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Chapter Text

I got these questions always running through my head

So many things that I would like to understand

If we are born to die and we all die to live

Then what's the point of living life if it just contradicts?

-The Drug In Me Is You (Falling In Reverse) 

Malcolm Grimm

Natasha, I hope you forgive me. I think you would agree if you were still here (if you hadn’t done the right thing). I think you would do the same. Fiona disagreed. She was grieving, and she felt that hanging on to him, to his body, would keep him here and keep him alive. Natasha, you have to understand that his heart barely beat at all when we brought him home. I tried to save him, but when he opened his eyes, I could see that our son was dead. He wasn't our son anymore. The boy- the thing that lay in his bed was cold to the touch. It barely spoke. No matter what we did, we couldn’t heal the scars on his neck. That told me we were too late, that he was gone.

Fiona came back from her apprenticeship in China to help me get your affairs in order. She cried for Basilton; she wept at his bedside for days and stood vigil over his body while what was left of him begged for you. 

"You're the monster, Malcolm." I don't think she understood you would have died before becoming one of them. You did die before it, and you would have killed him too if you knew what they did to him. Fiona spit in my face when I told her what had to happen. She was always so passionate, Natasha. You knew this better than anyone else. I know that this is what you would have wanted for him. 

While she spoke with the solicitors, demanding that all of your belongings go to her (Typical, is it not?), I paid the Coven a visit and a hefty sum to strike him from the book. To the world of mages, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was dead. To the Coven, he no longer existed as our son. He no longer existed at all. I let go of the staff. Ix-nay on our on-say . They couldn't speak of him if they tried. I threatened Fiona with the same. She jumped on me and dragged her nails down the side of my face. "Fuck you, Malcolm, you fucking cunt. I should have killed you before I let you marry her. Now she's dead, and you want me to pretend her son is too?" His heart was barely beating. She didn't want to understand, but he was already dead. "I was his father; I was her husband.”

“Was?! He’s right here!" 

I scoffed at her. "This is not my son." 

“You should have killed yourself instead, you sorry fucking excuse of a man.” 

“ Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite. ” The spell worked on children who refused to fall asleep and apparently, against sister-in-laws who thought they knew what was best for your family. She dropped to the ground instantly, a peaceful expression on her face, one like I was sure I had never seen in her waking hours. No, this was for the best. What kind of magical family could raise a blood-sucking monster and play act like it was their son? What kind of father would I be if I let it stay and brought it around the other children? The best course of action would be to kill it right here and now. To erase its miserable existence from the face of the earth and set my boy's body free. It's what you would have done; it's what I should have done. But I have never been as brave as you. I looked into its eyes (my son's eyes). They were gray, glistening with unshed tears. I imagined myself putting a stake through its chest and throwing it on the pyre, still crying for its mother. My stomach twisted with guilt and grief, and I knew I was never as brave as you. The next best thing seemed logical. I packed a bag of my son's clothes. I told it that it would be going away and that we would never see each other again. 

“Am I going to live with Aunt Fiona?” 

“No.” 

“With cousin Dev?” Its voice was trembling.

“ Children should be seen and not heard .” If it wasn't still my child, at least a little bit, should the spell have worked? Magic was too metaphorical. I was doing the right thing. I was sure of it. “You're not like me, like Aunt Fiona, like Dev anymore. Do you understand? You can’t be here anymore because you're not like us. You need to go somewhere else. You're not- we're not safe to be around you anymore.” I don't care what happens to it after it leaves my house. Fiona will never forgive me, but it's for the best. She just can’t see that right now. This is what you would have done, isn't it, Natasha? I’m glad that I can't hear your answer.

Baz

At five years old, my new living situation made more sense to me than it did at twenty-one. It could have something to do with the fact that I’m not a forty-something-year-old man with a dead wife and a child who had just obtained unique dietary needs (plus I had just outgrown my toddler teething phase, and I would loathe to go through that twice as a parent). Still, I’d hate to give Malcolm Grimm too much credit.

