Chapter Text
Day Zero
~Simon~
It's early morning and a bird is belting out a song. Right on our windowsill.
I roll over with a grumble, folding my arms over my head. With any luck it’ll sod off soon.
“For Crowley’s sake.”
I open my eyes and see Baz, raised up on his elbows. Though his eyes are pouchy with tiredness, they are full of malevolence. “Two choices, Snow. Collect the Mage’s love letter or I set that bird on fire.”
I glance at the windowsill. He’s right; it’s a robin, and robins are the favourite message bird of the Mage. It tilts its head expectantly.
A spark of happiness passes through me, one that not even Baz’s glower can smother. It’s been two weeks since the start of my eighth year at Watford and I’ve not yet seen nor spoken to the Mage. Being away for so long is not unlike him, but no trace since the start of term? It’s made me edgy, worried the Old Families or the Humdrum had finally done him in. We haven’t even discussed how the Humdrum kidnapped me and Penelope at the end of last term. Just a quick debrief and I was sent back to the care homes.
I stick out a finger and the robin lands, leaning and flapping its wings for balance as I sit upright. As far as Baz is concerned, it chirps again. Only I can hear the Mage’s message.
“Simon. As you know, Mabon starts with the autumn equinox – one of the most auspicious nights in the magickal calendar, and tonight it falls on a new moon. This will be a powerful night to work magic. While you‘ve been on summer break, I’ve tirelessly researched the problem of the Humdrum. I am-”
Baz burrows deeper into his blankets and lets out a frustrated groan. I shush at him.
“-to our problem. Come to the White Chapel tonight at precisely 11.30pm. I’m confident that we have a spell that will end the Humdrum for good, but I need your help for it to be a success. You mustn’t tell anyone. As you know, we have enemies at Watford, and they will go to any length to undermine our efforts. Be there promptly.”
“Why must his infernal messages be so long.” Baz growls.
“Get used to it, because it’s getting replayed.”
“What?”
“You talked over part of it!” I mean, he did, but I don’t think I missed anything. I just want to piss him off. It works. He growls, squirming under the blankets, “You know what,” I say, “I like you in the morning. You’re too tired to be sarky.”
I hear a low grumble of “fuck off, Snow” as I make a reeling motion with my other hand. The bird repeats the message, hopping from shoulder to shoulder as I get up, grab my clothes and head into the bathroom. Once done, it flies away.
I begin filling the sink, grinning to myself. I knew I just had to be patient. Of course the Mage was fixing this. I’d have waited months if it meant he’d come back with a way to beat the Humdrum. As I splash my face with cold water I wonder what he has planned. Has he found some way to track it? Perhaps he’s finally found a spell that will stop it creating dead spots. I frown at myself. Fat chance I’ll be much help with that. My spellwork is crap and I can’t exactly ‘go off’ on command.
Could he have found a way for me to control my magic? Now that would really be something.
I hear another series of peeps at the window followed by a roar and a clatter. As I’m not wearing a shirt, I just lean around the door. Baz is blinking into the light, his pillow and bedside lamp on the floor, waving his wand at the chaffinch on my headboard.
“Stop, it’s from Agatha!” I open my hand and the bird swoops over to me before Baz can speak a word. He wrinkles his nose and retreats into his blanket cave.
It’s not like Agatha to send me messages by bird. If she can avoid using magic, she will. I raise it to my ear.
“Hi Simon. We need to talk. I’ll be down for an early breakfast.”
I blink, peering at the bird. It flutters its wings, gives a solitary peep like its signing off and flies out of the window.
We need to talk? That can’t be good. It’s never good when it happens on the telly. I glare at the lump that is Baz. Agatha and I have barely spoken since we got back from summer break. Since the Wavering Woods. Since I saw her and Baz holding hands, “Can’t you tell the difference between a robin and a chaffinch?" I snipe. It’s stupid, really. I wouldn’t know the difference if it weren’t for the Mage and Agatha.
“Get out of here, Snow!”
Well, someone’s in a bad mood. When Baz feels rotten, he either cusses me out some more or just demands I bugger off. Normally I’d relish this, but the day has already thrown a headful at me. Mysterious, Humdrum-defeating spells and my girlfriend deploying the universal code for ‘brace yourself for a dumping’. I mean, ‘we need to talk’ might as well be a spell all on its own (is it? Could be. I could have missed that class). If Baz gives me a reason to be suspicious of him too, I might explode. Beyond stealing my girlfriend, that is, which I’m now bloody certain is exactly what he’s doing.
