I spent most of the day walking through my wards and reinforcing my magic. I know what you're thinking, that I should have been researching how to break the spell, but I needed to get back in touch with my magic and going over the wards and protections I'd set up was good for that. I could make my magic run over the paths I'd set up before, giving them a touch more oomph, and feel where it was slow to respond, where it wanted to barrel through and where it wanted to crawl.

Not that some people would see it that way. Marcone would probably just bitch about how i was wasting his time by making it harder for him to go back to being a high-class thug instead of some junior management one. Like he was in any position to tell me what to do, like he knew anything about magic. By the end of it, I almost wanted him to, rehearsing what I'd say if he even thought about asking me how I was getting on with turning us all back. I was smugly lining up my arguments when I felt Thomas at the door.

Thomas has free entry to the place, but for a second the newer wards hesitated. Thomas was my brother, was allowed in, but he was also something dangerous, and there was a second where both aspects of the spell -protection for me and mine, protection from danger- were in conflict before they let him in.

I waved him in. Thomas was dressed in his normal clothes and I felt a pang of jealousy that they still mostly fit. I'd had to put extra notches on my belt to get my jeans to stay up, but Thomas was wearing a T-shirt that clung to him just as much as it ever did. He looked younger, not quite jailbait, but like he could fake that if you asked nicely.

And he was bringing food. "Gifts from the good ladies at the salon," he said smugly, holding up a set of tupperware. "I think I appeal to their maternal instincts."

"Thank you, Mrs Robinson," I said, taking down a couple of plates down and unwrapping stuff. "They just give you this?"

Thomas shrugged. "Poor starving student," he said. "Je m'appelle Michel," Thomas said. "I am, 'ow you say, le neveu, the nephew of Tomas, 'ere to study at the université." He dropped back into his normal voice. "And my dear uncle is letting me work part-time at the salon until my loans come through."

I unwrapped what turned out to be a very expensive looking quiche of some kind and pulled out a jar of stuffed olives. Student food, right. "That's okay?" I asked. "With the feeding and everything? You can still just sip?"

Thomas shrugged. "Mostly. I-- you know, I didn't need it as much when I was younger. I was a lot less subtle, but then I didn't actually have to be, so I mostly didn't even try." He pushed his hair back from his head. "Or maybe it's worse, because it never really crossed my mind to bother doing it, you know? It felt like I needed it all, so I just... but it wasn't actually as strong as later."

I didn't know what else to say, so I nodded. "Like how spraining your ankle is the worst pain ever, until you break your leg," I offered.

Thomas grinned at me. "Pretty much." He hesitated, then said, "So Michael called me. Said you had a pretty bad nightmare?"

"He told me on you?" I said. "Seriously?"

Thomas shrugged. "I'm guessing you triggered some paternal instinct pretty hard."

"Hell's bells," I said, feeling embarrassment crawl up my skin. "It was just one bad dream."

"Not going to argue with you, little brother," he said. His smile wasn't a happy one. "I'm guessing the Carpenters have different standards of parenting than we're used to."

I rolled my eyes. "They acted like it was such a big deal! I'm not actually a kid, you know?"

"No, but you're not exactly yourself either," Thomas said.

I crossed my arms and stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He held his hands up in a don't-shoot-the-messenger gesture. "This spell, it's not just made us look younger. My body, my Hunger, they're telling me things they told me when I was this age for real, and you... You're acting like you're you, but you're reacting like you're..." he gestured at me. "Like you were, I guess."

"You didn't even know me back then," I said. "Neither did Michael or Charity or anyone, so you've got no idea how I used to--"

"No, but I can guess," Thomas said. He took a breath and I could feel him trying to calm down, trying to calm me down. "I'm not blaming you--"

"I haven't done anything wrong!" I said, and Thomas's eyes went pale and he made a calm-down gesture, reaching out to me--

--and I could feel it, my magic burning at my skin, wanting to be used, telling me that I could knock him, down, the door was just there, adrenaline running through me like this was a fight instead of just an argument with my brother. Something telling me that I couldn't let him touch me, everything I knew about White Vampires and how they could get into your mind running through my brain.

"I'm on edge," I said, carefully drawing my magic back without trying to show that I'd had it up. "My magic isn't reacting like it should, I'm hungry all the time, I spent yesterday evening trying not to think about Charity's bra and it's just putting me on edge," I said, emphasizing the last two words. Thomas's hand went out to touch my arm in comfort and I forced myself to let it. Reminded myself that Thomas was safe and that I liked human or nearly-human contact.

He pulled me in and gave me a quick hug, suitably manly with some back-patting and I let him, partly because it felt good and partly because pushing him away would make it a big deal. "Charity Carpenter's bra?" He said, pulling back, offering us both a polite way out of what was dangerously close to an emotional moment.

"Teenage hormones," I said, embarrassed. "It's not like I was doing it on purpose." I poked at one of the bags for something to look at and pulled out a jar of something. "Artichoke hearts? What do they think students eat these days!"

"We French, we 'ave very cosmopolitan tastes," Thomas said. "But I picked up some chicken-wings too."