Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

A/N: Something new! This is a short story, probably around 5 chapters or so, set between GE and PG. This story was written for the amazingly awesome Tane, and since Nat/Kitty is her favourite pairing I've departed from my usual Bartimaeus/Kitty fare. As always, many thanks to Lady Noir for her betaing assistance. Tane, this story is for you and I hope you enjoy it!

As per usual, I was being ignored.

John Mandrake, cold-blooded magician extraordinaire, had powers of willful disregard beyond the ken of mere men. There he sat in his stiff-backed chair; his head bent low over his desk as he carefully scribed a letter with all of his usual perfect penmanship, completely oblivious to my endless stream of complaints.

"…And furthermore," I was declaring imperiously, "Any fool with a stick of chalk can tell you that relying on a djinni with such depleted powers is suicide. If you had even the smallest grain of sense you'd let me go home. The fact that you have failed to do so only emphasizes the previously established fact that you are, in effect, no more than a chicken-headed weasel masquerading as a magician. Nobody keeps a djinni on Earth for eight months straight, you brain-addled half-wit."

I paused to catch my breath and snuck a glance at Nat to see how my demands were being received. [1. As a creature of pure essence, mundane necessities like breathing are not generally required, but at that moment I was Ptolemy and I liked to keep things as accurate as possible. Not that Ptolemy would have ever been reduced to spouting insults…but hey, he'd never been in my shoes either.]

The boy hadn't even flinched. The tip of his fountain pen scratched over the surface of the stationary without missing a beat, and his stolid face retained its expression of absolute detachment.

The kid was driving me batty.

"Oi, Nat!" I called, hoping the sound of his birth name would provoke a reaction.

Nope.

Scritch, scritch, scratch went the pen.

Call me petty, but at this point I was incensed enough to resort to property damage. With an innocent "oops," I kicked over the side table, causing the assortment of ceramic herb jars that had been set out for the morning's summonings to smash to pieces on the floor and release a choking cloud of powdered rosemary and bay leaves into the stagnant air of the study.

In retrospect, not such a good idea. As I fell to coughing up the noxious fragrance, Nathaniel tapped his chin with the butt of his pen, still refusing to acknowledge my existence.

"Hey you!" Thoroughly frustrated, I crumpled up a wad of newspaper and lobbed it at him. It bounced harmlessly off the back of the boy's head and rolled under the desk.

Not so much as a blink.

In a final act of desperation, I set the rug on fire.

Smoke billowed up from the smoldering fibres, and I could hear art collectors all over the world weeping in despair as the finely wrought Persian design curled and blackened like a shriveling slug. Finally, finally, Nathaniel roused from his efforts to look at the spreading patch of flame with a look of considerable apathy.

"Take care of that, will you Bartimaeus?" he called languidly, "I wouldn't want the smoke to damage the furniture." And without a single glance in my direction, he went back to work.

I could hardly believe it. Nathaniel's exasperation factor had increased to an all-time high. With a stiff, unwilling gesture I quenched the flame and sent a quick breeze through the room to waft the haze of smoke out an open window. But if that boy thought he had me licked, he had another thing coming. I had one last trick up my sleeve.

"So you're letting me destroy your possessions at will now?" I leaned over his desk in the ever-alluring form of Kathleen Jones.

Nathaniel glanced up at me and the pen slipped from his fingers, marring the paper below with a slash of black ink.

Works every time.

"I appreciate your attempts to alleviate my boredom, but you're killing me here. I want to go home." Kitty pouted sadly at him, and Nathaniel's hands clenched into fists.

"Bartimaeus," he said slowly through gritted teeth, "What did I tell you about taking that form?"

"What? This isn't Kitty. See, she's a quarter of an inch shorter and has an extra mole on the back of her hand."

I helpfully brandished said hand in front of his nose. With a grunt of irritation, my master pushed it aside and scowled. Now we were getting somewhere.

