Here it is, edited and all. For those of you that just want to get reading, skip ahead and do so. This note might get lengthy, because it's the last you'll hear from me.

Where to begin... Obviously, there are tons of people to thank, including (but not limited to): the fine folks at HPFF, whose never-ending assistance and unlimited kindness has gotten me through a lot of this; the folks over at Livejournal, such as Sandoz and Neva, and of course, the HPFF LJcrowd: Marisa, Julie, Missy, Arzu, and basically my entire friendslist (you know who you are!); Contrarian, whose tendency to take up too many fics at once helps keep me inspired, whose reviews are always introspective (and sometimes novel-lengthed), and whose conversations about reviewers, how fanfics caused the origin of the universe, and creative ways to get Book 3 have caused me to give in to the fact that, as she says, "I can confirm that we are the weirdest people ever."

You thought you were getting away, huh? Not yet. There's still another paragraph!

And next: Josh and Cameron, whose mere existence has reinforced my faith in males as writers and males as comedians; the HP freak known as Crispey, whose freakiness has really helped assure me that I'm not the only weirdo around here; swordsrock, whose obsessions over grammar have kept me on my toes and prevented me from getting a healthy amount of sleep; Mme. Grim, whose Academy for some reason makes me want to write; Oasis, Coldplay, and every other band on my Windows Media Player, for inspiring me to no end (seriously... they basically wrote this fic); and most of all, everyone who has reviewed this fic for giving their input. You all really don't know how much I cherish - er, value it.

If you're not listed here, don't worry. I'm sick and tired, so I forgot tons of people and didn't want to make this too long, but all of you really have helped make this fic possible. I know who you are, and so do you. Give yourself a good pat on the back.

And now, here it is... without further delay, the final chapter of A Game of Chess.

Disclaimer: Don't own trilogy, don't own song, bla, bla...

Chapter Twenty-Two
Kingdom Come

"And be a simple kind of man;
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?"
– Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man"

The hospital corridor was long and dark. Gloominess seemed to pour out from the walls, infecting all of those who walked down that forsaken hall. It was scarcely occupied, for after all, it was a magician's hospital. Magicians didn't usually get injured. They got killed. And when they did get injured, they would never own up to it.

Outside an intensive-care room, a commoner spat out his gum and squished it on the ground with the sole of his shoe.

It was his entire fault, of course. Thomas shouldn't have been there at all. He was only so motivated because he'd pushed him, teased him. Thomas shouldn't be battling for his life, hooked up to a shiny machine meant for the wealthy.

Yasmin had always seen right through him. She'd always seen that he was too harsh, too distant. He was too reluctant to grow close. He was quite simply a bastard.

And Kitty had let him stay all along. She'd held out hope, if only because of his fervor for "the cause". She'd thought that he could change.

But now Thomas was hurt. And it was his fault.

The corners of his mouth tugged to the side uncomfortably and he continued on down the hall, hands stuffed in his pockets. Something glinted in the corner of his eye as he approached a corner. He turned to face it and scowled.

Elliot glared at his reflection for a second longer before turning the corner. Before long, he had vanished into the confines of the hospital, like a ghost that had never truly been there at all.

-

The doctor tilted his head to one side, and then to the other, as if he didn't exactly know what he was looking at – or he just didn't want to say it. He tutted under his breath and looked up.

"Fairly bad fracture you've got there, Ms. Jones," he said, putting down the sheet. "You're going to have to wear that sling for the next two weeks, at least. But if you follow your recovery plan you'll be in fighting shape –" he grinned to himself as if there were something funny about this "– in no time."

Kitty looked at him, not paying much attention. Her fingers twitched; there was so much to do, and she was wasting her time in here. "Sure. And where can I get my recovery plan?"

"I'll have my assistant get it to you by tomorrow," the doctor replied as he rolled backwards in his chair and to his desk. He stopped at the impatient look on her face. "Is there a problem with that?"

"No. I think I'd be staying anyway."

"Ah, yes, your friend." He shuffled some papers on his desk with the air of utmost importance, as doctors always did. "Mr. Mandrake. Well, I may not be his doctor – or team of doctors, rather, for Mr. Devereaux has deemed his recover of the most stupendous value to our country – but I'm sure he'll be back on his feet in no time."

"Right." She scratched the scab on her neck dully, having already gone through this same conversation with two doctors, three nurses, and an elderly man she'd met in the reception room. "So… am I free to go?"

He nodded. "You're free. And hide the sour face, please," he added as she hopped off of the bed. "You're in good hands. This is the best hospital in Europe, possibly the world."

"It's a magicians' hospital," said Kitty plainly, with underlying venom.

"Of course." The doctor looked away, no longer very interested in her. "It's a great honor for a group of commoners like yourselves to be here. You all must be very good friends to young Mr. Mandrake."

"Don't worry, we are." Kitty did not offer him another glance as she walked out into the hall, glad to finally be out of that stuffy room. She'd been ready to scream, and she silently wondered how magicians dealt with their claustrophobia during hospital visits. Never mind those arrogant fools who ran the place. Although that would certainly make most of the government feel right at home.

She carried her arm lightly as she strode down the hall, confidence in her steps. If there was one thing that she liked about herself, it was the fact that she was always coolest when she was in an uncomfortable situation. And if being in an exclusively magicians' hospital wasn't an uncomfortable situation, she didn't know what was.

Bartimaeus… she needed to find Bartimaeus. He had said so much that she didn't understand, that she couldn't possibly understand. There were so many questions, and she knew that the djinni had some of the answers.

"Kitty?"

Kitty blinked. "Oh. Hello there, Katherine."

"Hello." The younger girl ran her fingers through her hair wearily: according to Yasmin, she'd barely slept at all during their stay in the building. "How're you doing?"