When I say it made more sense to me when I was five, I mean that Lamb told me that my father needed some time and that things were too different now. I believed it without a second thought. Of course, things were different; my mother was dead, and my father was going to have to figure out who would watch me while he was at work. I couldn’t stay at Watford anymore, obviously, because Mom was dead. And I had just been ill- what if someone else got sick too? So when I landed in Nevada, and the hot air dried the tears in my eyes, I silently resolved that I would make sure not to get anyone else sick ever again in my life, to always brush my teeth before bed and eat lots of vegetables, even though I hated them, and to practice my Latin and Greek for an hour a day. 

Of course, my being an imperfect child is not what Malcolm Grimm had in mind when he said that I wasn’t safe to be around, but at five years old, failing to eat my vegetables for dinner was the greatest sin I could think of having committed. 

Malcolm had at least paid for a nice woman to escort me through the airport. She held my hand, sat beside me on the plane, and gave me a pack of graham crackers when the turbulence got bad. I ate one graham cracker and immediately threw it up in her lap. After that, the rest is blurry. I like to imagine myself in a tiny suit jacket with an oversized suitcase and a Paddington bear walking up to a taxi driver with a sign with my name on it. I picture myself giving the taxi driver an imperious look and saying, “That would be me. Now take my bags”. In reality, I’m sure one of Lamb’s friends had picked me up from the airport, looked at me pityingly like some wet, bedraggled kitten, and threw me in their car to start my glamorous new life. 

By ‘glamorous new life,’ I mean a private penthouse for a perpetually malnourished five-year-old and only immortal vampires to talk to. For my first year in Vegas, I barely spoke to anyone. For my second year in Vegas, I stayed in my penthouse and drew with markers and crayons on my walls. I parsed the same Latin nouns over and over again, telling myself that I had to keep practicing for when Malcolm came back for me. Lamb had room service delivered to my suite twice a day, and no one noticed when my meals went uneaten. From ages seven to eleven, he visited me in my room for dinner once a week and played chess with me once a month. Anything I asked for was mine- a library, a television, any video game I could imagine. 

On more than one occasion, I left tear stains on his lapels. Something soft, irrational, and childish told me that if I tried hard enough, I was smart enough, polite enough, and well-behaved enough, he would give me the kind of love I begged him for. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t. 

When I turned twelve, I was old enough to know what I could not speak of. I was old enough to leave the Katherine, old enough to sit at the hotel bar and nurse a jack and coke and try desperately to get an adult to care about me. I remembered my mother’s attentive gaze, my father’s cold detachment, my aunt’s love burning me like a fire, and I tried not to cry at the unfairness of it all. Then, I tried not to feel anger at the unfairness of it all. At what grew inward and curled and burned in my chest. At what I could have been and what I was. At who I could have been and who I was. It licked at my heart, and I tried not to let it consume me. After all, how bitter is the irony of a vampire being burned alive by his propensity to fire magic? 

Even at twelve, I understood this fact, exiled because my father could not trust me to be around him without giving into my (undeveloped) bloodlust, and at the very core of my being, I held the power to turn my new guardian into a pile of smoking ash. At twelve, Lamb told me he trusted me not to ‘prove myself an unsavory character’ and laughed with a dangerous glint in his eyes. He trusted me not to embarrass him. Not to reveal the truth of who I was, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, excommunicated from the World of Mages, sent to America to live among the kind of people who had taken my mother and who had made me into one of them. So I tried not to feel angry at the unfairness of it all and shoved my hands deep into my pockets, hoping they didn’t catch fire and finish what Malcolm Grimm was too cowardly to do. 

At twenty-one, I was a year away from being In. A year away from proving this is where I belong, for good, and a year away from taking my place here, at the Katherine, for the rest of my immortal life.

Chapter Text

In the art of war

Is there something more?

Am I alone?

I never know

What I'm looking for

-Space Cowboy (flipturn)

Simon

"Simon, enough." The Mage hissed at me, digging his fingers into my wrist as it sat on the armrest between us. “You’re making everyone uncomfortable.” 

We had made it through security without anyone stopping us, so things were already going better than I had hoped. It was my first time on a plane and my first time doing anything even remotely similar to a holiday (I say similar because this time, my mission was to bring someone back alive rather than dead), and nothing had blown up yet, so all in all, it was already a success. 

