I end up sitting on the ground next to Baz, facing him. Kissing him. He took me by the shoulders a while ago, on either side of my collar, and he won’t let go.
I’m not sure what we’re doing, to be perfectly honest—but nothing’s on fire anymore. And I feel like maybe we’ve solved something. Even though this is probably just a new problem.
For a minute, I think about Agatha, and I feel like a bounder, but then I remember that we’re not together anymore, so it’s not cheating. And then I think about whether this, what’s happening right now, means that I’m gay. But Baz and I are hidden in the trees, and no one can see us, and I decide I don’t have to answer that last question right now. I don’t have to do anything but hold on to Baz; I have to do that.
I’ve still got my hands on his cheeks, and his cheeks aren’t so cold anymore, not where I’ve been touching them. And when I suck on his lips, they go almost pink. For a few seconds, anyway.
I wonder how long he’s wanted this.
I wonder how long I’ve wanted it.
I’d say that I didn’t—that the possibility just now occurred to me for the first time. But if that’s true, then why is there a list in my head of all the things I’ve always wanted to do to Baz. Like this: I push my hand up into his hair. It’s smooth and slips through my fingers. I clench my fist in it, and he jams his face forward into mine—then just as suddenly snatches his head away.
“Sorry,” I say. (I’m out of breath. It’s embarrassing.) Baz lets go of my jumper and shakes his head, holding on to his forehead. “No. It’s … Where’s your cross?”
I feel for it on the ground around us. When I find it, I hold it up between our faces.
“Put it back on,” he says.
“Why? Are you gonna bite me?”
“No. Have I ever bitten you?”
“No. You’ve never kissed me before either.”
“You kissed me, Snow.”
I shrug. “So? Are you going to bite me?”
Baz is getting to his feet. “No … I’d just rather think less about it. I need to drink. It’s been—” He looks around, but it’s too dark to see anything. “—too long.” He glances back at me, then sheepishly away. “Look, I have to … hunt. Will you wait?”
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
“Crowley,” he says, “you will not.”
I jump up. “Can it be anything?”
“What?”
“Anything with blood, yeah?”
“What?” he says again. “Yeah.”
I take his hand. “Call something. There must be hunting spells.”
“There are,” he says, lowering his eyebrows. “But they only work at close range.”
I squeeze his hand.
He takes out his wand, watching me like I’m being an extra-special idiot. “Doe!” he says, pointing his wand into the trees. “A deer!” My magic shimmers around us.
No more than a minute later, a doe steps through the blackened branches.
Baz shivers. “You have to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Godlike displays of magic.”
“Why?” I say. “It’s cool.”
“It’s terrifying.”
I grin at him. “It’s cool.”
“Don’t watch,” he says, walking towards the deer.
I keep smiling at him.
He looks back at me. “Don’t watch.”
BAZ
I lead the doe into the trees, where it’s too dark for Snow to see us. When I’m done with it, I drop the body into a ravine.
I can’t remember the last time I drank so deep.
When I get back, Snow’s still sitting in the circle of ash. I know he can’t see me; I call out, so I don’t startle him. “It’s me, Snow.”
“You called me Simon before.”
I can see it in his eyes when he finally discerns me walking towards him. I light a flame in my hand. (Not in my hand—floating above it.) “No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Let’s get back to the car,” I say. “The neighbours are already going to think we had some sort of dark ritual here.”
“I’m not sure we didn’t,” he says, following me.