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Chapter Text

Lucy

I did what I had to do.

It's how I have lived my life. I always did exactly what I had to do, what I thought was right. When Davy was talking about reforms, about how mages have become too obsessed with bloodlines and sheer power for the past centuries, I thought I had to do everything I could to help him build a better future. I loved him. Back then, I was ready to do anything he asked of me.

That's why I allowed it to happen. Getting pregnant. Having a baby that Davy hoped would be the Chosen One, the one to save us all. I wanted it at that moment. I liked the way Davy looked at me. And I knew it was what I had to do, to fit into his plans. And I wanted to be part of them at that point, because I still believed he was good - a part of me still believes that today.

I assumed that being pregnant with The Greatest Mage would not be easy. I suppose I just was not prepared for how difficult it would actually be. 

At first they seemed like regular pregnancy symptoms. Morning sickness, fatigue, nothing I have not heard from my friends who had already born children. On most days, I would be able to make them go away with a simple spell if I wanted to. I sometimes let them be, though, because, as inconvenient as they were, they were a reminder of the life growing inside of me. I liked that part.

And then one day, the symptoms got too bad and my magic got too weak for me to even attempt to make them go away. That was the day Davy found me lying down on the ground outside because I could not even manage to feed the chickens before falling to my knees due to the excruciating pain. In a matter of days, I could not get out of bed anymore. Davy had to help me eat and go to the bathroom. Most of the food I ate did not stay down for long. 

It felt like the longest nine months of my life. And yet, even in moments of unbearable pain, I never regretted it. I had grown to love this baby, despite the fact that a part of me knew he was sucking all the life force out of me. I wanted him to have it. I would have given him anything. And I was willing to give up my life in order for him to survive. And not because he was supposedly the Chosen One, but because he was my child.

It was an unbearably hot summer day when I could feel it happening. I knew that would be the day he was born. Of course, Davy and I both knew it would happen on solstice, that much was carefully planned out by him because that is what the prophecy said. But it was not just that. It was the fact that the fire inside me seemed to get hotter than the sun. 

I knew that would be the day I died. All I wanted was a chance to see his little face before it happened. That's what I kept praying for.

The pain kept getting worse and worse, so bad to the point I could not hear my screams anymore. Davy was there by my side, whispering soothing words in my ear, but I could not hear any of them. I started to wonder how much more my body would be able to take. 

The world started fading to black….

And then the world came back in a rush of colour. Suddenly, the ache was leaving my body. That same fire inside me that had eaten at me for months seemed to now push magic back into me. Healing me. My baby was healing me.

After what felt like just a few seconds, I heard a cry, quickly followed by Davy's gasp. Davy carefully picked our baby up and showed him to me. It was a he, I had a feeling he would be. And he was the most perfect child I could have ever imagined. He was crying, and in that exact moment I promised myself I would do anything in my power to make sure my boy experiences as little sadness as possible throughout his life.

His magic was still flowing in my veins, and I could not even feel the pain of a regular pregnancy anymore. I still felt like I was on fire, but it was not hurting me anymore, it was warming me from the inside, making me feel like I was glowing. I felt no pain at all as I sat up to look at him. “Hello, Simon Snow, my rosebud boy,” I sobbed, feeling tears run down my face.

“We did it, Lucy. We did it!” Davy said, a sparkle in his eyes that I had not seen there in a long time.I suppose he had been worried about what the outcome of this pregnancy might be, just like me, hoping at least one of us would survive. Who knew that we both would? 

Davy handed Simon to me and then started casting every safeguard he knew over the both of us. He loved us, that was something I could not deny. 

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed even though Davy started to protest. I felt fine. Fine enough to get up and walk and stand for a longer period of time. There was a dull ache, but I was fairly certain Simon had healed most of me, though I was still not sure how he did that.

A bubbly laugh escaped my throat, a sound that sounded foreign to me now since I hadn’t heard it come out of my mouth in years. “He’s perfect, Davy. Everyone is going to love him. Oh, we have to tell our friends. And my parents, they need to know.”

I expected Davy to protest and tell me I was still too weak to go anywhere. I was ready to prove him wrong. What I didn't expect when I looked up was the guilty expression on his face that meant there was something he wasn't telling me. “What is it?” I asked, subconsciously holding Simon closer to my chest.

“I don't think that is a good idea, Lucy.”

“Why not?” I knew Davy did not like my family very much, and they didn't like him either. However, if anything were to help bring them together, a baby was. Besides, the reason we kept my pregnancy a secret was because we did not want people to find out about Davy’s plan since it was all still so uncertain. We still didn’t have to tell them. There was nothing that gave away the fact that Simon was The Great Mage. He just looked like a baby.

Davy gave me a pitying look that he often gave me when he told me things about the prophecy that I did not understand. “Lucy, do you realise who it is that you're holding right now?”

“Yes, my son,” I answered, more harshly than I meant to.

“He's The Greatest Mage, Lucy. He's going to save our world from the greed of the Old Families one day. What do you think would happen if word got around about his existence? What wouldn't they do to keep things as they are right now?”

I shook my head, trying to make it clear that I had no idea where Davy was going with this. 

“Lucy, we need to hide him. Somewhere in the Normal world. I have contacted a Normal care home already. He cannot come back to us until he is ready,” Davy said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe and he couldn't comprehend why he had to explain it to me.

I could feel an unusual amount of rage flow through me. “He's our boy, Davy. We are supposed to protect him, not hide him.”

“We cannot let people know of his existence,” he repeated, as if nothing else mattered to him. “Not until he can protect himself at least somewhat. We won't always be there, and you know damn well there are people out there who are not fazed by harming a child if that gets them what they want.”

The more Davy spoke, the more my love for him started to turn into fear. It was like seeing my partner in a brand new light. That was the moment I decided what I needed to do.

“You're insane if you think I am letting my child grow up thinking he doesn't have a family.” I stuck my chin out, making it clear that I was not willing to argue about this any further.

“Lucy, we need to look at the bigger picture here. He is a hero-”

“He is a baby !” I shouted back, feeling magic flow through me. It was not just my magic. I was acutely aware of the way Simon was holding onto my pinky finger and the way he sent me power through that touch. I reached for it, letting out a gasp at the overwhelming force of it.

Davy's eyes widened in what I could only describe as a mix between fear and admiration. “Is that him? It is, isn't it? It actually worked,” he said with glee, as if forgetting the fact that we were in the middle of an argument. But then it was like he just remembered because his features settled into something more grim again. “Look at how powerful he is, just minutes after being born. This is why we need to keep him safe in the Normal world.”

“I can keep him safe,” I pointed out, standing up.

Something else flashed across Davy's face, an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. In the blink of an eye, he pulled out his wand and advanced towards me, a spell on the tip of his tongue.

Simon was still offering me his power, like a well I could tap into that would never be empty. There was so much of it flowing through me that I felt like I might explode with it. And then I decided to take a risk. “Sleep tight, David,” I said, putting magic into the words.

Despite the fact that Davy was so close to casting a spell of his own, despite the fact that I did not have my wand, despite everything, I felt the magic work. In the blink of an eye, my partner's eyes were shut and he was laying on the floor in front of me, in a deep sleep.

There wasn't much time to overthink in that moment, so, ignoring the dull ache that was starting to get a bit more intense again - tapping into Simon’s magic to use it on Davy probably meant that he had less to heal me with, for now at least - I grabbed the keys to Davy's car and my wand and ran out the door.

The good thing about being in bed for the past months was that I had learned a lot of useful spells for parenting. With my son's magic, I managed to make a baby car seat appear on the passenger seat with a simple Children on board . I quickly realised getting a newborn to settle into one of them was a bit of a challenge, but Simon was quick to get used to it. I could tell that he could feel my presence and that that alone offered him enough comfort for him to fall asleep. Then, I made my way to Mayfair as quickly as I could, muttering Make way for the king several times. 

