him. I don’t think I realised until this moment, but as soon as I do, it sort of sinks into me, filling in the spaces he’s already occupied inside me. I think I’ve loved him for a long time. 

I kiss his head and tell him so, even though I don’t think he’s awake enough to hear me. That’s fine. I’ll tell him again soon.

When we’re both properly awake, we change into more comfortable clothes and Baz washes his face while I make tea. I look at my phone first while the tea steeps. 

“Merlin and Morgana,” I mutter, as I scroll through the various missed calls, text messages and other notifications. I decide to check my texts from Penny first. 

I just heard. I’m so sorry Si. Please call me when you can 

Or have Baz call

It’s fine if he wants some space, but tell him NOT to read anything on the internet. Only calls to close family or friends, if he wants

I’ll keep track of anything public and share only if necessary

And make sure he knows this is NOT the end. It doesn’t change our plans

I sniff, and blink rapidly, trying to keep my wits about me. She’s right. We’ll take things slowly. 

Baz emerges and I hand him his tea. 

“What’s the damage,” he asks. 

I shake my head. “We don’t need to deal with it all at once. If you’d like to call anyone, your family, perhaps, we can do that. Penny says she’ll collect anything on the internet and share it only if it’s pertinent.”

“Crowley, are people already talking about me on Facebook? Is nothing in the magickal world sacred anymore?” 

I snort. There was once a time where the World of Mages was largely absent from the internet. Now there are magickal firewalls that prevent Normals from accessing hundreds of websites. 

“We’re not going to worry about it, yeah?” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. He nods and we make a plan for the next few hours. 

He lets me clear the notifications on his lock screen before handing him his phone. He calls his parents first, followed by his aunt. It goes about as well as you’d think. Daphne frets and Baz has to cut her off before she gets into summarising the doom scrolling she’d been doing before he called. Malcolm just asks if he’s heard anything about a hearing date and if Baz is still confident in “that Bunce girl” as his barrister. 

“Yes, father. And Penelope is more than prepared,” he assures him. 

Baz calls Fiona next. She absolutely rages. Baz has to spell his phone quieter, because the pitch of her screeching is nearly unbearable. All she can focus on is finding out who let The Record know about him. 

“They already knew, Fiona,” he explains, voice tired. “Father simply paid them off to keep it quiet. I guess they only considered it payment for a six month stay on publishing the news.” 

Thankfully, she’s not on speaker, but I do catch certain words and phrases like eviscerate, heads up their arses, and flaming pile of dog poo. 

When he finally gets off the phone, I lean over the back of the sofa where he’s sitting to rub his shoulders. 

“Ready for a break?” I ask.

He sighs. “Let’s at least call Penelope. I have a feeling talking to her might actually be useful.” 

I give his shoulders a squeeze before joining him on the sofa. We use my iPad to FaceTime with her. She picks up on the second ring. 

“Oh good, you’re together,” she says, sounding relieved. “How are you?”

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a train,” Baz says wearily. “But otherwise, right as rain.”

“Did you read anything?” she asks. 

I shake my head. “We did what you suggested and stayed off of social media and such. We haven’t even read the article,” I say. 

“Good. No sense overwhelming yourselves.” 

“How bad is it?” Baz asks wearily. 

She pauses for a moment before answering. “Honestly? It’s not terrible. The article sticks to the facts, for the most part. It’s nothing that will jeopardise our argument.” 

“How can you know that?” I ask. 

“I just mean, it’s nothing that we and the Coven don’t already know. It’s just public knowledge to everyone else now.” 

“Just,” Baz grumbles. I rub his leg. 

“I’ve looked through some of the reactions, and most of them are fairly sympathetic, believe it or not.” 

Baz looks less than convinced. 

“I think most people know what happened to your mother,” she says delicately. “It isn’t hard to imagine how you came to be a vampire.”

“Glad my sad story can garner public pity,” he mutters.

“Actually,” Penny says, shifting slightly to lean forward towards her keyboard, “there’s one response in particular I think you ought to see.” 

The notification pops up on my screen and I hover my finger over it before looking to Baz for confirmation. He nods, so I open it. It's a blog post written by… Trixie. 

Trixie is one of the people who already knew about Baz. After our trip to Watford, Baz continued to meet with old friends and classmates in the city, to collect more character references. Trixie was someone who enthusiastically agreed to write him one. I was pleasantly surprised when he told me. I didn’t realise they got on back at school, but apparently they had a lot of classes together in eighth year. 

I make the window bigger so we can read it better. The post is titled, We’re All Magic.

Baz reads it aloud: 

To all the mages and magickal creatures reading this. 

You are magic. 

To the goblins and werewolves. Fairies, sprites and gnomes. 

You are magic. 

To the numpties, half-centaurs, trolls and dryads. 

The dark and the light. 

You are magic.

And though some around you may not see you as you are,

though they may ward against you, or try to take your autonomy,

in the end they will not prevail. 

For they know not what is in your heart. 

They know not the way you’ll fight tooth and claw for what is rightly yours.

They know not that they stand on the wrong side of history. 

They simply fear you and wish to judge you not by your actions or your character. 

But simply by your species. 

And yes, I speak to those not labelled “dark” like myself who aren’t yet cast in chains. 

How long must you stand by? Forgetting that you once were persecuted? 

Have your newly found freedoms rendered you speechless? 

Hold hands with your vampire brethren. And with the sirens, imps and giants. 

We fight for equal rights or we flounder in oppression. 

To mages and creatures and mixed-species alike.

You are magic. 

Let no one take your dreams.

He finishes and I think we’re all a bit dumbstruck for a moment. 

“That was beautiful,” I finally manage. 

“That was…for me?” Baz asks softly.

“It was posted an hour after the article was published,” Penny says. “And then she reblogged it twenty minutes later with a link to the article.”

Baz sags back into the sofa cushions. He still looks a bit dazed. “I need to buy that woman a fruit basket,” he mutters. 

A laugh bursts out of me and I sink back into the cushions next to him. 

“I think you should read the article in The Record,” Penny says, gently getting us back on track. “It does no good to dwell on any of the negative reactions to it, but I think it’s important to remember that some good may come from this becoming public. There aren’t many mages under surveillance, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this struck a chord.” 

That’s another angle Penny has been fleshing out. The fact that the Dark Creatures Protection Act is meant to monitor creatures in order to keep mages safe. It was never meant to be used against mages. Baz is one of only a few creatures, who also happen to be mages, that fall under the Department of Magickal Creature Management’s jurisdiction. 

Baz nods, letting that sink in. We chat a bit more about next steps, but Penny knows it’s been a long day and she doesn’t want to keep us on the call too long. 

We say our thank yous and goodbyes to Penny and after we sign off, we read the article together. It’s so weird, reading this bit of “news” as if Baz had just been caught. 

But Penny was right, it pretty much just states the facts. That Baz had been living as an unregistered vampire until the anonymous tip. That the Coven set up cameras in an alley based on the tip, and found him feeding on rats. That he was tried before the Coven for failing to register with the Department of Magickal Creature Management when the laws about creature registration went into effect six years ago. It doesn’t say anything about Baz’s history before that, which is almost a pity. I think Penny’s right, that his story has the potential to garner sympathy. The wrongness that you’d feel upon finding out that someone who was turned at the age of five is somehow guilty for trying to keep this kind of a secret under wraps. 

“Ok?” I ask, once we’ve finished reading. 

Baz takes a breath, and starts tracing patterns between the freckles on my forearm. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he says. 

“I bet the Coven is finally going to stop dragging their feet about granting you a hearing now.” 

Baz cocks an eyebrow. “You think their backs are against the wall?”

I shrug. “I just think they’ll need to address it.” 

He huffs. “Well, at least that’s something.”

I nudge his foot with mine. 

“Fancy some pizza and a few episodes of Bake Off?” I smile at him, waggling my eyebrows. He laughs. 

“In a bit? I think I’d like to play violin for a while.” 

“Yeah?”

He nods. 

“Can I listen?” 

He smirks. “As long as you don’t fall asleep.” 

“Oi!” I shove his arm. “Will I never live that down?” 

We both laugh and it feels like we’ve given each other permission to lighten up, at least for now. 

I call for delivery while Baz tunes his strings. He brought his violin over last week and he’s played it a few times since then. It felt like sort of a big deal, that he’d want it here. 

