Evander Feverfew is only slightly more remarkable. He was in the Dramatic Society at Watford, and one of his cousins was on the Coven. There’s a Feverfew estate in the North, but it’s occupied by a distant relative.

This isn’t like researching my mother’s death. We don’t uncover anything shocking or surprising. After two hours in the library, all we’ve got is what Smith told us, plus some not-very-interesting backstory.

Simon has put most of the books away, and he’s itching to leave.

“All right,” I say, giving up. “It doesn’t look like there are any skeletons buried here.” I push away from the library table. “Would it be all right with you if we stopped in the Catacombs on the way out?”

“To see where the skeletons are actually buried?”

“To visit my mother’s tomb, Snow.”

“Oh, fuck, Baz, sorry—I wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t have to come with me.” I get up to shelve the last of the books. “I can meet you outside.”

“No.” His hand is on my arm. “I’ll come.”

The roses are in bloom, so I don’t have to magic up any flowers for my bouquet. (Food and flowers are the hardest things to create with magic. They take it out of you.)

Simon follows me into the White Chapel. He reaches for my hand in the doorway. I don’t think he’s been inside the Chapel since the Mage died here. “All right, Snow?”

He nods.

We duck behind the altar, behind the sanctuary, through the hidden entrance to the crypt. “How’d you find this door in the first place?” Simon asks.

“I used to come with my father to visit.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

The door slides closed behind us. It’s dark, but I can still see. “How did you think I found it?”

“I thought it was a creepy vampire thing.”

“Well, it was … eventually.”

“Do you think other Watford kids wander around down here?”

“I only ever saw you.”

Simon giggles. “I can’t believe we’re in the Catacombs together.”

Before I can say anything, he’s pushing me against a stone wall and kissing my neck.

“For fuck’s sake, Snow, this is hallowed ground!”

“I’m not doing anything to unhallow it.” He keeps kissing me.

I rest my arms over his shoulders, letting the roses droop.

“New plan,” he says. “We retrace our old steps, and do this all of the places we used to fight.”

“That’s everywhere.”

“Everywhere, then.”

He’s got his arms around my waist, and his chest and hips against mine. This is all my fifth-year fantasies come true: Simon Snow manhandling me in the library, in the Catacombs …

“We could go up to the tower,” he says.

“That’s someone else’s room now.”

“It will always be our room more than anyone else’s.”