Getting from South Wales to London with a newborn was certainly not easy. The way there was frantic and long and I could tell I was operating on automatic for a long time. I had to stop once on the side of the road to feed Simon, but other than that I just kept going. 

I couldn't tell you how I made it to my family's house so easily, but then there I was, even though I hadn't visited in a long time. It was strange, because I did not know what reaction to expect from them. I was still questioning how much to tell them even though I had spent the whole car ride thinking about it.

I stepped out of the car, taking Simon with me and holding him close. He started crying as soon as I picked him up and I was trying to soothe him as the front door opened and I saw my mum standing there, surprise clear in her eyes. If I had been a better daughter and visited more often, she might not have been so surprised by it, but as things were, she was looking at me as if she was seeing me for the first time. And she was looking at the baby. Her grandchild.

“Lucy-”

“Let's go inside, mum. I don't have a lot of time,” I cut her off, stepping right into the house. As I was walking past her, I felt her hand on my elbow. She spun me around and wrapped me into a hug, being mindful of the child in my arms. I felt all my muscles relax and a tear rolled down my cheek before I pulled away. My mum just looked at me with glossy eyes but said nothing as we went into the house.

My brother, Jamie, was already in the living room when I walked in, which made everything easier. I could tell him the story directly, rather than having my mum explain to him. 

“Where’s father?” I asked.

“He has gone out. Should be back by tonight,” my mum explained from behind me. 

A heavy feeling settled in my chest. I would have liked to see my father before going through with what I am about to do.

“Lucy,” Jamie whispered when he saw me, eyes frantically moving between me and the baby in my arms. “Is that a baby?”

My mum moved and was standing next to him, watching me with the same surprise as my brother. Seeing them next to each other I could see all the similarities in their features and I started feeling worse about how long it had been since I had last seen them. 

I put on my best smile, and it felt genuine. “That's your nephew, Jamie. Say hello to Simon,” I said, holding up my son who had now stopped crying. 

I knew Davy would be on his way here soon, but I allowed myself to have this moment with them. They deserved to meet him. Especially since that would probably be the last time they ever get to see him.

My mum let out a small gasp and my brother stepped forward to hold Simon's tiny hand in his own. I expected him to jump when he noticed his power, but there was no reaction. Which left me with even more questions than before. “Merlin and Morgana, Lucy. We didn't even know you were pregnant,” Jamie muttered, looking up at me.

That brought me back to the reality and the gravity of the situation. I let out a long sigh. “I am sorry. No one knew. Which is why I cannot stay here.” I was glad my mum was holding Simon, because I was feeling faint and needed to sit down for a minute.

“‘Here’ as in… our house?” Jamie asked, confusion clear on his face.

I looked at my hands. “‘Here’ as in England. I need to leave.”

That got a strong reaction out of both Jamie and my mum. “Is this David's idea?” My mum asked, her lips in a thin line. She had tears in her eyes, probably triggered by finding out she was a grandmother. Now they were stopping and the euphoria was slowly making room for anger. She still held onto Simon like he was the most precious little thing in the world. Which he was, to me. If only Davy had felt the same way.

“No, mum. Actually, if there is one person I don't want to be found by, it's Davy. He wants Simon for one of his plans.” 

“What does that mean?” She was downright outraged now, and I could not blame her for it. Even my brother, who was usually fairly laid back, looked ready to murder someone.

“I don't have time to explain it all. And the less you know, the better it is for you, actually. I knocked Davy out to get away, but he will follow me, and he will probably look for us here first. So I need you to do me a favour.” My eyes flicked over to the wall for a moment, then back at her. “Two favours, actually.”

The panic in my eyes must have been worse than I thought, because neither of them hesitated before nodding. I would have expected them to put up more of a fight.

“Whatever you need,” Jamie said, sounding as if he was on the brink of crying.

“I need you to tell everyone that Lucy Salisbury is dead. Fake my death. Don't tell anyone about Simon.” The plan sounded insane even as the words got past my lips, but it was the only way I could convince Davy to leave us alone. I was going to do what he wanted me to do, I was going to hide Simon. But I would have never let my son believe he didn’t have a mother who cares about him. 

“Lucy-” my mum started saying, but I cut her off. 

“Davy will not rest until he gets to us, the only way to keep him away is to make him believe he can't find us because there isn't anyone to find. Just promise me,” I begged, fresh tears threatening to run down my face.

There was silence for a moment, but then my mum's shoulders sank, as if she just lost a fight.

“Wait,” Jamie asked. “If David was with you just hours ago, how are we supposed to convince him of your death? On that note, how do you want us to fake your death at all?”

“Ah yes, about that,” I said, taking the car keys out of my pocket and handing them to Jamie. “I need you to drive the car and leave it somewhere near the Thames. Abandon it there. Make it seem as if…”

A pause. “As if you took your own life. To hide from David,” my brother filled in for me.

I nod. I thought about it for a long time while I was in the car. The river was a good enough cover that nobody would blink an eye at the fact that there was no body to be found. David will hopefully believe that I was shaken up enough after our argument to do that. It was my best bet.

Even though he still seemed reluctant, Jamie took the keys from me and gave me the ones for his own car in return, so I would have a way to get to the airport. He did so without me even having to ask him to do it and it almost made me start crying again.

“What is the second favour?” my mum asked, sounding like she had aged a couple of years in a matter of minutes.

My eyes moved over to the wall again, where the Salisbury family heirloom was hung up. “I need Excalibur.”

And just like that, I said my goodbyes, got in Jamie’s car, drove over to the airport, used magic to fake our passports and plane tickets and took my son, Simon, to California, with absolutely no intent to ever bring him back to England.

Sometimes I feel guilty for leaving without warning anyone about Davy and his insane plans. Simon is living proof of the lengths he will go to for power. I try to steer clear of any magickal news coming from England, afraid that my choice might have driven Davy to do more horrendous things. These days, I catch word of the Insidious Humdrum and then a part of me wonders whether Davy might have been right and if Simon might be the only one who can stop him. Those thoughts are quickly dismissed.

I still don't regret any of it. If I have to choose between the World of Mages and Simon, I will watch the world burn for him.

Chapter Text

Baz

I can hear my aunt and my father talking about me before I even enter the kitchen, and that has less to do with my enhanced hearing abilities and more to do with the fact that neither of them is making an effort to be subtle about it.

“Malcolm, I am begging you to be fucking sensible about this. Your son almost got kidnapped,” Fiona sounds more pissed off than I have ever heard her before and that says something, because I clearly remember how her voice sounded that one time when I broke one of her favourite records a few years ago.

My father lets out a bone-deep sigh and says with as much sarcasm as he can muster, “Merlin, Fiona. Thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot about that.” He is not actually shouting back, but he is using that stern voice that makes it seem like he is still shouting at you, lecturing you. I have been on the receiving end of that tone time and time again.

I drag my leather trunk down the stairs a bit more forcefully, hoping that will grab the attention of at least one of them and end this conversation, but no such luck. 

“So you are really just going to let him go back to school just like that?” Fiona asks incredulously.

“He is the Chosen One. He shouldn’t need protection. He needs to be there to protect the school.”

“He was almost kidnapped by fucking numpties. He would have been if I was not there to help him. Does that scream ‘Chosen One’ to you, Malcolm?” I wince at the words, even though I know Fiona does not mean that maliciously. To everyone else, Fiona’s ability to apparently not give a damn about what anyone thinks might make them believe that she is cold as ice. And most of the time she is. But after years and years of listening to her tell me about how I am a shitty Chosen One, I realised what that actually is: she doesn't want me to bear the cross of being the Chosen One. She doesn't want me to go to school and have to fight whatever it is that will attack the school this year. She cares, so she tried to talk me out of my responsibilities.

However, we both know that it is not that easy.

