Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud. Cyrano de Bergerac was written by Edmond Rostand, but technically since it's in the public domain it belongs to all of us. ^^

A/N: Well, this is it. The final chapter. Looking back, I can't believe I actually thought this story would be short! Now maybe I can finally plunge into NaNoWriMo. Thanks you Lady Noir for your beta work, and thanks, all of you who've been reading and reviewing throughout the story! It's been tons of fun to write Panache. I hope all of you run off and read Cyrano de Bergerac next (if you haven't already) - it's awesome.

"I really don't think you should go today," said Queezle, pausing from her efforts at sorting Whitwell's files to give me an earnest look.

It was six years after Nathaniel's death, and yes, I was still on Earth.

The brand new commoner's parliament was great – for the commoners. I'm sure many spirits would have expressed their approval as well, if there had been anyone to summon them up to ask their opinion. But for us, well...

Through a bit of skillful maneuvering on her part, Jessica Whitwell, Nat's master, had been kept on to advise the infant commoner's parliament on all matters magical and political, being one of the few people left who had the first clue about either area. And thanks to the brand new interdict on summoning "known hostile" spirits, she'd been forced to abandon her previous posse of djinn and instead employ her deceased apprentice's all-star lineup of defectors who were known to have fought on the side of the commoners on the day of the Great Revolution. No good deed goes unpunished.

And thus, Queezle, Stoggles and I found ourselves as enslaved as ever, to the same old masters, working the same old haunts, doing the same old tasks. It could have been depressing if it hadn't all been so bloody predictable.

There was one highlight to my long, dreary, servitude however. At six o'clock, every Saturday without fail, I would visit Kitty and give her the latest London news.

She had become a recluse. Dwelling in a cottage just outside of London, she spent her time baiting solicitors, stomping on flowers, and writing scathingly bitter political commentary for the newspapers. Everyone knew she had a chip on her shoulder. There was one person, however, who was always a welcome visitor.

And I hadn't missed a visit in six years.

"I'm not about to stop now," I told Queezle. "Kitty expects me."

"You have a lot of enemies," she warned, "And I've heard rumors they're planning something. Even Whitwell thinks you should stay in. That's why she keeps telling you to redecorate the kitchen, or wash windows, or tweak the nexus instead of sending you on a real mission."

"They've had six years to make their move," I said, "I'm not exactly worried."

"I've heard Makepeace was spotted today."

"And I'm especially not worried about him."

Makepeace was one of the few magicians who'd never been found, though how one hid a man as ostentatious as that was beyond me. Maybe he was making a living as a circus clown.

"Still, Bartimaeus, it's not good to have such a regular schedule when there are people out to kill you. You're just asking for an ambush."

"I'm going," I said.

At half past five, I slipped out of the house. I dressed Ptolemy in some inconspicuous street clothes and mingled with the late-afternoon crowds, just another Londoner out running errands on a Saturday evening – contrary to what Queezle seemed to think, I was not suicidal.

There was a peculiar optimism in London these days. The people were better dressed, better fed, walked with lighter step, spoke with more enthusiasm...they were no longer powerless in the world.

The new government hadn't worked in everyone's favour of course. In any system, there were always a few who were left behind. Take the shabby peddler woman to my right, for instance. She looked hunched and haunted, swaddled in the filthiest rags in the entire city, and bearing the saggy look of someone who had recently lost half of their body weight.

"Buy a candle, my dear?" she called to me in a voice so quivery and high-pitched that it sounded fake.

"Er, sorry no cash," I told her.

Suddenly, the old lady grabbed my elbow and pulled me towards her.

"Not even for an old friend?"

Goosebumps painted my arms as the peddler spoke, not in her high quivery voice but in one far more mellifluous, deep, and most frighteningly, familiar.

She wasn't a woman at all.

Makepeace pulled back his hood and grinned. He'd lost a lot of teeth since our last encounter, and his loose skin spoke of hard times. His eyes, however, were as sharp as ever.

I ripped my arm away and gave the magician a hard shove backwards. He stumbled into his table of wares, cursing and flinging candles everywhere.

I ran for it.