"Alright, considering the circumstances," said Kitty. "Have you seen Bartimaeus?"

Katherine laughed. "Fortunately, no. I'm not sure I could deal with any more of his sarcasm during a time like this." She scowled plaintively. "But Morris might know where he is. Magicians are usually pretty good at that kind of thing, knowing where slaves are and all."

"Yes. Right." Kitty coughed.

"We've made no progress with Devereaux, of course," Katherine continued bitterly. "One of his secretaries says that he won't see us without Mandrake. Very convenient of the twerp to go and get himself knocked out, too."

"Somehow I don't think it was his fault," replied Kitty, a bit more coldly than she had intended. She sighed. "He's already been out for five days, though, so he should be waking up anytime now."

"Won't do us any good until he does. Devereaux won't hear a word from us until he's up and running."

Kitty looked ahead reflectively as she readjusted her sling. "Maybe you're going about this the wrong way."

"Would you mind clarifying that?"

"You're playing by Devereaux's rules," she explained. "The ball's in his court. Of course he won't see you. You're a bunch of commoners. Why would he? We were terrorists, remember? We do things differently. We've got to show him that we've changed, but that we're still a force to be reckoned with."

"Hm," Katherine mumbled, eyes distant. Her head snapped up suddenly. "Thanks, Kitty. I'll keep it in mind."

Before she could say a word, Katherine had already turned the corner and was out of sight. Kitty shook her head and continued down the hall.

Now all she had to do was find Morris, assuming that he had any clue as to where Bartimaeus was. Somehow, Kitty doubted that he did. Bartimaeus had been appearing and reappearing as he pleased for the past few days, and would go for hours at a time without being spotted.

Maybe he'd returned to the Other Place already. He'd said something odd, that his bonds had been broken. That he didn't have to stay anymore.

Yet he had. Just another reason to find him.

"Kitty!"

She turned and grinned. "Morris."

Problem solved.

"How're you doing, my dear?" He made a sweeping gesture with his healthy hand into a lobby. "Please, come in! Currently my cohorts and I are engaging in a most excellent gamble of sport, in which – hey, Ffoukes, stop hogging the popcorn!"

The portly magician dropped it on the table, and Joel grabbed it greedily.

"There, that's better." He looked back to Kitty. "As I was saying, dearest Kitty, come and enjoy the festivities! We've even got some liquor refreshments!"

"No, you don't," said a security guard sitting in the corner. He belched. "I finished 'em off just now."

"Nonsense!" Ffoukes exclaimed. "I hid some in the back panel of the refrigerator. Hey, Jones, d'you like beer? 'Cause that's all we've got."

"And pop," Joel piped up.

"No, we don't, Yasmin stole those."

Morris looked at him, intrigued. "Really? I thought she stole those fitness drinks."

"What are you, stupid?" Ffoukes rolled his eyes. "She stole the pop. Clarice stole the fitness drinks."

"No, Clarice took the water," stated Joel, looking at the television. "Arty here gave some nurse down the hall the fitness drinks when he was trying to get her to go out on a date with him."

The security guard grinned stupidly and raised his empty bottle. "Aye, that I did!"

"Well, we do have some juice," Ffoukes said. He looked at her consolingly, holding up a small carton.

"Wait a minute, I thought we gave those to those kids earlier today?"

"No, Joel, you dolt. We told those brats that Santa Clause wouldn't give them any presents this year if they kept bothering us."

"Yep," muttered the security guard. "Mind you, I felt kind of bad. One of those kids had a big bandage on his head."

"Right, anyway!" Joel turned around in his seat. "How's Thomas doing?"

"Dunno." Kitty's face darkened. In truth, the matter had been pushed from her mind as she had started trying to find Bartimaeus. "I'm going to go check on him later."

"Good. He and I have a little pact to keep, you know." Morris halted. "Would it be too bad for him to be drinking right after he got out of here?"

She shrugged, not really caring what the answer was. "I suppose that's a question for when he gets out of here. If he ever does."

"Ah, don't be such a downer!" Morris exclaimed. He glanced at her sling. "Nice piece of equipment you've got there. Itch much?"

"A ton," she confirmed.

"So does mine." He stuck out his arm, which abruptly ended right at his wrist. A pinned sleeve covered the stub, and he looked at it with disgust. "But the doctor was saying that they could make a prosthetic hand. Since they engineer them with magic, it'd be able to move just like a real hand. Or that's what he said, at least."

"That's… good." Morris was taking it all rather well. She assumed it was his personality; he never was very sad, or he didn't show it, at the very least. "That's good."

"Yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly and looking at the television. "So, for what reason have you graced us with your beauty?"

She giggled despite herself. To his credit, Morris could make a girl who hated giggling do just that with his oddity. "I'm looking for Bartimaeus."

Morris shrugged. "Sorry. Haven't seen him around." He jutted his head towards the other guys. "Hey, have any of you all seen Bartimaeus recently?"

"Nah," said Joel, "he's off somewhere. Probably doing something important."

"Probably causing mayhem," Ffoukes corrected.

"Damn it," Kitty muttered to herself.

The technician looked at her apologetically. "Again, sorry. I'll keep an eye out for him, though."

"That would be nice."

"Then I'll do it," he said with a grin and a wink. "Anything for a pretty girl like you."

Arty raised his bottle desperately. "While you're busy keeping an eye out, could you go down to the liquor store and get us a few more of these? Wouldn't be a hassle or anything. I'd even let you have some!"

"Are you a pretty girl?"

"Um… yes?" the guard tried feebly.

"Not quite." Morris faced Kitty once more, a wry smirk on his face, and lowered his voice. "Speaking of you, how are you holding up? You know, with Nathaniel being out cold and everything."

