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.”