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There are people everywhere on the Great Lawn, scattered like fallen chess pieces in a game that was always destined to end in bloodshed. Most of them are still standing, but far too many lie lifeless on the ground.
It’s too many, more than anyone should have to witness. Their arms sprawl at unnatural angles, eyes vacant, magic or life or both already fled from their bodies.
This is the final battle.
The culmination of fifteen relentless years—fifteen years of rumors, of conspiracies, of alliances forged and broken.
Everybody has known from the start that there would be a confrontation.
If not last year, then the year after that; if not next month, then someday soon.
Now, we’re out of borrowed time, and here we stand, with The Old Families on one side of the battlefield, and The Mage and his fervent supporters on the other.
The Mage has enlisted the help of anyone who would follow him—even the students from Watford. Graduates, underclassmen, upperclassmen, teachers and staff who believed in him… they all came, convinced that whatever cruelty or destruction would follow would somehow be worth it.
He promised them that if they believed in the school—if they believed in his vision for a future liberated from the old ways—then they had to stand with him and fight, no matter the cost.
In the end Dev and Niall actually chose to defend Watford.
They believe they’re doing the right thing. And where am I in all this? I’m standing right in the middle, paralyzed by the sight of two evils clashing.
On my left is everything The Mage represents, including those who have given their trust to him.
On my right are The Old Families—my family. My father. My legacy.
As the Heir to Pitch, it’s my sacred duty to protect my family, and I can’t fail them. My father and I have already sent Daphne and the kids away. They have nothing to do with this war, nothing to gain from these senseless deaths. Daphne wept as Vera drove them off the estate, her final scream echoing in my mind. That sound keeps replaying, an unending loop I’ll never stop hearing.
Yet… Watford is my home, too. It’s the only place I’ve ever felt wholly accepted, like I finally belonged.
Even as I stand here, feeling my chest tighten with fear and indecision, I remember the classrooms, the corridors, the dorm rooms that sheltered me.
I felt more comfort within Watford’s walls than I did in my own ancestral home. That realization is a brand on my heart, shaping who I am.
But if defending Watford means aiding The Mage, then I refuse. I can’t fight for that man, for the one who’s turned all of this into such a vicious conflict. If it comes to a choice between supporting The Mage or death, I’d choose the latter.
Let either side strike me down and be done with it.
All around me, bodies drop to the ground, crumpling like rag dolls—some from The Old Families, some from The Mage’s followers. The air reverberates with the last gasps and the final hammering of hearts that gradually fade into silence.
The aroma of mingling spells—some ancient, some modern, all lethal—clogs my senses, turning my stomach. It’s like smelling raw magic in its final moments, a noxious brew of fear and adrenaline and desperation.
Still, there is one person whose survival consumes my thoughts: Simon .
I can pick out his heartbeat from the chaos, that steady (though now frantic) thrum that has become too familiar over the years. Even if I can’t see him, I know he’s here—somewhere on this massive battlefield. I can almost taste the distinct tang of his blood in the air: smoky, sweet, and painfully inviting.
I press through the swarm, slipping between duels and curses. People are too preoccupied to notice me, or else they’re too unsure whether I’m friend or foe.
My father’s people wear the old families crests on their robes; The Mage’s supporters wear the Watford crests. Me? I have no insignia, no banner. I’m nothing but a traitor in the making, a villain waiting to choose a side… or simply let a stray spell take me out.
But I won’t let myself be struck yet. Not until I see Snow.
And then, through the frantic swirl of curses and swords, his heartbeat spikes in my ears.
Something is wrong.
I hurry to follow that pulsing thread of life, weaving around dueling combatants, stepping over bodies I force myself not to look at too closely. Not to see their faces.
Then I spot him.
Snow is drenched in blood—his own, but mostly from those who will never rise again. I can smell them on him, the remnants of lives he’s ended.
There’s the sharp tang of the Rosiers—whose daughter once danced barefoot at a summer gathering.