Her eyes became thin slits, and she could tell that Morris knew that he was treading in perilous waters. "Why would I care about him?"

"Er…" He bit his lip. "Because you're a kind and caring person?"

"Since when? You were scared to death of me when we met!"

"Oh, that?" Morris waved his hand, dismissing the thought. "I'm just intimidated by beautiful women."

She grinned. "Nice try."

"I'm being totally honest! I'm sticking myself out on a limb here! Well, no, I've already done that," he added with a look at his handless arm. His voice quieted. "But really, I can tell. It's not hard to see, so I don't see why you're hiding it. You care. It's not a crime or anything."

"Morris –"

"I'll say no more," he said, raising up his hand in surrender. He gave her a meaningful look. "But I think that when he does wake up, that he'd want to know that you're okay."

"I don't think he'd be that concerned," she stated stiffly.

"That's what you think."

"Morris!" Kitty spun around, only to see Clarice. "Katherine wants you. All of you."

Morris looked at her with an odd expression. "Why?"

"Something's come up."

"And me?" asked Kitty.

"No," said Clarice, shaking her head. Her mouth twisted oddly, as if between a smile and a frown. "There was something else I had to tell you. I thought you might like to know."

"What?"

"He's awake."

"Who?"

Clarice stared at her blankly. "Mandrake."

-

It had been precisely five days, eight hours, and thirty-seven minutes since the Archway of Anubis had been destroyed when Rupert Devereaux woke up. It was early; the sun had not yet risen above the horizon. Instead, it was rather dark, and with a groggy mind he tore himself from his bed (needing much aid from his assistant) and began to dress on the fifth day of this exodus.

It wasn't he that had first applied that word to the tumultuous events that were taking place. Actually, it had been an under-minister, whose name he forgot at the present time. But although times were rapidly changing and the people of the Empire were being led into a new age, the exodus was almost over. Soon, the government itself would face a time of upheaval, and inevitably, they would have their very own Leviticus.

He'd showered and spent nearly thirty minutes dressing, until he finally decided to go without a tie. The commoners would need to see a leader that was more casual, more like them. Good leaders adapted to the times.

At noon, he had lunch with some minister from a foreign country, possibly Turkey. He did not quite remember, and the lunch had mainly consisted of two translators squabbling in the corner while the two beauracrats shot each other helpless looks over their pudding.

Then at one o'clock he set off for his temporary office at the hospital holding the group of young adults that were the focal point of every newspaper in the country, and possibly the world. Something had happened in that Tower – demons had just been disappearing recently, as if their bonds were broken. Summonings weren't answered. It was as if spirits had just up and left from the entire world.

Well, not entirely. Devices such as Elemental Spheres had not lost their punch. And there had been rumors of a demon hanging around that very hospital.

But that was just nonsense.

As he scribbled away at some all-too-important document that would be displayed before Parliament as the next all-too-important legislation (he had the faint idea that it had to do with birth control – that or telephone lines), there was a knock on his door. Devereaux looked up, relieved to be reprieved from his work for at least a few moments.

"Sir?" It was an under-minister. Not the exodus one, however.

He tried to remember the young man's name. "Yes, Petricks?"

"The doctors have news," said the under-minister, giving no indication that Devereaux had messed up his name. The Prime Minister sighed inwardly. "Mr. Mandrake is awake."

Devereaux nearly leapt from his chair with excitement. "Excellent! That is very, very good news!"

"They say you can see him whenever you're ready. He's already cleared to roam around the building, although they haven't cleared him to leave."

"Naturally," he said impatiently, "he's only just awoken."

This was wonderful. Maybe Mandrake would be able to clear things up. Namely, why his afrits had gone missing.

"And Mr. Mortensen wants to see you soon about the latest news from America," continued Petricks dully. "Apparently it's very important, sir."

"Blast it," muttered Devereaux under his breath. The war was a very boring and dreary subject at even the best of times. "Well, send him in at two. That's about fifteen minutes, isn't it?"

"Twenty-three minutes, sir."

"Close enough."

"Very well, sir. I shall send him in at two." Petricks bowed slightly with his head.

"Thank you, Petricks. You may leave now."

The door closed behind him and Devereaux sat down once more, casting a tired look at the window. The area around his office was crawling with bodyguards after the mysterious disappearance of the demons, and the outside area looked almost like a sea of black. Only at the absolutely livid protests of the doctors had most of the hospital been spared from these antics, although there were strict bag checks at all entrances.

He was busy signing the bill when, very suddenly, the curtains drew themselves together and the lights went off.

Devereaux stared, blinked, and licked his lips. It was not perfectly dark, but it was close enough. No doubt security would have a fit over this.

"Hello, Prime Minister Devereaux," came a voice from the door, which he noticed had ever so sneakily opened without a sound. It clicked shut within seconds. "I see you are hard at work."

"Yes, of course," he said dryly. "I am quite possibly the most powerful man in the world, aren't I?"

"Right now, maybe." It was someone different, a male this time. "But I'm not so sure how long that'll hold up."

Devereaux tapped his pen against the desk, annoyed. "Very funny. Now, I am going to have to call my guards to escort you from the premises. Security!"

No one answered.

"It's no use," said a different voice. "To them, you appear to be working diligently through open curtains. Your defenses were poor, obviously, although I guess that could be attributed to your temporary office setting. It only took me a few minutes' worth of work to cast a proper Illusion, and I'm not that great with magic, either. Of course, I had a few distractions. And the lights were easy."

Someone snapped, and the lights turned on once more. Seven individuals stood before him: three women and four men. Two of the men looked strangely familiar – one was nursing a handless arm while the other, whom he vaguely recognized as a minister in Mandrake's department, looked rather bored.

"There," said the one-handed man, "that's better."

