Snow's table manners are atrocious - it's like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you'd like to slip the tongue.

But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started.

Simon Snow is still going to die kissing me.
Just not today.

Go on, then," he says. "Carry on, Simon.

Is it too much?"
"No. It's like you completed the circuit," I say, gripping his other hand. "I feel kind of drunk, though."
"Drunk on power?" he asks.
I giggle. "Shit, Snow. Stop talking. This is embarrassing.

Baz arched an elegant brow. "Are you going to snog the Humdrum-is that your plan? Because he's eleven. And he looks just like you. That's both vain and deviant, Snow, even for you.