“Oh. Sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware.” I said through clenched teeth. 

“Thank you.” He nodded, barely looking up from his Sky Mall magazine. I tried to take deep breaths and rubbed my cross necklace between my fingers. I couldn’t tell if it was slowing the rate of the magic pouring out of me, but the woman behind me stopped asking her friend if she smelled smoke too. We landed in Nevada and made it off of the plane without anyone stopping me and demanding to know if I had a sword with me that could materialize whenever I called it. Great- that resolved one of two hundred of my concerns. 

According to Penny, I had a lot of things to be concerned about. This fact did not make me feel better about stepping into the Vampire capital of the world with nothing more than a sword and a cross necklace to protect me.

“Do you have everything I gave you?”  By that, he meant the ingredients to a ritual: a list of items from the lyrics to Hotel California by the Eagles and a picture of five-year-old Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, aged up by one of those AI programs they use to find kidnapped kids. 

“Yes. And I have it memorized.”

“Good man. Fourteen days. You will bring him to me with everything I have requested, and we will take him home. The Grimms will lose everything, and they will reinstate me. They’ll have to.” 

“I understand. Bring back the Vampire, and you’re The Mage again. You end the war,  we defeat the Humdrum, and everyone lives happily ever after.”

“Yes, exactly, Simon!” He had a too-bright glint in his eye. Penny had always been worried that he had gone off the deep end after what happened in my eighth year, and Agatha tended to agree with her. “Now, hold still.” The Mage had his wand hidden in his shirt sleeve. He pointed it at my necklace, and I tried not to flinch. “Keep Calm and Carry On.” I immediately felt a tightening in my chest. “Do not remove this unless it is an absolute emergency, Simon. It will stop you from feeling so… overwhelmed.”  His eyes cut to the Normals next to us at the water fountain. 

“Is this a new spell, sir?” I could feel the magic bubbling inside of me, violent and hot. It felt trapped under my skin, worse than it had before. 

“Hm. Well. I should be off to my connecting flight. I expect you to have good news for me soon. I have a satellite phone and will call you soon for a full report. Do not let me down. There is too much at stake to screw this up.” This time, I did flinch. 

“Yes, sir.” 

I had a list in my head of the many ways that I could fuck this up that I had been working on for a few days. 

1. I could out myself as a Mage to the vampires, and they would try to kill me. 
2. I could out myself as the Chosen One to the vampires, and they would try to kill me.
3. I could immediately piss off the vampires, and they would make me one of their prisoners. 
4. I could immediately piss off Tyrannus (Merlin, I hope he has a nickname), and he would decide I’m not worth helping. 
5. I could accidentally go off and bring the Humdrum straight to my doorstep- where he would infect the Vampires of Las Vegas with the desire to kill every Normal tourist within a ten-mile radius. 
6. One of the vampires could put me under their thrall and convince me to help with one of their evil schemes.
7. I could get arrested for pulling a heist, and The Mage wouldn’t be able to pay my bail (because he was currently unemployed, obviously). 

I supposed that number five wasn’t much of a concern due to the apparent magic-blocking effects that spell had on my necklace, but the others were still pretty pressing. Other than my list of concerns about the various ways that I could continue fucking up, I had the list of ingredients for a ritual that I only partially understood the purpose of, a vague idea of where to find Tyrannus (surely, he didn’t want people calling him that), and a nasty headache. 

Last week, the Mage sent me a bird asking me to meet him immediately at his office. 

“I’ve written instructions for you in this envelope. Go ahead. I will give you a moment to read it over.” I carefully tore into the envelope, which contained two pieces of paper. 

• Find Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

• End the tolling of the mission bell 

• Tiffany from the unsinkable ship

• A sliver from the mirror that can not lie

• Steel blade from the Greatest Mage who ever lived

• Meet me back at the Palace and await further instructions. 

The second thing in the envelope was a photocopied picture of a boy who looked no older than four or five. He had brown skin, rosy cheeks, and a grin on his face that I was unfamiliar with seeing in care. He looked happy. Under that was a picture like the ones you see on the back of a milk carton or behind the register at the grocery checkout. It was the same boy from the baby picture, aged up and edited to look older. 