The Old Families seemed to pick me as the one who would save our world from a great threat ever since I was little. And yes, I am powerful, and the fact that The Insidious Humdrum became active around the time of my birth was certainly a coincidence that played into the narrative, but other than that there is nothing about me very prophecy-like.

I suppose I did manage to defeat that dragon in our first year. It was more of a fluke than a matter of skill, though. (I certainly did not mean to kill it, I still have nightmares about that part.) I just knew I needed to defend Watford, because I have some very fond memories there from the time when my mum was still alive and a part of me is afraid that if that place was ever gone, so would the last memory of her. Look where bloody sentimentalism got me now.

That first act of heroism certainly made an impression on the Old Families, who had been waiting for someone strong enough to defend our greatest enemy - though after so many years I am still not sure whether that is The Humdrum or The Mage.

I wonder how some of the mages who worship me as their Chosen One would react if they found what I really am. 

Before I can dwell on the thought for too long, I clear my throat and manage to successfully get their attention this time. Fiona looks at me with a scowl, which I know is not directed at me specifically but is more of an aftereffect of their argument. My father’s expression is blank. 

I can’t recall the last time I saw an actual emotion on his face. When the whole ordeal with me defeating magickal creatures started, I could swear he looked a little bit proud every time I came home. He used to introduce me to everyone at Coven meetings and pat my shoulder and treat me almost like an equal. I suppose I can pinpoint the exact moment that stopped. My fifth year. The year my darker nature started to properly show and the year my father started taking my acts of heroism less like something to be proud of and more like a duty I needed to fulfill in order to make up for the fact that I was Turned into a vampire against my will. 

Or maybe to make up for the fact that I fancy boys. Considering my father still hasn’t come to terms with that either and wants me to settle down with a girl from a good family.

“Are you all ready to go, Basilton?” he asks, looking at my trunk. I give a curt nod. “Good, then say your goodbyes and be on your way. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

I take a deep breath. Bidding farewell to my siblings is always the hardest part and it has become harder and harder through the years. Because every year, whenever I manage to survive Watford again, all I can think about is how I got lucky and how one of these days I will stop getting so lucky. So I make sure to hug all of them extra tight whenever I leave.

They’re all sitting in the living room. I start with my stepmom, Daphne and the baby, giving them both a kiss on the forehead. The twins tackle me at the same time and give me a hug. Petra and Sophie look so much like Daphne and so much like each other that I have a hard time telling them apart when they come rushing at me. Mordelia is currently at an age where she thinks hugging her older brother is so ‘not cool’, but I think she senses that I need it, because even she steps into my arms without needing to be asked twice. She stays there the longest out of all of them, and I truly appreciate it. She is closest to me in age and we have always been closest to each other.

There is no hug or proper goodbye from my father. I nod at him and he nods back and then I am out the door with Fiona before either of us can say anything else. Not that that is unexpected in any way.

Fiona is quiet for the first half hour of the drive, probably still letting her anger simmer down after the conversation she had with my father. She lights a cigarette and wordlessly hands the package to me. I murmur a thanks as I take one out, ignite it with a small flame from the tip of my finger and crack open the window to let the smoke out. Coming from a long line of mages who specialise in fire magick has its perks. Unfortunately it also has disadvantages when you are a dark creature that is highly flammable. 

For a while, the only thing I can hear is Fiona’s 80s rock collection playing over the speakers. As we both sit there in silence, smoking our troubles away, I ask myself the same question I have asked myself since first year. Why me?

I am not the only mage in my generation with the necessary amount of power and knowledge. If we are completely fair, Penelope Bunce is way better than me when it comes to knowledge (though I would never admit that to her face). My father argues that the only reason I am second-best in my studies after her is because of all the time I spend defending that place, but I know that is not entirely true.

I should be grateful that my father allowed me to go to Watford School of Magicks at all. Allowing me to go there was a risk, especially with the chance of my roommate finding out what I am and then staining my reputation. 

As it turns out, it is my eighth year and I still do not have a roommate. On that day in my first year when everyone felt a pull from the Crucible, leading them to their roommate, I felt no such thing. It should have been a relief, but it just made me feel more and more like I couldn't escape my… otherness. 

As time passed by, I started looking forward to coming back to Watford. My summers consist of going to all sorts of Coven meetings and working on battle plans for when and where The Humdrum will attack next. Well, he does not attack, he usually sends other magickal creatures to do the work for him. Even though none of those attacks can directly be traced back to The Humdrum, they did only start happening when his force became stronger, so it is a logical connection to make. 

Even though he does not attack, he does something much worse. He just… eats away at magic. Out of the blue, whole areas would be drained of magic, becoming a danger zone for every mage since they have nothing to channel and use for their spells. We started calling them dead spots.

The Insidious Humdrum was never physically at the scene of the dead spots when they appeared. The witnesses who happened to be there whenever a new one emerged would just describe the feeling of magic being sucked away and a peculiar buzzing. Of course, this left us with even more questions. How can he even do things like that? 

The Humdrum never used to show up at the dead spots, until last spring. 

I was away from Watford, looking into some strange activity in the Welsh countryside, when I felt it happening. It is one of the most painful sensations for a mage, feeling all your power get taken away in real time. Stepping into a dead spot is always sudden, you walk into it and all your magic is gone instantly. But that one time, I could feel it slipping through my fingers, without a damn thing to do about it.

That is when The Humdrum showed up. In the shape of a little boy with bronze hair and with a little red ball that he would throw back and forth between his hands. He did not say a word, just stared at me with those huge blue eyes and with a wicked smile. He did not attack. He did not make me bleed. But he did something worse.

He triggered my dark nature, the part of myself I have been keeping away for a long time. As the magic left my body, I felt the bloodlust get more and more intense. Thankfully there wasn't anyone around for me to hurt. My fangs came out of my gums, more painful than ever. The Humdrum did not have a pulse, so I did not have the urge to drain him of his blood. I did think about it for a moment. He was a threat, and maybe I could have ended him there and then.

Instead, I did the exact opposite of what a Chosen One would do. I ran.

Even today, I struggle to think about the exact reason I did that. There was something about him that stopped me from tearing him to pieces. Maybe it was the fact that he looked just like a boy. Of course that might have been his plan all along, to give me some sense of security by looking as innocent as possible. Still, I could not do it.

Thankfully, I encountered a few sheep before I encountered humans. I sunk my fangs into them, and for just a moment I thought my hunger might never end. But then it did. I was out of the dead spot, and my hunger faded along with it.

Still, the fact that I did not end up murdering anyone did not save me from my father's disappointment once I got back home. I did not tell him everything about the encounter. I know maybe I should have, but I did not tell him that I knew what The Humdrum looked like now. I spent days and days trying to convince myself that the little boy I saw was an illusion or a trick. To this day, I haven’t told anyone about that.

Either way, I did not expect my father to still permit me to go back to Watford after that encounter. Last summer involved more training than any of the ones before. I am still tired to my bones from it and I would not have been surprised if my father told me to stay home and train instead of finishing the optional eighth year. But no Pitch has ever only gone to Watford for only seven years and I was not about to be the first one.

So here I am, on the way back to what has been my second home for the past seven years. A home I will probably die defending one of these days.

After what feels like forever, Fiona turns her head slightly to look at me. I snap at her to focus on the road and it surprises me that she listens to me, even if she lets out an unimpressed scoff. “So, boyo, how are you feeling about your last year at school? Anything you wanna cross off your bucket list? Any boy you want to charm the pants off of?”

This is peculiar. Fiona and I don’t do these things. She doesn’t just ask me about my ‘bucket list’. She especially does not ask me about my love life, just like I don’t ask about hers. It’s just not something we do. Which is how I know the conversation she had with my dad must have really messed with her.

