I put my hand on Baz’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“He hasn’t told us anything,” Baz hisses at me.
“I’ve told you enough,” Nicodemus says.
“Come on,” I say, pulling Baz back.
“Yeah, go now,” Nicodemus says to Baz. “Go with your mate. You’ll find your way back here someday.”
Baz tosses his cigarette onto the pool table, and Nicodemus jumps back, losing his composure for the first time. He flails out for his drink and pours it over the fag. Baz is already striding away.
I look at Nicodemus. “Your sister misses you,” I say.
Then I turn back to Baz and shuffle to catch up. He waits for me at the top of the stairs. (You’d think I was his best friend—I guess that’s what he wants them to think.) Then he’s cool as ice, cutting through the room upstairs to the door.
When we get outside, nighttime London is so bright, it hurts my eyes.
We find the car, his father’s Jaguar, and Baz has it started before I’ve even opened the passenger door. As soon as I’m inside, he jerks out of the parking spot and guns it, driving as fast as he can down the busy street. He rides up on a taxi, then wrenches the car into the next lane.
“Hey,” I say.
“Shut up, Snow.”
“Look—”
“Shut up!” He says it with magic, but he’s not holding his wand, so it doesn’t go anywhere. Then he grabs his wand, and I thinks he’s going to curse me, but instead he points it at a bus. “Make way for the king!” The bus changes lanes, but there’s another car just ahead of it. Baz points at it and casts the spell again. It’s a stupid waste of magic.
“You’re gonna keel over before we get out of the West End.”
He ignores me, points his wand ahead of him, and hits the gas. The next time he casts the spell, I put my hand on his biceps and push some magic into him. “Make way!” he says. The cars ahead of him cut to the left and the right. It’s like the whole road is parting for him—I’ve never seen anything like it.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
I close my eyes at every red light and wish for green. Baz pushes the pedal into the floor.
We’re flying.
* * *
The magic holds as long as I touch Baz’s arm.
I feel clean.
I feel like a current.
I don’t know how Baz feels. His face is stone, and when we get out of London, tears start to fall from his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them or blink them away, so they streak down his cheeks and cling to his jaw.
Once we’re in the countryside, he doesn’t need my magic to clear the way anymore, and I let go of him. He keeps turning onto smaller and smaller roads until we’re driving along some woods, gravel kicking up beneath us and banging on the bottom of the car.
Baz pulls off the road suddenly and hits the brakes, fishtailing halfway into a ditch, then gets out of the car like he’s just parallel-parked it, and walks towards the trees.
I open my door and start to follow him, then go back to turn off the car and grab the keys. I run along his footprints in the snow, past the tree line, until I lose his trail in the darkness.
“Baz!” I shout. “Baz!”
I keep moving, nearly tripping on a branch. Then I do trip. “Baz!” I see a blaze of light—fire—ahead of me, deeper in the trees.
“Fuck off, Snow!” I hear him yell.
I run towards the light and his voice. “Baz?”
There’s another shot of fire. It catches on a branch and takes hold—illuminating Baz, sitting under the tree, his head in his arms.
“What are you doing?” I say. “Put it out.”
He doesn’t answer me. He’s shaking.
“Baz, it’s all right. We’ll just get the name from someone else. This isn’t over. We’re going to do what your mother asked us to.”
He swings his wand and practically howls, spraying fire all around us. “This is what my mother would want for me, you idiot.”
I drop to my knees in front of him. “What are you even talking about?”
He sneers at me, baring his teeth—all of them. His canines are as sharp as a wolf’s. “My mother died killing vampires,” he says. “And when they bit her, she killed herself. It’s the last thing she did. If she knew what I am … She would never have let me live.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “She loved you. She called you her ‘rosebud boy.’”
“She loved what I was!” he shouts. “I’m not that boy anymore. I’m one of them now.”
“You’re not.”
“Haven’t you been trying to prove I’m a monster since we were kids? Crowley, you have your proof now. Go tell the Mage—tell everyone you were right!” His face is dancing with firelight. I feel the heat at my back. “I’m a vampire, Snow! Are you happy?”
“You’re not,” I say, and I don’t know why I say it, and I don’t know why I’m crying all of a sudden.
Baz looks surprised. And irritated. “What?”
“You’ve never even bitten anyone,” I say.
“Fuck. Off.”
“No!”
He drops his head in his arms again. “Seriously. Go. This fire isn’t for you.”
I grab his wrists and pull. “That’s right,” I say, “it can’t be. You always said you’d make sure there was an audience when you finished me off.” I pull on him. “Come on.”
Baz doesn’t fight me, just slumps forward. A cloud of sparks settles near him, and I growl at them, blowing them out.
I lift up his chin. “Baz.”
“Go away, Snow.”
“You’re not a monster,” I say. His face is cold as a corpse in my hand. “I was wrong. All those years. You’re a bully. And a snob. And a complete arsehole. But you’re not one of them.”
Baz tries to jerk his face away, but I hold it fast. He opens his eyes, and they’re pools of grey and black and pain. I can’t stand it. I growl again. The fire blows back.