“Is this…” I turned back to the list of instructions. “Tyrannus… whatever? Is he missing, sir?” I knew how to find people who were missing. I knew how to save Agatha from being kidnapped. 

“Not exactly." The Mage had said, rifling through a stack of paper on his desk at least three feet high. Of course, not exactly. 

“But I need to find him?"

“Yes.” He finally looked up from his paperwork. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was the only living heir to the House of Pitch. The son of the late Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Malcolm tried to keep the existence of his heir quiet after his wife passed away- you can strike a child from the books and forbid people from speaking of him, but you can't make everyone forget.” 

“What do you mean 'was' the only living heir? Is he dead?" That didn't explain the aged-up photo and the fact that I had never heard his stupid name before, but conversations with the Mage always left me with more questions than I had started with.

“Not exactly.” 

“I don’t think that I follow, sir.” 

"My boy, I was hoping you might have paid more attention in history class. The Humdrum sent the vampires to Watford thirteen years ago. Natasha Grimm-Pitch died, and her son died with her in the attack. It was quite unfortunate for the family, really. Malcolm Grimm took his body home, and no one ever spoke of him again. I have recently discovered that the child did survive the attack and that Malcolm Grimm was too cowardly to let a monster inherit his family name.”

“Do you think he was Turned?” I winced. 

“I know he was.” He had that manic look in his eyes that made me wish I could shy away like Agatha’s horses had done to me when I took lessons. “The boy is the key to ridding the World of Mages of the Old Families for good. I will bring their corruption and cowardice to light, and they will have no choice but to reinstate me. Justice and equality will reign again, and without the Old Families to concern ourselves with, we will finally be free to focus our efforts on the Humdrum.” 

“And once I find him?” Dark creature or not, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid in the picture. I couldn’t decide if he was lucky to know where he came from. 

“You convince him to help you with the rest of the list and call me when you’re done. If he refuses to help you, you will complete the list alone and call me anyway. He can come back with us willingly, or we can make him come with us. You’re dismissed. I’ll send a bird for you tomorrow evening. We will have a flight to catch.” 

I texted Penny the second I stepped out of his shitty flat and onto the busy sidewalk. ‘new mission help pls!!! bring sandwiches home >:)’

Penny was home two hours later. It was late, and she had just gotten home with takeout from the deli down the street. I hadn’t made a centimeter of progress since he gave me the list four hours before. 

Penny set up her whiteboard in the living room and started doing what we do best—making a list. 

What we know:

1. The heir to the house of Pitch is a vampire
2. Watford tragedy- more survivors than we thought
3. Tyrannus stricken from the book 

What we don't know: 

1. Where do vampires like to hang out?
2. How to keep you safe from them
3. How to keep them from noticing that you're the Greatest Mage
4. How to convinceTyrannus he can trust you
5. What the Mage thinks he will accomplish by kidnapping him 
6. Why the Mage is such a cryptic bastard

“Well. We’ve definitely known less before.” I sat down heavily on the couch on the opposite wall. 

“Why don’t we check some forums?” Penny visibly perked up and grabbed her MacBook from the seat next to me. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to look on Reddit.”

Before I could say another word, she had already pulled up a website that hosted forums on supernatural phenomena and logged on.

“I didn’t know you were into this kind of stuff.” She scoffed at my tone.

“Of course not, but I found it one day when I was helping my father research the Dead Spots in America. There are some fascinating theories on here.” 

‘ Vampire + Nevada .’ She typed into the search bar. Thousands and thousands of posts came up. 

 “Do you think that’s a good sign?”

‘ Vampire + Nevada + Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch ’ Nothing. “Well, I guess we’ll start with a broad search then. That’s fine.” 

Vampires of Las Vegas. Hunters Prowl the Las Vegas Strip. A Vampire Drank My Blood in Las Vegas, and I Liked It. Ancient Coven of Immortals Rule Vegas. Sex Clubs and Blood Drinking. I Was Turned in Las Vegas, and I Never Went Home. What Happens In Vegas…

Penny spent a few minutes skimming the forum headlines. 