The smoky warmth of the Grimms—who carved wooden toys for children at winter feasts.
The metallic whisper of the Belcourts—who toasted to their son’s engagement not long ago.
Now, they’re nothing but stains on his clothes.
In the chaos, he hasn’t noticed me yet. But I wonder if he can feel it—the ghosts clinging to him.
Then I see my father.
Pressing his full weight on Snow’s right arm, pinning it to the turf so Snow can’t even lift his sword. Father’s wand is angled straight at Snow’s heart. I can see his lips move in incantation, though I can’t hear the words. But I know it’s lethal—final.
I can’t let this happen. My breath catches at the back of my throat, my undead heart hammering so loudly that for a second, I think I might go deaf from it. My wand is already raised before I realize what I’m doing. The incantation spills out of my mouth in a rush.
“Drop it like it’s hot.”
My father’s wand glows fiery red in his hand, burning him enough that he cries out and lets it fall. He’s thrown off-balance, eyes wide and searching the crowd, until they lock onto me.
“Basilton?” he manages, confused.
That’s the moment Snow’s sword pierces my father’s torso. There’s a sickening sound, and time grinds to a halt. My father’s face contorts in agony, then goes slack. My wand arm feels numb, and I can’t lower it. My vision tunnels, flicking from my father’s body to the fury and shock in Snow’s eyes.
Snow yanks his sword free, my father’s lifeless form slumping to the ground beside him. Something in me fractures at the sight. My father… gone .
Snow’s attention locks on me. There’s an intensity in his gaze that sends a cold jolt through me. “Why did you do that?” he demands, approaching slowly, sword still clenched in his fist, though it drips with blood.
I threaten him with my wand again—an empty gesture. “Don’t come any closer!” My voice cracks, and I hate that I can’t keep it from trembling.
“Baz. Why? ” Snow halts, taking a defensive stance while still eyeing me as though I’m a puzzle. “Why did you do that?”
A sob finally rips from my throat, though I try to stifle it. “I couldn’t let him kill you.” My wand arm lowers on its own accord; the last bit of my resolve sliding away.
Snow’s expression twists into frustration. “We’re at war , Baz! Look around you. People are dying everywhere. This is—this is what we’ve been told must happen. Now pick up your wand and fight me!”
I can’t do it. Not now, not after everything. My knees give out, and I sink to the ground. “Just finish this,” I whisper, lifting my gaze to meet his. “Please. Kill me. End it.”
He looks horrified, as though I’ve asked him for something impossible. “Get up and fight me!” he growls, voice choked with emotion. “It’s what we’ve both been preparing for all these years—only one of us gets to walk away!”
I glance at the battlefield over his shoulder. “I know,” I say. “So kill me, Simon.”
He flinches at my use of his given name. “ What —what are you planning? Tell me!” He levels his sword at my throat.
I let out a hollow laugh. “Why would I plot something? I just saved your life—I made you kill my father.”
He takes a step back. “I—Baz, just explain it! Explain why you did it. Why would you spare me only to turn around and ask me to end you?”
I look down, my eyes filling with tears that I can’t stop. “Because…I couldn’t watch him hurt you. And if I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather be at your hands than his, or The Mage’s.” I lift my eyes to him. “Just promise me one thing, okay? When I let out my last breath, be close enough to hear my deepest secret.”
That clearly stuns him. He rests the flat of his sword beneath my chin, forcing me to look up. “Tell me now,” he breathes. “If it’s that you’re a vampire, I already know.”
A half-smile tugs at my lips. “Of course you do. But that’s not it.”
“Then what?” The tip of his sword presses more firmly into my skin, like a warning. “Why would you want me anywhere near you at the end?”
My tears flow faster, the gentle movement of my throat earning a small cut from his blade. I’m sure there’s blood seeping from there now.
“Why are you laughing?” Snow snaps when he sees a soft chuckle escape me.