I like it a lot more than I did the songs at the symphony. Maybe it’s just because it’s Baz. Or maybe it’s because he’ll play covers of songs I recognise. Like when he played This Must Be The Place two days ago. 

But I think I mostly like it because he feels comfortable letting me hear it. Like it’s okay that I’m listening to him express himself. I think that might be what he’s doing right now. The song he’s chosen is sort of mournful at first, but then it takes a turn to the joyous. I wonder if he’ll be able to feel that way at some point, about being out as a vampire. I hope so. I hope there will be a point where he doesn’t have to feel shame or fear. 

I watch him play from across the room, eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed. He’s so beautiful. I may have lost interest in the orchestra playing, but I could watch him for hours. His fingers move deftly across the strings and his body sways with the music. He lets himself go, and I feel so lucky to get to see him be free. 

You are magic. 

Let no one take your dreams. 

Three days later Penny calls to tell Baz that he’s been granted an appeals hearing. The notice came on a Wednesday and his hearing has been scheduled for ten o’clock the following Monday. He calls me in a near panic afterwards. We’re both at work, and I’m sort of thrown off guard for a minute because I assumed I might hear of it first. Then again, Anna has no reason to tell me about it when she gets the news. After all, she doesn’t know we’re dating. 

Luckily, I’m in between clients when he calls, so I quietly shut my door and talk him through it. 

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he says, voice unnaturally high. “I don’t think I can go through being persecuted like that again.” 

“Baz, it won’t be like last time,” I assure him. I keep my voice low and gentle. “This time it’s on your terms. You’re bringing up grievances and arguing against the terms set against you.” He knows all of this. Penny and I walked him through this numerous times. Even Anna knows he’s making the appeal, and has been equally reassuring with him. 

“What if it fails?” 

“Then you tell me what you want to do,” I say simply. “File another appeal? Start a petition? Run for election?” He scoffs at that one. “We don’t have to get into any of the what ifs now. All I’m saying is, if you still want to fight, then we fight. If you want to be done and move on with your life, that’s fine, too.”

He takes a breath. “Right.” 

“This is a good thing,” I remind him.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I’m just being stupid.”

“No, no. No apologies for worrying. You’re allowed.”

He huffs. “Yes, alright, you can stop being such a wonderful boyfriend now. Crisis averted.” 

I laugh, because I can hear he’s finally relaxing. 

“Don’t you have a class soon?” I ask.

“In ten minutes.”

I hear the lift ding outside in the hall. Time for my next appointment, too. 

“You feeling okay now?”

“Yes, thank you.” I can hear his smile as he says it, so I know it must be true. 

“Alright, I’ll see you at home then. Love you.” 

As soon as the words are out my eyes go wide. 

Because I haven’t said it yet. Neither of us has. 

I meant to, the other day when we were taking a nap and I sort of said it while he was asleep. I meant to tell him when he woke up, but the moment passed and I just…didn’t know how to do it. 

And now it’s just slipped out, all casual-like. Over the phone. Siegfried and fucking Roy. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to say that like that.” 

“You didn’t mean…” Baz starts slowly, and I start sweating. 

“No! I mean, I did mean it. That I love you. I just…didn’t mean to say it over the phone as I was about to hang up. Fuck. I’m fucking this up.” 

“Simon,” Baz says my name with a laugh. It stops my spiral. “It’s okay. I love you, too.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. I figured as much, but I still didn’t want him to be upset with my poor timing and method of delivery. “Yeah?” I ask.

“Yes, you numpty. Now hang up before you make me late.”

I make extra loud kissy noises into the receiver just to piss him off and then I do hang up. 

When I get home that evening, Baz practically mauls me when I enter the flat. I should probably get him a key. I know it’s a moot point, that he just spells the door unlocked, and that my new welcome mat beckons him in, but I still think it’s a thoughtful gesture he’d appreciate. It’s something I’ll have to worry about later, because Baz is working my shirt buttons open with one hand while he attempts to take my coat off with the other and I’m struggling to keep up. 

“Nice to see you, too,” I say, when Baz’s mouth leaves mine to work its way down my jaw to my throat. 

“Mmm.” He moans deliciously at his triumph when my chest is bare and my wings spread free. 

“Are you…” I put a hand on his cheek and pull him up to me so I can see him properly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says, kissing me again, fingers tugging at my belt clasp. 

I try to follow his lead, to believe him when he says he’s okay, but something about his frenzied pace leaves me feeling unsure. 

“It’s okay if you’re still, you know, processing things. Or whatever. You don’t…you don’t have to be over it.” 

He sighs dramatically, and stops, forehead leaning on mine. My belt hangs open. I take his hands. 

He pulls back, a look of frustration on his face. 

“How dare they set my appeals date on the same day my boyfriend tells me he loves me?” 

“Technically, I told you I loved you on the day they set your appeals date. Which, I acknowledge was shit timing.” 

He growls. “No! That’s not fair, you shouldn’t need to wait. My life can’t just be on hold!”

I kiss his knuckles. “It isn’t.” 

“I should be able to enjoy tonight.” 

I kiss the knuckles on his other hand. “You will.” 

“I won’t let them ruin this,” he says, but his tone has softened somewhat. Like he knows he doesn’t need so much conviction. I hope he knows. We don’t have to rush. 

“Neither will I.” 

He pulls his hands gently from mine and runs them up my sides and over my shoulders, rubbing along my chest. 

“I just want to be with you tonight. Without all of this in my head.” 

I smile softly at him. “I love you,” I say, cupping his cheek and running my thumb across his skin. It’s smooth. He must have shaved before I got home. He’s adorable. “I couldn’t wait to tell you that face to face.” 

He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. 

“Am I ruining this?” he asks, eyes still closed and brow slightly pinched. 

“Nah,” I say, pulling him close at the hip. “You’ve always been a dramatic wanker. I knew what I was getting into.” 

He opens his eyes and places both hands on my chest, shoving me back. 

“How dare you?” 

I laugh and he does, too. 

“What next?” I ask. “Should we have dinner? Or maybe a lie in?”

“Or maybe dinner in bed?” he asks. 

I gape at him. “Look at you, slumming it like the rest of us.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You know perfectly well I used to eat crisps in bed at school.” 

I shake my head. “I’m a bad influence on you. You’ve been tainted.” 

He shoves me again. “You give yourself too much credit.” 

We end up eating sandwiches in bed. I don’t let up on the jokes. When we’ve finished I go and fetch a pint of ice cream. 

I ask when it was he first realised he loved me, and I guess I should have known that was a loaded question. I pretend to choke on my caramel crunch when he says fifth year.

“Don’t be an arse, Snow. I’m being sincere.” He sniffs, but I can tell that he is being vulnerable. 

“Alright, I’m sorry.” I kiss his nose and hand him the pint and spoon. 

I tell him that I discovered I loved him during our nap the other day. 

“But I also realised that it wasn’t a new feeling, either,” I say. “And once I acknowledged it, it sort of…rewrote everything from before. I was suddenly newly in love and felt like I’d always loved you.”

He gives me a withering stare. “Don’t try and claim you loved me first. I was the pathetic, pining teenage vampire and you can’t take that away from me.” 

I shake my head and grin at him, taking the ice cream and setting it on the nightstand. “Not everything is a contest, you git.” 

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. We’ve both got our shirts off. (I never bothered putting mine back on.) His skin is cool and perfect against mine. 

“You’re the one trying to one up me, Snow.” 

I run my hands through his hair. “You have to call me Simon when you’re talking about loving me.” 

He kisses my neck and leaves his face there when he says, “It isn’t easy being vulnerable.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But I’m still going to ask.” 

He sighs before pulling back to look at me properly. “I love you, Simon.” 

I kiss him sweetly. 

“Love you, too, Pitch!” I say, before pinching his sides relentlessly. 

He squeals and squirms up the bed. “Treachery! Betrayal!” I laugh so hard my sides ache. 

He hooks a leg around me and flips us. He pins me to the bed so fast, I’m almost dizzy with the change of position. He’s sitting astride me now, and he’s got my arms locked firmly in his fingers, my fists pressed against the headboard. It’s kind of hot, the way he has me at his mercy. He smirks down at me. 

“Say it,” he purrs. 

I swallow and I don’t miss the fact that his eyes flick to my throat when I do. 