“This is what I deserve,” he says.
I shake my head. “Well, it isn’t what I deserve.”
“Then go.”
I see the fire flickering in his eyes, which means it must be all around us.
“I won’t,” I say. “I’ve never turned my back on you. And I’m not starting now.”
61
BAZ
That’s it. I’m going to have to spell this imbecile away from me. My last deed will be to save Simon Snow’s life, and my whole family will be ashamed.
He’s holding on to my face, expecting me to stay alive just because he’s told me to—because he’s Simon bloody Snow, and he gets whatever he wants if he growls loud enough.
I think I might kiss him before I send him flying.
(Can I get him away from me without breaking any of his bones? What spell will keep him away, so he doesn’t come running back into the fire?)
I think I might kiss him. He’s right here. And his lips are hanging open (mouth breather) and his eyes are alive, alive, alive.
You’re so alive, Simon Snow.
You got my share of it.
He shakes his head, and he’s saying something, and I think I might kiss him.
Because I’ve never kissed anyone before. (I was afraid I might bite.) And I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone but him. (I won’t bite. I won’t hurt him.)
I just want to kiss him, then go.
“Simon…,” I say.
And then he kisses me.
SIMON
I just want him to shut up and stop talking like this. I just want him to get up and follow me out of here. I just want to be back at Watford in our room, knowing he’s there, and that he isn’t hurting anyone, and no one is hurting him.
BAZ
Is this is a good kiss? I don’t know.
Snow’s mouth is hot. Everything is hot.
He’s pushing me, so I push back.
His cross is rattling in my tongue and jaw. His pulse is beating in my throat. And his mouth
is killing everything I’m trying to think.
Simon Snow.
SIMON
Baz’s mouth is colder than Agatha’s.
Because he’s a boy, I think, and then: No, because he’s a monster.
He’s not a monster. He’s just a villain.
He’s not a villain. He’s just a boy.
I’m kissing a boy.
I’m kissing Baz.
He’s so cold, and the world is so hot.
BAZ
I am going to die kissing Simon Snow.
Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.
SIMON
If Baz thinks I’m ever letting him go, he’s wrong. I like him like this. Under my thumb. Under my hands. Not off plotting and scheming and talking to vampires.
I’ve got you now, I think. I’ve finally got you where I want you.
BAZ
Snow has done this before.
He’s doing this nice thing with his chin. Moving it up and down. Tilting his head. Pushing me back even farther.
I don’t try to mimic him. I just let him go.
I’m going to die kissing Simon Snow.…
Simon Snow is going to die kissing me.
SIMON
Baz grabs my shoulders and pushes me off him.
It only works because I’m not expecting it.
He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out his wand, then points over my shoulder, screaming, “Make a wish!” There’s fire all around us now, slithering closer through the grass.
Baz’s spell lands, and one of the trees goes out, then quickly catches fire again. Baz takes a breath, and I put both hands on his chest, letting him take what he wants from me. “Make a wish!” he shouts, and his voice is thunder.
The fire dies in one breath—more like it was sucked in than blown out. My ears pop, and smoke pours out of the trees.
I look at Baz.
Was that it? Did he just need me to kiss him to snap out of his suicidal funk?
He drops his wand and reaches up to my jumper (his jumper), then pulls it down at the neck. With his other hand, he tears open my shirt collar, popping the top button, and grabs at my cross, eyeing the chain. He gives the cross a good yank—the chain snaps—and he tosses it away.
Then Baz looks at me like he always looks at me when he’s about to attack.
BAZ
Simon Snow is still going to die kissing me.
Just not today.
62
SIMON
I end up sitting on the ground next to Baz, facing him. Kissing him. He took me by the shoulders a while ago, on either side of my collar, and he won’t let go.
I’m not sure what we’re doing, to be perfectly honest—but nothing’s on fire anymore. And I feel like maybe we’ve solved something. Even though this is probably just a new problem.
For a minute, I think about Agatha, and I feel like a bounder, but then I remember that we’re not together anymore, so it’s not cheating. And then I think about whether this, what’s happening right now, means that I’m gay. But Baz and I are hidden in the trees, and no one can see us, and I decide I don’t have to answer that last question right now. I don’t have to do anything but hold on to Baz; I have to do that.
I’ve still got my hands on his cheeks, and his cheeks aren’t so cold anymore, not where I’ve been touching them. And when I suck on his lips, they go almost pink. For a few seconds, anyway.
I wonder how long he’s wanted this.
I wonder how long I’ve wanted it.
I’d say that I didn’t—that the possibility just now occurred to me for the first time. But if that’s true, then why is there a list in my head of all the things I’ve always wanted to do to Baz. Like this:
I push my hand up into his hair. It’s smooth and slips through my fingers. I clench my fist in it, and he jams his face forward into mine—then just as suddenly snatches his head away.
“Sorry,” I say. (I’m out of breath. It’s embarrassing.)
Baz lets go of my jumper and shakes his head, holding on to his forehead. “No. It’s … Where’s your cross?”