“Just the irony of all this,” I say, almost delirious. “I saved you from him. You killed him. And you’re still afraid I want to kill you? I’d say that’s a bit backwards, don’t you think?”
He yanks his sword away and crouches in front of me. His voice is gentler, but no less urgent. “But… why? ” he whispers. “Why did you stop your father from killing me?”
I swallow hard, tears streaming unchecked. “Because, Snow. I couldn’t bear watching you die.”
He scans the battlefield, searching for threats.
The fighting rages on, the distant clash of metal on metal. Suddenly, he grabs my wand off the ground and places it in my unsteady hand. “Come with me,” he says, and his warm fingers circle my wrist to tug me out of the chaos.
I don’t protest. I don’t have the energy to. I just let him guide me, weaving through the carnage until we’re heading into the Wavering Woods.
I find enough breath to tease, even though I don’t feel like laughing, “Taking me out here to kill me in private?”
He shoots me a withering look. “Shut up,” he answers, voice tight, continuing deeper among the dense trees.
We’re a good distance into the Wavering Woods by the time Snow stops dragging me along. My breath is ragged with exhaustion, and the smell of churned earth and pine needles overwhelms my senses.
The trees stand tall and foreboding, their knotted trunks seeming to watch us with silent judgment.
Behind us, the din of battle lingers, muffled but still frightening in its intensity—distant screams, the clash of magic, and the dying shrieks of those who couldn’t escape fate.
Snow all but slams me against the nearest tree trunk. The rough bark digs through the fabric of my shirt and scrapes at my back. I let out a hiss of pain, but there’s no real anger in me. I’m too dazed, too conflicted.
My father is gone. I just watched Simon Snow—my nemesis—my obsession —take a sword to him.
His palms press against the tree on either side of my head, effectively caging me in. I see his face. He’s so close. His eyes bore into mine with scorching intensity, and his bronze curls dangle over his forehead, spattered with blood. He’s trembling, probably from a mixture of adrenaline and whatever twisted emotions are flooding through him.
“Why the hell did you stop your father from killing me?” he demands, practically hissing. The question sounds raw and ragged, laced with disbelief and something else I can’t name.
The warmth of his breath grazes my cheek, and I close my eyes for a fleeting second, letting myself soak in that simple, maddening comfort. “You’re like a broken record, Snow. I told you before—I couldn’t just stand there and watch you die.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, frustration coiling in his voice. “That can’t be everything. After all these years, we were destined to fight, Baz. That’s what we’ve been told to do! So why!? ”
At this, I force my gaze to him. His blue eyes mirror the reflection of my own despair. I wonder if he can see the guilt and confusion roiling in me. “Because if there’s anyone I wouldn’t kill, it’s you,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I—I simply couldn’t let him hurt you.”
The confession hangs in the air. For a long moment, neither of us moves nor speaks. The chaos around us recedes like a distant tide, replaced by the muffled thud of my own heartbeat.
Snow’s frustration surges anew. He swings one hand away from the tree and slams it back against the trunk, sending flakes of bark spiraling to the ground. “Damn it, Baz! What’s your secret, then? What did you want to tell me with your final breath?”
I give him a brittle smile, leaning in just enough that my lips graze the shell of his ear. “Kill me, and you’ll find out.” My voice is barely louder than a breath.
He lets out a hoarse groan and backs off, raking his free hand through his curls. “I’m not going to kill you!” he snaps. “Stop saying that. Stop asking me to!”
His refusal, oddly enough, sparks an almost hysterical urge to laugh. For more years than I can recall, we’ve done nothing but clash and bicker and suspect one another. For me, there was always more beneath that—but it never mattered. Because Snow was never supposed to see me as anything but the enemy.
“Snow…this is a war,” I remind him quietly. My eyes flick to his sword on the ground, still slick with blood, the inscription shining along the blade. “You can’t let me walk away. The Mage despises my lineage, my name. If he sees me alive at the end of this, I won’t be alive for long anyway.”