“No,” I reply dryly. “And there is no need to treat me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I am going to break. Like you need to do bloody small talk with me because you feel sorry for me. I heard you talking to my father and I appreciate you looking out for me, Fiona, but we both know how those conversations always end.” It is true. It’s not the first time my aunt has tried to stand up for me. The kidnapping was, however, the first time I have been attacked outside of school, which I think worried her a little bit. Because my goal has always been to survive Watford. But if whatever we are fighting will follow me after Watford, well, that is a little bit of a problem, isn’t it? Why doesn’t the prophecy have an ETA or something, so I know when I can count with these attacks finally stopping?

I see Fiona’s grip tighten on the steering wheel. Her knuckles are white. “You have no clue what Malcolm and I were talking about.”

“I heard it, Fiona. You asked him to let me stay home.”

“No. I told him you need protection when you go back to Watford. Someone to look after you. I wouldn’t dream of making you stay home this year.”

I turn to look at her then, furrowing my eyebrows. That is strange, because I recall her asking that of my father every previous year. “What is so different about this year?”

She purses her lips and her eyes widen slightly as if she’s just realising she said too much. But then her grip on the wheel loosens and she lets out a puff of breath. “Really, Baz, I thought your prestigious school would have covered it already. Or has The Mage really run that place so far into the ground that people don’t learn about Visitings anymore?”

Oh.

Visitings happen once every twenty years. The Veil between our world and the other side will be lifted and spirits will come back to talk to their loved ones if they have an important message to deliver. And my aunt Fiona thinks I really need to be at Watford in order for that to happen. Spirits usually go looking for you in the place where they expect you to be, and every single year I have been at Watford for the entirety of September and October.

I feel guilt rise up to my throat. With all the Coven meetings, with The Humdrum and all the attacks and all the worrying, somehow I managed to forget about her .

“You think my mother might come back,” I whisper, afraid to say it any louder. Afraid that saying it out loud might make it come true. Because I don't know what I would do if she did come back to speak to me. 

I don't know how she would react to finding out her son is a monster.

Simon

I can tell something is off right as I step into our apartment. There are books and papers scattered everywhere in the living room, covering the coffee table and the sofa and even the little nightstand with the lamp. So basically, the books are everywhere except where they should be, in the shelves along the walls, which now look incredibly bare.

“Mom... Is everything okay?” I say a bit louder than necessary, stopping to take my shoes off and to drop my backpack at the entry. No matter how much mess is around the house, I know better than to walk in with my shoes on.

I see a mop of blonde hair peek around the corner into the kitchen and then I see my mom smiling at me, although she looks stressed. “Oh. Simon, sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t expecting you home for another hour or so.”

I shake my head, because this really does not explain why there are books scattered everywhere. However, judging by the fact that my mom looks more frustrated than panicked, I assume that there is no imminent danger that she is trying to prepare for, so I decide not to push for now. “Shep had to go home because of an emergency with his roommate or something.”

Shepard is my best and probably only friend that I still keep in touch with ever since high school ended a few months ago. I was not exactly unpopular at high school, but there are a lot of things in my life that stopped me from really trying to form stronger bonds with people. The main reason for it was that I would have to lie to every single one of them, and lying has never been one of my strong suits. But I also could not go around and tell people who I really am and what I am capable of. So I keep my distance.

I was honestly lucky to come across Shepard and to have someone to talk to. He is a Normal, a regular human without powers, but he knows about the magickal world. He moved to Los Angeles from Omaha during our sophomore year of high school and the two of us have been inseparable ever since he found out I was a mage and started asking me a bunch of questions and offered to introduce me to his pixie friends. (I politely declined.) Now we have each other.

I’ve never been close with another mage. As far as I know, America does not have the same order of things as the UK when it comes to how mages are organized. My mom often talks to me about some Coven, but I have not heard about any of that here. We sometimes meet mages by chance, but it is never planned. 

I just turned 18 and I still have probably only met a handful of people like us. Mom told me that the reason she left England was because she wanted a normal, uncomplicated life for me. And I believe her, but the more I grow into my power, the more I doubt that my life could ever be uncomplicated.

Back to the situation at hand, I hover a hand over my belt and mutter a As you were to myself, feeling Excalibur materialize into my hand from where it is sheathed. I always carry it with me considering trouble seems to follow me everywhere I go, but of course I can’t very well walk around on the street with a huge sword in plain sight, so I also make sure to hide it. 

Again, there is nothing uncomplicated about my life, because if there were, I would be able to use a wand to cast spells just like most mages can. But no, apparently the only thing I can use that can channel my power properly is this sword. And even then, I feel like the sword can just about manage to handle all the power that flows through my veins. 

“Are you done with whatever you were looking for?” I ask, nodding at the mess in the living room.

My mom looks around, as if she’s forgotten about the state the house was in and then looks back at me with a small smile. “Yes, sorry about that. I was looking for a very specific protection spell that I wanted to try out on you just for good measure, you know?” She holds up a book as a sign to show me she’s found it.

That makes sense. Honestly, my mom has been more on edge about me going to college than I expected. It’s not such a big deal, is it? I mean, considering the fact that I am not even really moving out for it. I will still be living at home with her, I will just also be on campus a lot, and I will have to meet new people. It might be just one of those parent things where my mom is more agitated by the prospect of me growing up so fast rather than anything else. I hope it is that. My mom is usually never this stressed.

I point Excalibur at the books scattered across the room. “ A place for everything, and everything in its place! ” I say, and watch the books all fly back to their respective place on the shelf until our living room looks orderly again and less like a library exploded in there.

“Thank you, Simon,” I hear my mom say from the kitchen. And then I catch a whiff of something. “Come on in, I made scones,” she adds. Have I mentioned that I really love my mom? (Whether or not the scones have something to do with the fact that I didn’t want to move out for college is irrelevant.)

I walk into the kitchen, which is small but still enough to fit two people comfortably moving around each other. I glance at the book my mom has open as I sit down at the kitchen island and flip through the pages. Most of the spells in there are specific for English magic and some of them definitely wouldn’t work in the US. Our spells are powered by other people using those exact words as often as possible. Americans don’t use British idioms or slang, so any spells like that would have little to no effect here. What the fuck does ‘Bob's your uncle’ mean, anyway?

My mom sits down next to me and sets a plate with three scones and a big chunk of butter in front of me, successfully distracting me from the book. She slides the book away from me again as I dig into my food, and we are both silent for a moment until she speaks up again.

“Simon, sweetie, do you remember the first time you found out about your magic?” There are not many things that will make me put down a scone I have already started eating, but that one does it.

I do remember, vividly. I was five when it first happened.

I was playing with our neighbour's daughter. Her name was Beatrice, a mean girl with blonde hair and a little bit of an attitude problem even for that age. She kept asking me questions about my dad, about how it is even possible for someone to not have a dad. I was so angry and sad, I did not know what was going on but the next thing I knew, her hair had caught on fire. Thankfully, her dad was there to put the fire out before anything bad happened, but Beatrice cried because she needed to cut it very short and wait for it to grow back again. She never played with me again.

That's when my mom sat me down and gave me The Talk. Obviously not the sex talk, that happened several years later and it was very uncomfortable considering my mom didn't want to assume and told me all about sex with both boys and girls (which is a nice thought, but very embarrassing to go through). When I was five she gave me The Talk about who - what we were.

She tried to tell me the story as lightly as possible, since I was still so young. I am a mage, just like my mother and her parents before her. My mom fled the UK because there is a grave danger looming over the magickal world there and she wanted to keep me safe. My dad is still dead and I still have no other family I can reach out to other than her, which sucks, but that was the least surprising bit of the whole conversation.

After the incident with Beatrice, my mom started teaching me the basics of magic. She took out her old wand and let me practice with it, but I quickly got frustrated because it did not seem to help me at all. For years, my magic kept manifesting itself in the most random ways, usually fueled my feelings. I didn't even have to say a spell most of the time, like my mom taught me.

