He brought pyjamas with him from his flat. I wonder if this is what he always sleeps in—cotton trousers and a T-shirt. I usually sleep in my pants, but I’ve been wearing joggers while he’s here. Baz let me borrow his pyjamas once, on Christmas Eve …
This was easier when it started.
This thing with Baz.
We were so caught up—with the Mage and the visitations and finding out who killed Baz’s mum. It’s always easier to make a decision when your back’s against the wall, and there’s a knife at your throat. No time to think; just do. Grab the thing you need. Grab the thing you want. Steal the kiss.
I’d live like that all the time if I could.
I’d make all my decisions jumping out of second-storey windows.
You know that phrase, “out of the frying pan, into the fire”？ People say that like it’s a bad thing. But what’s the alternative—out of the frying pan, onto the counter? Out of the frying pan, onto the sofa.
Baz kept trying to have a normal relationship with me, after I lost my magic. He’d bring me dinner and try to get me to watch films. Maybe that’s what he wants now … I’m more than a bit worried that I was only able to move forward with him these last few days because the fear of losing him was like having a knife to my throat. What happens when the danger fades?
“Are you air-drying?” Baz has sat up. He’s frowning at me.
The towel is hanging from my hand. I bring it up to my hair.
“Are the wings hard to clean?” he asks, still frowning.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re a pain. I can only spread them out one at a time in the shower.”
Baz looks like he’s thinking. “I don’t have to sleep in the bed every night…”
I scrub at my hair. “Well, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”
“I could cast a spell to soften it, it’d be fine…”
I let the towel drop around my neck. “Do you not want to sleep in the bed?”
He shakes his head. “No. I … I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I sigh. “You’ve got to stop questioning me. I’m holding on by a thread.”
He looks down. “Sorry.”
That came out wrong. I throw the towel into the bathroom and climb onto the bed beside him. “Hey, no … I’m sorry.”
Baz looks up at me, pushing his damp hair back behind his ears. “Simon, are you sure you want me here?”
“Christ, I just told you not to question me.”
“Yeah, I know, but you also told me you’re holding on by a thread. I don’t want to put you in that position.”
“I’m always holding on by a thread! I thought the important thing was that I’m holding on!”
“Right.” He rubs his face. “Right. It is. I’m sorry. I wish I were more confident. I’m not really built for this.”
I breathe out a laugh.
He scowls at me. “What?”
“How can you be insecure, Baz? You’re the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.”
“They run on different tracks.”
I laugh again.
“I’m going to sleep in your bed,” he says, like it’s a legal declaration.
“All right.”
“Until you tell me you don’t want me to.”
“Or until you don’t want to,” I say.
“That might be never, Snow.”
“All right.”
Baz looks down, smiling with one side of his mouth, his eyelashes stark against his cheeks.
I get under the sheets he magicked up for me—they’re already going threadbare, I suppose I’ll need to buy real ones soon—and lie on my side.
Baz climbs in, too, and lies down facing me. After a second, he’s got my tail in hand, and he’s twisting it through his fingers. “So we’re going to wait for the next revival meeting?”
“Seems like it,” I say. “Do you have a better idea?”
“I think that’s what Smith-Richards wants—for you to come to another of his meetings.”
“You can’t still think he’s up to something nefarious…”
Baz lifts his head. “What’s the alternative? That’s he’s actually the Greatest Mage?”
“If he’s giving people magic, that’s pretty great.”
“He isn’t giving it to them. They were already magicians.”
“Baz, we watched him cast the spell.”