I hadn't made ten strides down the street when I was jumped by a troupe of beggars who must have been Makepeace's accomplices. I kicked one in the jaw as they tackled me to the ground, and tried to beat off the others with my sole free arm. Useless.

Changing tactics, I switched into the form of a moth. My assailants grasped at empty air in confusion as I fluttered above their heads.

Whap! Makepeace's broad hand slapped me out of the air and I dropped to the cobblestones with crumpled wings. Immediately, I switched to Ptolemy again and tried to make a run for the nearby alleyway.

I was brought up short by a small prick in my forearm, followed by the most searing pain I had ever experienced.

Ptolemy collapsed, scraping his elbows on the stones. I felt like my blood was on fire, and my head full of cotton gauze soaked in acid. Through hazy vision, I could see the feathered end of a small dart sticking out of my skin.

No.

"You coward," I gritted out, "Couldn't kill me without resorting to the commoner's methods?"

Makepeace leered into my face, grinning his toothless grin.

"There, there, my dear fellow. Don't you see? You were supposed to have died with poor old Mandrake. I'm simply finishing the job."

I would have liked to have spat in his face, but my motor skills were quickly deteriorating. I could hardly speak, and the evening light was burning my eyes.

"As lovely as it would be to watch you suffer, I really haven't the time." Makepeace displayed a silver butter-knife. "I'm afraid it's rather dull, but it isn't easy for a person of my current situation to get a hold of silver. Good bye, Bartimaeus."

I shut my eyes against the burning light, against the pain in my skull, against Makepeace's ugly mug. If the old playwright was expecting fear or pleading, he was going to be disappointed. What was the point in that? I had only a few seconds of life left, and I wasn't going to spend them thinking about him.

I turned my thoughts to weightier matters. At this very moment, Kitty would be waiting for me, standing by the door. I could imagine how her brow would furrow in irritation at my delay. She'd tap her foot, beat her fingers restlessly against the tabletop. I wished there was some way I could let her know what had happened. To thank her for the years of company, to say: "I won't be coming round again, but I'll be fine, I've lived long enough. Don't worry about me."

I thought of the letter I'd written the day Nathaniel died. Ironic, how now I'd never get to say goodbye, while the very farewell letter I'd written years ago still lay in Kitty's pocket, posing as Nathaniel's last parting words. I wondered who between us was the most unfortunate; Nat, who'd never really had a chance to say anything to her, or me, whose words existed, but were ascribed to someone else.

Makepeace was certainly taking his time killing me. I'd been expecting the knife-edge to lick my throat for some time now. I didn't have the energy to force my eyes open, but now that I thought of it, there did seem to be some sounds of struggle audible above the thumping in my ears.

It took the effort of Atlas to lift one heavy eyelid, but as I did so, I was rewarded with the sight of Makepeace struck down by a smoldering blue Inferno, beautiful even to my bleary, unfocused vision. One of the thugs ran flailing through my field of vision, a blue spiky thing that looked remarkably like Stoggles latched onto his head.

"Bartimaeus!" Queezle was suddenly at my side, shaking me like a rag-doll, "I knew you'd get yourself into trouble if we didn't follow you around like babysitters! What did I tell – Wait, what is that? Is that X4?"

She yanked the dart from my arm and stared at it in horror.

"Is Makepeace dead?" I asked. The whiplash seemed to have cleared my head temporarily. "Ah, that gooey patch must be him. Nice work."

The dart fell from Queezle's fingers, and she latched onto my shoulders, holding me at arms length. Her valkyrie form, for some reason, had long black claws that dug painfully into my skin. I didn't have the strength to shrug her off.

"You're so pale! Are you sure it's X4? What are we going to do? There must be something! Lie back down! What should I do?"

"Thanks, but you've already done it." I made a loose, drunken gesture towards Makepeace's remains. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep."

"Are you insane? You're about to keel over!"

"Queezle," I said wobbling to my feet, "I only have a few hours to live. I hope you won't be shattered if I don't spend them with you."

The muscle-bound valkyrie held me back. "No, stop! We need to get you back to Whitwell!"