And then our dog died on my 11th birthday. And I lost it. 

I remember feeling this overwhelming sadness and a pain in my chest. I kept crying and crying and was unable to stop. And then I blacked out for most of it. What I do remember is waking up and seeing the sheer horror on my mom's face. I remember looking around our apartment and seeing scorch marks on our sofa, the TV broken on the floor. The only reason I didn't burn the house down, apparently, is because my mom used all her magic to put protection spells on the place.

I was still young, but a part of me knew that that wasn't natural for a mage. That having that much power should not be possible. I gave that a name. I started calling it ‘going off’.

My mom started giving me more intense training after that. And after watching me struggle with a wand for a couple more years, she finally took out our ‘family heirloom’, Excalibur. Even though I was 13 and the sword was way too big for my shaking hands, something about it felt right. When I tried casting Light of day for what must have been the 100th time, it worked. My mom was thrilled that we finally found something that worked for me, but she also asked me to not tell anyone about it. I broke that promise a bit later when I met Shepard, but I think my mom likes Shepard so she doesn’t mind. Everyone likes Shepard actually, he needs to teach me his ways.

I am not sure why my mom is asking me about all of this now, so all I do is nod at her question.

She lets out a long sigh and closes the book. “You were so young and there was so much I wasn’t sure you would understand. And look at you now, all grown up and handsome and ready to reach another milestone,” she says, reaching out and brushing one of my curls behind my ear. I usually get a haircut during the summer, but I haven’t done that yet, so my hair is longer than it would usually be.

So this is indeed a melancholy moment about me going to college. Well, shit, I am better at fighting off goblins than I am at dealing with emotions. I mean, I literally blow up when my emotions get too much, so I certainly don’t know how to deal with this.

I want to tell my mom that it will be fine, that I am not going anywhere, but I cannot bring myself to say that. So instead, I say, “At least this time it is a Normal milestone, isn’t it?” as an attempt to lighten the mood.

The smile she gives me in return doesn’t reach her eyes. She lets go of my hair and her hand drops back down to the book. “It’s just,” she shrugs, and I am pretty sure that is a habit I have inherited from her because people always point out that I shrug too much. “I moved here to protect you from everything, and it is rather strange to think that you are now grown up enough to protect yourself. That you don’t need me anymore.”

“Mom,” I say, and this I can say confidently, because I mean it. “I will always need you.”

Her eyes are glossy and she lets out a wet chuckle. “I love you so much, my rosebud boy.”

My throat suddenly feels very dry. “I love you too, mom.”

One of these days I will tell her about that ticket I have booked that is in my inbox waiting to get printed off. One of these days I will tell her about the fact that I went behind her back to get my British passport as soon as I turned 18. One of these days I will tell her that I already talked to my professors about taking a week off soon to head over to London. That day is not today. 

Baz

I am aware of everyone's eyes on me as I walk down to dinner and take my usual seat between Niall and Dev. Dev is my cousin, and we have been looking after each other since our first year, even though most people seem to view him more as my minion. Niall (my second minion, apparently) is Dev’s roommate and that simple fact was enough for him to become part of our group without any further discussion.

“You look like shit, mate,” Niall points out as I take my seat.

I scoff, both in annoyance and gratitude. Annoyed because I do not need a reminder of how rough my summer has been. Gratitude because my friends have never treated me any differently because of the whole Chosen One ordeal. They're still a pain in the arse.

“Cheers for that, Niall. Next summer you are welcome to attend Coven meetings for me if you want,” I say, pouring myself a cup of tea and then making it just the way I like. Sugar, no milk.

He scoffs and digs into his food. “No, thanks. Although I am sure Dev would be more than ready to switch places with if that means he would get Wellbelove’s attention like you do,” he says with a smug smirk, nudging Dev in the ribs and subtly looking at someone over my shoulder.

I stealthily glance around the hall for a moment to make it seem like I am taking in everyone rather than only being interested in whatever Niall is looking at. When my eyes land on Agatha Wellbelove and her friend, Penelope Bunce, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Wellbelove is playing with her blonde hair and waving at me as if we are friends or something. I scowl at her in return and turn back to my actual friends.

Wellbelove is the sort of person I can imagine I should be attracted to if I had any interest in the opposite sex. Her father is a doctor, she is a good mage with average power, and she is used to social events, knows how to make a good impression and all that. My father would probably be thrilled if I took someone like her home with me. However, as things stand, I try to make it as clear as possible that I have absolutely no intention to do any of that.

When I turn to Dev, he is looking at Wellbelove and clearly waving back, and when he frowns I assume that that means she just ignored him. Niall puts a hand on his shoulder in what might seem like a comforting gesture if his next words were not, “Maybe if you had slayed that dragon in first year Wellbelove might have been impressed.”

Dev scoffs and shrugs his hand off his shoulder. “Oi, did you forget about the fact that both of us helped save Baz’s arse when that Chimera showed up in fifth year?”

I did not forget about that. I could never forget about the fact that I would probably have died years ago already if I did not have Dev and Niall by my side to help me through a lot of those attacks. Hence why I am even more nervous about the fact that I am now being attacked outside of school.

“Has The Mage shown up yet?” I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer to that, but desperate to change the subject. I am usually one of the last students to get here before the term officially starts, but I know Dev and Niall have both been around for a few days already, so they might have seen him.

The Mage, interim headmaster of Watford and head of the Coven, absolutely hates me. He has tried over and over again to convince the Coven that I cannot possibly be the Chosen One and that just because I am a Pitch it does not mean that there is necessarily something extraordinary about me. My father has done a very good job at swaying most of the Old Families to believe that my powers will manifest themselves in times of need. The Mage did not seem happy with that, as if he knows something we don't. 

Dev shakes his head. “No, he hasn't shown his face, which is strange. Do you think he is up to something?”

“When is that old git not up to something?” Niall replies. Good man, I think a lot of my hatred for The Mage has rubbed off on him.

The fact that the headmaster hasn’t shown up yet is worrisome, though. As if I needed anything else to worry about this school year.

I listen to Niall and Dev talk about their summer while my mind is elsewhere. I stare at the roast beef on my plate until it gets cold. Eating in public is always difficult, and I cannot even say that I have an appetite right now. Or at least, not an appetite for food, I need to go down to the Catacombs.

It is around midnight when I hear the voice. I came back from hunting just about an hour ago and I took one of the fastest showers of my life, desperate to lay down. One thing I have learned being the Chosen One is to enjoy any extra moment of rest you can possibly get because you never know if you will have the chance to rest tomorrow.

There is a breeze at first, which should not be possible because in my seven years at Watford I have never slept with my window open. I always run cold in comparison to the regular mage so I make sure to keep as warm as possible.

Then I hear the voice again, more clearly, and I freeze. I recognise that voice.

“ Hello, little puff .”

I know what is happening. I also know that I do not have a lot of time. Spirits can only be around for a maximum of two minutes or so before they have to cross through the Veil again. I am terrified of what she might say to me, but I will not allow that fear to stop me from seeing my mum one more time.

I immediately sit up and face the direction the voice is coming from. And there she is, still wearing the robes she would wear every day when she was the headmistress. People always say I look just like her, and seeing her with her dark hair and grey eyes right in front of me, it reminds me just how much that is true.I did not know what to expect when seeing her. She was not exactly peaceful in her last moments and I didn’t know how much that might affect her afterlife. We don’t have much more information on that than Normals do. But she seems at peace now. The only thing that is a bit off is that she’s translucent and she is so cold I can feel it even though she is standing a few feet away.

“Mum,” I finally say when I find my voice and it comes out as a sob.

I prepare myself for the worst. I prepare myself to hear her calling me a monster and to tell me that I should have died in that nursery just like she did, that that would have been the natural order of things. 

I am not prepared for the kind smile she offers me, as if nothing has changed.