"Stop this insolence at once!" Devereaux exclaimed, thrusting out of his seat. "If you don't stop soon, I'll get my guards –"

"Shut it, Devereaux," said one of the men with irritation. Bags hung under his eyes, and he looked tired. "Frankly, we really don't care what you have to say."

The Prime Minister's mouth closed instantly.

"There we go." A young girl, probably in her mid-teens, stepped forward. "Now, as we're all aware, the demons have abandoned this world. Their bonds have been broken, or at least that's what it seems like. You know what this means."

Devereaux sneered in spite of himself. "It's going to be a hell of a lot harder to build that bridge that Pinn's been griping about, for one."

"Magicians are weak," continued the girl, ignoring his comments. "Commoners have already realized this, or are about to. Soon they'll be complaining, wanting their fair share. What're you going to do then?"

"The Night Police –"

"You only have so many wolves." She smiled. "And I have a feeling this is going to be a widespread revolution."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Probably," a different girl responded. "But it's not like there's anything you can do about it."

"Mr. Devereaux, we're giving you a chance," said the first girl, advancing forward. He took a step backwards instinctively and braced one hand against the back wall. "You can avoid this. You can preempt it. It's going to happen eventually. By extending the offer to them before they revolt, you can salvage your career. Magicians and commoners are going to have to learn how to coexist, and if you make the first move, you can make it a lot easier."

He swallowed. Her words weren't something he hadn't thought of. Without demons, they were crippled, barely any more than petty conjurers.

"I'll think about it," he said firmly. "I'm not promising you anything."

"We're not promising you anything either, Mr. Devereaux. We can only ask you…"

The lights flickered again and the curtains were thrown open.

"Are you ready?"

The voice rung out across the room, but they were already gone.

He gripped his chest, breathing deeply, and sat back down in his chair. That had been a most disconcerting confrontation. He definitely needed to talk to security about that one.

As he settled in once more, a knock came from his door and Petricks's head poked in the room.

"Sir, it's two," he stated. "Mr. Mortensen is here to see you. Shall I send him in?"

"Yes," replied Devereaux, shuffling his papers importantly in front of him and running a hand through what little hair he had left. "Yes. I'm ready."

He neglected to mention that he wasn't really speaking to Petricks at all.

-

The first thing to return was the smell, that obsessively clean, lemony smell of hospitals and government buildings. The traces in the air of the citrus cleaner stung the inside of his nostrils, and he squirmed. He could feel the unfamiliar cloth on his body, and taste the sweat in his mouth. A nasal buzz from somewhere above him signaled the recovery of his hearing, and it wasn't long before he strained, squirmed, and finally opened his eyes.

At first, everything just appeared white. The amount of it around him was blinding; possibly he had, as some said, passed on?

Something beeped beside him, and he instantly knew that it was keeping track of his heartbeat.

So much for the whole death idea.

A tad bitter that he had not died to add to the dramatic effect of the battle, he strained to get up. His muscles were weak, as if weighed down by some invisible force.

Someone chuckled above him.

"Having trouble?"

He turned his head (with much effort – he was breathing sharply by the time he was done) and raised his eyebrows, hoping to give off the impression that he was not surprised at all. Partially a lie, but you had to give a little every now and then, he supposed.

"Some slight annoyances, yes," he said. "Well, how are you, Bartimaeus?"

The Egyptian boy laughed from his perch on the windowsill. "Better than I've been in five millennia!"

"Really?" This did catch Nathaniel quite off-guard, and only after several seconds had passed did he remember to hide his emotions. "I mean, why is that?"

"Oh, you know," replied the boy carelessly. He waved his hand to the side and grinned. "We all have our good days."

"Well, I'm afraid that I'm not having a good day at all," Nathaniel retorted a bit irritably. "This ugly room is going to pester me to wit's end. Could you open the shades and give us some sunlight?"

Bartimaeus looked behind him to the window, turned back, and smirked.

"No."

Nathaniel deadpanned. "Er, what?"

"Nah," he continued, "I don't really feel like it. I kind of like it as it is."

He sneered at him smugly.

"What're you going to do? Punish me?"

"Bartimaeus –"

"Confused, Nat? Wondering where my newly-found arrogance has come from?"

Amidst his confusion, Nathaniel frowned. "Now, now, Bartimaeus, I wouldn't exactly say 'newly-found'. You've had it for quite some time, if you didn't notice."

Bartimaeus ignored him. "The truth is, Nathaniel, you can't make me do anything anymore! You could try, but it wouldn't work! You have no power over me anymore!"

"Bartimaeus…" Nathaniel trailed off. His head ached; he could not wrap his mind around it, not now. "What in Gladstone's name are you talking about?"

The djinni leapt across the room with sudden gusto, landed near the door, and did a dance-like twirl.

"I'm free!" he cried. "As free as a serial killer who's gotten a mistrial! As free as a –"

"Hold on," interjected Nathaniel. "What?"

"Oh, I forgot, you were too busy collapsing to notice." Bartimaeus spun a thermometer in his hands flippantly. "Well, here's the deal: while you were doing your whole saving the world routine, you destroyed the Gate."

"Obviously."

"Let me finish, would you? So, you destroyed the Gate while it was activating. It was focusing the bonds between the two worlds in one area, but then you shattered it. Do you have any idea what that did?"

"Er…"

"It completely destroyed the bonds!" Bartimaeus tilted his head to the side. "Or at least that's my guess. It was all concentrated in one area, in the Gate, but then you destroyed it with the Staff!"

"So there's no connection at all between the two worlds anymore?" Nathaniel questioned, head spinning.