“I love you, Baz,” I say in a husky voice that seems to have come from nowhere. “I love you so—” 

He captures my mouth before I can finish. 

He kisses me slowly, languidly, and I follow his lead. He keeps my hands pinned above my head and it sort of quiets my brain a bit. I like it, letting him take control. 

I can feel us both growing hard, and I’ve got an urge to grind against him, but I hold back, waiting to see what he wants. 

His kisses gradually become more urgent. His body starts to move against mine. I want it all. Whatever he’ll give me in this moment. Whatever he wants, I want it, too. 

“I love you,” he says, breath turning shallow as he picks up the pace of his movements. 

“I love you,” I say, groaning when he reaches between us. 

I tip my head back, relishing every sensation. I won’t get lost in it. I’m here with him. 

I buck my hips and my hands twist under his gentle pressure. 

“Don’t stop,” I say, because I need him to know that it’s good. He’s good. And perfect. And so, so lovely. 

He watches the whole time, like this is his favourite show. 

I come and he hums deliciously. He gentles me through the aftermath, finally letting go and rubbing his hands up and down my legs, arms and belly. 

“You’re too good to me,” I say, voice embarrassingly sleepy and come drunk. 

“Oh darling,” he says, and the affection in it nearly stops my heart. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He spells away the mess and lays down, his head on my chest. I pull the blankets up around us. I can already feel sleep tugging at me, but the weight of what he’s just said isn’t lost on me. 

I’ll do my best to earn that title, every day, if he’ll let me. I’ll love him the way he deserves. Forever and always. 

It’s finally here. The day of Baz’s appeals hearing. We’ve decided to meet in my office beforehand, so we could have a bit of privacy while still being in the Coven building. Penny is here and Anna, too. 

On the way over, Baz asked if he could tell her we’re dating. 

“I just want to be able to hold your hand, and I’m sure that will take some explaining.” 

I told him that was fine by me, but when he did, it turned out she wasn’t the least bit surprised. 

“Hang on,” I said. “You knew?” 

She crossed her arms and levelled me with a Do you think I’m stupid look. 

“You talked about him non-stop,” she said and Baz’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. 

“Simon Snow, you have zero chill,” he said, and Penny nodded without looking up from the massive stack of files she was shuffling through.

“This is insubordination!” I said in mock indignation. 

“What was I supposed to think when you recused yourself from his case?” she said, and laughed (laughed!) at me. 

“You recused yourself? ZERO CHILL,” Baz said again.

I threw my hands up in the air. “That was the honest and proper solution!” I growled. 

We got our laughs in while we could, but now it’s T-minus ten minutes before the hearing starts and we’ve all gone mostly quiet. Penny’s finished rifling through papers and is simply sitting at my desk, rubbing her (frighteningly enormous) belly absentmindedly. (Seriously, it’s only been a few weeks since I last saw her in person, is she about to burst any second?) 

I hold Baz’s hand while we wait. My tail flicks a few times, hitting his leg, until he finally scoops it up and sets it in his lap. 

Anna’s phone rings and she runs down the hall to her office to pick it up. 

“That’ll be the call,” Penny says. 

Anna confirms this by calling to us, “It’s time!” 

Baz looks to me and I nod once, squeezing his hand for support. 

“I’ll be right behind you the whole time,” I assure him. 

He takes a breath and stands, straightening his navy jacket. It’s the same one he wore the first time he came to my office, and the fact that this could be the last time he comes here isn’t lost on me. 

We file out and meet Anna at the lift, then pile in when the doors open. 

When we get to the courtroom, all eyes turn to us when we enter. I’m heartened to see Baz’s parents and aunt sitting in the seats behind the defence, along with a few other familiar faces. Gran is sitting next to Daphne, she smiles at us as we walk up the middle aisle. Nico is next to Fiona, his tongue running along his teeth. I wonder if it bothers him, being in this room that I imagine is full of bad memories for him.  

Trixie is there, too. She places a fist over her heart and nods to Baz, a twinkle in her eye. So is Baz’s cousin, Dev, next to their friend Niall. Even Mr Minos, Miss Possibelf and Coach Mac, which is impressive considering it's a Monday in November. Headmistress Bunce couldn’t make it, but she sent Penny a very lovely email to pass on to Baz, wishing him the best of luck. I hope he feels bolstered, having all of these people here supporting him. I hope he knows he’s not alone in this. 

There are a few other people sitting on the other side behind the Coven’s barrister, but I pay them no mind. I don’t recognise any of them anyways, so it does no good for me to speculate. 

Penny and Baz sit at the desk designated to them and Anna and I sit in the gallery seats behind them like everyone else. The Coven members are all seated at a long table at the front, facing us. 

Everyone’s quiet, waiting for the proceedings to start. Jeremy sits in the middle of the judicial bench. He leans forward, steepling his fingers, but still not speaking. I think he’s just revelling in having everyone silent and at his whim. 

Finally, he clears his throat, signalling it’s time. He bangs his magickal gavel, which quietly spells the doors locked for the remainder of the hearing. It’s mostly symbolic, as it’d be a fire hazard to lock us all in here, but it nevertheless sets the tone of the Coven’s sacred duty to provide their undivided attention to these proceedings. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. We are here to consider an appeal on behalf of one Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Mr Pitch is currently on probation for failing to register with the Department of Magickal Creature Management, as is lawfully required of all vampires and other dark creatures as stipulated in the Dark Creature Protection Act.”

He lets that sit for a moment, as if we all need a reminder of why we’re here, before he continues. 

“Mr Pitch,” he says, addressing Baz. “You have come with representation today?”

“He has,” Penny answers for him, as is the tradition in these proceedings. 

Jeremy nods. “Then you may begin, Ms…” he pauses and checks his notes before him, which makes him look like a complete tosser, because he knows exactly who she is. “Bunce,” he finishes, looking up and gesturing to her with a flick of the wrist. 

“Thank you,” she says, standing and moving to the side of her table. More than a few eyes from the judiciary move to her stomach momentarily. She continues on, unphased. “Members of the Coven. Mages of the audience. We are here today to discuss the terms of Mr Pitch’s probation. As some of you may know, Mr Pitch was found in violation of the terms of certain laws meant to protect mages and the population at large from individuals deemed dangerous purely by their nature.” 

She pauses artfully, letting her words sink in. 

“The Coven would like you to believe”—she turns then, to address the gallery more fully—“that they are protecting you from Mr Pitch’s obviously dangerous disposition.” The sarcasm in her tone isn’t missed by anyone. Most of the Coven members are unmoved, but Jeremy’s moustache twitches slightly. 

“But even the Coven knows that Mr Pitch has not once committed an act of violence against any person. In fact, their surveillance of Mr Pitch found him feeding on rats in an alley in London. According to Mr Pitch he has never, not once, fed from or harmed another person with his vampire abilities.” 

She turns and addresses the Coven again. 

“In fact, even as a child, young Mr Pitch showed remarkable control of his hunger. He admits losing control just the first time, when he killed his family dog at the age of eleven. You can imagine how confused and distraught he was. After all, he saw his own mother die in the Watford vampire attacks. The same attacks that resulted in his Turning at the tender age of five.” 

Daphne sniffs quietly behind me. I can see Fiona, out of the corner of my eye, arms crossed, and staring daggers at the Coven. I admire her self control, as I know she’d give anything to rip into them right now. 

“It’s an interesting case, isn’t it?” Penny continues, pivoting to the gallery once again. “Mr Pitch, a mage by birth, Turned against his will as a child, who never harmed a soul, now facing a life of surveillance because he might hurt someone with his supposed violent nature? Even as the Coven acknowledges that he’s never been found guilty of any violent crimes in the sixteen years since his fangs came in?” 

She looks to the audience sitting behind the prosecution. Her voice is steady, her conviction evident. 

“We, as mages, have certain rights granted to us at birth. Some of which have existed for centuries. Others that have been established in response to gross negligence on the Coven’s behalf in more recent history.” 

She’s talking about the way the Coven let the Mage get away with raids and persecution of mages with flimsy evidence, or even outright lies, when he was in charge. In the aftermath of his downfall, the Coven took care to quell the angry masses by putting into law certain protections of their rights. The laws made sure mage privacy and autonomy would be respected and protected from government interference, unless substantial evidence proved they had broken a law. This is the crux of her argument in favour of terminating Baz’s surveillance. 

