Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch; the self-proclaimed super villain that almost ate up all magic and the world's friendliest, least-bloodthirsty vampire. Together they make a bit of an odd couple, but there is no doubt that they are desperately...
I stare at them, slack-jawed. What the bleeding fuck are they doing? This is so obviously a trap there might as well be signs tacked onto the trees saying, "Hey! Want to be attacked by a vampire and his bitch aunt? Inquire within!" What is this, some kind of vampire mind control?! Why am I the only one thinking rationally here?
With a short nod, Simon turns to go, determination set on his face. But behind those blue eyes... behind those familiar blue eyes I see nothing but fear.
"Simon, stop!" I plead, grabbing tightly onto his arm. He whips around to face me, fire kindling on his features.
"Let go of me, Agatha" He barks. I stand my ground.
"You'll only get yourself killed if you go down there! Face it, Baz isn't worth it! I get it, you guys are friends now, but he's not worth it!"
Simon tries to rip his arm from my grasp, but I only hold on tighter. I will not let him die for that fucking vampire. Never.
"He's not worth it? He's not worth it? Aleister fucking Crowley, Agatha, I'm in love with him, and whether you like it or not, I'm going after him! Now let go of me!" Simon growls.
Shock courses through me. Simon... loves Baz? Not possible. They hated each other for far too long for that to be even remotely plausible. I always thought that the whole 'vampires have mind control' thing wasn't true, but it's currently the only thing that makes any sense whatsoever.
"You're not even gay, Simon!" I shout at him, tightening my grip.
Something breaks on that golden face. Something dark and powerful and completely and utterly horrifying.
"Listen, Agatha," His voice is dangerously quiet and calm, "I may not be gay, but I am more in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-motherfucking-Pitch than I ever was with you! Now for the last time, let. Go."
The last two words come out drenched in magic, releasing a blast like a sonic boom. Before I can register what's happening, I'm flying through the air, surrounded by a golden light that pours off of Simon in thick waves.
Golden magic. Simon Snow has magic.
And for the first time, it's not like he's taking it-- ripping it clean out of the Magickal Atmosphere-- it's like he's the source of it.
Simon Snow has magic.
And for the first time, it's his.
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