Snow snarls, spinning to face me again. “Why do you want to die so badly? You could just take this moment and kill me. I’m unarmed!” He lifts both hands. “You could snap my neck. You’re strong enough. Why not do it?”
Something painful tugs in my chest. Sorrow and something else, something deeper. “Because I don’t want to hurt you. Not anymore…Not ever.” I say, stepping closer. My right hand trembles as it rises to hover near his cheek; after a moment, I set it there gently. His skin radiates warmth, and I feel a wetness— tears . Simon Snow is crying.
“Baz…” His voice is ragged, heartbreak etched into each syllable. “I…just killed your dad.”
I know. Crowley , I know. I’ve always harbored such a complicated mixture of feelings toward my father: fear, respect, the weight of living up to a centuries-old name. But now he’s gone, cut down on the battlefield by the one person I’d sworn to him that I hated—yet never truly hated at all.
Snow stumbles closer, stopping mere inches away. We’re pressed together in the quiet hush of the Wavering Woods. As he braces his hands against my waist, I swear I can feel the hurried pulse of his magic in the very air around us—like an erratic heartbeat thrumming with sorrow and leftover fury.
He closes his eyes tight for half a second, then lets out a shuddering breath. “Why did you—” But words fail him. Instead of finishing the sentence, he dips forward and captures my mouth in a kiss so tender I nearly collapse.
His lips are warm, softer than I would have imagined, and a faint taste of blood lingers where the corner of his mouth is split. My head tilts on instinct, returning the kiss with all the longing I’ve spent years burying. A swirl of heat explodes in my chest, and for the tiniest moment in time, we’re alone in a cocoon of stolen warmth and reckless hope.
When we finally part, he gapes at me, horror dawning in his expression as though he’s just realized what he’s done. A thousand emotions flicker over his face. I see grief, confusion, and—somewhere beneath it all. Understanding— desire .
He runs a hand down his face and tangles his fingers in his curls once more, pacing in erratic, frantic steps. “Baz, you saved me. I killed your father. I… I don’t understand any of this. Damn it, why did you do that?!”
I move forward, reaching carefully for him, resting my hand against the side of his neck. The blood on him—his, my father’s, my family—has dried into sticky patches, but I feel the warmth of his pulse beneath it all. “Because I love you,” I admit, voice wavering. “I love you and I couldn’t let him hurt you. I couldn’t just watch you die.”
He’s trembling visibly, tears drying into tracks on his cheeks. At my words, something in him collapses, and he sags against me. “ Baz, ” he breathes, burying his face in my shoulder. “I—damn it, I just— I just killed your father.”
I can’t help but let out a quiet, humorless chuckle as I hold him. My own tears spill over, scalding my cheeks. “ I know. ”
I press my forehead to his, heartsick and relieved and terrified all at once. Around us, I can still sense curses being cast in the distant clearing. I hear the crack of magic, smell the faint remnants of it in the wind. But here, in this moment, in this single small clearing in the Wavering Woods, it’s just us.
“Do you…still want me to kill you?” he manages, voice hollow.
I grip his shirt, fighting a wave of sorrow that makes my lungs feel too small for my chest. “Yes,” I say, not because I want it, but because it’s inevitable. “I don’t want to die by anyone’s hand but yours. The Mage won’t let me live. He’ll never let me go, and if you don’t kill me, he will. Or someone else on his side.”
He reels back in horror. “Then I’ll protect you!” he blurts, desperation coloring his tone. “I’ll convince The Mage—I’ll make him see reason, tell him we can’t keep tearing each other apart like this. Maybe…maybe Penny can help. She can talk to the Coven, or we can run—”
My laugh is shaky. “Run where, Snow? He’d hunt us to the ends of the Earth. It doesn’t matter that you’re… you . He won’t listen.”
Snow’s face twists with heartbreak, but he sets his jaw like he might fight the whole world if he has to. “Then we’ll fight! We’ll fight the whole fucking world!” he whispers, brushing a thumb along my cheek, wiping away stray tears.