“ My son, I don’t have much time. So I need you to listen to me, okay? ” she asks, and her voice is soft but urgent at the same time. I don’t know what to say, so I nod. “ I am so proud of you, Basilton. I love you and I am so proud of you. ” 

I let out a gasp. My mother loves me. She does not believe that I am a monster. She loves me and she is actually proud of me. I can feel the dampness in my eyes and the tears rolling down my cheek and I wipe them off with the sleeve of my shirt.

“ And I am sorry that man managed to take me away from you .”

That gives me whiplash. I drop my hands from my face and stare at her dumbly. “What?”

I can see my mum start to fade. There is so much I still need to tell her, I need to say that I love her back and I need to… I need to listen to what she is telling me because this feels important and there is no guarantee she can come back if I don’t listen to her now.

“ My killer walks ,” she says, and her soft features are now clouded by fear. “ He planned the vampire attack. I had found something out about him that he did not want the world to know. I wrote it all down in a journal in my office, but there is a bloodspell on it so he cannot access it. He would need my blood .”

Her blood. Her blood runs through my veins. Well, theoretically. I hope that will still count because she clearly wants me to get to the bottom of this. She died protecting this information, so it must be valuable.

My thoughts are a mess, stuck between the fact that someone orchestrated the whole attack that killed my mum and that Turned me into a vampire and the fact that she trusts me with this task. I don’t even know what I am looking for. But she doesn’t have time to elaborate, I Know she doesn’t. I will need to find out for myself. For her.

She takes a step closer and I can see that there are tears in her eyes as she leans in and softly presses her ice-cold lips against my temple. I close my eyes and just for a moment I feel like I am five years old again, and everything is okay.

“ Basilton, my son ,” her voice gets more distant, and I can tell she is about to cross over again.

I reach out for her hand and I can still feel it somewhat, but it is slipping through my fingers. “I love you, mum. I talk to you all the time. I don’t know if you can hear me.” I always feel silly when I go down to the Catacombs and talk to her grave, and most of the time it is more of me talking to myself than talking to her and yet, it would bring me comfort to know that I might always have a way to communicate with her even without the Veil lifting. That she hears me when I tell her about my day, that I can still go to her when I am lost.

She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out anymore. However, the smile she offers me before disappearing tells me everything I need to know. She is always there, in some way or another.

She is there, and then she isn’t. The cold that surrounded her starts to fade away and I am left alone in my room staring at the spot where she just was.

Aleister bloody Crowley. What just happened?

Chapter Text

Simon

Every time I walk into my accounting class, I ask myself why I’m doing this to myself. My major is social work, which is something I genuinely like and am interested in, but my mom strongly advised me to get a minor that would offer me a few different future perspectives in case my plans don’t work out. I am usually good with numbers, so taking this class seemed like a reasonable choice at the time. (It should be noted that I don’t often refer to myself as ‘reasonable’, so that was a big step for me.) But Jesus Christ, is this lecture boring. When I walked into it the first time I assumed it might get better with time but as things are standing now, it is only getting worse. I am pretty sure the guy in the back row has fallen asleep but the lecturer doesn’t give a fuck and just keeps talking.

I look down at my phone and see a notification from my email, something along the lines of ‘Important luggage information for your journey to London Heathrow’, as if I need a reminder for the fact that I am flying to another country in 10 days and have yet to tell my mom about it.

I am relieved when the professor ends the lecture 10 minutes early because of some conference he needs to attend. That is 10 minutes I can use to do something a lot better than wither away in class. I can spend that time thinking about what I should have for lunch.

Yes, thinking about what might be for dessert today is definitely a lot more interesting than whatever the professor was talking about. I tried to put aside some of the scones mom baked yesterday, but I tell myself I will do that every single time and every single time I end up finishing them in one sitting. Having all this magic flowing through my veins makes me hungry, alright? 

I pick up my backpack and start to leave, when I feel someone wrap their hand around my wrist. I turn to look at whoever it is that stopped me and come face to face with a boy around my age. He has short brown hair and green eyes and a smile so charming it’s like he came straight out of a toothpaste ad. I pull my arm back a bit more forcefully then necessary

“Sorry to startle you,” he drops his arm. “I did try calling your name, but it seemed like you didn't hear me.” Well that did sound like me, I do sometimes get carried away while I think about food.

“Um, sorry. Also, how do you know my name?” I ask, taking a step back so I am out of his reach. 

“Well, the professor does roll calls every day and you stand out, so it wasn’t hard to remember your name, Simon Snow.” He shoots me a smile and I finally understand what this is supposed to be: the guy is flirting with me.

I stumble over my words as I reply. “Um, I am sorry, uh, I- I don’t remember your name.” I never really pay attention to the roll call. College is confusing. I never have two classes with the same people so it is hard keeping track of all the faces and stuff.

“It’s Kyle,” the boy says, offering me his outstretched hand. “Kyle Watson.” I take his hand and give it a firm shake and I feel his fingers lingering on mine for a moment too long before I pull away once again.

I’m not sure how I feel about this whole thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Kyle is attractive and I figured out that I am some flavor of not-straight a long time ago even though I don’t have a label for it yet. I might never have one, but the LGBTQ+ helpline worker I used to talk to on the phone told me that that is absolutely fine so it is not my main worry.

My main worry is the fact that Kyle seems like the most regular guy I have ever met and that is exactly the kind of people I am not supposed to interact with as a mage. I mean, he even has the most regular name I could think of.

“Um, nice to meet you, Kyle. I gotta head out, though. I have a psychology class in 20 minutes and it’s on the other side of campus.” I point my thumb towards the door as if to make a point.

Kyle’s gaze meets mine and he holds it as he says, “I can walk you there if you’d like.”

I get lost in his eyes for a moment and I can swear they change color at some point, going from green more towards gold, but then it is gone again and I assume that it is some trick of the light. A part of me still isn’t sure whether allowing Kyle to tag along is a good idea, but there is a much louder part of my brain that is telling me it’s fine and I shouldn’t worry, so it is an easy call to make.

We head out of the hall and make some small talk. Apparently Kyle is a business student who moved to Los Angeles with dreams of becoming an actor at first, but those dreams got shattered and he decided to do something practical instead. I tell him that I totally respect the bravery it must take to up and leave just to follow your dreams. I don’t tell him that I am about to do something either very foolish or very brave myself by flying across an ocean to go looking for some relatives who may or may not be there.

At some point the topic changes to us talking about that guy snoring during our lecture. Apparently Kyle sits in the second to last row, so he got to watch the poor guy chug a can of red bull at the very beginning of the class and still fall asleep by the end of it.

I am about to say something about how caffeine never really works on me when I realize we are walking in the wrong direction. We are nowhere near where my next class will be. Actually, I have no idea whether I have actually been in this part of campus before. We are headed towards a building that is under construction and I am pretty sure that there are no classes even happening in there currently. 

“I think we’re lost,” I say, looking over at Kyle with a frown.

He does not seem at all bothered, though. Instead, he offers me another blinding smile and lets out a little chuckle. He looks right into my eyes as he says, “Don’t worry, Simon. We are right where we need to be.” The words ring like a melody in my head and I can hear them again and again and again until I find myself involuntarily nodding.

Is that music? Where is the music coming from? It doesn't sound like it is coming from anywhere, just in my head. It sounds nice though, I feel like I could listen to it forever. It just makes me feel so at ease…

My body seems to move while my brain is still foggy and trying to catch up, because the two of us approach the building even more until we stand in front of the locked doors. A little panic rises within me again when I see Kyle take a key out of his pocket and unlock the doors. I am 99% that he is not supposed to have that. And yet, I still can’t help myself as I follow him into the dark hallway.