I ripped my arms from her grasp and sprinted down the street. The imp and valkyrie ran after me, but I soon outstripped them. Like a final sputter of flame before a candle dies out, I had found one last burst of energy. I only hoped it was enough to take me all the way to Kitty.

XXX

"My, aren't you late!"

There was Kitty, seated on her front steps, arms crossed, one brow raised in challenge. It was a combative posture, but I hardly noticed. I'd never been happier to see anything in my life.

"I don't think you've ever been late before; it must be a special occasion. I was going to give you an award for punctuality, but I'm afraid I'll have to revoke your nomination."

I didn't reply. I was too busy catching my breath.

"Really though, what took you so long?"

"I...got waylaid by an unwelcome creditor," I said.

Kitty wrapped a finger around the handle of the mug of tea that balanced on her knee. "What? How can you owe someone money? Do you even use money?"

I shrugged, "There are some debts we all have to pay."

"Well, did you pay him?"

I smiled grimly. "Not yet, I told him I had an appointment I wouldn't miss for anything, and to come back in an hour. He was persistent, but I think I convinced him to hold off until then."

Kitty fell silent, and I made no attempt at conversation. It was soothing, just to look at her. Her eyes pensive, her hair wild and windblown, a few stray strands caught in her eyelashes. As I continued to watch her, Kitty began to fidget restlessly.

"Are you okay? You look really worn out."

I nodded wordlessly and finally slumped down beside her. My stabbing headache was returning. Kitty must have realized something was wrong, for concern immediately flooded her face. Gently, she cupped my chin and peered into my eyes as if she could interpret the thoughts that flashed across them. Perhaps she really could.

"I'm fine," I told her, trying to exude an aura of good health.

"You're a lot paler than normal."

"Oh it's nothing. Whitwell's been keeping me inside lately, that's all."

Kitty was silent a few minutes, then finally released me. "If you're sure you're okay...so then, can I get you some tea?"

She always asked, and I always refused. Rituals had become important to us. At my customary refusal, she relaxed and took a sip from her mug.

"Well," she said, leaning back on her elbows, "Tell me. What's been happening in the wide world recently?"

"Time for Bartimaeus' weekly news report?" I asked. "Alright, let's see...Sunday: Harold Button proposes to Anne Stephens and is refused."

"Oh, poor Harold."

"Monday: Harold Button proposes to Jessica Whitwell and is refused."

Kitty raised an eyebrow.

"Tuesday: Rebecca Piper and Nicholas Drew have a fistfight on the floor of parliament. Nick Drew announces he intends to run for Prime Minister and is pelted with fetid vegetables."

Kitty snickered.

"Wednesday: Stoggles drinks an entire bottle of cleaning fluid. Whitwell performs the Heimlich maneuver on an imp. Harold Button proposes to Rebecca Piper and is refused."

"The world is insane."

"Thursday: Harold Button proposes to Helen Malbindi and is accepted."

"What, really?"

"He was pretty keen on finding a wife, apparently."

Kitty shook her head. "I think we're the only two sane people left, Bart. Alright, go on."

"Friday..." I said, "Friday–"

I lost my train of thought as a spasm of pain racked through me. Though I wasn't cold, I couldn't stop shivering. Kitty reached out to steady me, and her hand felt like fire.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"It's...argh...It's nothing. Whitwell's kept me here awhile; my essence pinches a bit. There, see? It's over."

I was running out of time. Enough fooling around, there was a particular reason I'd come here today. I took a deep breath to regain my strength.

"Kitty," I asked steadily, "Do you still have that letter Nathaniel wrote you? His last letter?"

She looked surprised, then flushed. "Of course I still have it."

"You've never shown it to me before. Can I read it?"

Kitty's eyes grew round and she stammered. "Now? Why? It's kind of personal!"

"Please?"

I must have looked absolutely desperate, because after one long, considering gaze, she relented.

As she disappeared into the house, my heart rate doubled. The pure adrenaline running through my veins masked the slow progression of the poison, and was perhaps the only thing keeping me from passing out altogether. I got up and began to pace.

"Here," she said, pressing the fragile paper into my hand, "Be careful with it, okay?"