"Spare me the semantics," he said coolly, "I said I didn't want you taking Ms. Jones' form and that order still stands. You won't like what happens if you continue to disobey me."

I was overcome by the urge to stick Kitty's tongue out at him, but instead I let her shape fall away to become Ptolemy once again. The tension in Nathaniel's shoulders eased and he picked up his pen to go back to ignoring me.

The situation was quickly becoming intolerable. Nathaniel had become more and more unresponsive of late, and no matter how much I whined about my sad state, he was completely unwilling to let me go home. To have the option of becoming Kitty taken off the table – the one and only thing that still provoked a reaction from this unrecognizable wall of ice my master had become – it pretty much sealed my fate to walk the Earth until I withered away from the strain of it all.

If only, I thought mournfully, If only I had the real thing here. That girl would sort him out fast.

I paused and carefully ran over the thought again, appreciating my mind for once again revealing its usual brilliance.

If Kitty were here, Nat might finally quit acting like the villain of some third-rate adventure film. If Kitty were here, she could reawaken the spark of goodness that I didn't like to admit the kid had once had. Kitty was a chink in his armour, the one thing that he still seemed to care about. Hell, with all the roiling, rage-fueled attraction the two barely managed to conceal it would be a picnic to get the two to hook up.

I stroked my chin contemplatively. Yes…twenty-four hours a day with the pretty renegade would certainly be good for the boy, and with a zealous freedom-fighter on his arm, Nathaniel would hardly be likely to continue abusing his slaves.

"Quit smirking like that," Nathaniel's voice edged in on my thoughts, "It's making my skin crawl."

I dropped the smile obediently, but inside I was metaphorically rubbing my hands together in glee.

Operation Matchmaker was already underway.

ooooooooooooo

Step one in my plan: I was going to have to find Kitty.

I wasn't expecting much difficulty, seeing as I was pretty sure the girl was still in London. She was a rebel and stubborn as hell – this I knew for a fact despite the brief nature of our acquaintance – and people like that don't just run away and hide in other countries when there's still sedition to spread and governments to topple.

My chance came when Nathaniel sent me out on yet another pointless errand. [2. Today's mission was to pick up the kid's dry-cleaning. These little tasks constituted most of his excuses for keeping me here on Earth. It was always: "Not now Bartimaeus, the ceilings need to be washed," or "But if I let you go today, who will do the laundry?" I can promise you that Natty-darling was the only magician in London getting his linens bleached by a five thousand year old djinni.]

I breathed a sigh of relief to finally get outside of Nathaniel's stuffy, dimly lit house. It was an early October morning and the air was brisk, smelling of wood smoke and moldering leaves. For a moment I wished I could hang back and enjoy the fresh air, but time was short. I was a djinni on a mission.

I took to the air in the form of a crow, circling once around Nat's place to get my bearings, then taking off towards parliament and the centre of London life.

Multitudes of humans passed to and fro along the sidewalk below me, and it wasn't long before I spotted a head of curly brown hair hidden beneath a cap which was pull down secretively over my quarry's eyes. Kitty! I would recognize her anywhere.

I dove down, scoffing at her half-hearted attempt to conceal herself. Who else had that mischievous grin, that confident stride, that…the girls head snapped up and I reeled back in midair, nearly falling out of the sky as I realized this girl wasn't Kitty at all.

My sudden confusion robbed me of my fine motor skills and I found myself banking straight into the stranger's head, flapping my wings helplessly.

"Ack!" The girl cried, spitting out feathers and attempting to shield her face.

I would have apologized for my clumsiness, but I was undercover as a crow and thought it best not to advertise my considerable eloquence. Unfortunately, this prevented me from begging her pardon when my little taloned foot got hopelessly tangled in her hair, which yanked me back like a ball and chain when I tried to fly away.

I squawked apologetically, but the girl had had enough.

"Crow attack!" she yelled, swinging her bag around like a batter about to hit a home run. Sadly, the heavy bag clocked me right over the head and I plunked hopelessly onto the pavement in a sprawl of ruffled feathers.