I’m still buttoning up my shirt as I trot down the stairs. If the sky stays clear, it’ll be a gorgeous evening for the equinox festival. It’s a pretty simple affair, really. A bonfire, warm spiced apple juice, some apple bobbing for the younger kids (and those young at heart). And lots of great food. (If you like apples, and things with apples in them.) It’s a bit like a harvest festival; an opportunity to give thanks for the year’s bounty and spiritually prepare ourselves for winter. Simple, but nice, especially for the little ones.
Usually I love the equinox festival, but my mood has flattened. All I can think about is Agatha's message.
On most mornings I’m a cup of tea and two scones down before any of my friends arrive, but Agatha is already waiting for me. She’s got a steaming mug of something (probably tea) and she stands when I come in. She doesn’t look herself. Her hair parting is a little wonky and I don’t think she’s slept properly. I nod at her, my stomach clenching as I busy myself by grabbing scones and butter. I’m not ready for this.
“Simon.” She greets me when I approach.
“Hi Agatha.” I sit down, then stare sadly at my food. Did I really think I’d be able to eat?
“Did you get my message?”
“I did.” I cut a scone in half. It gives me a reason not to watch her face.
She takes a breath. Oh Merlin, she’s prepared a speech.
“I care about you very much, Simon. You’re one of the dearest people in my life-”
“I care about you, too.” Not love. She didn’t say love, so neither do I.
Her brow creases. I interrupted. Yup, this is definitely a speech and not a conversation.
She clears her throat awkwardly and continues, “But I’ve been thinking about the future. About who we are, as people. And I’ve concluded that we’ve grown apart.”
“Is this about Baz?” The words just pop out of me, but I don’t regret them. Baz is the elephant in the room and I can already tell that she’s going to pretend he’s got nothing to do with this.
Her face goes slightly pink, “No, it’s about us.” She nods to herself, returning to her invisible script. “This is our last year at Watford. We need to think about the future -”
“I saw you holding Baz’s hands in the Wavering Wood last term.”
“Simon, this isn’t about Baz.”
“But we were fine before that.” I try not to sound annoyed. Instead I end up sounding like a whining child.
Agatha’s brow furrows, “We haven’t been fine for a long time and your obsession with Baz is part of that!”
“I’m not obsessed. His whole family are plotting against the Mage! I’d be mad if I didn’t keep an eye on him.”
“See?” She raises her hands in exasperation, “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I tell you our relationship is over and you make this about Baz!”
“So you are breaking up with me.”
She heaves out a sigh, “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“But it’s been three years, Agatha. You… You’re my future.”
“We can stay friends. I’d like to stay your friend.”
“But… I love you.” The words creak out of me, “Can’t we fix this?”
She swallows, “I don’t think so, Simon.” She then smiles weakly, as though she already knows what she’s about to say will be stunningly stupid, “But at least the autumn equinox is the perfect day for new beginnings.”
“For endings, more like.” I mutter. I turn my second scone on its side and stab it with my butterknife. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. I always knew Agatha was too good to be true. Or too good for me, anyway. Baz? Well, that’s different. He’s bloody perfect. Even the whole moody vampire thing is a perk, when you really think about it, “Great. Just great.”
“We can stay friends, right?”
“Not if you get with him.”
Agatha stands up, shaking her head, “You’re impossible when you’re like this.”
I don’t watch her go. I just continue rending my scones into ever-smaller pieces. I’m still chopping when Penelope grabs my shoulders, “I got a surprise for you!”
“Is it a new girlfriend?” I mumble.
“What?” Penelope sits down. She spots Agatha sitting across the hall, “Did you two break up?”
“Just now.”
“Oh Simon, I’m sorry.” Penelope squeezes my shoulder, “Did you talk about what happened? In the Wavering Woods?”
“Sort of. Actually, no, not really. She just said it’s got nothing to do with Baz.”
“Pfft.”
“Exactly!”
She lays a bulky bag on the table, “So, what did she say?”
“She said we’ve grown apart.” Penelope’s digging into the bag, “Penny, my girlfriend just dumped me and you’re not even listening!”
“I am listening! This just makes it more important that I show you my surprise.” She grins, “To cheer you up.”
I should have expected this response from Penelope. It’s not like this came out of the blue, and I think she mainly hung out with Agatha because I did. Still, I’d like a bit more time to wallow in self-pity,
“Decking Baz would cheer me up.” I suggest.
“Well, I don’t have Baz in here, but I do have…” She lifts out a laptop. An old, massive laptop, probably as old as I am, “This.” She smiles as she opens and twists it towards me.
“Good thinking. I could use it to bludgeon him.”
“You will not! A lot of complicated spellwork has gone into this.”
I see the screen lights up. It’s on YouTube, “You didn’t.”