Here it was, the words arranged in slanting lines, just as I remembered them. A chill ran through me at the unfamiliar red stain that smeared through them.

Nat's blood.

I cleared my throat.

"Dear Kitty..." I began.

"Oh," My companion said weakly, "You're going to read it out loud?"

Impossible that Kitty could not hear my heart clanging against my ribs. I continued, my voice growing softer and softer until I was nearly whispering.

"I'm not going to live much longer. Forgive my melodramatic mood, but tonight, as I think about the inevitable end, I feel the pressing weight of all my unfinished business. Of everything I've never had the courage to tell you. I'll say it now, hiding behind the written word: I love you, and it's painful to acknowledge that we will soon be wrenched apart."

"The way you read that..." Kitty murmured.

Our eyes met over the paper, and a kind of burning shot through me. I couldn't stop looking at her; at her lips, slightly parted, her shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths, in her eyes a smoldering expression that fixed me in place.

"Stay strong, Kitty," I continued, still not able to look away, "Perhaps long after you've grown old, after you've seen the world, raised your children, written all of your novels and won a couple of Nobel prizes, your soul will drift up to wherever mine is waiting, and we'll be together again. Until that day comes, I'll be waiting for you..."

"Bartimaeus," Kitty whispered faintly, "How are you reading that? You're not even looking at the paper."

I glanced down at the letter in my hand.

"You know it by heart."

"Kitty..."

"All this time, it was you who wrote the letters!"

"I..."

"And on the balcony...that was you, too, wasn't it?"

"No," I said, panic running through me, "You're wrong."

Kitty stiffened. "Are you going to deny it? Tell me you don't love me!"

I stared at her a long while.

Deny it?

"I can't."

Silence fell at my admission. Kitty's cheeks were flushed with colour, her breath growing shallow and more rapid as she worked herself up into near-hysteria.

"Six years!" she cried, "All of this time you pretended to be just a friendly acquaintance, dropping by to give the news! Why did you never say anything?" She smacked the page. "These words are yours!"

"Yes, but the blood is his!"

A deafening silence followed my shout, and together we stared at the bloodstained letter. My head was spinning, whether from anxiety or the poison, I'd never know.

"You let me think Nathaniel wrote this because...because after he died, you didn't have the heart to shake my feelings for him."

"He wanted you to love him so badly."

Kitty closed her eyes. "A foolish sort of selflessness."

I nodded, steadying myself against a post to keep from falling over. I hadn't much time left.

"Why did you ask to read the letter?" Kitty whispered, leaning in close, "Why confess now, after six years?"

"Why?" I rubbed my forearm, where the puncture wound burned. "Kitty..."

A grating voice echoed across the garden.

"There 'e is!"

My head shot up to find Stoggles and Queezle running towards us. Kitty jumped back, flushing red.

"What are you two doing here?" she asked.

"It's Bartimaeus," Stoggles said respectfully, "'e's very ill, ma'am. Went an' got 'iself attacked by Makepeace!"

The valkyrie lunged forward, snatched my wrist and began counting out my pulse, scolding all the time.

"You idiot! How can you think to run forty kilometers when you're dying?"

"He's what?" Kitty's face drained white.

My body decided this would be a good time for my knees to give out. I pitched forward into Kitty's arms, limp and shivering.

"Ah," I mumbled, "I never finished my news report. Saturday, seven-fifteen pm: Bartimaeus of Uruk dies of X4 poisoning." With effort, I rolled up my sleeve and revealed the small red mark on my arm. Strange, that something so small could be so fatal.

Kitty gripped my arm, running her thumb gently over the puncture. "My God...we have to get you back to Whitwell! If she sends you back to the Other Place–"

"It's no use, Kitty," My voice seemed tinny and far away in my failing ears, "You know that. It poisons the essence. If they send me back, I'll just die over there."

"Stop talking like that! There has to be a way!"

I didn't reply. I was too busy figuring out whether my eyes were currently open or closed. And whether or not I was floating upside-down, for that matter.

"No. No. I already lost you once when Nathaniel died. I'm not letting you die again."

