Author's note: So... This hasn't been touched for a while. But I have a horrible essay that I'm supposed to be writing, and I found my Bartimaeus audio books last week, and the stars have aligned into this: the update I'm sure nobody thought was coming. I'm so very sorry for being a lazy procrastinator.

PART 5

Kitty comes home on a day like any other to the sound of songbirds, with a djinni by her side.

The paramedics wheel her through the front door, past the drawings on the walls, past the broken pentacles on the floor, past the kitchen where she had dismissed him so cruelly. Past the sum of her life, built of solid things.

She lets them settle her in her bed, assures them they are no longer needed thank you very much, and closes her eyes. Outside in the hall Bartimaeus speaks with them in hushed tones. The exact words are unintelligible, but she's certain he's asking questions. The air feels heavy on her face.

The front door creaks and slams, and they are alone in the house.

Kitty drifts away from the weight of her body, partly asleep, partly something else. The house breathes with her, light as paper and heavy as brick.

She feels the bedroom door open a crack, and Bartimaeus slips inside.

"Kitty?"

Her shoulder throbbed where she had fallen.

"Kitty!"

The silhouette of the monstrous minotaur shrunk against the sunlight and the familiar eyes of the Egyptian boy became her world. They were as wide as oceans and she wondered, lightly, how it would feel to swim their infinite depths and drown in their history.

The boy spoke again, shaking her back to the present. Deceptively strong hands pushed on her chest to some secret rhythm. One beat, then two. One two. One two. Drum beats to the beat of a heart.

Her heart.

Her hand twitched, finding a thin wrist to cling to, and her throat found the words she needed. "Ambulance," rasped a voice she didn't recognise. "Pills, kitchen cupboard."

The boy disappeared in a gust of desert wind.

And she lay there on the floor, dust motes dancing in what remained of her sight.

For a moment he's so bright, there in her doorway, a glowing halo around his physical form. Otherworldly and beautiful, and she thinks for a second that she can see more of him than his two hands and feet should allow.

"Finally!" That familiar voice anchors her, and she becomes Kitty Jones again. "I thought they'd never leave."

Her eyes focus on the first plane.

Bartimaeus stands before her, wearing that impish grin of his on a face she's never seen before.

"B?" Her voice is husky. "What – who are you -"

The grin softens, and the mattress gives under his weight as he sits beside her. "I brought you some tea."

She takes it, warming her hands through the smooth china. She tries not to stare at him through the curling steam, at the smile lines that crinkle around his dark eyes, at his salt and pepper hair, at the ancient spirit no longer hiding behind youth's round, ruddy cheeks.

"It's chamomile and peppermint," he says, his tone light. "I know, I know, it sounds rubbish. Don't worry, I stirred a healthy dollop of honey in there for you."

"You're different," she breathes.

"Oh, this?" He strikes a pose, preening under her scrutiny. "Do you like it?"

Kitty settles back into the pillows, sipping at her tea. "Go on, give us a twirl then."

He laughs. "What am I, a trained monkey?"

She considers it. "Sometimes." A smirk tugs at the side of her mouth. "What's the story with," she waved a hand up and down his new form, "him?"

Bartimaeus drew his legs up onto the bed. "Does there always have to be a story?"

"With you? There always is."

He reaches over, pushing the teacup out of her hands and on to the nightstand. "Not this time." Kitty isn't sure when his voice dropped so low, or when he got so close. His long nose brushes the skin of her neck. "Nobody's seen this form but you."

Kitty's heart thunders in her ears, and Bartimaeus' clever hand snakes up her side. Her fingers find their way into his hair, catching on curls in white-streaked tangles. He purrs under her touch. Her body responds in its perfect humanity, goosebumps where he finds bare skin, salt under his tongue.

"I do believe you're trying to seduce me," she teases.

"Trying?" It's a question, but he's as confident as ever, fire and air in his mouth on her neck.

"Fine, succeeding."

"Better."

She cups his face in her hands, pulling him up and closer. He tastes like wind on the Nile, like age-old promises and thirty years of repressed hunger. Her body is a prison and freedom all at once, and she can't hold him close enough. There's too much flesh and bone in the way but he plays her, like a master violinist, all deft touches that flush hot blood through her, her body as taut as a bowstring.

When he tastes her, she almost forgets to breathe.

Bartimaeus' essence spread thin throughout the house. Formless hands ripped doors off cupboards and knocked the phone from its dock on the wall, an eldritch cry shouting instructions to the man on the other end even while he tilted Kitty's head back and forced the pill under her tongue.

The power that tied him to this world was dying. Through sheer force of will he forced his essence back into a form and renewed the compressions on Kitty's still chest, large paws shaking, thick mane quivering about his leonine face. Her slack mouth fell open. Blank eyes mirrored his desperation.

He clung to the form as long as he could until the last thread of Kitty vanished into nothing and he was ejected, screaming her name, back to the Other Place.

The next day there's work to do.

Kitty wakes that morning to the tap-tapping of her old typewriter. Bartimaeus is sitting cross-legged on the loveseat by the window, a thick sheaf of paper on the floor beside him. His skin shines pale in the morning light – Nathaniel's brow furrowed in concentration – but his head snaps up when she moves. For the moment, his frenzied typing lies forgotten.

"Good morning to you," he says brightly. "Sleep well?"

Kitty grunts. Mornings had never been her favourite. "What are you doing?" The question comes out hoarse, and she gulps down water.

"Ah." Bartimaeus holds up a creased sheet of paper. "You know that book you were working on? I was bored last night, so I thought I'd improve it."

"Bored?" Kitty raises an eyebrow. "If that's true, you hid it well."

Bartimaeus throws a pencil at her. She laughs. "You're the one that got tired. I could have gone all night." He gives a theatrical sigh. "Ahh, you humans and your weaknesses. It's a major disappointment, let me tell you."

"Not for much longer."

It's meant to be a quip, a quick bit of gallows humour. But Bartimaeus looks away, and the serious curve to his mouth makes him look so much more like Nathaniel than he had before. And, despite everything, Nathaniel suits him. Gangly legs and all.

"I only meant-"

"I know what you meant." He sighs. "You're insane. In five thousand years of servitude, I don't think I've ever heard anything quite so barking mad. And I've served some of the craziest masters that ever set foot inside a pentacle."

"You know me. I make my own rules. Tradition schmadition."

"I suppose it's my fault for making life as a spirit look so fashionably debonair." He flashes a smirk in her direction. "If you're sure..."

"B." Kitty makes the effort to sit up straight. "I've never been more sure of anything."

He nods, resigned. And rustles through the paper until he finds the one he's after. "We need supplies." He thrusts the paper at her. "I doubt we'll be able to find it all in London."

Kitty skims his archaic handwriting, biting her lip. "Agreed." They'd be breaking almost all the new laws she'd fought for to get it done.

"I'll leave for Alexandria tonight."