Her grin nearly splits her face in two, “I did.”
“Merlin.” I lower my voice, “You got this connected to the internet!”
Penelope is almost bouncing, “Yeah! I mean, it’s sort of temperamental, so I’m keeping it off the mains. Anyway, check this out.” She begins playing the video on mute. It’s of a load of guys dressed like knights, fighting with swords. Not a movie, but real life, proper fighting, and real-looking armour, “It’s called the International Medieval Combat Federation. They do worldwide competitions. They’ve got a load of videos. We can watch some before class.”
“That’s wicked.” I lean in, watching as they hack at each other, “Oh man, I need armour like that.”
“You realise how slow that would make you, right? And how easy it would be to use spells against you?”
“But it would be so cool.” I jab the screen, “This. This is what I want to do when I leave Watford.”
Penelope shrugs, “I don’t think you need any qualifications to hit someone with a sword.”
“Yeah, that’s a bonus. And anyway, I’ve got to defeat the Humdrum first. And win the war. Wars.” And probably die in the process, I don’t say. I shake the thoughts loose. Being maudlin never helped anyone.
Penelope slams the laptop shut and stuffs it in her bag. Baz has sauntered into the hall, hair all slicked back. I catch his eye and he takes us in, then looks around. Smiles slightly when he sees Agatha sat alone. She stares after him, but he’s pretending that he’s already lost interest.
Great. Now Baz knows. And I have lessons with him for most of today. He’s going to be insufferable.
“Come on, let’s have breakfast outside.” Penelope says. That’s when I realise that magic is beginning to peel off of me. She’s probably right. Scrapping with Baz feels good at the time, but it’s only ever made things worse. Now I’m saving myself for our final fight.
***
The autumn equinox and the start of Mabon are both important dates in the World of Mages, but it’s a whole evening affair. That means classes are on as normal. Videos of men hitting each other with medieval weapons are an excellent distraction, but by the time potions lesson rolls round I’m back on a low boil. And it’s all Baz’s fault. All it takes is one sidelong glance – one gloat – and I’m chomping hard. Smug prick.
“Simon!” Penelope says.
“What?” From the look on her face, she’s been trying to get my attention for some time. We’re paired up but I have no idea what we’re working on. I’m just following the instructions on the blackboard. Our usual teacher is sick so the Minotaur is leading the class. Given he’s our Greek teacher, this mainly involves standing around and pretending he knows what’s going on.
“Have you ground the mandrake seeds?”
I see the pestle and mortar before me, untouched, “Erm.”
“Simon, you’ve got to pay attention. If anything goes wrong-”
A loud pop sounds from Baz and Niall’s desk. They jump back as purple smoke rolls up from their potion work. It smells a bit like marmite.
In his haste to retreat, Baz nearly falls over his stool and is only saved by snatching hold of Niall’s blazer. The rest of the class is laughing, but I nearly jump up to grab him (I guess saving people is a reflex at this point). Once I see Baz is fine I begin laughing louder than anyone else.
Baz rights himself and spins towards me, full of malice, “Good job, Snow. I don’t see how anyone can-” A grin snaps onto Baz’s face, silencing his gripe. His hand springs to his mouth and his eyebrows raise. His shoulders hitch. He’s… is he trying not to giggle?
A potion pops on a table next to ours, spewing out more purple gas. Either both teams made the same mistake or-
Some legend has changed the recipe to laughing gas. And made Baz look like a right pillock. Whoever they are, I could bloody snog them.
Baz swallows, still covering his mouth, before he storms out of the room. His choked laugh bounces around the corridor. Seeing him try to hold it in, hearing him break down outside the room, makes the laughter rise from deeper in my stomach. Closing my eyes isn’t enough to stop the tears squeezing out. As the gas spread, the laughter grows louder. Penelope is leaning into my arm as she convulses. The Minotaur has joined in with a strange baying noise.
Baz laughing. Like, properly laughing. Not in meanness or spite. Just… laughing.
I wish I’d seen that, but hearing it was good enough.
We’re saved by Miss Possibelf running in from another classroom and throwing all the windows open. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m not one of the students clamouring for fresh air. I just slouch against my desk and, god bless Penny, she just collapses against me, shaking, until Miss Possibelf drags us out. God, I feel so much better. I love Watford so much.
***
Our afternoon classes are cancelled so we can be monitored for side effects. As the giggling dies down, the room is rife with speculation on what the hell happened. Laughing fits can be a side effect of a botched potion, but everyone ends up agreeing that it was a practical joke. With the Minotaur covering, someone took advantage and changed the recipe on the blackboard. An oldie but a goldie. I don’t know who did it, but it definitely wasn’t Baz; he’s been surly ever since. You’d think he’d be all up for laughing like a drain now that he’s got Agatha.
