Simon Snow

I like working in the gardens. Most of the time, I don't even use magic, and not just because I'm never sure if my spell will result in a weeding or the eruption of every vegetable. I just like the way the soil feels creased into my hands, and I won't lie - I fucking love swinging a shovel or a hoe about.

The sun is beating down today, and I don't think twice about throwing half my kit off. The littluns are all at summer lessons, and if I get pink across my shoulders and back, I'll just have Baz charm it away again. After I've sown a row of snap peas I stand and stretch, simply enjoying the feel of the sun on my face, but I look down as a flash of something in the dirt catches my eye.

Curious, I venture towards it and crouch down, uncovering a piece of green glass. "One of the kids could've cut themselves on this," I mutter, but the more I look at the jagged slice of what must have been a bottle, the lovelier it becomes. I stand up and hold it to the light, turning it this way and that. "Wow," I say, turning towards the windows. "Hey Baz! Baz! Come look at this bit of glass!"

I wake up slowly, stretching my arms overhead with the strangest thought that the bed feels too small. It makes no sense, and I turn over and go back to sleep, dreaming of milkshakes and candy floss and ferris wheels high in the air.

When I wake again, I sit bolt upright. Baz is next to me on the sheets, thank snakes, and I curl my hand around his shoulder before I can stop myself.

"Are - are you awake?"

I walk for a long time, after. When I reach Dimera it's by accident, and I Nothing to see here my gifts near the steps and keep going. The air is cold bordering on frosty, but it feels good on my too hot cheeks, as does the wind cutting through my jumper.

I walk to the park, and it's nothing like the Wavering Wood, but it's just familiar enough that another sadness rises up to meet the pain of leaving Bitty. I miss Watford. I miss Penny. I miss having someone I'm sure I could talk to about this.

After another hour, maybe more, I can't be fucked to care, I wander home again. My presents are right where I left them, and I make myself smile at them. Bitty really is too kind. I carry them upstairs with me, and when I reach my flat, the first thing I do is open a window. Even after all that walking, I'm still too damn warm.

I drag the armchair close to it and sit down. My feet are aching, and so are my eyes. I close them and let the night air brush over my face. I think about her again, Baz's mum - the kiss she'd placed on my forehead and said was for him. This feels a little bit like that.

My heart hurts, too, now.

I’m still shaking when the ghost of Natasha Pitch finally fades. I’m sure Baz would love to see it - the Chosen One, trembling beneath his bedsheets like a child about to soil himself. Well, he would if the Visiting I just had hadn’t been of his own dead mother.

I drag my hands over my arms, trying to shake off the last of her chill, but the cold that came with her went bone deep. I could try a spell to warm up, but the last time I cast Some like it hot my sheets caught fire. I settle for rolling myself up as far into my blankets as I can get.

Her words keep coming back to me. Tell my son. Tell him that my killer walks. Tell Basilton to find Nico and bring me peace. Do you understand?

I said I did. Of course I did, she was freezing my bloody nuts off, I might have said anything to make her go away, but the truth is I don’t understand. I have no idea who Nico is, and I don’t have any idea how to tell Baz that he missed the ghost of his dead mother when he finally comes back from wherever he’s gone off to.

I rub my head. She kissed my temple. Give him this. The chance of me kissing Baz anywhere are next to zero, but every time I think of it, my eyes get hot. No one’s ever kissed my temple like a mum, no one’s ever been anywhere near that gentle with me. I barely know the feeling, and I already miss it. Baz must miss it, too.

I drift off still cold, still thinking of Baz and his long dead mum, heart still aching in a way I can’t shake off, but something wakes me.

Something soft. I sit bolt upright, nearly losing an eye to the cat I just dislodged from my face. What the hell? Looking around, I find myself in the middle of a cafe filled with cats, on tables and next to tea pots, in windows and on the floor in tiny cushions. One, apparently, still in my lap, pouring and rubbing its head against my belly.

Did I go off? I look down at my hands, but they’re not smoldering, and when I sniff the air there’s no hint of the smoke that accompanies my magic. And when I look up again, this cafe certainly isn't Watford. It’s not even in Lancashire. And its patrons are staring at me.

I gather my bedsheets, the only things it seems to have come with me apart from my pajamas - thank fuck I didn’t disappear straight from the shower - around my body like a shroud against their eyes.