"Well, I'm not sure," admitted Bartimaeus as he leaned back against the wall. "I think there still is some bond there – in fact, I'm quite certain, come to think of it, as I've felt the Other Place pulling me back to it recently. What I think happened is that all of the ties that enable magicians to enslave spirits were focused within the Gate. Those, after all, were the only ties that would've been useful in the creation of the Gate as a mass summoning tool. It was a complete bond, too: there was a human element to it and a spirit element. Both were inside the Gate."

Nathaniel bit his lip. "So there is a connection… but magicians no longer have any power over spirits anymore?"

"Nope."

"And you're sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh, wonderful," Nathaniel said bitterly. "Parliament will be thrilled."

"Not really." Bartimaeus flung the thermometer into the air and caught it deftly with his fingertips. "They're quite perplexed, to tell the truth."

"As am I."

"What don't you understand about it?" asked the djinni. "That Gate was possibly the most powerful thing in this world. It had the power to focus the bonds of the two worlds into one artifact, the bonds that gave magicians power over spirits. That was the nature of it – it was meant to concentrate those bonds so insane quantities of spirits could be summoned at once. And then you came along and destroyed the Gate while all of the bonds resided within it."

Nathaniel smiled weakly. "I'm going to have one hell of a time explaining that to Devereaux."

"I don't see what the big fuss is all about. Don't you see? Devereaux is weak now. Your government is weak. They have no power over you anymore. The dream's coming true, isn't it? Kitty's dream? Commoners have a chance now. They're already up in arms about it, or are about to be. It's only a matter of time before they realize that magicians are few and far between, and without their slaves."

A knock on the door stopped him from elaborating, and the boy chuckled.

"That'll be the nurse," he stated, smirk playing on his lips. "A real looker, too. I'm sure darling Kitty will have a fit."

He winked before disappearing, a cloud of smoke in his place. The cloud crept up into the ventilation system and out of the room, and Nathaniel stared after it for a few moments before the nurse's voice startled him out of his reprieve.

"Hello? May I come in?"

Nathaniel sighed. "Yes."

The door swung open and a curvy blonde strolled in, hips swaying from side to side in a mesmerizing motion. Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

"Doc says that you need a shot," said the nurse as she pulled a needle from a tray and began filling it with a dark blue liquid, muttering to herself. "Of course, he can't give it, can he? Linda has to get it. After all, Linda's already underpaid. Why not just go ahead and give her more work?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um, I'm ready."

"Of course you are," said the nurse absent-mindedly. She grabbed his arm, twisted it to the side, and in one fluent motion stuck the needle into him. He twitched in pain and watched as the liquid was inserted into him. "There we go. In, oh, five seconds or so you should feel a kick, like your first time on cocaine or something. Not that I'd know anything about that."

Surprisingly, she was right. He bolted upwards in his bed to a sitting position, the pain in his muscles forgotten to some degree.

"There we go," she muttered. She yanked the needle from his arm and made a motion with her hand to the side. "In a few minutes, you should be up to going out and about thanks to this little wonder-drug. There is a wheelchair near the door that you must use if you do take the opportunity to get up and about. Don't try to walk – your leg is severely injured, you suffered a minor concussion, and also some minor damage to your vertebrae. Just call me for assistance when you wish to get in it. The Lord knows it's just another job they don't pay me for."

She threw the needle into the trash bin and headed to the door before stopping.

"Oh, and I think you have a visitor. A lady friend, perhaps?"

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before exiting out through the doorway. He could hear her high heels clicking against the floor for a few moments before they eventually faded away.

Nathaniel looked at the door expectantly.

Seconds passed.

The clock ticked in the background.

Tick. Tock.

And finally, a pretty face jutted through the doorway. Brown eyes peered into the room alertly, and a small smile played on the face's features. A girl stepped into the room, carrying her arm in a sling, and approached his bed warily.

"Am I interrupting anything?" she inquired politely.

"Actually, yes," said Nathaniel with a wry smirk. "I was having a long and fruitful conversation with myself before you came barging in."

"Oh, really?" She grinned and sat down in a chair near the wall. "What were you talking about?"

Nathaniel shrugged slightly and twisted the knob on the side of the bed. It tilted upwards until it resembled a recliner, and he leant back against it. "You know, the usual. Politics. Money. Food."

"Of course."

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Kitty," he stated monotonously, as if he were giving a presentation to Parliament. "I hadn't heard about your condition."

"I escaped with only a few nicks," she replied. A stony look came onto her face. "Others… were not so fortunate."

"Excuse me?"

"Jack and Glen are dead, as is Makepeace." Kitty fiddled with the straps on her sling uninterestedly. "Thomas is in intensive care. Morris lost a hand. Oh, and I'm pretty sure Elliot's mental health is in danger. He feels guilty about Thomas, you know."

Nathaniel stared at her blankly. It was too much to comprehend at once, far too much.

"So… two of us are dead?"

"Yes. And one's in intensive care and another lost a hand. And –"

"Elliot's on the road to insanity," he finished.

"Yes."

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. Damned scratchy pillows. "That's not too bad, is it? Especially when you consider that we all expected to die."

"Yes, not too bad." Kitty, however, did not seem very agreeable – rather, her voice was bitter. "And just so you know, you weren't too far from death yourself."

"What?"

"That's how I got this," she said, gesturing to the sling. "Saving your sorry arse."

"Er…"

"And that's not all. You also completely –"

"Completely destroyed the bonds of slavery that bound spirits," he interrupted. "I know. Bartimaeus dropped by a few minutes ago. He was rather giddy about it."

"Yes, well, anyway." Kitty pushed a strand of hair from her face and gave him an unreadable look. "So, the Archway – or Gate – shattered and you passed out. Makepeace's back broke all of a sudden and he died right then and there; you were right about the bond between the artifact and the magician. Where the Archway had stood all of these cracks started appearing in the floor, probably from the force of its destruction. Then a hole formed in the floor and on all of the floors below, like the magical output had formed a chasm or something."