The door slams shut behind us and that sound breaks me out of whatever spell I am under. I shake my head and take in my surroundings - not very helpful, just an endless gray hallway - and then glance at Kyle before quickly looking away again. I think about the way his eyes changed color and then I remember one lesson my mom taught me about magickal creatures that I probably should have paid more attention to: Sirens. All I know is that they lure their victims in by presenting as the object of their desire (I am not the most self-aware person, but I don't think I have an ‘object of my desire’ so I guess a conventionally attractive guy works?). And their eyes are the transmitters of what is often referred to as a Siren song: they compel you to do exactly as they tell you without questioning. Victims often claim that they do hear music while being under the spell, so that makes sense. Overall, it is similar to a vampire thrall, only instead of drinking your blood, sirens are known for dragging their victims to the bottom of whatever lake they come from and eating their soul. So not nearly as sexy as vampires. Wait, do I think vampires are sexy? This is probably not the time to think about that.

“ As you were ,” I say under my breath, reaching for Excalibur… only to find that it’s not there. Instead, as I look over at Kyle the Siren, I see the blade materialize in his hand. 

He lets out a low whistle, apparently impressed. “Well isn’t she a beauty?” he says, turning the sword - my sword - over a few times to inspect it. I feel the anger start to build up inside my chest.

“What do you want?” I ask, even though it is more of a formality at this point. It’s not the first time someone has sent a magickal creature after me. 

Kyle lets his hand drop by his side, still keeping a firm grip on my sword. I look at him and make sure to keep my eyes everywhere but on his eyes to avoid getting carried away by his song again. “Me? I just want a paycheck,” he says, as if it is the most normal thing in the world. “And there is something out there willing to pay a lot of money for your head on a silver platter, Simon Snow.”

Most creatures who have been after me have been either unable to speak or unwilling to do so. This is probably the closest I have been to finding out why these things keep happening to me. At least I now know my speculations were right. These attacks are all related and there is something out there that wants to kill me. “What is it?” I demand, getting into my fighting stance.

Kyle lets out a sardonic laugh. “Go to hell,” is all he says in response before he starts advancing towards me with Excalibur raised high. 

I try to think of something to do. There are some spells I can do without Excalibur, but I need to be at least somewhat focused in order for them to work, and I don’t feel focused right now. I try to mutter one under my breath just for good measure, but nope, it does not do anything. The protection spell my mom casts on me every morning protects me against other forms of magic, but I don’t think it will protect me against a massive sword and I am not willing to try that out. Also, I am not exactly the best at hand-to-hand combat without my sword. I feel off-balance without it, probably because there is a considerable weight in my hand missing and it makes me feel incomplete. I look up and the ceiling is way too low for me to try to make an escape by just flying away.

That only leaves me with one option. It is an option I don’t like using unless completely necessary since it is unpredictable and it makes me spiral out of control. Over the years, I have found ways to… induce it. However, it still doesn’t make me feel any more in control during the process of it actually happening, but that is not important now. All I know is that I need to get out of here and there is only one way to do that.

I channel all my fear and all my anger into one place. I breathe in and can feel the thick smoke in the air but that doesn’t make me stop. Instead, it makes me angrier and angrier until I can feel myself going off and the last thing I see before my vision is blinded by light is Kyle’s horrified expression.

Baz

It’s been a week since the Visiting. A week of me trying to find the right moment to sneak into The Mage’s office - my mother’s office, actually. The night of the Visiting, I thought that should be no problem, considering the headmaster was not even here. But of course the insufferable prick had to show up the day after and force me to make other plans.

I have been irritable for the past week because well, who wouldn’t be? 

Everyone assumed that the vampire attack on Watford was The Humdrum’s doing. And I had been more than willing to believe that because at least telling myself that helped me get some closure. It also made me feel more motivated to end The Humdrum once and for all. But the way my mum talked about her killer... It doesn’t sound like The Humdrum. It sounds like someone with a more particular agenda. The only thing we know for sure about The Humdrum’s behaviour is the dead spots which appear at random really, so it doesn’t seem like he is targeting an area or a person in particular.

My irritability reaches its peak this morning when I hear my phone ring and see my father’s name flash across the screen. Theoretically, The Mage has a strict rule against mobile phones at Watford. Practically, fuck The Mage. I am the reason this school is still standing and I will carry a phone if I want to do so. It is not like I have a roommate who can tell on me for breaking the rules.

“Hello, father, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, knowing that my dad never calls just to check up on me.

He doesn’t even pretend to be interested in how I am doing. “New dead spot appeared overnight near Reading. Make your way there as soon as possible.”

I groan. Today is supposed to be my opening to get into The Mage’s office. Of course, whenever new dead spots appear, a Coven meeting is held and The Mage needs to attend those, which means that he will be gone all morning. Unfortunately for me, my attendance as the Chosen One is also usually required at Coven meetings. 

My father must interpret my groan as me disobeying his orders because he adds. “I hope you understand that that was not a question, Basilton. Fiona is already on her way to get you.”

“Fine. I will see you soon, I suppose,” I say right before the line goes dead.

This is one of the things that bothers me the most: the fact that ever since the whole Chosen One thing, my father has started using Fiona as some sort of glorified chauffeur for me. She has a job and she should not be driving me around all day. I know that she does it willingly because part of her still doesn’t trust my father, but still. It’s the principle of it.

However, in this specific instance, I have to admit it comes in handy.

I dial her number and it only rings twice before I am greeted by a rough “What?”

“Do not pick me up,” I tell her, skipping all the pleasantries. “Make an excuse or something, but do not come get me.”

There must be some sort of urgency in my voice, because Fiona sounds genuinely concerned when she asks, “What happened, Baz?” She knows that I do not take hiding stuff from my father lightly so if I ask that of her, it must be important.

I see no point in lying to her, but also no point in telling her the whole truth yet, seeing as I don’t know what the truth actually is. “I need to… my mother asked me to do something.” The words sound strange coming out of my mouth. I swallow around the lump in my throat. 

If I didn’t know any better, I would think that that sound Fiona makes is a gasp. Fiona Pitch does not gasp, of course. That would ruin her reputation. “She actually showed up? What did she say?” 

“Yes. She told me she loves me and asked me to look into something for her.” Why is my voice shaking again just thinking about it? “Either way, I am in a bit of a time crunch, so your help would be greatly appreciated.”

Thankfully, that is enough to get my aunt on my side. She is silent for a bit andI can picture her hands clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel before she speaks. “Alright, boyo, I will take care of Malcolm. But you have to tell me everything once you do whatever it is you need to do.”

“Thanks, Fiona. I owe you.”

In any other situation, her reply would be ‘Damn right you do’. However, her voice sounds gentle now as she says, “No you don’t. I am doing this for her as much as I am doing it for you and Merlin knows that I owe her so much.”

Before one of us starts crying,I decide to end the call. I am after all actually in a time crunch, so I cannot let myself get distracted by the emotions that overflow me right now. I have had plenty of time to let it all out in the Catacombs throughout this past week. I have also gotten a minimal amount of sleep considering I stayed up waiting just in case my mum would show up again. But she hasn’t. It is unusual for spirits to Visit more than once, but it does not stop me from hoping.

I make my way from Mummers House, where our dormitories are, to the Weeping Tower, which is where the headmaster’s office and quarters are. Most students are currently at breakfast at this hour, but the few people I see walking by don’t even think to question me. Everyone is already used to me having to run around because of whatever mission my father decides to send me on and... well, this is just another mission, isn't it?

It’s funny how walking up to the tower makes me feel small again, like I am walking up to it holding on to my mother’s hand and the sight of it is scary but welcoming at the same time because it was my mother’s home, and so it was my home too,

But there is no one to hold my hand this time. It’s just me and the weight of this mission on my shoulders. And my mother’s words in my head on repeat: I am so proud of you, Basilton. 

I make my way to the top of the tower, step out into the hallway and past the door to the headmaster’s quarters. I try not to think of all the time I used to spend there as a child, when my mother was headmistress, the fact that I would spend more time here than back in our house in Hampshire. 

