SIMON

I'm doing the pee-pee shuffle outside Heathrow and there's an old woman next to me, glaring like I personally pissed in her porridge. For a second, I think maybe Penny's spell didn't work and my wings ad tail have popped out in all their satanic glory. I start shuffling more aggressively. Baz saves me from throwing hands with someone's granny by finally arriving.

"Snow" he sounds bored as usual. He's wearing slacks and a cashmere sweater that probably costs more than my rent. I bet I look like his underpaid uber driver. I think about kissing him just to piss off the old biddy but I'm too scared.

"Actually, it's Simon." I say instead "You know we're getting on a plane right? And not one headed to Paris fashion week."

"Well excuse me if I didn't think it appropriate to wear my ex-girlfriend's clothes" he snipes, glaring at Agatha's Watford Lacross jersey.

"Well excuse me if my boyfriend never leaves clothes at my flat," I say and ruin it by blushing like a schoolgirl. The biddy is staring now. Baz clears his throat and puts a hand on my lower back, leading me to the bathroom like he has telepathy.

Baz and I skipped a lot. All the stuff Dr Hawthorn says is necessary for a healthy relationship. First dates, holding hands, heated stares. It makes me mad that we didn't get to have that. So I try not to give myself too much grief about the blushing.

We're taking it slow too... I mean physically. Well, to be fair, that's actually a recent development. Baz looks ready to jump me half the time he's at our flat but I always get cold feet and sneak away to the bathroom.

Baz is hot. Obviously. But vulnerability makes me want to chuck myself out a window. It's been less than a year since everything happened and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'll realize he's too good for me and leave and I'll just be a useless, unemployed sod crying on my kitchen floor. I mean that's already where I'm at, but still.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I go through customs on autopilot. Baz leads me through it, his hand on my back like an anchor. Penny does some illegal looking magic with our passports and all of a sudden we're on a plane across the Atlantic.

Eight hours doesn't seem like a long time.

Until you're stuck in a flying (NonMagickal) box between a vampire that's about 70% leg and a man eating a fish sandwich. (How is that even allowed? It's a public space for Christ's sake.)

Baz keeps pressing his knee's against the seat in front of him and the teenager sitting there keeps lowering it further back. I think he actually might be more uncomfortable than I am.

"I'm going to eat her" He mutters darkly.

"Maybe she'll stop pushing it back so far if you stop kicking her," I say nasally. Baz won't spell me so I've resigned myself to holding my breath the whole flight.

"No, not this woman, I meant Bunce"

"You can't eat Penny!"

"Can't I?" Baz says mildly, stretching out all 15 meters of leg and locking them at the knee. I think he's going to break the seat.

"Why are you eating her then?"

"She can save the world of mages twice a year but can't steal us first-class tickets? What Hogwash."

We had the same conversation about an hour ago. I take my earphones out, open Spotify and pass Baz the overpriced iPhone that the Welbeloves got me for Christmas. Dr H says music is a good mood regulator. Also, Baz is going through a punk phase that he's trying to get me excited about. He fiddles with the phone and soon Matt Johnson is crooning into our ears.

You pull back the curtains and the sun burns into your eyes.

The girl in front of us has twisted around in her seat and is saying something rude. Baz just gives her the finger and settles his head on my shoulder.

This is the day, when things fall into place