"It was destroying anything solid," said Nathaniel quietly. "It was reacting to the environment. When something as powerful as that is destroyed, there's a mass energy wave. That wave just happened to channel into the infrastructure of the building, probably due to all of the iron – opposites attract, do they not? It's my guess that if you had been touching the Archway it would have channeled its energy through you. You'd be dead, of course."

She stared at him coolly. "But I'm not. And neither are you. Your body was about to fall into the hole, but I grabbed onto you with my arm and tried to hold on. My arm broke, and I called to Bartimaeus for help. Then he realized that his bonds were broken."

"And…"

"He was thinking about leaving. He knew he could. But then he just kind of grinned and grabbed onto you and hoisted you up."

Nathaniel's eyebrows raised in doubt. "Bartimaeus chose to stay and save my life rather than leave?"

"You act as if it's not possible," commented Kitty, her voice dangerously low.

"Possible," he said dryly. "But from my experiences with Bartimaeus, very improbable."

"Don't get too hung up on it. He mentioned something about repaying you for breaking his bonds. It was a no-lose situation for him."

"I suppose so." He fiddled with his bedsheets and bit his lip. "Well, thanks for… you know."

"Saving your life?"

"Yes. That." He glanced at her sling and cringed. "And sorry about the, er, inconvenience."

Kitty lightened up slightly to his surprise. "It's alright. After all, you saved my life, too. I should be thanking you."

"I assure you that it is not necessary."

"But I'm going to do it anyway," she said simply, smiling at him. "Thank you, Nathaniel, for saving my life."

"You're welcome," Nathaniel responded with a frown. "But really, you didn't have to do it."

"I know. But I figure that you thanked me, so I might as well thank you."

"Yes. Right." He straightened upwards and craned his neck. It ached something terrible (the nurse had said something about vertebrae damage, but that was something he could discuss later with the doctor) and he grimaced as he motioned towards the wheelchair by the door. "Could you wheel that over here? I don't fancy staying in this room for much longer."

"Are you sure that you should be up and about?"

"It seems that the doctors have cleared me, but we all know how much their opinion is worth. Still, I fear I just will have to risk permanent damage if only to get out of this place. I bet the cafeteria is full of life around now."

Kitty didn't reply, instead optioning to merely shake her head and retrieve the chair. Nathaniel looked at it hesitantly before frowning.

"Er, right. Would you mind giving me a hand? I don't really want to call the nurse."

"Alright," said Kitty, "but I've only got one hand."

"I know."

With much effort and a bit of swearing, they finally got him seated in the wheelchair. True, he did have a few more bruises on him than he had beforehand, but it was no matter.

He reached for the wheels, but her hand on his stopped him. "Don't worry," she said, "I'll push you."

"Yeah, thanks."

Without warning the chair sped forward and out of the room. It swerved into the hall, and Nathaniel could have sworn that it had nearly fallen over from the force of the turn. Kitty pushed him quickly from behind in a wave-like pattern, and he clutched tightly to the wheelchair.

"You can slow down if you'd like," he said. "Really, I'm in no hurry."

"Come on, live a little."

"You see, that's the problem." He winced as they just nearly missed a doctor. "I'm afraid that with your handling, I may not be living much longer."

Kitty tutted impatiently behind him as the doctor yelled an obscenity at them. "Well, it's just a little difficult to steer this thing with one hand."

"Good point."

After a few more swerves and twirls, the cafeteria finally came into view. Thankfully, the doors were open – Nathaniel didn't even want to think about what an adventure opening the doors would be.

Kitty nudged two chairs aside at a nearby table and put his in their place. He sighed with relief, glad that at last he was still.

"What do you want?" she asked. "I don't really want to try to push you through that line."

"Just a glass of water."

"Are you sure that –"

"Positive."

"Okay," she muttered as she walked off to the back of the line. He smiled at her expression, one of compete and utter boredom.

It wasn't a long wait at all, and in only a few minutes, Kitty was sitting down across from him. She had a tray full of various foods, and his single glass of water looked rather pathetic in comparison.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," she said as she spread butter across a slice of toast. "Haven't eaten since yesterday."

"That would explain things." He coughed and took a sip of his water. "So, what happened after I passed out?"

Kitty's lips pursed uncharacteristically. "Which time?"

"The second."

"Bartimaeus went for help," she answered through mouthfuls of pasta. "The Night Police came, followed by Devereaux himself."

"And you weren't arrested?"

"He thought about it," Kitty said truthfully. "But after Ffoukes and Bartimaeus talked to him, he decided not to. I was surprised that he believed us. I guess the sight of the destroyed Archway and the disappearance of his slaves rattled him."

"Yes," Nathaniel commented as he brought the glass to his lips again, "the government had been looking for that for a while now."

"Apparently." Kitty chuckled to herself. "Devereaux ordered that no one leaked out information of the event. He wanted complete privacy until he understood what was going on. Naturally, it dominated the headlines of all the major newspapers the next day."

"Naturally," he agreed with a smile. The glass hovered in midair, only centimeters from his lips. "And what happened after I passed out the first time?"

Kitty gazed at her tray determinedly. "I held onto the vulture long enough to destroy it, but it threw me onto Makepeace's platform. The others got through Makepeace's test, and Morris got the Staff from the vaults."

"Oh." He was about to take a drink from the glass when Kitty dropped her fork onto her tray. It clattered noisily on the plastic, though she made no movement.

"And I kissed you."

Nathaniel's hand jerked upward instantaneously, and as a result the water he had been ready to drink instead splashed up into his face. He coughed violently and set the glass down unstably.

"Napkin?" Kitty offered dryly.

"Thank you," he said, taking it out of her hands. He wiped his cheeks laboriously and made a face. "But let me get this straight: you kissed me?"