“ My friend is looking for someone in Las Vegas. We’re from out of town and aren’t sure where to find him or anyone like him. TIA .” She hit post without a second thought. 

Someone named DemonLover777 instantly began typing a response to her post. 

“ hi. who is your friend looking for? have they met before? if not, i would tell them to be careful. las vegas is dangerous, and if they’re looking for what i think they are, they’re going to be heading to one of the most dangerous places in the city.’ Penny groaned. 

“Ugh, just answer the question.” She muttered to herself as they started typing again. 

“ on second thought, even if your friend knows them, it might still be the most dangerous place on the strip. tell them to be careful. If you haven’t already guessed from this forum, las vegas is full of vampires who will charm you with a smile and drink you dry within an inch of your life if you look tasty enough”

“I’m familiar enough with vampires to know they’re dangerous ‘DemonLover777’. Do you know anyone by the name of Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?” 

“im glad you appreciate my username. im not sure that i've met anyone by that name before. but still, maybe i can help - what’s your name?” 

“Internet safety, DemonLover777. I don’t just give out my name to any random stranger claiming to love demons.”

“you're smarter than me then. if your friend is looking for a vampire, tell them to look for the Katherine on fremont. really fancy place, super gothic, and super full of vampires. maybe one of them can help you guys.” 

“Thanks, DemonLover777. Try not to talk to too many demons.” 

The next message from DemonLover777 was a map coordinate. Penny copied it into her maps app, and there it was: an old, extremely ornate-looking hotel with five-star reviews, booked out three years in advance.

“It’s something,” I said.

“It’s something.” She repeated back to me. She yawned. “Do you want me to stay up late with you?” 

“No, you should head to bed. I think I’ll go to sleep too. Let’s try again tomorrow.” 

I don’t know what I would have done without her. I think I would be standing here in customs at the Las Vegas airport feeling marginally more concerned about my fate than I already was. We were never able to find a trace of him, Tyrannus (does he go by Ty? Or maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll be one of those guys who goes by his middle name ), but without Penny, this mission would be sure to end in failure and bloodshed and disappointment with a hard emphasis on disappointment. The fate of the World of Mages rested on my ability to make a friend- which I had never been very good at, and my ability to succeed at subterfuge- something I was worse at than casting spells. Give me a sword and a direction to swing it in, and I had no problem, but ask me to make a speech, go to a party, or perform, and it was suddenly a very different story. 

“Have a good flight, sir.” I rubbed at the cross on my chest absently. 

“Yes, yes, I will. Don’t forget the importance of this mission, Simon. Make me proud.” And he was gone, off to collect Scorpantula Venom and look for some lost mine in the desert that was supposedly full of magical gold that could be forged into a sword that could kill any enemy, of course. I had to admit, I felt relieved. There was no way this could be worse than all the other missions I’d been on. I was alone, and I was 21 in Las Vegas, and even if I did fuck up, at least I didn’t have to kill anything this time.

Chapter Text

Now I'm spendin' most my days

Wonderin' who all knows my name

Do you know it?

Do you know it?

Do you know it?

• Rock Star Skinny (The Real Zebos)

Baz

“Hey man, what’s up?” 

“Hello, Shepard. You aren’t in any immediate, life-threatening danger, right?” Because god forbid he interrupted my time alone at the hotel bar if he wasn’t in mortal peril. 

“Ha. No, not this time. Listen, I was on OW the other night and-” 

“That stupid supernatural website you like to go on?” 

“OtherworldlyWitness, yeah. And you didn’t seem to think it was stupid when you found me there, did you?” I made a noncommittal sound of agreement, and Shepard took a deep breath on the other line.”Listen, I know you’re a busy guy- being a nepo baby and all, but I think someone’s looking for you.” 

I immediately sat up straighter in my chair. 

“Looking for me? Like looking for me, how?” 

“Someone posted on OW a few nights ago that their friend was coming to Vegas, and they were looking for you- like by your full, legal name. They said that they needed to find someone named Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” 

“And you didn’t tell them where to find me, right?” There was a concerning pause on the other end of the phone. “Tell me you didn’t tell them where to find me.” 