But just when she could lead us down that path, she pivots to talk more about Baz’s good nature and upstanding citizenship. She starts with sharing the character references. For those who are here in person, she asks them to read their letters of support. Each stands, and reads their letter to the room. It’s powerful, hearing how admired and respected Baz is to all of these people. 

Trixie is last, and when she finishes reading her original letter, she moves on to read the poem she published last week. Miss Possibelf and Mr Minos stand as she reads, providing their silent solidarity. A handsome man in the back also stands, and upon closer inspection I see it’s my client, Gerald. His glamour shimmers when he catches my eye and he nods once to me, a coy smile on his deep red lips. I smile and nod back. A moment ago I would have wondered why he was here, but watching him stand in solidarity with the other creatures and mixed-species individuals, I get it. 

When Penny has finished calling on her character witnesses, she reads one last letter, written by her mother. It’s a direct plea to the Coven, asking to allow her to hire Baz as a teacher at the new magickal school. 

“Basilton has been an exceptionally valuable member of the school’s staff already,” she reads. “His tireless efforts in curriculum writing will make Harrogate Magickal School stand out as a pillar in our community. One of integrity, ingenuity, and innovation. To not be able to bring him on as a teacher will be a detriment to our children’s education.” Penny takes a breath before reading the last words of her letter. The ones that mark the entrance to Watford itself. “Magic separates us from the world. Let nothing separate us from each other.” 

I keep watching Baz throughout the proceedings. Checking in on him. It would be improper for me to reach out and touch him, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to. I think he’s doing okay. He’s read all of these letters already. He’s heard Penny rehearsing her arguments. He’s been able to stay mostly stoic throughout, though every now and then he takes a deep breath, and I know it’s because he’s trying to keep it together. He does it again now. My wings flare reflexively at the sound, and I hear Fiona and a few others grumble, probably because I’m obscuring their view. Too bad for them. I’m not moving for the world. 

Penny walks to the centre of the room. This is her grand finale, and she positions herself accordingly. 

“I could continue to wax on about what a good and decent person Basilton Grimm-Pitch is. What a stand up magician he is. Teacher, son, brother, friend. But I shouldn’t need to do that. Because from the moment he was born to mage parents, he was a mage. A member of this community. Granted certain rights that are protected by law. The fact that he was Turned a few years later doesn’t negate those facts. He’s never, not once, been convicted or even suspected of having committed any violent crimes. His only crime was not putting himself under surveillance. Think about that, for a moment. He was required to be monitored by his government. For what? Because they feared he might, one day, be of harm to his fellow citizens?” 

She shakes her head and tuts disapprovingly. 

“When the Coven previously violated the rights of mages, there was swift disapproval from many. And still, those violations continued under Davy Cadwallader’s leadership. And yet Mr Pitch finds himself back in that place, years after those wrongs were righted. I believe this is another wrong that needs to be righted. It is time for the Coven to release Mr Pitch from surveillance. To terminate his probation, and for them to resume treating him with the respect that any mage deserves by birth.”

When she finishes, Penny calmly sits back down next to Baz. He whispers something in her ear and she grabs his hand and squeezes it once, before they both turn their attention to the Coven. 

Jeremy clears his throat, sitting straighter in his chair now that it’s again his turn to speak. 

“Thank you, Miss Bunce.” He turns his attention to the Coven’s prosecutor, Corvin Anderson, who is given his turn next to speak. 

It’s a lacklustre performance, following Penny’s poignant and passionate speech. He has nothing new to contribute to the Coven’s argument. He merely reiterates the facts of Baz’s case, and the ways in which Baz failed to put himself under surveillance, thus enacting the legal pathway that led to his probation. It’s stuffy and devoid of emotion, which, I suppose, is a good thing. But in reality, it doesn’t matter much. There’s no unbiased jury here to convince.  Penny did her best to address the gallery as much as she did the Coven, if only as a reminder that the public are the ones who elected them, and ultimately, their opinions matter too, if somewhat indirectly. 

Corvin takes no such tactic. He addresses the Coven exclusively, because they’re the ones with the final say today. 

Just when it seems as though he’s about to finish, however, he pivots. 

“Before the Coven makes their decision, I think it’s important that we hear from Mr Pitch’s social worker, in order to better understand his progress while under our care.” 

That surprises us. Not that they could ask Anna to speak, but that they would, considering they always tell social workers if they are expected to provide evidence in advance. And Anna said she’s simply never been asked to testify. 

Anna, clearly taken aback, does her best to stay professional. She takes the stand with the utmost poise and calm.

“Can you please tell us how you’ve found Mr Pitch’s cooperation during his probation?” Anderson asks. 

“Very well,” she responds. “He is prompt for his check-in appointments, forthcoming about inquiries about his habits, and follows all of the rules of his probation.”

“His feeding habits seem normal?”

She nods. “Forgive me, I don’t have his file with me, as I wasn’t expecting I’d be speaking today.” (Boss bitch, if I ever saw one.) “But everything was always perfectly ordinary about his case.”

The prosecutor nods before a puzzled look crosses his face. “And aren’t you fairly new to his case?”

“I am,” she replies. “I’ve been working with Mr Pitch for a few weeks.” 

“Was there a reason for the change in his social worker?”

She pauses. Her eyes flick to me momentarily. “I wasn’t given a reason at the time,” she tells truthfully. “My co-worker, Mr Snow, moved him to my caseload, as sometimes happens when clients need to be shuffled between us.” 

He nods again, though I’m not sure he’s convinced. 

“Were you aware that Mr Snow is currently in a romantic relationship with Mr Pitch?” 

Murmurs run through the crowd. Jeremy raises a hand and the voices go quiet, though he’s smirking just a little. Wanker. I remind myself to stay calm. We knew this was a possibility, even while I’m unsure how the Coven found out. We’ve been so careful in certain places, but we also decided it wasn’t fair for us to hide completely. Still, if we were mindful when and where we needed to be, how would they know? Did the Coven have him followed? It seems absurd, and yet, I can’t think of another explanation. 

“I…I’m not sure why that matters,” Anna says. “He’s no longer Mr Pitch’s social worker.” 

“That’s true. But doesn’t it seem…inappropriate? Especially given that Mr Snow apparently gave special favours to Mr Pitch during their time working together?” 

Anna shifts slightly. 

“I wasn’t aware of anything of the sort.”

“So you didn’t know about Mr Snow giving Mr Pitch his confiscated wand back? Even though he was expressly told not to?” 

Fuck this. Fuck Stephen, too. That’s the only reason they would have known about that. I wish I’d told Anna, all things considered. I don’t like the way she’s being blindsided like this, but I honestly didn’t expect it. I tuck my tail under my thigh to keep it from lashing about. I do my best to keep my wings from reacting, too, but it isn’t easy. 

I can’t see Baz’s face but I think I see his shoulders creep up slightly. It’s such a small gesture, I can’t be sure. 

Penny merely flicks her head impatiently, ponytail swinging behind her back. I know what that means. She’s kicking herself we didn’t clue Anna in to the possibility of this line of questioning. 

“Again, this is all news to me,” Anna says simply. “Though I will say that Mr Snow has always been the most professional social worker. I can only assume any actions he took were ones he deemed in the best interest of his client.” 

Corvin hums at that. “I suppose dating his client was in his best interest, too?” 

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take before I jump up from my chair and break someone’s neck. 

Thankfully, Anna speaks quickly. 

“As I said, Mr Snow is no longer Mr Pitch’s social worker. Whatever their relationship is now, that is honestly none of my or the Coven’s concern. None of us should be told who we are allowed to love.” 

I breathe a sigh of relief. I have so much affection for her at this moment. She’s bloody brilliant, and I vow to make sure she knows it as soon as I can. 

The prosecutor thanks Anna and she’s allowed to go back to her seat. I make eye contact with her just before she sits next to me, but I can’t do much more. When she sits, I feel her foot tap mine once. I can only hope it means she can forgive me for not telling her everything.

After a few closing remarks the prosecutor returns to his desk. Jeremy once again has the floor. I wish Penny was given a chance to speak to what was just shared, but these stupid hearings have strict rules about one turn for each side and no more. Honestly, some of our more archaic rules and procedures need a complete overhaul. 