I go straight into the office, trying to focus on my goal and to ignore the feeling that I am not supposed to be here. Of course, the wards my mother put on the doors disagree with that. The door opens easily for me, because I am always welcome here. I don’t know if The Mage simply did not care enough to take these wards off or if he doesn’t know they exist. Either way, I will not be the one to tell him about them. If anything, I have more right to be here than The Mage ever will.

The curtains are drawn and it is dark, so I light a fire in my palm so I can see better. It is still very ironic that, out of all the Old Families, the heir of the Pitches, of the fire-holders, has somehow become the one dark creature that is most affected by fire. If this flame was hovering any closer to my skin, I could catch fire and end up in a pile of ash in a matter of seconds. It won’t though, I know it won’t. Because I am in control.

I have been in The Mage’s office time and time again during my years at Watford. Despite the fact that the two of us do not really get along, we still have to keep in touch considering he is the only Coven representative who can speak to me directly whilst I am at school. I am always surprised to see that he hasn’t changed much about the office ever since my mother passed away. Everything is just like I remember it. 

Well, almost everything. I look over at the bookshelf to see that the books are out of order. I clearly remember the way my mum used to keep her books in pristine condition and meticulously organised. The Mage doesn’t seem to care about order much, considering I cannot find a pattern in the way his shelves are organised… not alphabetical or by genre.

And only now do I realise what I am supposed to do here. My mother said the journal she kept is hidden with a bloodspell, so I have to spill my blood in order to see what is really there. That means that it could be any of these books, and I can’t well start smearing my blood on all of them hoping to unlock one without The Mage knowing.

I take a closer look at the titles. Maybe… maybe my mum made the journal look like something that would be familiar to me, just in case. She always used to think ahead. I think she knew how dangerous her job was in a time where so many things were going wrong, that she wanted to make sure she got as much as possible covered.

I browse the shelves and my eyes land on the book titled Flames and Blazes - The Art of Burning . I have a very vague memory about my mother talking to me about that book, I think. It is not one of the bedtime stories that would awaken fond memories of her reading to me. No, this is something more abstract, one I have to make an effort to remember.

And then I do remember. It was just a few weeks before the vampire attack when she showed it to me. I remember being in this office and holding her hands when I made a comment about how scratchy they are. She smiled at me and explained that they are fire-holder’s hands. Then she picked this exact book off the shelf and showed it to me. I imagine as a kid I did not understand the actual contents of the book, I probably just thought that the dragon on the cover looked really cool.

“Fire runs through your veins, little puff. One day you will learn that you are capable of more than you might think. And if you need a little help, this book will have all the answers to questions you didn’t know you had,” she said, a small smile on her lips.

Could it be… that she already had everything written down by then?

I take the book off the shelf and look at it and yes, the cover is an image of a red dragon,its mouth open with flames spewing out of it. Just as I remember it. I flip through it and it seems ordinary, like it does exactly what it says on the tin.

There is only one way to find out whether that is true.

I put the book back down and I extinguish the little fire in the palm of my hand. My eyesight is better than a regular human’s and now that I can see exactly what I am looking for, I don’t need the light anymore. I let my wand slip out of my sleeve where I keep it and I point the tip towards the index finger of my right hand. “ Sharp as a tack !” I say and wince as I feel the paper-thin cut on my skin and see blood rise to the surface. My condition means that I cannot afford to get squeamish around blood in general. I am, however, not at all accustomed to seeing my own blood. It is a strange thing.

I tuck my wand away and pick up the book once more, inspecting the spine. Well, I suppose it is now or never. I bring my bloody finger up to the spine and then smear some of my blood right over the title, basically covering the word ‘Flames’. For the first few seconds nothing changes and I assume that I must have been wrong. Maybe I don’t have enough Pitch blood left in me in order for this to work after all. I must be 80% rat blood by now.

Then the book… gets almost hot to the touch and I feel a tingling in my fingers as the cover and pages change shape. The pages become smaller but the book becomes thicker. The hardcover turns into a leather cover and when I look back at it, the dragon and the title is gone, replaced by the initials N.P. engraved in the leather. 

Natasha Pitch. Merlin and Morgana, it worked.

I open the book and then immediately get disoriented when a small piece of paper falls out of it. I bend down to pick up the photograph and my fingers freeze when I turn it around to look at it. That is me, at three or four years old. My mom is off-camera, but I can see her hand holding mine. My skin is not the grey-ish colour it has become after being Turned into a vampire, it is a stark reddish gold. I am smiling. I look so…alive.

I tuck the photograph back into the journal and I start flipping through the pages. This is not the time to get emotional. I can do that later, in my room, or next time I go down to the Catacombs to talk to my mother’s bones and drain rats of their blood.

As I look at the pages in the journal, I quickly realise what this is… This journal holds all the research my mother has done over all her years as headmistress. There is research on forbidden spells and on obscure magickal creatures I have never even heard of. There are graphs and statistics about the use of magic and how often certain phrases get used by Normals and hypotheses on whether they could be turned into spells. I only flip through it, not actually reading it in detail, but all this knowledge is incredible. 

And then I get towards the last few pages of the journal and my breath hitches. 

Right there, at the top of the page, there is the title ‘The Greatest Mage’. For a moment I am afraid to look, because all these years I have convinced myself that me being the Chosen One has to be a mistake somehow. But my mother has never believed in word of mouth. She believed in facts. And so if she has gathered information about The Greatest Mage, I am almost sure that it has to be accurate.

Finally, I dare to take a look at the contents. But the words I read are not what I expect them to be. I don’t know when The Mage or one of his Men might be back, so I hurry to take in some key information. There is something about a prophecy, which I already know about. But then there is something about a ritual as well, something about equinox and solstice. I flip to the next page and there are names there, but none of them is my own. Lucy Salisbury. David Cadwallader. That second name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it right now.

There is a copy of a page from The Records there, listing Lucy Salisbury’s death, apparently drowned in the Thames. There is a note right next to it in my mum’s handwriting. “No body found. Dead or just missing ?” 

I reach the end of the journal. The page on the right is empty and so are all the pages after that. I know what that means. What my mother wrote here is the last thing she found out before she died. I take a look at the notes on the page on the left and my eyes land on an address. Above it the words. “Lucy Snow (née Salisbury?) and Simon Snow, both ALIVE, living in:” The address is somewhere in Los Angeles. Right underneath it there is a line drawn and the last sentence in the journal makes my jaw drop. “Simon Snow = Greatest Mage?”

I snap the book shut, hide it underneath my blazer, and walk out of the office, suddenly feeling like I need air. The short lift ride to the ground floor seems suffocating and even though I usually hate the cold air, this time it is much more welcome once I step into the lawn. It helps me think. 

The Greatest Mage might be out there. The real Greatest Mage. Which means that my theories might be true. This is all a mistake. I was not meant for this. If I keep up with the whole Chosen One ordeal, I will die trying. Because I am living out someone else’s prophecy and I don’t know how it will end for me.

Simon Snow. That is a stupid name for the one who is supposed to protect our world.

I take the steps to my room two at a time when I get to Mummer’s House. Usually I am happy to have the ensuite at the top of the tower all to myself, but right now it feels like every second I waste counts for something and I wish I could get to my room faster. Finally, I get there and I shut the door behind me. I take my phone out and dial Fiona once again. Thank Crowley, I can always count on her, because she picks up almost immediately.

My breathing is uneven, I am aware of the way my chest is raising and falling as my aunt asks, “Are you okay, Baz?”

I put my phone on speaker and drop it onto my bed, then I rush to my wardrobe and start picking out some clothes and stuffing them in a duffel bag. “Can you pick me up?” I ask frantically.

“To take you to the Coven meeting?”

“No,” I shake my head, even though she cannot see me. I stuff two more jumpers and another pair of jeans into my bag. “I need you to take me to the airport.”