“I might have told them where to find you- vaguely. But look, they sounded okay, and I know you were looking for your family and stuff, and you have questions about secret things that you’re not willing to tell me about, and I thought maybe they might be helpful to talk to.” 

“Shepard- why the fuck would you think that I might be looking for a new friend- one that’s probably just looking for me because I’m- oh yeah, a ‘nepo baby.’ And why would you not ask before you told them where I might be?” 

“I thought you might appreciate my initiative?” I let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. 

“I’m not giving you a job interview. Next time, forget the initiative and send me the post before you respond on my behalf- DemonLover .” 

“Understood, PrinceofTheDamned.” 

“Oh, fuck you. I thought you swore never to bring that up again.” 

“I didn’t swear anything to you. I had my fingers crossed.” 

“Forget everything about me and lose this number.” 

“Sure, sure, Lestat. Though I always thought you were more of a Claudia.” 

“Lose this number, Shepard. Or else I’ll set you up with a mermaid with two STDs.” He was laughing when I hung up. 

We met two years ago on that stupid website for guys who had never left their mothers' basements. I was hoping to find information on magic, but I quickly learned that Speakers were more secretive than Vampires and that there was an almost nonexistent chance of me finding out any more about who I was or who I could be without finding one and asking them, which was impossible, of course. Because they weren’t allowed in Vegas. I was the only one. I selfishly hoped that the person looking for me was one of my cousins or aunt. I would have even settled for Malcolm. Not to go home with him, of course, but to spit in his face and tell him to fuck off back to the family estate. I doubted that I would be that lucky. It could be one of Lamb’s political enemies or, even worse- one of his political allies from across state lines. 

‘btw they’re flying in today. i get it if you don’t want to be found, but if you’re curious about who it might be, just wait at the Katherine for a few days. I told them that they should start looking for you there.’ He texted me a screenshot of a comment thread between him and someone named ‘DreadCompanion.’ I didn’t text him back because I didn’t know what to say. My stomach clenched uncomfortably. I tried to ignore it. Vampires weren’t supposed to get sick, but it started when I was eleven and had barely given me any reprieve since. I dug my fist into my stomach, clenched my teeth, and tried to decide if I was ready to put my undead life on the line to meet up with a stranger from a website whose target audience was a group of guys who (mostly) wouldn’t know a vampire if it came up and bit them in the neck. 

It was almost too late for me to decide who I wanted to be for the rest of my life- whether that was seventy or eighty more years or forever (or however long it took to light a fire in my hand and go up in flames). 

I wished more than anything then that I could have a real drink.

“Why do you look so solemn, Baz? Don’t tell me someone stood you up. I didn’t raise you to go out with the type of person who did that sort of thing.” Lamb put a hand on my shoulder. The bar got quieter. 

“I haven’t been stood up by anyone. I’m thinking.” I rolled my eyes.

“You’re too good to wait for anyone. Didn’t I ever tell you that?” He laughed. “Well, I hope you figure it out soon. You’re really bringing down the vibe in here.” I decided not to say anything and returned to my vodka cran without the vodka, sipping it slowly.

Simon

It was dark outside when the cab picked me up. In between leaning my throbbing head against the taxi window, I took a photo of the replica Statue of Liberty out of the cab window for Penny. She instantly texted me back- ‘ Did you find him yet??’ 

‘ not yet, text u when i do.’

‘Be careful, please. DemonLover777 told me he knows someone who went missing at the Katherine’ 

I sent her a sword emoji, and Penny sent me the rolling eyes emoji. 

“You’re here. 23 dollars.” The taxi driver grunted at me. The drive to Fremont Street was only about fifteen minutes, and the number of seedy motels and wedding chapels that lined the streets surprised me. 

I handed the cab driver a five and a twenty and grabbed the bag that definitely did not hold enough clothes for a two-week mission. 

The cab driver dropped me off on a street lined with huge neon signs and hundreds of people. It was one of the first times since leaving Watford that I felt like I might be out of my depth. A huge screen stretched over the street with stars and asteroids moving like we were hurtling through space, and Shakira was playing at a deafening volume. I stopped dead in my tracks, and a girl in a short white dress and a sash bumped into me from behind. She gave me a look, and one of her friends turned around and glared at me with more hostility than the last goblin who had been sent to kill me. (It made me wonder if they really hated me or if they were just going through the motions until they found their next king.)