“My fellow Coven members, you have now heard arguments from both sides regarding the status of Mr Pitch’s probation. It is our duty to decide whether to grant Mr Pitch’s request to fully terminate his surveillance, or to leave his probation intact.” To Jeremy’s credit, he looks completely unbiased at this point. All of them do. They project an air of seriousness that commands respect for their authority. I suppose it's for the best, that they at least look like they’re considering both sides equally. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are now dismissed from the courtroom while we deliberate. If you’d like to wait outside, we’ll call you back once a decision has been reached.” 

Jeremy bangs his magickal gavel, opening the doors with a spell. There’s a shuffling of bodies and a hum of low voices as we all file outside. 

Once we reach the foyer beyond the doors, the crowd splits back into the two sides of the audience. I’m pleased to see that, whoever these people are that came to watch from behind the prosecutor’s desk are, they are far outnumbered by those on the defence’s side. 

“Well that last bit was miserable,” Baz says to me under his breath. I take his hand, because the cat’s out of the bag at this point. 

“I should have come clean to the Coven a long time ago,” I whisper back. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t regret anything that brought us here today. And you shouldn’t, either.” He squeezes my hand, and gives me a soft look. I smile weakly at him. I feel the same way. I just hope my choices don’t cost him his freedom. 

Fiona calls to him, and I squeeze his hand once more before letting him get pulled over to his family. I hold back with Penny and Anna for the time being. I need to apologise to them both anyways.

“Anna, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the wand thing earlier,” I say in a rush. 

“I suppose I would have thought to prep her, had they ever told us she’d be speaking,” Penny grumbles. 

“It’s fine,” Anna says. “I just hope they believed me when I said I was sure you’d done it with his best interest at heart.” 

“Do you believe that?” I ask.

“Simon, of course.”

I try not to get emotional, hearing her support. 

She turns to Penny, thankfully saving me from needing to say more. 

“You were brilliant, by the way,” she tells Penny. 

Penny smiles, though it turns to a grimace, and she clutches her side with her right hand. 

“Penny?” I ask, putting an arm and a wing around her protectively. 

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’ve just been battling contractions on and off for the last three days.” 

“What?!” I splutter, looking her up and down for any evidence of her needing medical attention. 

She waves me off. “They never seem to stick,” she says, rubbing her belly and taking a deep breath. Her brow has already smoothed and it looks as if the worst of it has passed. “The baby isn’t due for another two weeks. I think I’m just doomed to be vexed by the build up until then.” 

“You should be sitting,” I say with the confidence of someone who thinks they know how to handle a situation like this, but in reality has no fucking clue. “Can I get you a chair?” 

She shakes her head. “If I can walk, I’m usually better off.” 

I feel miserable and guilty for letting her take this job. “You shouldn’t be here,” I say. “You should be home resting.” 

“Oh, shut it,” she says irritably. “And actually, this is supposed to be my last day of work, so just relax. Fuck!” She swears, bending at the waist and putting her hands on her knees. Anna and I both put a hand on each of her elbows, flanking her from each side. 

“I think that was only a few minutes,” Anna says, voice tinged with worry.

“Damn, I was looking forward to those two weeks off,” she murmurs. The crowd around us has finally noticed what’s happening, and they're all staring and murmuring amongst themselves. 

“Penelope,” Baz says, pushing his way through the spectators. “Do you want Simon to call Shepard?” 

She shakes her head. “Let’s wait and see if there are any more. Plus, I want to know the Coven’s decision.” 

“We’ll text you,” Baz hisses, “But you need to take care of yourself.” 

When Penny winces in pain again, Anna looks at her watch. “I think it’s time for Simon to make that call.” 

She nods finally, and I pull out my mobile while Anna walks her to a chair. Daphne appears at her other side, talking her through her breathing. 

“He won’t be able to get into the building as a Normal,” I mutter to Baz as I put the phone to my ear. 

He nods, running a hand through his hair. 

Shepard, thankfully, picks up.

“Hey, Simon! Is the hearing over? How did it go?”

“We’ve finished, but Penny is having contractions. I think she’s going into labour.”

“Oh my God! Okay, I’ll leave work right away. I think it’ll take me…” he pauses for a minute while he maps it out. “Twenty minutes.”  

“You think you’ll be here in twenty?” I ask, looking at Baz and wondering if that’ll be enough time. He looks back at me helplessly. 

“Ok, well, I’ll be here with her. Call when you get to the Coven building and I’ll help her out to the car,” I say. 

“Thanks, Si. Text me with any changes, the nav system will read it to me.”

 After I hang up, Baz and I head over to where Penny is currently pacing by a window. Anna is redirecting the crowd while Daphne sits close to Penny. I notice a timer running on her phone, which sits in her lap. That can’t be good, though maybe she’s just being cautious. 

I update her about Shepard’s ETA, and she nods distractedly as she breathes through another contraction. 

“How far is the hospital from here?” Daphne asks gently. 

“About twenty minutes, I think,” Penny says. 

Daphne looks at me. “I don’t know if she has forty minutes.” 

“Shit,” I murmur. “Isn’t it supposed to take more time than this?” I ask helplessly. “I thought you said it only goes quickly for first time mothers in movies?”

Penny glares at me. “Oh yes, please tell my uterus that it’s being extremely cliched right now.” 

“You have your truck,” Baz says, turning to me. He clutches my bicep. “You can take her and Shepard can meet you there.” 

He’s right, of course. I need to take her. But I don’t want to leave Baz here alone. 

“I’ll be alright,” he says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. I know he will be. His family is here. He’s going to be fine. 

I put on my coat and pull out my phone, sending off a quick text to Shepard that there’s been a change of plans and that he should meet Penny and I at the hospital. 

He texts back simply. 

Roger that 

“I’m going to pull my truck around,” I say to Penny. “Shep will meet us at the hospital. Everything is going to be fine.”

She nods weakly at me and I glance once more at Baz before bolting out of the building towards the car park. 

When I pull the truck around, Daphne and Baz are already waiting with Penny at the front of the building. They ease her into the passenger seat, and Daphne assures me that the hospital knows she’s coming. I type in the address in my phone and set it in the cup holder. 

“We’ll update you about their decision if we hear anything,” Baz tells us and we both nod. 

“Morgana and Methuselah, I can’t believe I’m missing this,” Penny hisses. 

“Not much we can do about that,” I say. 

“Drive carefully!” Daphne calls as she shuts the door. I give them both a wave and feel a stab of guilt as I drive away. None of that matters now. I just need to get Penny to the hospital safely. 

It’s the longest twenty minutes of my life, but we finally make it to the hospital. I’m thoroughly rattled from the very disconcerting moaning Penny’s been making during the second half of the drive that I don’t even know where I’m supposed to park. I end up stopping in front of the entrance in a ‘no loading’ zone and jumping out to help her. 

“I think you’re supposed to take me ‘round the back,” she grunts, clutching my hand and stepping gingerly out of the truck.

“Sod that,” I say. “We’re here, so let's just get you inside.” 

We only make it a few steps before she’s doubled over with another contraction. She makes this horrifying, guttural, braying noise. She sounds like that rabid How Now Brown Cow the Humdrum sent after me once. 

Something wet drips onto our legs. 

“Fuck,” she whines. Fuck is right. 

“Come on, just a few more steps and we’ll be in the building.” 

A nurse sees us through the glass door and disappears for a moment before coming through with a wheelchair. 

“I think she’s got it,” I say, but Penny glares at me, clearly unimpressed by my efforts to convey she’s a strong woman. 

“Don’t be a dick,” she says, easing herself into the chair. 

“You should move your truck,” the nurse says, nodding behind us. 

“I don’t want to leave her,” I say, hesitating. 

“Simon Snow, you are not coming into the delivery room with me.”

“Fair enough,” I say. 

The nurse assures me she has her and tells me the maternity waiting room is on the second floor. I watch her wheel Penny in, expertly turning the corner to the lifts. 

I move my car to a car park that’s labelled as Overnight Parking, even though I have no idea how long I’ll be here. It takes me a while to get up to Maternity, but when I do, Shepard is already there. 

“Hey, man,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “They’re bringing me back now. Thank you for getting her here.” 

“Of course.” 

“You alright here?” 

I nod. “I’ll wait, if that’s okay.” 

“Can you call her mum for us?”

I nod and he smiles nervously before disappearing through the swinging doors leading to Delivery. 