"I don't even know why," she stated defensively, staring at the lunch line. "I was being stupid. It was in the heat of battle and I was distressed and you'd just gotten hit and –"

She stopped abruptly, and he grinned despite himself. Her face was scrunched up not in embarrassment, but something else: defiance, maybe? Or possibly even anger? He didn't quite know, yet it was then that he really recognized that she was astoundingly pretty, even in the current circumstance.

He did not know what to do, so he took a gamble. His hand found hers and grabbed it lightly, and she looked to him, her eyes contorted into a bemused glare. He knew it was an act of risk, and quite possibly even risqué, but it was time that he stopped thinking and, for once, started following his desires.

"Aren't you… you know…" Kitty twitched and continued. "Ashamed?"

"Not particularly," he admitted with unnatural serenity. His heart was pounding against his chest and his pulse was racing, but he could not help but love every second of it. He was taking risks and not looking back – was this why Kitty had joined the Resistance, to feel that sense of recklessness? "Disappointed, more like."

"Disappointed?"

Nathaniel grinned and leaned in closer, until he was whispering conspiratorially into her ear.

"Next time, I'd prefer to be conscious."

She looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and smiled slightly.

"Well…"

Kitty then leaned next to his ear and lowered her voice, as he had only seconds before. Strands of her hair tickled his face, and her moist breath on his skin made him shiver. So this was what it felt like, he mused, to defy logic, to rebel against everything.

"That," she muttered, "can be arranged."

-

Freedom was a fickle thing. I'd only been free for a few days, yet still I longed to get away. It had taken all of my self-control to stay even within the country as I waited for the boy to wake up. And then, of course, when he had, I needed to wait a little longer for him to even get his wits about him.

Psht. Humans were weak.

So, as I drifted in the hospital's ventilation system (let me tell you, the dust was murder), I bored quickly. It was then that my mind began to wander: I worked out math problems, played tic-tac-toe against myself – anything to pass the time. I even analyzed the depths of the human mind using my vast knowledge of psychology, but alas, that took less than ten seconds.

It was after a stalemate in a dull game of chess against myself that I dared to poke my gaseous head into Nathaniel's room. I certainly didn't want to see anything indecent if the nurse was checking his valuables, which would have been traumatizing for both him and myself. To my relief, the room was empty.

The cloud of smoke twisted and turned until it solidified into the appearance of a lion. The lion crept out of the room and into the hallway, where an oblivious doctor consoling an unfortunate patient.

"Excuse me," I said, "do any of you know where John Mandrake went?"

The patient shrieked and the doctor's face became deathly pale. I rolled my eyes.

"I - I believe he's in the c-cafeteria," stuttered the doctor fearfully.

I bowed my head slightly in gratitude. "Thanks."

All in all, it was much quicker to traverse the halls as a lion than it would've been as a human. Sure, guards made movements for their guns and nurses squealed, but that didn't hinder me. Within seconds I was standing outside the cafeteria, having effectively cleared the hallways of innocent bystanders, and it was at this point that I decided that it would be a good idea to change forms.

Where the lion had been, the proud form of Ptolemy materialized, and with my new guise in place, I slipped into the room.

It wasn't hard to spot Nathaniel. At a nearby table he and Kitty were leaned close, probably whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. Quietly, I made a most clandestine approach to the two. I crouched low behind Kitty and waited. She whispered something to him, and I knew that I had my window of opportunity.

I burst upwards and Nathaniel shot backwards. Kitty started to the side, as if trying to escape, and I grinned at the two idiots.

"Boo!"

My timing had been perfect, but Nathaniel merely shot me an irritable glance.

"Bartimaeus," he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Quite some surprise, too, if your reaction was anything to go by." I spun Kitty's fork with my fingertips and flicked it into the air. It landed in her salad, precisely where I had been aiming. "You nearly jumped out of your wheelchair." I stopped. "Hey, does this mean I can call you Wheels now?"

"No." He ran his hand through his hair obsessively before settling down and taking a deep breath. "Well, Bartimaeus, I suppose I should dismiss you now."

"No need," I said. "I can leave whenever I please."

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "Then why haven't you?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wanted to stick around to have a proper chat with you all before I left, maybe impart some more wisdom unto your puny, little brains."

"Ah." Nathaniel smirked at me. "I see."

"So," I said, kicking my feet up on the table and putting my hands behind my head, "what would you like to know? Anything? There's too much for any of you to possibly take in up here –" I pointed to my head importantly "– but you could learn a few things."

Nathaniel was about to say something, probably something snippy, no doubt, when Kitty cut him off.

"Ptolemy," she said plainly (devoid of any snippiness, I might add).

I stared at her. "Pardon?"

"Ptolemy," she repeated. Her eyes avoided me, and instead her sling became of particular interest to her. "You said he died."

"Of course Ptolemy died," snorted Nathaniel. "Everyone knows that. He died shortly after writing several books on spirits. That's actually how I found Bartimaeus. He was one of the lesser servants of Ptolemy."

"One of the lesser servants!" I gawked at him. "The nerve! What books fed you this nonsense?"

"Back on topic," said Kitty in a loud voice, "who is Ptolemy and why did he die?"

I shot her a meaningful look, but she just shook her head. I, in turn, swore.

"You know, I wasn't sure of all the facts until just recently." I laughed darkly. "But after hearing Makepeace describe the Gate, it was simple. All I had to do was connect the dots."

The pair was silent for quite possibly the first time in recorded history. My luck.

"Ptolemy gained my trust when he summoned me without using protective clauses," I continued. "I was stunned, I'll admit – stunned enough to actually go along with the idea. Over a period of time, I, along with many other spirits, grew attached to the kid, although he clearly liked me best, if I do say so myself. He was not a cruel master – far from it. He was a great magician, and became well known across Egypt. He would advocate the liberation of spirits to the commoners of the land, which I believe ultimately led to his death.