The teachers are no closer to catching the culprit when we’re released for the awards ceremony. Usually it happens at the end of the year, but it was rescheduled after Penelope and I made our sudden and dramatic return from being kidnapped by the Humdrum. It’s also normally in the White Chapel with everyone’s families in attendance, but this time it’s on the football pitch, students milling around and hoping to hear their names called. It’s pretty boring. None of my friends win anything. Penelope has long said that if they gave prizes for sword work or fighting dark creatures, I’d be a winner every year. And I’m sure Penelope would win something if she wasn’t always on adventures with me. I wonder if she minds.
Baz won an award, because of course he did. Most Valuable Player on the football team. Usually that goes to an eighth year, but this is for his playing in seventh year. He was captain of the school team so I guess it makes sense, but what gets me is he didn’t even look pleased. He just sticks the trophy in his bag like it’s nothing.
Straight after that, the Mabon bonfire is prepared. Penelope, Rhys, Gareth and I line up for firewood together, and I grab a big piece that will burn for a long time. I always do. Penny favours small pieces, saying they’re better for getting the fire started. But hey, when have I ever gone small? Arms folded around a hefty chunk of wood, not bothered by all the dry moss that is rubbing onto my uniform, I walk towards the cold firepit. It’ll be lit once all the students have added some wood.
“What are you grateful for this year?” Penelope asks, waving her stick around like it’s a wand.
“Watford.” I say.
“Watford?” Gareth pulls a face, “That’s not very specific.”
“It’s better than in first year, when he was grateful for magic.” Penelope says.
“And not as specific as when he was grateful for Cook Pritchard.” Rhys adds.
“Not grateful for Cook Pritchard.” Penelope says, “Just her cooking.”
“I meant both!” I object, “I can’t be grateful for her cooking without being grateful for her, too.”
“I think being grateful for Watford is perfect.” Penelope says.
“Oi, you’re not stealing my idea, are you?”
“Oh no, I’ve already decided what I’m grateful for.” Penelope says. I wait for her to follow up, but she smiles at me, “I don’t have to tell you, Simon.”
She never tells me what she’s grateful for. It’s one of the only things she keeps secret. I think she’s superstitious about it. Some magicians are. I think Baz is, because he never tells anyone either. At least, that’s what Niall and Dev told Agatha the one time she agreed to ask. Baz’s probably grateful for something heinous. Or for something good but for the wrong reasons, like blood drives.
When I get to the cold firepit, I tap my bit of wood and smile before lugging it in, “Watford.”
The Minotaur hands me a tankard of hot apple juice and I join my friends. They’re blocking anyone’s view of Rhys. He’s perfectly out of sight, muttering some spell over the tankard in his lap, “Is that a fermenting spell?” I grin.
“Shh!” Penelope hisses as Rhys hands it to her. Next Rhys mutters over Gareth’s tankard, then hands it back.
“Been practicing it all summer.” He says.
He reaches for my tankard. Cider is great. I’ve been drinking it since I was thirteen, but only during the summer when I’m in a foster care home that’s easy to sneak out of at night. I start to hand it over, then remember the Mage’s instructions, “Actually, I can’t.”
“Why not?” Penelope asks as she takes a sip from her glass. She immediately spit it back up, “Great snakes, Rhys!” Gareth is spitting now too, “This tastes like- like-”
“You’ve been practicing this all summer?” Gareth asks, swirling the concoction incredulously.
“Smells like Strongbow that’s been left out in the sun.” I say, “Is it meant to have bits in it?”
“My spell works perfectly on the stuff from the shop.” Rhys pouts.
“Are you saying the apple juice is bad?” Penelope asks. She looks at me, so I give mine a taste-test. I shrug, “It’s not the juice.”
“They must make it differently.” Rhys is peering morosely at his drink.
“Yeah, it’s not from concentrate, you lummox.”
“I was looking forward to that.” Rhys grumbles.
“It’ll still get you tipsy. It’ll just taste a bit rank.” My proclamation is met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, “Isn’t that the point?”
Penny sighs as she pours her serving onto the grass, Rhys and Gareth following suit. “Come on.” I say, holding out my tankard, “You can all have some of mine.”
As I split my serving between our tankards, I catch a glance of Baz. He’s got his violin case and day pack slung over a shoulder and has just downed his apple juice like it’s a pint. He looks totally uninterested when Agatha walks up to him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I’ve poured juice down the side of Gareth’s tankard. I pay closer attention, making sure everyone gets a fair portion even if I’m left with only a slurp. When I look back, Baz is walking away from Agatha. Her hands are fidgeting at her sides.