I sigh, and slump into a chair, the adrenaline starting to ebb. I make a few calls, first to Penny’s mum and then I try Baz. It goes straight to voicemail, which I hope means he’s back with the Coven and they’re giving him an answer. I text him, just to let him know we made it here on time. 

I scrub my face and close my eyes for a moment, tipping my head back against the wall. I try to listen, to see if I can hear Penny from here, but the walls must be pretty thick, because I don’t hear anyone apart from the others milling about out here in the waiting room. 

I don’t like this feeling. It’s like, I’m halfway through a battle or rescue, and didn’t get to see it through. I know she’s fine, that the people whose job it is to help her are with her now, but it still sort of feels like I’ve abandoned her in her time of need. But I know that’s stupid. I was there when it mattered. I got her here. I’m still here, even if there’s nothing for me to do for her. 

I decide to practise my mindful breathing, to see if I can calm my nerves. It takes quite a while, but eventually, I relax. And a little while later, I even fall asleep. 

“Simon?” 

The voice startles me awake. I rub my eyes and try to focus through the haze. Martin Bunce is standing above me, looking guilty. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were actually sleeping.” He looks at me apologetically. 

“It’s fine,” I say, sitting up straighter. “You the first one here?” I ask. 

He nods. “Mitali is on her way. The kids are going to wait until after the birth before they all arrive. But Penny’s mum and I wanted to be here as soon as we could.” He smiles nervously. 

I nod. 

“How did the hearing go?” he asks. 

I smile. “Penny was brilliant.” 

“Mmm. I knew she would be. Any news?” 

I shake my head. “Not yet.” 

He pats my knee and we sit side by side for a while in silence. 

I check my phone again, just to see if I’ve missed any calls or messages, but there’s nothing. 

“This waiting is crap,” I mumble. 

He chuckles. “Indeed.” 

A moment later a tall figure burst through the waiting room doors. At first I think it’s some harried father-to-be, trench coat fluttering behind him, until I see it’s Baz. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, jumping out of my seat. 

His head turns when he hears my voice, and he rushes over to me. 

“You made it in time?” he asks, even though I already texted him I did. “Has it happened?”

“She’s still in delivery,” I say, and Baz sighs with relief. “We haven’t had any updates. I thought you were going to call me. The Coven…” I trail off because I see it written all over his beautiful face. It’s nearly cracked open with the joy of it. 

“All charges cleared,” he says and I clutch him to steady myself. “I’m a free man.” 

“Fucking fuck!” I shout, and Baz chokes on a laugh at my absurdity. “Are you serious? They didn’t care about the wand? Or, or us?”

“Apparently not,” he says. “It all came down to Penny’s argument about my fundamental rights as a mage. So in the end, none of that mattered, because they agreed I shouldn’t have been under surveillance from the start.”

I laugh and it sounds more than a little hysterical. “So it’s over?”

“It’s over.” His voice is firm, even as his eyes start to water. “It’s finally over.” 

I pull him to me and kiss him so fiercely I think I’ll leave a bruise. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I almost ignore it, until I remember Penny. Baz pulls away first, and I take out my phone, opening the group text where Shepard has sent a photo of a very tired looking Penny, smiling with a scrunch-faced infant on her chest. 

We’ve got a daughter 

I stare at the words almost disbelieving. Baz looks over my shoulder and gasps. 

“I’m a grandfather,” Martin mutters behind us. We turn and see him looking at the same picture with so much love and adoration.  

“You’re a grandfather!” I shout. We all laugh and I jog over and pull him into a bear hug. I don’t think I’ve ever hugged Penny’s dad before, but now feels like as good a time as any to start. 

The next few hours go by in a blur. Bunces flood into the hospital. Penny and Shepard are allowed a few visitors at a time. After her family goes through, Baz and I get to go in alone.

Shepard is holding the baby, bouncing a bit by the window. Penny is propped up in bed. She looks radiant. Exhausted, but like a warrior who's just proven victorious in battle. 

“Well done, you,” I say, bending over and kissing her on the forehead. I turn and look at the little bundle in Shepard’s arms. “Thought I was going to have to deliver you on the side of the motorway at one point,” I say to her in my best baby voice. She just yawns and waves a fist at me. 

“She’s beautiful,” Baz says, hovering closer to take a peek. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Shepard asks. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” he says. 

“Nonsense,” Penny says. “We all know you’re good with babies.” 

Shepard offers her up and Baz takes her gingerly. 

“Do you have a name yet?” he asks. 

“Prama Desiree,” Shepard says. 

“That won’t be confusing at Bunce family gatherings,” I joke and Penny hits the back of my knee, causing me to stumble forward. 

“Desiree is the compromise we found to pass on the name Love,” she explains. “It means beloved, so pretty close.” 

I smile, clapping Shepard on the back. 

“Does Prama have any significance?” Baz asks. 

“Lover of justice,” Penny says. “Little Prama here was clearly dying to find out the results of your appeal, so she took it upon herself to arrive early. At least, that’s my theory.” 

We all laugh at that and Baz continues to stare at the little one in his arms in wonder. He’s a natural at it, swaying gently like he’s dancing. 

“I wouldn’t let anyone tell me the results,” she says, peering around me to look at Baz. “Though judging by your expression, I think I know the answer.” 

Baz smiles wonderfully. “Probation and surveillance terminated,” he says. “I’ve been taken off of the department’s roster completely.” 

She sighs, tipping her head back against the pillow. She smiles beatifically. 

“Nicks and Slick,” she murmurs. “We did it.” 

She suddenly looks incredibly tired. I think she’s been holding it together to make her way through all of the visitors, but now that she’s heard the news and we’re the last ones to see them, she looks like she’s ready to pack it in. 

“We’ll let you sleep,” I say, planting another kiss on her head. 

“You didn’t get to hold your goddaughter,” Baz says, though Prama seems to be fussing a bit, and I’m not one to get between a gal and her meal. 

“We’ve got all the time in the world, don’t we, sweet girl?” I say, wiggling her toe gently. 

Baz passes Prama to her mother and we say our goodbyes and head out. 

I take one last look at the happy family, Shep settling in on the edge of the bed, curling an arm around his wife and daughter. 

“I can’t believe she’s finally here,” I say, as we nod our goodbyes to the Bunces and head to the lift. “She’s like, a fully formed person.”

“The miracle of birth,” Baz agrees. 

“Where to?” I say, stifling a yawn. “Do you want to celebrate with your family? Go out?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m done in. Can we just go home?” 

I wrap my arm around him, kissing his cheek. 

“That sounds blissful.” 

He puts his face in my curls and breathes deep. I probably smell disgusting. I love that he doesn’t care. 

“I can’t believe it’s over,” he marvels. I squeeze his waist. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Wrung out,” he says as the lift doors open and I laugh. “But good. Elated, really. It’s almost like,” he pauses, searching for the right words. “It’s almost like, this is the first day of my life.”

I take his hand and guide him towards the car park. There’s a chill in the air. Dark clouds loom overhead. It almost feels cold enough that it could snow. I hope it does. A blanket of white, washing the world anew.

 A perfect day for new beginnings.

Chapter Text

Baz

It’s been six months since I was declared a free man, and sometimes I still forget that it’s real. 

The shame still creeps up occasionally when I’m hunting (then again, I’ve always felt that way when I needed to drink) but I’m getting better at not letting those feelings take root. 

Snow insists on coming with me when he can. (The absolute nightmare.) He tries to paint it as an exercise in self-care. 

Have you eaten enough today? Did you hunt? I’ve set an alarm to make sure we get to bed on time tonight. I know you have a big day tomorrow. 

It’s insufferable the way he cares for me. 

I still can’t believe how lucky I am. 

He’s making a determined effort to stay positive and supportive today, but I know it makes him a bit sad, that today is my last day teaching at LSE. 

This summer will be our transition. I plan to ease into the move to Manchester. I’m going early to get my apartment and office at the newly christened Harrogate Magickal School (due to open this fall) set up. Then I can spend the summer traveling back to London to spend time with Simon, or he can come up to be with me. Once the school year starts, I know it will be tougher. We’ve been talking through ways to make it work. Snow makes jokes about sexy FaceTime calls, but I know he’s masking his worries. 

Still, I think this is the best future for each of us, as Simon’s experiencing pretty big changes to his job as well. 