I sink into his touch for a moment, letting myself dream—letting myself wonder if there could ever be a world where Simon Snow and I could be together without bloodshed. The warmth of his palm travels to the back of my neck, and he pulls me in for another kiss, deeper this time. It’s desperate, like he’s clinging to hope that’s already slipping from between his fingers.
And I kiss him back—more fervently than I ever thought possible to kiss anyone. My heart pounds in my ears, overshadowing the roar of distant carnage. I can practically taste my own tears in the space between us.
When we break apart, breathing hard, he presses his forehead to mine again. “No one’s killing you,” he insists. “Not him, not me, not anyone.”
Part of me almost believes him. But reality is crashing in, bringing with it the knowledge of the war raging outside these trees.
My father is dead.
Daphne and the kids are gone, hopefully never to return.
The Mage is out there, unleashing his unstoppable wrath on anyone with the Pitch name or lineage.
Dev and Niall are probably still fighting, all because they want to protect a school they love.
Sooner or later, this bubble of ours will pop.
Snow’s fingers tighten on my shirt as though he can sense my resolve slipping. I see it in the panic that floods his eyes—he knows this interlude won’t last.
A new surge of magic crackles through the trees, accompanied by a rush of footsteps crunching through the underbrush. My heart jumps into my throat.
Simon reacts instantly, putting himself between me and the oncoming presence, sword at the ready—even if it’s still streaked with the blood of my father. My hand hovers near my wand, but my chest is far too heavy. I can’t summon the will to grip it properly.
A familiar figure emerges from behind a thick trunk, tall and robed, his face alight with a triumph he doesn’t bother to hide.
The Mage.
Even in the dim light under the canopy, he radiates an air of superiority. He halts several paces away from us.
“ Simon, ” The Mage says. His tone is calm, but there’s an almost manic glint in his eyes.
“It’s finally over. The victory is ours. The Old Families have fallen…except for him .” He flicks his gaze in my direction. I feel a cold clamp around my heart.
Simon’s stance wavers. He’s still shielding me, but I see him falter for a split second, eyes darting to me in concern. Then he exhales, straightens his back, and faces The Mage as though bracing for an attack.
“Sir,” he starts, struggling to keep his voice steady. “No—none of this should have happened. We didn’t have to kill each other. We could have—”
“Hah! You’ve spilled plenty of blood yourself tonight, boy.” The Mage’s voice rises, resonating through the quiet woods. “What’s one more, especially when it’s the very last of those who threaten our new order?”
I glance around, dread crushing my lungs. The Mage makes it sound so…simple. So inevitable. Everyone else is gone. My family is gone. I’m the last one—the traitor.
Simon lifts his sword carefully. “Sir, I—I won’t do it,” he manages, flicking a look at me. “I’m not killing him.”
The Mage’s lip curls in disdain. “You’ll disobey me? After all I’ve done to see you reach your potential?” Something in his voice edges toward genuine fury. “Don’t be foolish, Simon. This is the moment to sever the final link to the Old Families’ tyranny. He’s a Pitch . A vampire. ”
“I know what he is,” Simon grits out. “And I said…no.”
The Mage’s composure falters, replaced by something savage. “Then I suppose I’ll deal with him myself.” He raises his wand in a swift movement, pointing it not at me, but directly at Simon. “Now. Out of my way, or you’ll get hurt.”
I can’t breathe for a heartbeat. My wand is there at my side, but panic has frozen my blood. I see The Mage’s lips form the first syllable of a lethal spell. Simon’s stance tightens.
“No!” Snow barks, spreading his arms wide, still standing between me and danger. “I can’t let you do this.”
“You dare defy me?” The Mage’s voice rings with anger. “ Come to a sticky end! ” he snarls, unleashing the spell at Snow.
In a rush of clarity, I realize that if it lands, it could kill him. In that split second, my body moves on instinct: I throw myself forward, using all my weight to shove Simon aside. The curse slams into me instead, and a searing, white-hot pain explodes in my torso.