What the hell is wrong with him? He won. He got her. He’s probably still sulking about the classroom prank. He always goes to the music room to practice his violin when he’s in a shitty mood. And he always avoids the Mabon bonfire. Which makes sense, him being a vampire and all.
An elbow gently needles my ribs, “Come on, Simon.” Penelope must know what I’m thinking, because her smile is unreasonably perky, “Let’s go bobbing for apples.”
The bonfire is lit as the sun dips below the horizon. I’m on my third slice of apple pie, sat on a rise a short distance away. Soon Gareth and Rhys go back to their room, but Penny stays beside me, complaining about her roommate. I let her because I’m her mate and I can use this next time she tries to get me to shut up about Baz.
It’s strange to do this without Agatha, but that’s over and done with. I put it out of my mind and think about what comes later tonight. The Mage’s spell. We’re going to defeat the Humdrum, I can feel it. Since I can’t tell anyone, I start imagining how pleased they will be when they hear the good news. I’m especially looking forward to the look on Baz’s face. He never thought I could do it. Thinks I’m as useful as a chocolate kettle. He actually said that once. Trust Baz to spit out the nicest-sounding insult.
I watch as the festivities die down. All the little kids yelling and chasing each other and throwing more sticks on the fire, while the eighth years pretend they don’t care that this is their last Mabon at Watford. Their last year at Watford. I think they do care. I know I care. I care more than I want to admit.
The teachers have ushered the students back to their rooms by the time I head to the White Chapel. It’s quiet when I step inside, the far end lit by dozens of white candles arranged in concentric circles. As I approach them, I see the floor is marked out with chalk, but I don’t know what any of it means. All straight lines and foreign letters. I pause, glance around. No one’s here.
“Sir?” I’m never sure what to call the Mage in moments like this. Shouting, ‘the Mage?’ would sound daft, and though he’s my foster father, it’s never seemed right to call him ‘dad’. We’ve never had that sort of relationship, “Sir?”
There’s a noise behind me. Like a rumble from deep in a chest.
I’ve been attacked enough times that I’m calling my sword without a thought, “In justice. In Courage. In defence of the weak-” Then I hear the rapid beat of feet rushing up behind me, too quick, much too quick. I continue my chant as I swing around.
It’s Baz. His mouth is full of huge teeth, sharp as knives, and his hands are reaching forward and he’s bowled me over before I can do anything.
I’m on my back, Baz leaning over me, and his jaws snap forward like a viper, latching onto my neck. He pulls back with an anguished snarl, and I think part of me comes away with him.
My throat feels wrong. It’s wet, but it doesn’t hurt. Surely it should hurt. I can see Baz spit a chunk of me out of his mouth, but there’s nothing except that sense of wrongness.
He hisses over me. His mouth is red. He’s like an animal. No, he’s a monster. His eyes are black orbs and I think he’s just ripped my throat out.
Then I hear someone shout a spell. Fire crashes over Baz’s back. I feel the heat as he arcs, sputtering up like an oil pan fire. He’s knocked off me and out of my line of vision. Then the Mage is stood over me, holding his wand.
I raise my hands to my throat as though I can staunch the blood. His eyes are wide and worried, but he looks like he has a plan. I want to trust him, but I feel like a spilled carton of milk. I try to speak but I can’t, nothing comes out. The Mage is pulling me across the floor, then begins casting, but I can’t hear the words, I can just hear my head thrumming.
I’m going to die.
I knew it would happen, but surely I had more time. It wasn’t meant to happen now. I was supposed to have another year at Watford. I was supposed to go down fighting the Humdrum. Fighting the Old Families. Did I even believe it would be Baz, really? No, definitely not like this.
I can feel my magic pouring off me in waves. Oh God, I’m going to die and I’m going to take the White Chapel and the Mage out with me.
Not Baz, though. Baz is already dead. He killed me, then the Mage killed him.
This is so wrong. I want the day to start again. If only I could…
…I can hear chirping.
I lie very still, eyes tightly closed. The feeling of wrongness, of wetness, is gone. There’s a mattress beneath me. I feel… rested.
I open my eyes and see my ceiling. My hand flies to my throat. It’s not wet. It’s whole.
He did it. The Mage did it. He saved my life. I break into a grin, a laugh welling up-
“For Crowley’s sake.”
The laugh dies. I sit bolt upright, turn. There is Baz, lifting himself up against the weight of half-a-dozen blankets, glaring at me with tired eyes, “Two choices, Snow. Collect the Mage’s love letter or I set that bird on fire.”