After the hearing, responses to the Coven’s decision were a mixed bag. The overwhelming majority of mage opinions seemed to be supportive of the way my mage rights were upheld. 

But to creatures and mixed-species individuals, the victory fell short of anything that felt like it could extend to them. I understand their disappointment. Even while I was incredibly relieved for my future, others saw yet another obstacle to their freedoms. 

Simon and Anna were sympathetic to these views. I think it lit a fire in both of them. They had this shared vision of transforming the Department of Magickal Creature Management into a system of support instead of a punishment. Unfortunately, that would mean changing the laws. 

I think they’re getting closer, though. The previous Head of the Coven, Jeremy McGregor, fell out of favour when it was discovered that he had plans to put a slew of other creatures under the department’s jurisdiction. His speciesist point of view was not appreciated by most people, and he was swiftly ousted during the next election. 

The new Head of the Coven, Alexis Beaumont, seems more likely to support changes to the way magickal creatures are treated. Still, Simon knows progress may come slowly. He’s willing to keep working at it. 

 He could have easily packed it in, deciding he needed to distance himself from a bad situation. Instead, he’s determined to fix the broken system from within. I don’t know if I’d have the same patience, if our situations were reversed. But I think he feels bolstered by Anna’s relentless optimism. She’s been a breath of fresh air ever since she was hired. Together, they’ve dared to dream for a better future, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. 

That’s why I wouldn’t dream of asking him to abandon what he’s started to move up north with me. 

We’ve talked about it, that it’ll most likely happen in the long term. We know this won’t be forever, being apart. But we’ll make it work, in the interim. 

Simon is taking me out tonight to celebrate. He knew I’d be a little melancholy, seeing this as the end of an era, so I appreciate him wanting to keep me looking towards a (hopefully) prosperous future. 

He’s convinced me it's finally time for us to try a nice restaurant. After my bit of a tantrum the last time he tried to take me somewhere posh, he let it lie. 

“It doesn’t always have to be pubs and Nando’s,” he chided last night. “We are adults. I can take you somewhere swanky.” He shimmied his shoulders and I rolled my eyes at him. Still, I was excited. I definitely wished this sort of night out would have come sooner, but I wasn’t about to apologise for my previous outburst. The burdens of being stubborn. 

But now, my time has come. 

I picked up an outfit for Simon for the occasion on my way home from work. It’s something I’ve been working on with his tailor. Tonight felt like the perfect time to try it out, and I was pleased to hear it was ready when I phoned her this morning. 

“I have something for you,” I say, holding up the garment bag for him. 

“Not even pretending you're dressing me by leaving your own clothes out for me to borrow,” he says cheekily. “Now you’re just outright buying clothes for me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sniff. “Now, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Try it on.” I shake the bag for emphasis and he takes it, laughing. 

“Anything for you, babe.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and let myself have full view of him. He’s glorious, even more so now that he’s matured. What a treat that I get to stare openly at him, as opposed to stealing furtive looks back when we were at school. I get to watch his pecs flex as he strips out of his work clothes. I stare at his soft waist spilling over the edge of his trousers. He starts with the cream coloured polo-neck, pulling it down over his wings, which are pulled tight to his back. When the fabric is pulled down to his waist, my face splits into a grin. It worked. 

Simon looks puzzled at the glee on my face, but when he turns to the full length mirror, he sees why. 

“Merlin, what happened to my wings?” He gapes at his new silhouette in the mirror, turning every which way to inspect the seemingly impossible way that his shirt lies flat on his back. No bulge where he’d normally see his wings. 

“Hidden,” I say. “It’s a mirage spell I’ve been working on.”

He stares at me incredulously. “But magic shouldn’t work on me.”

“The spell is cast on the fabric.  It works with your specific measurements to give the appearance that the shirt is laying flat on your back. It distracts the eye from your wings.”

“Sort of like, ‘There’s nothing to see here’?” 

I nod. “See?” I reach out and touch his wings and when I do, the spell falters, allowing us to focus on them. I remove my hand and the mirage jumps back into place. 

“Wicked,” he says in awe. “You did this for me?” 

“Your tailor helped,” I say. “She had your measurements and we were able to calculate the difference between your wings and your chest measurements in order to target the spell within the fabric.” 

“Baz doing maths?” he says sarcastically and I kick his leg. 

 “Ow!” He laughs. “But seriously, I can’t believe you did this,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. 

I drape my arms over his shoulders. “Now you can go out in spring and summer without your coat on.” 

He shrugs, snaking his hands up my back. “I still do that sometimes. I just look naff with my hunchback.” 

I kiss him squarely. 

“We can do it to more of your clothes, if you’d like.” 

“Hell yes,” he says and I smile with relief. 

“You really like it?” I ask.

“Of course. Baz, this is amazing.” He puts a hand on my cheek to make sure I’m looking at him. “You’re amazing.” 

He kisses me and I run my fingers through his curls while he pulls me close at the waist. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can we just stay here?” 

“No. No way,” I say, pulling away. “You promised me a disgustingly posh dinner and you are going to provide.”

“Fair enough,” he says. 

When we get to the restaurant, I’m thoroughly impressed by his choice. The decor is chic but nothing is overstated. We’re seated at a corner table under purple lights. It sounds garish, but the effect of the color gleaming off the gold leaf wallpaper is lovely. 

The drink menu alone is extensive. Simon orders cocktails for us when the waiter arrives. I don’t even know what he orders, but he assures me their whiskey-based drinks are the best. 

I arch an eyebrow at him. “How do you know?” 

He smiles sheepishly. “I may have read a review or two online.” 

Our drinks arrive and I’m pleasantly surprised by the subtle yet sweet medley of flavours. 

“If your plan was to get me drunk tonight, Snow, you’re on the right track.” 

He laughs. “You can’t get too drunk, we’re babysitting Prama tomorrow night, remember?” 

That is true. Penelope and Shepard have slowly started going out on dates again over the past few weeks, and Simon and I have bravely volunteered for the job of watching little Prama. Well, Simon’s the brave one, as he gets slightly panicky anytime one of the Bunces leaves him alone in the room with her. I convinced him I’m an expert with babies, and that with two of us, it would be a piece of cake. Fortunately, Prama is a pretty easy baby and so far, all of our babysitting adventures were fairly mild. 

I wave him off. “Alcohol clears my system in well under twenty-four hours.” 

“Well, then. Party on,” he says, raising his glass to me. We clink in cheers, and I take another sip. 

“Mmm,” Snow hums, setting down his drink and swallowing showily. (It’s obscene the thoughts I always have when watching his throat.) “Forgot to tell you who I saw at work today. You’ll never guess.”

 “Please don’t make me. I never liked twenty questions.” 

He chuckles. “Fine. Ansel.”

I sit upright more, brow furrowed. “What? At your work?”

He shakes his head. “At the Coven building,” he clarifies. “Seems he’s been having a bit of trouble paying his taxes.”

“How gauche,” I say, sipping my drink daintily. “You didn’t say anything to him, did you?” 

I know how that would have gone if he did. 

About a month after the hearing, Greta, of all people, emailed me. Plenty of people had been reaching out to me since the article in The Record, and even more flooded in after reports from my subsequent hearing were published. By the time her email came in, most correspondence had subsided. I don’t know what I expected, when I saw her name in my inbox, but an apology certainly wasn’t it. 

In the (quite lengthy) letter, Greta expressed her deep regret for any pain she’d caused me. I was confused, at first, because I had always thought that Ansel was the shared villain in our story, having both been duped by him. 

It turned out that, once she found out about him and I, she couldn’t let it go. She also couldn’t let him go. They stayed together, even while she suffered doubts about her self-worth and whether she could ever really keep him happy, knowing she had at one point not been enough for him. 

She also began to obsess about me, wondering if I’d ever take him back, and whether she’d be able to convince him to instead be in a committed, monogamous relationship with her. 

That led her to the single most regrettable decision of her life. Making the anonymous tip that got me arrested by the Coven. 

Ansel was one of the few people I had told about my vampiric nature. That turned out to be a mistake, because he developed quite the kink over it, begging me to bite him on more than one occasion. I never did, but that wasn’t enough to deter his desires. Eventually, once I was out of the picture, he introduced biting role play into Greta and his sex life. (The self control I needed to read through that bit of the letter was astronomical.) Greta grew suspicious, and got it out of Ansel where this sudden interest had come from. She saw this as an opportunity to get me out of the way, which was absurd because I wasn’t even in the picture at that point. 