"I can't exactly help it, Kitty." The pain had slipped away, replaced with cold numbness.

"No!"

"I'm sorry."

"No!"

The last image my eyes could resolve was that of Kitty shaking her head, Kitty turning away, Kitty running into house...

"Please don't go," I wanted to tell her.

But my body slipped from my grasp entirely...and as Kitty deserted my dying form, so did I.

And all was nothing.

X

XXX

X

Numb cold. Vertigo and dissolution, time flowing in spirals. Sound spun and wove together: first a knot of shrill tinnitus, then a thread of rushing wind, and a faint musical strain, like monks on a mountaintop. The sensation of pins and needles was the first thing to break through the haze, feeling sharp and real compared to the hallucinations floating through and around me. Then suddenly everything was spinning, tilting, rushing towards me, and I popped into consciousness as easily as if someone had flipped a switch in my head.

I was lying flat on my back on a cold floor, in the centre of an intricate pentacle that I didn't recognize. Flaming candles encircled me, a smoking bowl of frankincense lay by my feet, and if I wasn't mistaken, I had been sprinkled with lavender.

A folded up bit of paper had been tucked under my elbow, and I looked at it curiously. It was a homemade greeting card, with a distorted looking imp holding a bouquet of flowers scrawled in crayon on the front. Get well soon! It read inside.

"That was from Stoggles, if you're wondering," someone drawled.

Of course, I recognized it now – I was in Whitwell's study, and those spike-heeled feet by my head were attached to the sour-faced lady herself.

I sat up, rubbing my throbbing head. "If this is the afterlife, I'm disappointed."

"You aren't dead," Whitwell said brusquely. She knelt down and poked my arm with the tip of her pen, then scribbled something on her clipboard. "You've been unconscious for several days. How do you feel?"

"Perplexed. Why aren't I dead?"

"Subject appears to be in full control of its faculties," Whitwell mumbled to herself, scribbling on the clipboard again.

"Listen here, did I get hit with X4 or not?"

"Of course you did."

"I feel fine."

"Of course you do."

I threw my hands up in despair. "Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

A sly expression stole over the magician's emaciated face.

"Oh, that's not really my place. But if you're feeling up to it, there's a young lady wandering in the garden who'd be happy to explain. She refused to go home and sleep. Eventually I got fed up and kicked her out. Not that it helps – she just lurks out back all day."

I stood up so fast that I almost lost my balance.

"Take it easy," Whitwell warned.

Easy? Yeah, right. Without a glance backward, I ran out the door.

XXX

Outside, dawn was breaking. The air was still cool, and damp grass clung to the soles of my feet as I raced across the lawn, in search of Kitty. I spotted her under a willow tree, watching pink light creep over the horizon.

"I think it's going to be sunny, today," I said, strolling up casually behind her.

She whirled around.

"Bartimaeus, you're awake! Jessica never – but how are you? Are you alright? Just look at you, up and walking around already! I can hardly believe it; for a moment I thought you were going to die!"

She ceased babbling, threw her arms around me and buried her face in my neck. My heart stuttered.

After a moment's hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her waist and closed my eyes. It was the closest we'd ever been. She smelled of rain.

"I thought so too," I mumbled into her hair, "In fact, I'm still confused on that point."

She pulled back and grinned impishly.

"Of course you are. You don't know about this, yet!"

She held a little vial before my eyes. It was empty, just a small corked glass with a near-illegible label. I felt as if I'd seen it before.

"That was Nat's, wasn't it?" I asked. "I remember him showing it to me."

Kitty nodded. "It was in his pocket; they gave it to me along with the letter when he died, do you remember? Read the label."

I squinted. "Experimental Serum 9507...I think. Honestly, Tiresias had better handwriting than Nat, and he was blind."

Kitty watched my face expectantly, then raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you get it?" she asked. "It's an antidote to X4. Or at least, an attempt at one. That's what the government had him working on before the Revolution began."

"What?"

"I suppose he never had the opportunity to test it. You're the world's first recipient."