I feel for it on the ground around us. When I find it, I hold it up between our faces.
“Put it back on,” he says.
“Why? Are you gonna bite me?”
“No. Have I ever bitten you?”
“No. You’ve never kissed me before either.”
“You kissed me, Snow.”
I shrug. “So? Are you going to bite me?”
Baz is getting to his feet. “No … I’d just rather think less about it. I need to drink. It’s been—” He looks around, but it’s too dark to see anything. “—too long.” He glances back at me, then sheepishly away. “Look, I have to … hunt. Will you wait?”
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
“Crowley,” he says, “you will not.”
I jump up. “Can it be anything?”
“What?”
“Anything with blood, yeah?”
“What?” he says again. “Yeah.”
I take his hand. “Call something. There must be hunting spells.”
“There are,” he says, lowering his eyebrows. “But they only work at close range.”
I squeeze his hand.
He takes out his wand, watching me like I’m being an extra-special idiot. “Doe!” he says, pointing his wand into the trees. “A deer!” My magic shimmers around us.
No more than a minute later, a doe steps through the blackened branches.
Baz shivers. “You have to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Godlike displays of magic.”
“Why?” I say. “It’s cool.”
“It’s terrifying.”
I grin at him. “It’s cool.”
“Don’t watch,” he says, walking towards the deer.
I keep smiling at him.
He looks back at me. “Don’t watch.”
BAZ
I lead the doe into the trees, where it’s too dark for Snow to see us. When I’m done with it, I drop the body into a ravine.
I can’t remember the last time I drank so deep.
When I get back, Snow’s still sitting in the circle of ash. I know he can’t see me; I call out, so I don’t startle him. “It’s me, Snow.”
“You called me Simon before.”
I can see it in his eyes when he finally discerns me walking towards him. I light a flame in my hand. (Not in my hand—floating above it.) “No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Let’s get back to the car,” I say. “The neighbours are already going to think we had some sort of dark ritual here.”
“I’m not sure we didn’t,” he says, following me.
Snow’s quiet when we get to the car. And I’m quiet because I genuinely have no idea how to proceed. How do you pick up from, “I have to stop kissing you, so I can go drink some blood.”
“You’re a vampire,” Snow says finally. (I guess that’s how you pick up.)
I don’t answer.
“You really are,” he says.
I start the engine.
“I mean, I knew it—I’ve known for years. But you really are.…” He touches my cheek. “You’re warmer now.”
“It’s the blood,” I say.
“Would you be heavier? If I lifted you?”
“I imagine. I just emptied a deer.” I glance over at him; he still looks like something I want to eat. “Don’t try.”
“How does it work?” he asks.
“I don’t know.… Magic, blood magic. Virus, magickal virus. I don’t know.”
“How often do you have to drink?”
“Every night, to feel good. Every few nights, to stay sane.”
“Have you ever bitten anyone?”
“No. I’m not a murderer.”
“Does it have to be fatal every time? The biting? Couldn’t you just drink some of a person’s blood, then walk away?”
“I can’t believe you’re a
sking me this, Snow. You, who can’t walk away from half a sandwich.”
“So you don’t know?”
“I’ve never tried. I’m not … that. My father would kill me if I touched a person.” (I think he really would, if I bit a person. He probably should, anyway.)
“Hey,” Snow says, wrinkling his forehead at me, “don’t.”
“What?”
“Think. Whatever you’re thinking. Stop.”
I exhale, frustrated. “Why doesn’t this all bother you?”
“What?”
“I’m a vampire.”
“Well, it used to bother me,” he says. “Back when I thought you were going to drain me dry some night—or turn me into a zombie. But the last few days have been properly educational, haven’t they?”
“So now that you know I’m a vampire, for certain, you don’t care?”
“Now that I know that you just sneak around, drinking household pets and legal game, yeah, I’m not too bothered. It’s not like I’m a militant vegetarian.”
“And you still don’t believe that I’m dead.”
He shakes his head once, firmly. “I do not believe that you’re dead.”
We’re at my driveway now, and I turn in. “Sunlight burns me,” I say.
He shrugs. “Me, too.”
“You’re an idiot, Snow.”
“You called me Simon before.”
“No, I didn’t.”
SIMON
I’m not sure why I’m so happy. Nothing’s changed.
Has anything changed?
The kissing. That’s new. The wanting to kiss.
The looking at Baz and thinking about the way his hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead …
Yeah, nope. I’ve thought about that before.
Baz is a vampire; that’s not news.
Baz is apparently the world’s most reluctant, least blood-sucking vampire—which is a bit of a surprise.
And also apparently the best-looking. (Now that I’ve seen a few.)
I want to kiss a bloke. That is a change, but not one I’m prepared to think about right now.
… Again. I want to kiss him again.
* * *
We park the car in an old barn that’s been converted into a garage, then go into the house through the kitchen door. Quietly. So we don’t wake anyone. “Are you hungry?” Baz asks.
“Yeah.”
He pokes around in the refrigerator. Just your typical teenage vampire, getting a midnight snack.