"Come on Tanya, leave the birds alone," someone called.

"I'd better not have just caught the avian flu," the girl grumbled, moving away from my poor prone form.

After a few moments I managed to peel myself off the pavement, and took off in a direction opposite to the one the terrifying girl and her friend had taken. This had been an embarrassing setback to be sure, but I was still Bartimaeus, and if Kitty Jones was anywhere in this city, I would find her. Homicidal brunettes aside, how hard could it be?

By mid-afternoon, I was forced to admit that Kitty Jones was more discreet than I'd given her credit for. I'd searched everywhere, from the tallest church spire to the deepest tangle of sewer pipes, and still the girl was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps I had been wrong. Perhaps she had left the country after all, leaving me panting and exhausted with nothing to show for it. [3. The worst of it was that old Nat was about as likely to let me go home and rest as he was to sprout a third arm from his forehead and shamble off to rob a sardine factory. Nope, when the time came to finally drag my wobbly, beaten-in essence home, the heartless kid would doubtless kick me straight out to dig latrines or something.]

Feeling distinctly put out, I alighted in Hyde Park for a breather.

Hyde Park was lovely, one of the scarce few palatable spots in London. As Ptolemy, I walked between rows of gold and scarlet trees, dry leaves crunching pleasantly underfoot.

Nearby, a park bench sat beneath a canopy of elm branches. A little old lady sat at one end feeding the pigeons, a black knit shawl wrapped around her head as protection from the sharp autumn air.

I stopped a moment to stare in astonishment. Not because there was anything unusual in the sight of a senior citizen provisioning the avian population of London, but because these particular pigeons were so tremendously engorged, like big grey bowling balls balancing precariously on a set of spindly orange feet.

As I came closer a few attempted to take off, wavering drunkenly in the air like a flock of bumblebees, but the vast majority were far too overfed to achieve flight and instead just sat there staring blankly at me as I sat down beside their elderly benefactor.

"What did those poor birds ever do to you?" I asked my neighbour as she scattered yet another handful of breadcrumbs over the ground. "They've already swollen up to incredible proportions. Stuff anymore in and they'll be popping like firecrackers."

The mysterious bird philanthropist started and turned her head my way.

It wasn't a little old lady at all.

No, this person was quite young and not ladylike at all. It was my elusive rebel commoner herself – Kitty Jones.

"You!" I gasped.

"You!" She yelped.

Speechless, we stared at each other, then both at the same time blurted out: "I've been looking all over for you!"

"You were?" I asked, recovering first.

Kitty clamped down on my arm like she was afraid I'd evaporate before her eyes – a very real possibility if my Master figured out I'd gone missing.

"I've been trying to find a way to contact you for months, Bartimaeus," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "After that whole debacle with the staff my friend Jakob left Britain, but I stayed here in London. The magician's regime is ending – you said so yourself – and I'm going to speed the process along."

"I figured as much," I said, "You've got pretty big dreams for someone in such little shoes."

"I have a plan."

"That's rich. This from someone who considers tossing a cloth over her head to be a competent disguise."

"Fooled you, didn't I?"

"For all of ten seconds."

Kitty grimaced and threw a handful of breadcrumbs at my head.

"Don't you want to hear what I have to say?" she asked, "I want to make you an offer."

"You can tell me about it later," I said, springing up from the park bench, "I'm on a tight schedule here, and we have places to be."

"What?" Kitty's eyes grew round as a Ptolemy unfurled a set of wings from his back and tossed the girl over his shoulder.

"Uh, consider this a kidnapping or something."

Moments later we were soaring through the blue October sky. Below, a pair of playing children squealed in fright, but hey, it wasn't my job to explain why there was a pinnate humanoid carting a thrashing girl through the heavens.

"It's an evil fairy!" one of them screamed.