She’d convinced herself that she’d done it for love, and for a few months she thought they’d be okay in their relationship. Things were good for them, and she slowly began to get over her anger and insecurities. 

Until they ran into Simon and I at the symphony. 

According to Greta, all of her rage came flooding back. And instead of directing it at Ansel, where it rightly deserved to be, she again aimed it at me. By making another anonymous report, this time to The Record. 

After the article came out, and the subsequent outpouring of support for me, she realised how toxic her relationship with Ansel was if it drove her to repeatedly attack me in response to her worries of not being enough for him. 

She left him a week later. 

I wrote her a reply immediately, and told Simon about it all as soon as he came home. 

He was incredibly angry about it all, and didn’t understand why I so easily forgave her. I calmly explained that my primary goal was to move forward with my life, and I wouldn’t be able to do that if I was harbouring ill will towards either Ansel or Greta. His wings sagged at that, and I beckoned him to me. I took his hands and kissed them both, before explaining that I was honestly fine. 

“They don’t mean anything to me,” I said earnestly. “After so many months, I can finally look to my future. Building the life I want. And no one is going to take that from me.” 

“Christ, that’s disgustingly healthy,” he said. 

I laughed at that. 

“Okay, but if I just casually ran into either of them, could I give them a good tongue lashing? Maybe give him a good kick in the bollocks?” 

I tugged his hands. “No. That is the literal opposite of me moving forward.” 

He grumbled his disappointment, but reluctantly agreed. 

I never thought he’d actually run into either of them, and now that I’m hearing he did, I’m just slightly worried that he wasn’t able to contain himself. 

“You’d be very proud of me, Baz,” he assures me. “I stayed rooted in place when I saw him across the foyer.” He beams, and I am proud of him. 

“Though I did glare daggers at him,” he admits. “Wings spread and all. I think he might have shit his pants a little.” 

I cough into my drink, nearly spilling it down my front. 

Snow smirks, the menace. “But that was it, I promise.” 

“I commend your self-control,” I say. 

“Still all zen about that stuff?” he asks. 

“Absolutely,” I say, and I really do mean it. 

“You’re a bigger man than I am,” Snow says, shaking his head in amazement. 

I’m really not. He acts as if I’m some pious monk, able to just let all of my baggage go. 

In truth, I was miserable for a very, very long time. 

When I walked into his office a year ago, it was the lowest point of my life. I was on auto-pilot, barely getting through my teaching day, and with nothing left to spare for anything else. I was ignoring calls from loved ones, huddled up at home on evenings and weekends. Barely able to eat and going dangerously long times between hunting. Sure, I managed to wash and press my suits, settling myself behind a mask of composure when necessary, but inside, I was a wreck. 

And just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse, I found myself face to face with Simon Snow. 

I couldn’t believe my luck. At the time, I thought it was my very, very bad luck that had brought me under the surveillance of the boy I once loved so completely and pathetically. What a cosmic joke, to have Snow now in charge of monitoring the vampire he once followed, obsessively trying to find proof of my monstrous nature. And what a cruel punishment it seemed, to have to see this gorgeous man every two weeks, while he interviewed me about my feeding habits. It was such a headfuck. On the one hand, I thought I was going to self-combust from embarrassment and shame. But on the other hand, I couldn’t pass up the second chance to be in Simon Snow’s orbit. 

And then, twist of all twists, he helped me recover from the shell of myself I’d become. He made it possible to see myself as someone deserving to be loved. Deserving of more than what I had been given. He fought for me, when I had completely given up. And for that, I’ll never be able to repay him. 

So to think that the ghosts of my past could touch where I am now is laughable. Doesn’t he know he’s the reason I couldn’t give two shits about their actions? They brought me to him. I should be thanking them. 

I reach across the table, taking his hand in mine. 

“Darling,” I say, holding his gaze for a moment. Willing him to feel my love for him. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. We’re celebrating. Let’s forget about them.”

He smiles at me, squeezing my hand. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

The waiter comes, despite our obvious displays of affection. Simon is unbothered by the interruption. He orders the pasta confidently, clearly going off of those aforementioned reviews. I grin at him, and ask him what he thinks I should have. He orders the steak for me, rare, and I glare at him when the waiter leaves.

“Are you trying to make eating difficult for me?” 

He smiles with an easy confidence. 

“I’ve never seen you struggle to keep your fangs in place,” he says with the utmost sincerity. He’s right, of course. It doesn’t mean it isn’t a struggle where meat is involved. 

I don’t have a problem, as it turns out, and I make it through the meal without so much as an itch in my gums. 

“I knew you could do it, babe,” he says. 

“You’re a nightmare,” I say between bites, but I know he’s simply showing he believes in me. 

Simon orders dessert next, even though I don’t think I could eat another bite. Crème brûlée. (Divine.) 

Simon empties the last of the wine into our glasses and something about his body language suggests he’s about to speak. I give him the space to find his words. I know he will. 

When he’s ready, he clears his throat. 

“I’ve, um. I’ve got some news.”

I try not to panic, watching him shift in his seat. My tendency to always think the rug’s about to be pulled out from under me is lesser these days, but it’s still there, under all the work I’ve done on myself. 

“Anna and I wrote a proposal to re-brand the Department of Magickal Creature Management as the Department of Magickal Creature Supports.” 

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?” 

He scratches the back of his neck. 

“The Coven was surprisingly supportive. They’re not exactly ready to completely release control of policing some of our clients, but they admitted it’s time to take away the blanket requirements to police the actions of those individuals who’ve never harmed anyone.”

I can’t believe this. I didn’t expect something like this to happen so easily. 

Simon goes on. “We’re going to transition to optional support for those without a criminal record. And for the ones who do, we’ll continue to monitor them the same way, for now. Though I think there’s room for changes there, too.” 

I nod, temporarily speechless because this amazing man has finally done it. 

“It’s going to take a lot of work. And we’ve got plans to overhaul the department across the UK.”

I clutch at my thighs under the table, because I think he’s about to say something I’d never dared dreamed could happen. 

“Anna’s going to head things here. I’m confident in her capabilities.” 

“And?” I breathe. 

He grins. “And I’m going to work on changing things in our offices up north.” 

“Glasgow?” I venture, because there’s no way I’m that lucky. 

“I’ll be moving between offices, but I’ve been given permission to base my work in Manchester.” 

“You’re coming with me?”

He smiles softly. “If you’ll have me.” 

I can’t believe this is my life. I pinch my leg, just to be sure I’m not dreaming. 

“As if there’s any universe where I wouldn’t,” I say, while I blink back the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks. “How long has this been in the works?” 

“Feels like forever,” he admits. “But everything sort of fell into place two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks!” I say, jaw dropping. “You kept this a secret for how long? And then still didn’t tell me when you were sure?” 

Simon bites his lip. “It felt big,” he says. “Really big. And I, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I wanted to tell you here. And I wanted to ask your permission.” 

“My permission?” 

“We thought we were doing something long distance.” He shrugs again. “And now I’m changing everything. I need you to tell me this is a good idea.” 

He suddenly looks sheepish. I could kiss him. 

I flick his knuckle teasingly. “I’m not sure it’s as grand a gesture as when you gave me my wand back. But it’s a close second.” 

He huffs a laugh. 

“You’re doing something spectacular,” I say, pulling us back to acknowledge the full gravity of the situation. “And on top of that I get to keep you close?” I shake my head. “Simon. You’ve offered me the world. It’s a brilliant idea.” 

He smiles and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. 

We pay our bill and once we’ve exited the restaurant I pull him into a proper hug. 

“I never thought I’d get to have a second chance like this,” I say quietly. “Until you walked back into my life.” 

He ducks his head and shakes it softly side-to-side. His curls brush my chin. 

“You always say it like that. Like I’m the one who’s put everything to rights.” He looks up at me with all the earnestness of an angel come to earth. “Baz,” his voice is equally soft, but with no less conviction. “Don’t you know? You’re the one who saved me.” 

The tears do finally come and I kiss him fiercely, joy and love and gratitude spilling out of me. I kiss him in the street. It’s wet and messy, and never has my life felt more complete.