“Sitting in a fucking tomb with a bunch of bones.”
“They’re not just bones. They’re students. And teachers. Everyone who dies at Watford is entombed down here.”
“So?”
“So?” he repeated.
I growled.
“Look, Snow…” He got to his feet. He was taller than me—he’s always been taller than me. Even after the summer when I grew three inches, I swear that jammy bastard grew four. “You’ve been following me,” he said, “looking for me. And now you’ve found me. It’s not my fault if you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.”
“I know what you are,” I snarled.
His eyes locked onto mine. “Your roommate?”
I shook my head and squeezed the hilt of my sword.
Baz stepped into my reach. “Tell me,” he spat.
I couldn’t.
“Tell me, Snow.” He stepped even closer. “What am I?”
I growled again and raised the blade an inch. “Vampire!” I shouted. He must have felt the force of my breath on his face.
He started giggling. “Really? You think I’m a vampire? Well, Aleister Crowley, what are you going to do about that?”
He slipped a flask out of his jacket and took a swig. I didn’t know that he’d been drinking—my sword dipped. I tried to remind myself to stay battle ready, and pulled it up again.
“Stake through the heart?” he asked, falling back into the corner and resting an arm on a pile of skulls. “Beheading, perhaps? That only works if you keep my head separate from my body, and even then I could still walk; my body won’t stop until it finds my head.… Better go with fire, Snow, it’s the only solution.”
I wanted to just slice him in two. Right then and there. Fucking finally.
But I kept thinking of Penelope. “How do you know he’s a vampire, Simon? Have you seen him drink blood? Has he threatened you? Has he tried to put you in his thrall?”
Maybe he had. Maybe that’s why I’d been following Baz around for six months.
And now I had him.
“Do something,” he teased. “Save the day, Snow. Or the night. Quick, before I … Hmm … what horrible thing shall I do? It’s too late for everyone down here—there’s just you to hurt, isn’t there? And I don’t think I’m in the mood to suck your blood. What if I accidentally Turned you? Then I’d be stuck with your pious face forever.” Baz shook his head and took another pull at his flask. “I don’t think undeath would improve you, Snow. It would just ruin your complexion.” He giggled again. Mirthlessly. And closed his eyes like he was exhausted.
He probably was. I was. We’d been playing cat and mouse in the Catacombs every night for weeks.
I dropped my sword but kept it unsheathed, then stepped out of my stance. “I don’t have to do anything,” I said. “I know what you are. Now I just have to wait for you to make a mistake.”
He winced without opening his eyes. “Really, Snow? That’s your plan? Wait for me to kill someone? You’re the worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen.”
“Fuck off,” I said. Which always means I’ve lost an argument. I started backing out of the tomb. I needed to talk this through with Penelope; I needed to regroup.
“If I’d known it was this easy to get rid of you,” Baz called after me, “I would’ve let you catch up with me weeks ago!”
I headed for the surface, hoping that he couldn’t turn into a bat and fly after me. (Penny said that was a myth. But still.) I could hear him singing, even after I’d been walking for ten minutes. “Ashes, ashes—we all fall down.”
*
I haven’t been back to the Catacombs since that night.…
I wait until I’m fairly sure everyone is in bed, hopefully asleep—then I sneak down to the White Chapel.