I rubbed the side of my face. "Huh, so that's why Whitwell was prodding me like a lab rat." I took the vial from her hand and held it up to the light. "It would have been nice to know there was a cure available," I grumbled, "It would have spared me a lot of mental stress."

"Well, I didn't realize there was still X4 circulating through the populace. I didn't think we'd need it. I didn't even know it worked – I only kept it as something to remember Nat by. You're lucky I even thought to administer it to you. And even then I still had to drag you to Whitwell! It took her three hours of hocus-pocus before you were stabilized."

"I imagine there was a lot of chanting involved."

"You have no idea."

Absently, I rolled the vial between my fingers.

"So Nat made this, eh? If I remember correctly, he offered it to me just before the attack." I studiously examined the ground and clenched the glass tighter in my fist. "I didn't know he was so sentimental."

"He was a good guy. Even if he wasn't who I thought he was. Isn't it interesting how he never informed the government that he'd found a potential cure?"

"And he brought it with him. He must have been worried one of us would be infected in the battle. Say what you will about Nat, not every master cares like that for his slaves."

Kitty smiled a wobbly smile. "I guess I owe Nat more than I realized. Seeing that X4 wound was the most horrible experience of my life. For a moment, I was certain I was going to lose you. When I thought of the vial, I nearly tore the house apart searching for it."

I shook my head. "I can't believe I thought you were abandoning me when you ran inside."

Kitty watched my face, soft and thoughtful. Then with a smile, she caught hold of my shirt and tugged me toward her.

"Come here, you."

I let myself be drawn into her warm aura, savored the dance of hands on skin as she slowly wrapped her arms around my neck. She bowed her head and breathed deeply, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks.

I couldn't wait any longer.

I cradled the back of her head and suddenly dipped her backwards. A yep of surprise slipped from Kitty's lips as she scrambled to hang on. Then, with a little sigh, she melted into the form of my body, and a small, tender something between my ribs swelled because she was kissing me back and we were together as we were always meant to be.

It was a moment I had been waiting for my whole life. There was no reality apart from Kitty; her hot skin and the soft sounds from her throat.

"Ahem."

I cursed Whitwell's prim cough. The withered magician had snuck up on us unawares, like a matronly escort supervising her charges. She stood with hands on hips and arched a greying eyebrow. Like guilty schoolchildren, Kitty and I jumped apart.

Whitwell was not perturbed. "If you're quite finished, I have an offer to make you, Bartimaeus."

"Oh really." In a fit of petulance, I kept my arm wrapped around Kitty's waist. Let it bother Whitwell; she didn't have to interrupt.

Whitwell just smirked. "In light of your...situation, I've decided to release you from your duties to me."

I nearly fell over. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. Don't be daft, there are always more servants."

While I was still gaping, Whitwell straightened up, waving her arms about in that melodramatic way magicians are so fond of.

"Bartimaeus of Uruk," she intoned, "I command you to do whatever you think best, with no loyalty nor obligation to man nor spirit, save what you choose of your own will to bestow." She brushed her hands off and winked. "There you go. Now have fun."

I backed away nervously. It was slightly creepy, how she kept staring at the two of us with fond, glowing eyes. Who would have guessed there was a soppy heart beneath that shriveled, leathery exterior?

Hesitantly, I turned to Kitty. "I...guess that means we're free to go wherever we want, now."

Her smile was enigmatic. "I suppose it does. So then, would you care to join me?" She held up her palm, and I took it without bothering asking where we were going. That was besides the point.

"Well, we'll be seeing you around, I guess," I told Whitwell, "Thanks for the magic life support and all that."

Whitwell nodded courteously.

As Kitty led me from the garden, I received a sharp jab directly in the ribs.

"Hey," I complained, "What's that for? We're supposed to be living happily ever after, you know."

"Oh, we will," said Kitty, kissing my cheek, "That's for announcing your death so theatrically. "Bartimaeus dies of X4 poisoning..." Were you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Ah," I corralled her in for another soft kiss, and then another. "I suppose I'm not entirely innocent."

"Certainly not." Her hands found their way into my hair, and her mouth stole my breath away, cheeky smile never departing from her lips.

That's Kitty for you. And I wouldn't have it any other way.