 The pounding in my head and the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach got worse and worse with every step that I took. My hotel was at the end of the street- I just had to make it there, and I could shower, and then I would feel better. 

I tried to remember the first time I had felt this way-maybe back at Watford? My first year? 

My feet took me past my hotel lobby, past shops advertising 98 cent souvenirs and past casinos and past performers and nearly naked women. It felt like a hook in my stomach dragged me forward toward a giant, old-looking hotel with glittering golden lights outside. I recognized it from the photos instantly. It was the Katherine, and I tried not to look as worried as I felt. It wasn’t that I was afraid- it wasn’t that I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t that the necklace and the spell that the Mage had cast on me was doing something with my magic so that I didn’t go off like an atom bomb around thousands of people. It wasn’t that I really, really just wanted to go to my hotel room and sleep for several days. It was that there was something in me pushing me forward without my permission.

Baz

I dug my fist harder into my stomach. It felt like a pit growing inside me- like I had forgotten something important, but I couldn’t put it into words or thoughts. I had felt like this before- the first time was when I was eleven and playing chess with Lamb. I had cried out and doubled over in pain, and he had been concerned. Through all of that pain, I was happy that he cared. Vampires weren’t supposed to get sick, but there I was- squeezing tears out of the corner of my eyes and gritting my teeth. It faded to the background of my mind after a few months and always returned when I least expected it. 

I stood up without saying a word to the bartender. I was sure that if I went outside, I would feel better. 

Simon

There was a boy my age (or at least he looked like my age- he could be a thousand years old for all I knew) standing outside the Katherine. He was too beautiful, graceful, long-legged, and handsome to be human. I could tell right away. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and a tight-lipped grimace on his face. He took half a step towards me, and his dark eyebrows furrowed. 

The feeling pulling me toward him was only getting stronger. 

Baz

“You. You’re him.” His jaw jutted forward with determination, but he looked almost as nauseous as I felt. I could hear his heart beating in his chest- too fast and too hard. Was this who Shepard had said was looking for me? I didn’t try to conceal my disappointment. 

“I might be. I might not be. I guess it all depends on who you think I am.” 

“Shake my hand.” He jutted his chin forward like he was in pain. The pull in my stomach was almost too much to bear, but I had to keep the upper hand. It was all I had. 

“Why?” I tucked my hands into my pockets. 

Simon

“Shake my hand. Please.” I waved my hand out in front of him, not feeling like I was above begging. Every instinct in me told me the only way to feel better was to touch him. The urge felt like the kind of old magic I had only felt at Watford and it made a blurry kind of sense. 

On my first day at Watford, the Crucible had cast everyone with a roommate- everyone except for me. At the end of the Ceremony, I was the only one standing there alone, hands in my pockets and a dull headache that started behind my eyes. It felt like shit. I couldn’t help but feel like the Crucible had left me out to prove that I didn’t belong at Watford and that all my classmates were better than me. The Mage had assured me that I didn’t need a roommate- that having one would distract me from my duties as the Chosen One and that I was better off alone. 

A few weeks later, I asked Penny what it felt like when The Crucible cast her together with Trixie. She said it felt like a magnet in her chest was pulling them together that she couldn’t have ignored, even if she wanted to. 

He looked exactly like the missing kid flyer the Mage had shown me. He looked like that toddler with red cheeks and fancy clothes who had been so clearly loved. And now he was here, a dark creature, a vampire, and just a kid who had been left by his parents like me. And he was glaring at me like I was a disappointment to him by just existing. 

“Tyrannus- whatever your name is- I kind of want to stop feeling like shit, and I know that we’ll both just feel better if you just shake my hand.” 

“It’s Baz, actually.” He finally held out his hand to me, and I grabbed it fast enough to embarrass me under normal circumstances. 

“Simon Snow- it’s- well-”  My head felt like a black hole, like a galaxy collapsing onto itself and the pain going with it. 

I turned and immediately threw up on the pavement outside of the headquarters of the vampire capital of the world.