“ BAZ! ” Simon’s cry echoes off the trees. Everything spins. My vision falters, like a candle flame flickering in a gust of wind. The forest floor rushes up to meet me, but it’s so soft, so strangely welcoming.
I hear Simon drop to his knees and feel his arms beneath my shoulders, hauling me tightly against his chest. His warmth engulfs me, and I cling to it like a lifeline. Air rattles in my lungs.
He’s trembling. “ Baz ,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Talk to me. Tell me you’re all right. Please, please be all right.”
A dull, throbbing ache settles over my entire body; it hurts to speak, to think, to breathe. “I just…saved your life twice in under an hour,” I manage, each word an effort. “How the hell…are you gonna keep yourself alive…when I’m not around?”
Simon tries to laugh, but it comes out as a sob. He presses a desperate kiss to my temple. “I can’t. You’re staying with me, you idiot. I can’t do it on my own,” he chokes. “I need you, Baz.”
Somewhere behind him, The Mage speaks. His tone is cold, dismissive. He thinks it’s over. “It’s done, Simon. He’s finished. Let him die and come with me so we can—”
“ FUCK OFF AND DIE! ” Simon roars, the force of his voice reverberating through the clearing. Even without a wand, raw magic surges around him like an invisible shockwave, an explosion of power. I can’t see where The Mage is anymore, but I hear a crash, maybe a scream. Then…silence.
I blink, my vision swimming. My chest feels heavy, and I cough, tasting blood in my mouth. Simon is chanting nonsense spells under his breath, voice quivering with every word, as though hoping one of them will mend what’s broken inside me.
“Snow,” I say, voice a ragged whisper, “you can’t—”
“I can save you,” he insists, breath hitching. “It’s not too late.”
I grit my teeth through the pain. “I think…we’re even now,” I rasp, tears welling as the agony builds and builds.
“Even? What do you mean?” He can barely get the words out through his tears.
I grimace, the ghost of a half-smile tugging at my lips. “Now…both our fathers…are dead,” I say. The Mage was the closest thing Simon had to family, to a father figure, after all.
“God, Baz,” he chokes, a wet laugh escaping him. “You absolute twat .” He holds me so close I can feel his heart pounding frantically against my shoulder.
An impossible warmth floods my chest as I stare at him, wanting so badly to stay but knowing it’s futile. My eyes drift over his curls, the freckles on his cheeks, the blood smeared across his face. “Simon,” I manage, “you can’t fix this.”
He shakes his head wildly. “I’ll learn to control my magic,” he says desperately, tears flowing freely. “I’ll do something. There has to be a way.”
There isn’t. But I can’t bring myself to say that outright, so I just cup his cheek with a shaking hand. “Snow… Simon , I love you. I think…I always have.”
He blinks hard, tears dripping from his lashes onto my shirt. “I know,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “You told me already, you enormous prat.”
I try to smile at that, though my face feels numb. “Yeah, but…I want it to be…the last thing I say.”
“Don’t—” His breath catches, and he clutches me as though sheer force of will might keep me anchored here. “Don’t you dare die on me, Baz Pitch.”
“Simon…” I murmur, leaning in to brush my lips against his. The brief contact sends warmth all through me, even as my vision dims at the edges. “ I love you. ”
He kisses me—soft and sweet and desperate. My eyes slip shut. The pain drifts away, replaced by a slow, pulsing quiet that envelops me.
I think that’s the end. And for a moment, there is nothing. Just a hush. A great, hollow silence.
But at the very edge of my consciousness, I hear it. A voice, faint as a breeze:
Easy come,
easy go.
Little high,
little low.
Carry on,
carry on.
There are people everywhere on the Great Lawn, scattered like fallen chess pieces in the aftermath of a war that has finally reached its last move. Most of them are still lying lifeless on the ground.
But somehow.
I'm not one of them.
“Baz?”