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“Kiss me in the Catacombs, Snow. Unhallow the ground.”
“You’re absurd,” I say. “Look. I already said I’m a twat.”
It’s everything I ever wanted. He’s better than I hoped. Even though he’s more fucked up than I could have imagined
I don’t want him to lose control down here. I don’t want to have to sit in the dirt to comfort him, with all of my ancestors watching. When he starts pulling too hard on my shirt, I ease him back. “Come on,” I say softly.
He kisses my cheek before he walks away. I like that. All the easy kisses he’s giving me. All the checking on me and checking in with me. You might think it would be irritating, but it really isn’t. It makes me think it would have been nice to have someone looking out for me like this all along.
This is so beautiful wao
It would suck to have to go down into a crypt to visit your mother’s grave. I swear his family doesn’t even realize how creepy they are.
is Watford under attack? Maybe that’s a paranoid way to think, but you’re more likely to run into Simon and Baz during an epic battle between good and evil than you are down at the pub.
“Do none of you know about the Goats of Watford?” “Snow knows all about them,” Baz says. “They’re practically his siblings.”
Snow stands easily at her side. Comfortable with her in a way he is with almost no one else.
He’s got on lightweight grey trousers and that blue argyle shirt I lent him—that I bought, hoping to give to him someday. His curls are bouncing in the breeze. Crowley, they’re pretty together.
Ayy
I decide to help by staying out of their way.
She puts her hand on Snow’s arm and squeezes. “Thank you. That really was brilliant.” He lays his hand over hers and smiles at her.
Why are you making me imagine a terrible situation where I lose my humanity and have to do the very worst thing to the person I care about most?” “Because…” he whines. “Because it’s kinda hot.” “For fuck’s sake, Snow!”
“It’s not just me—everyone thinks vampires are sexy! I’m terrible at metaphors, and I still get it. Every vampire movie is about fucking virgins.” I shake my head over and over. “I’m not … This is not … You’re not a virgin.” “Well, that part’s fictional, right? You don’t have to drink virgins, do you?”
Omg
I’m not drinking you just because you think it’s kinky. Also, why do you think you could handle anything kinky?” “Well, not now…” “Simon.” I wheel on him. “I’m asking you to stop! This isn’t a metaphor for me. It’s my life. It’s my attempt to have a life. Just … stop. Please.”
“Just know,” he says, “that I’d do anything for you. That I’d let you do anything to me. There’s nothing about you I don’t want.”
“There isn’t a thing,” she says. “I just didn’t want to get stuck hanging out with you and your friends … No offence.” “You can’t just say ‘no offence’ after you say something offensive.”
“Agatha.” “Yes?” She’s rubbing her forehead. “Do you want to stop and get something to eat?” “With me, a human being? Won’t you feel like the second wheel?” “Do you want to go to a pub?”
Hm nothing , just knda sus
I am not unaffected, okay? I am very affected. Very. Very, very aware of Penelope Bunce. And how cute she is.
I’ve been reading a book about magical genealogy—when I haven’t been distracted by her legs.
Is this really a thing?
“So you don’t keep in touch?” “We do not.” “Is there someone else you keep in touch with?”
He never seemed to get tired of me … Until he did, and then I didn’t notice.”
Maybe I don’t have that chip. Maybe I don’t do longing.”
“I must sound like a child to you.” “No … You sound like a person who doesn’t know everything about love. That’s most of us.”
He’s tall and handsome. He looks kind and interesting. And then he starts talking to them, and they like him even more. Because he’s even kinder than they were expecting, and he’s as interested as he is interesting. Almost no one is that.
Waiting for my boyfriend
it just keeps getting worse, the more you know him. That he just keeps getting better.
He’s moving his hand very slowly towards my face, and I know I’ve only kissed one person, but I know what this means. I know he’s giving me a chance to say no. To sit back or turn away.
Penelope kisses like someone who hasn’t done this very much. And that isn’t to say it’s bad—it’s very not bad. She just doesn’t seem to know what to do first. I hold her face in both hands and let her kiss me like she has a lot of questions about this whole scenario.
aaa punching the air
I’ve been wrong about everything. Wrong about love. Wrong about kissing, for certain.
(I’m very relieved that my father doesn’t need me in Oxford; it’s very important that I stay in London and eat toast in Simon Snow’s bed. On his new striped sheets.)
Daphne takes my other hand and squeezes it tight. She’s beaming tonight—she looks like she spent the day shopping for dinnerware with her boyfriend at Ikea.
Claro baz
I could protect everyone. Every time. Nothing was impossible for me when I had magic—no war couldn’t be won. Do I miss it? “Yeah,”
This is my story. This is my Simon Snow chapter. Once upon a time, I met an injured soldier. Once upon a time, I took his hands in mine. He’ll look very good standing next to me in the White Chapel. He’ll sound very good spreading my good news.
I have bad feeling about this
“You wanted to help.” “I wanted to make you happy, I wanted to be a good Pitch! Whatever that means…” “You know what it means, Basil. You always have,
I snort. As if I’m going to open that box right now, the one labelled, My fuckup vampire-hunter aunt is hooking up with a vampire fuckup. No, thank you. I have enough on my plate.
“Where are we going?” “To talk to Simon.” “I thought you didn’t know where he was.” “Pfft. It’s almost impossible to hide from someone you love.”
“You are not all right,” I say to him. “And you’re going to tell me why, as soon we have Simon sorted.” “So…” Baz rubs his eyes. “That’s never, then.”
“It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work.” Baz is livid. I think his fangs may have popped. “Are you telling us he tried it?!” I’m livid, too; I let Simon out of my sight for a week, and—“You allowed someone to cast an experimental spell on you!?”
Have you tried casting a spell?” “Yeah…” “With whose wand?” Baz wants to know. “With Smith’s.” “With Smith’s.” Baz is rubbing his forehead. “I’m going to eviscerate him.”
“So no one is cursed…” Baz says. “Just you, babe,” Simon says.
Keeping Snow out of trouble is a two-man job. I can’t do it by myself—look what happened tonight.
What did happen? Simon doesn’t seem … materially damaged. But he was already emotionally compromised; the last thing he needed was the shiny new Chosen One kicking him while he was down.
He flicked his wrist, and his wand slid out of his sleeve into his palm. That’s how Baz wears his wand sometimes; he has a holster that straps to his forearm. It’s dead sexy when he takes off his shirt.
Basilton you have to stop
I was never a magician. Never magic. I was just some kid the Mage picked out, with no family who could object. I think I must have been part of an experiment—like one of those swords the Mage tried to enchant. He used me. He lied to me.
NO SIMON HE IS YOUR FATHER
I want to kiss him—but I don’t want to barrel through this moment. I think this might be a moment. And I don’t want to knock over whatever it is we’re building.
I can still see him, even when I can’t, even with my eyes closed—I know his face too well.
Bruh
Is this what people do? Get as close as they can and then push closer? Burn each other’s faces into their eyelids? Let each other into every gap? And then what? Then just tomorrow, and more?
“Snow…” Baz’s voice is soft. I kiss him. I kiss him. “Simon … just kiss me for now.” “All right. I am.” I kiss him. “Just kiss me for the sake of kissing me.” I kiss him. “Baz…”
“You smell like a cave.” “That’s romantic.” “You smell like a hidden waterfall.” “Better…”
can’t get enough of you,” I kiss. “Just kiss me. Please…” I kiss him. I push my chest into his. I knot my fingers in his hair— “No,” he whispers. I pull my mouth away. “No?”