"Mind your own business!" I yelled back, wheeling through the air and heading back to Nat's digs. It wasn't a fun trip. Kitty was not above biting and scratching in her frenzy to escape, and I lost more than a few feathers and a decent-sized chunk of skin in the process.

At last I dragged her through Nat's kitchen window, knocking her head none-too-gently against the frame.

"Hey, who's there?" called a flour-covered imp who was preparing Mandrake's supper.

"This," I said, patting an irate Kitty on the head, "Is the answer to all of my problems."

"Where are we?" The girl demanded to know. Her eyes roved across the room in a remarkably unsubtle search for potentially lethal silverware.

"Stoggles," I addressed the imp, "Look after this one a moment, will you? I can't leave her unsupervised."

Stoggles wiped his spiny fingers on his apron and shot Kitty a repugnant grin.

"Take your time. Doll-face here ain't going nowhere, right sweetie?" He reached up on tiptoes to sling a purple arm around Kitty's shoulders and gave the girl a squelching wink. Kitty stared.

"Uh… I'll be right back," I told Kitty apologetically, slipping out of the room in search of my Master.

I found him in the adjoining dining room, reading the newspaper at the lacquered cherry wood table which was much too long for someone who ate alone as often as Nat did.

"Hey you, I'm back," I said, striking a ravishing pose. The boy didn't look up.

"So we're back to this, huh?" I leaned over the table, pressing down the corner of the paper with an index finger and sliding it towards myself.

"Return that if you please, Bartimaeus," said Nat, "Or am I going to have to put you back in a pentacle?"

I sighed theatrically. "I was afraid you'd say that. You really ought to pay more attention to me Natty-boy. You never know what I'm doing behind your back."

"I have no interest in your pranks," the magician declared.

"Oh, this is no prank," I said gleefully, "You see–"

Bang!

The kitchen door burst from its hinges and in tumbled Stoggles, head over heels. A wooden spoon handle protruded prominently from his forehead.

"That smarts!" The scaly purple thing complained, craning his neck to call back toward the kitchen doorway, "No need to get so worked up darlin'!"

A rolling pin came flying out and bounced off the imp's long, bulbous nose.

"Just wait until I find some silver you twisted monstrosity!" A female voice called back. Nathaniel stiffened. "And if you ever–"

Kitty's dark head poked out of the hole where the door had once been and she abruptly trailed off. Nathaniel went so pale it looked like he'd been drained dry of blood.

"Mandrake!" Kitty snarled, "I should have known you were behind this!"

A series of incoherent stammering noises dribbled from Nathaniel's lips.

"So then this is what I get for saving your pathetic life, huh? I should have done this city a favour and let that golem crush your sorry head into the pavement!"

Nathaniel finally regained the use of his voice. "I don't know what you think your doing Ms. Jones," he said coldly, "But threatening a government official in his own home is only going to gain you a swift sentence in the Tower of London. Need I remind you you're a wanted criminal?"

"Why you little–"

The next thing I knew, Nathaniel was on the floor clutching his nose as a red ribbon of blood trailed down his chin.

"How dare you!" Nathaniel glowered, shoving her back and attempting to rise. Another right hook from Kitty knocked him flat on his back once more. Soon things degenerated into a flurry of frantic yelling, scratching and hair-pulling.

I don't know what I was expecting exactly, but my imagining of the scenario had been more along the lines of the pair running toward each other in slow motion through a field of buttercups, with climactic music playing as the camera zoomed in with a soft-focus lens – or at least something with a little less bloodshed.

"Bartimaeus," Nathaniel finally managed to gasp out, "Restrain her immediately!"

An order is an order, and I suddenly found myself forced to step in.

"Well, well," Nat said smugly after I had Kitty safely restrained in a head lock, "We meet again Ms. Jones. I fail to see the purpose of feigning your own death only to sneak into my home. No matter. Bartimaeus, take our guest up to the study and lock the door. It seems we've caught ourselves a fugitive."

Yeah, this was really not going the way I'd envisioned it.