i see the light ; snowbaz!tangled

xv

Simon

As we rush down a second escalator, through a packed and rowdy Underground, all I can think about is the Mage. I think it was five days ago now that we had an argument. It was the same one we always have. He was sitting in his old squashy leather armchair whilst I gave him my magic. I've been giving him magic for as long as I can remember. He says he needs it, to be able to run the World of Mages properly. I never questioned him.

I can tell that it's painful. He always winces at first, and there's usually a scorch mark on his skin when I take my hand off, but he's never complained.

I'd asked him if I could go see the lanterns on my birthday. He scoffed.

"Why would you want to see the lanterns?"

"Well... they're go up on my birthday, ever year. I don't know, I always thought they were for me."

The Mage smiled at me patronisingly, and shook his head. "Simon, they're just for some stupid festival. I'm sorry, but they're not for you."

"Can't I go anyway? I'm turning eighteen... and well, I thought I could go out just this once? I wouldn't need to go far, just a couple of minutes."

I hold my breath.

He looks at me, and I know exactly what he's going to say.

I cut him off before he can. "Please, sir? I could take my sword, if it would really make you feel better? And I know lots of defensive spells."

He shakes his head.

"Simon, we've had this conversation before--"

"Yes, but I wasn't turning eighteen then!"

"I've told you before, the world is too dangerous!" He raises his voice angrily.

"Well why am I fighting monsters every day then? I must be good for something! I must be able to defend myself pretty well by now!" I could feel my hands starting to crackle with magic, but I didn't try to push it down.

"Simon, you have no idea what the world is like--"

"And who's fault is that?" The air is thick with my magic now. I was so angry. I always seemed to be angry then.

"I know that you're angry, but you have to be patient. You know why you stay in this tower. People want to use your magic for evil things. You'll see the world soon enough,"

"You say that every time. Every bloody time."

"Simon--"

"Go. Just fucking go."

He got up and dusted himself down. He was fuming, I could tell, because his lips always go really thin, until only his moustache remains. He walked so swiftly out of the tower that for a second I was scared that he wasn't go to cast any magic, he was just going to jump.

As Baz is consulting the Tube Map, a hand grabs my shoulder. I turn around quickly. It's the Mage.

"Simon!" he says, and he's got a big cheery smile on his face. It looks wrong, and fake. I pull away from his grip, eyes wide. I look back at Baz, but they station is so packed and noisy that he hasn't even noticed. The Mage grabs my hand. "We're going home, Simon." He tugs at my wrist.

But I hold firm. "No, sir."

He sighs. "Simon, you're at major risk. Out here, anything could attack you at any moment, vampires, werewolves, goblins. Anyone with a bone to pick with the mages. And you know who they'll go straight to? The most powerful one. I can deal with threats, but you--"

"Well, they haven't attacked me yet," I say, defiantly.

"I've always done what's best for you, Simon. Always. And I think you need to--"

"No."

The Mage is so distracted with his speech that he doesn't hear me. "You know how I hate it when you interrupt me, Simon."

"I said no. Sir. I'm not coming home. Nothing's attacked me yet, and I'm pretty sure nothing will. I've done so much in a day, more than I've done in seventeen years in that tower. I've met a boy, and I think he likes me--"

The Mage scoffs. "What, that Pitch boy? You really believe that he likes you? This is why you should never have come out before I let you. You're so bloody naïve. Just wait. Just you wait, he'll double-cross you in the blink of an eye, and then he'll pounce. Don't kid yourself, Simon, do you really think he's here for you? Look at yourself. Do you think he's impressed?" he snaps, cruelly. "He can smell your magic, and like a moth to a flame, he came running." I thought he was casting a spell then, and winced. Moth to a flame is a following spell, and a horrible one at that.

"And mark my words, Simon, don't come crying when he does. I won't bother to say I told you so."

And then he's gone, disappeared into the bustling crowd. It's almost as if he were never there.

"You okay, Snow?" Baz says, looking up from his phone.

I nod slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Tears threaten my eyes.

We board the train with an increasing sense of unease building in my stomach.