"Apparently, his uncle, the pharaoh, and his priests had been working on a weapon: the Archway of Anubis, or as I call it, Ptolemy's Gate. It was an ingenious design, honestly. They ran veins of crystal throughout a stone arch, for crystal is somewhat of the opposite of silver. It conducts magic, so of course it would help summon many spirits at once. They only needed to sacrifice a human to complete the bond between the two worlds. One night, Ptolemy went to request of his uncle the destruction of the Archway. I accompanied him and saw it happen. Ptolemy was sacrificed; he was killed and his essence was trapped within the Gate. And needless to say you know the rest of the story."

I think my uncharacteristically serious tale caught them off-guard. Nathaniel scratched his neck absent-mindedly while Kitty poked her salad with her fork.

"Then that's who you are right now?" asked Kitty. "I mean, you're Ptolemy."

"Before he died, yes. It's a sign of respect."

"Well," Nathaniel said in a high voice, "Ptolemy should be happy. Thanks to his Gate, spirits are now free."

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit ironic, isn't it?"

"A bit inconvenient, too," he mumbled irritably.

"Ah, you'll get over it," I said, waving my hand to dismiss the notion. Truth be told, I was quite glad for a change of subject. "You know, magicians used to do magic on their own. Not much, mind you – they've always been lazy – but they weren't so dependent on long-suffering djinn like myself. Magicians have forgotten that they, too, can do magic as summoning has become so popular."

Nathaniel sighed. "Still, magicians aren't nearly as proficient at magic as djinn are."

"I'm sure you'll live."

"I certainly hope so."

I clapped my hands together and sat up in my chair. "So, what comes next for you, Nat? The government's a mess, there are still loose ends – what're you to do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I imagine Farrar still hasn't been captured."

"I was thinking of going to America,' said Kitty quietly. His head shot toward her. "Maybe. If I can't change the government here, then maybe we could start over fresh there."

"Yeah," Nathaniel agreed enthusiastically. "That's a good fallback."

"See? Using your heads already!" I slapped Kitty's shoulder happily, beaming at her. "You'll be fine without me!"

"Yes." Nathaniel looked away to the lunch line and frowned (he was probably starving, of course). "So this will be the last time we see you?"

So much for that whole starving theory. Looked like he was just getting a bit nostalgic.

"Well, if that's how it's going to be, then sure," I said. "If you really don't want to give me a call every now and then – I would've thought that at the very least you two would be begging me to baby-sit."

"How're we supposed to 'give you a call'?" he snapped. "The bonds between the worlds have been broken."

"Oh, really? When?"

Nathaniel stared at me. "Er, that's what you said…"

"No, the bonds of summoning have been broken," I corrected. "I can still feel my bond to the Other Place, and thus I know that the bond between the two worlds is not broken. The bonds of summoning, yes, for that is what the Gate used, and what you destroyed."

"So…"

"If you try to summon me, a portal between the two worlds will open since a bond still exists," I explained, careful to take it slow so that they understood. Humans always needed things explained slowly, or else they'd get irritable and go start wars over miscommunications. "The bonds of summoning meant that I was pulled through it automatically. However, now, that portal exists, and I may choose to go through it if I please."

He scowled. "Sounds a bit iffy to me."

"You'll see when you try it, won't you?" I stood up abruptly and sighed. "Well, I think it is almost time for me to leave. Anything you'd like to ask me before I go?"

"Makepeace said something," Nathaniel stated. "He started talking about a Trinity."

I looked at him, perplexed for once. "Sorry. I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"Never mind," he muttered. "I'll study it later."

"Anything else?"

They shook their sorry, little heads and I smiled.

"Good." I rolled up my sleeves and bowed slightly. "Now then, this has been great fun. And of course, I am in your debt eternally for breaking my bonds."

"Too right you are," Nathaniel muttered.

I ruffled his hair affectionately. "Aw, Nat, you always were a sore loser. But you weren't a horrid master, so I forgive you for your poor sportsmanship."

Nathaniel wore a stiff expression, but I could almost catch a smile breaking upon his face.

"I am grateful for your forbearance," he said mockingly.

"I know you are." I turned to Kitty. "And you! Well, you've made things interesting, for sure. Your acceptance – or plain naivete – really has warmed an old djinni's heart of stone."

"I love you, too, Bartimaeus," laughed Kitty.

I took a step back and looked at them appraisingly. They looked comfortable in their skins for the first time in recent memory, and I knew something had changed. They had found themselves – or really, they had just found each other. I'm a hopeless romantic, I know.

"Kitty Jones, Nathaniel – I must bid you farewell. Call upon me if the need arises – although I must warn you, I refuse to do laundry or change diapers. Otherwise, feel free to give me a ring."

I made a sweeping bow before straightening up and looking Nathaniel in the eyes.

"Goodbye, Nat," I said.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and bowed his head to me, also.

"Goodbye, Bartimaeus."

I cut my ties with the human world once more and slowly faded away before their eyes. As I left, I could've sworn that I caught Nathaniel rubbing his eyes stubbornly – a stray piece of dust had probably flown into them.

The cafeteria and then the hospital gradually disappeared from view as I felt the Other Place reclaiming me. I acquiesced to its call, and I left the mortal world to my home. I'd never thought much of this world, but I hadn't lied to Nathaniel and Kitty: I knew they'd be fine without me. They had their problems, sure, but then again, they had each other.

Farrar was on the loose, war raged in America, and the world's greatest empire lay in shambles, yet still I found myself surrendering myself to this strange and particular notion that, for once, everything was as it should be.