Page 19 of Never Nix Up (The Arun Nixes #2)

19

Hazel

I spend so much time painting the river, that I forget how it feels to immerse myself in the water. It’s soothing the bone-deep weariness that’s suffused my soul. For a moment, I don’t keep swimming downwards, and instead let myself rely on the current. It tugs me downstream and I long to follow, to let it whisk me away for a few hours.

Hazel.

Trisantona’s voice fills my head. I wasn’t lying to Finn when I said that it’s an honour. Most river nixes are never spoken to as directly as this, let alone a human. It’s been a long time since we communicated this way though.

Hazel. Hazel, come back.

As she speaks, I’m reminded that I’m not just made of water, that elements other than just oxygen and hydrogen make up this nix’s body of mine. I feel heavy. Solid.

Not that far back. Just enough that you know that you and the Arun are not one and the same .

It’s happened before, nixes spending so much time in the currents that they lose themselves in the water. I haven’t heard of it happening if you haven’t spent enough time in the river though. I clearly need to take a dip a little more often.

Yes, says Trisantona. You certainly do. Now concentrate. You’re there for a reason.

River demons, nixes, are not the same as merpeople. Not the same as selkies or other fae who take to the seas. We don’t shapeshift. This mortal form we take is ours to keep, and it means that swimming deep can be a little more challenging than it would for most. But still nothing to worry about.

I push against the pier and propel myself down towards the riverbed. In a normal river, it wouldn’t be this deep. But this is Wyrten bridge and no matter how normal the River Arun may seem when it runs through other settlements, here it is infused with magic.

The bottom of the pier is dark and I have to blink several times to make sure that I’m seeing things correctly. There’s not just Johnny’s body down here, though I’m drawn to his instantly. There are many bodies down here, tied to the bottom of the piers and left for the fish. I imagine that it’s the same by every pier.

It is . Why do you think I have nightmares? Their souls can’t rest, but they also can’t become ghosts. Not in the traditional sense. Not with their bodies like this.

How many years… how many years did they do this for? How many humans died in some misguided ritual?

Johnny was the first in decades. I don’t know why they decided to resurrect the old rituals, but they did. No one else here is someone that has living family who remember them.

But I can’t leave them here. Not any of them. I won’t leave any of them behind here. There are whispers that I can’t quite hear, just out of reach and I don’t want to listen to hard and hear what they’re saying. I fear centuries of sorrowful calls might haunt me until the day I die.

Loosen the ties. You brought a knife?

I brought a knife.

Good. I will do the rest . She kisses me then, on the forehead. If only I’d thought to speak to you of this before. Time is such a silly thing to us, that we forget what an impact it can have in the here and now.

I cut through any of the ties around this pier, and then swim up as fast as I can, grin at Finn, before diving back down to do the next. And the next, until all five of the piers that link the arches have no bodies tethered to them left.

It’s exhausting work, and scary as well, because as I untie each body, something happens. I don’t know if I’ve just been below the surface for too long, but I could swear that whispers get louder.

When the last body is untied, I swim up as fast as I can, and pretty much drag Finn through the water so we can get out.

“Are you okay?” She looks worried, and I realise that I must look fairly frantic. Unearthing centuries of bodies will do that to you. “What do you need?”

“I need to not be here,” I say, and we stumble out of the water and up the riverbank.

We shower together in her flat, but I’m still feeling lost, as untethered as the bodies that I uncovered, and she can sense it too.

“Do you want me to take charge?” she asks, and I nod, even my words having abandoned me. Leading me into her bedroom, she positions me at the foot of the bed, standing. I turn to look at her, as she walks towards the cupboard, and she tuts at me.

“Statues don’t move, baby.”

Statues don’t…?

“You,” Finn adds, just in case I missed it. “You’re the statue. No moving.”

At first I’m bored, restless, but soon the peace settles into my bones and I stop moving. I understand the beauty of her order now. I was feeling like I could float away with those bodies, and Finn has grounded me. Anchored me.

She sits behind me on the bed, and still I do not move.

“Good girl.”

I don’t move as she kisses my neck, as she discards the towel I’ve squeezed my body into. I don’t move and I don’t speak and I try not to even make a sound as she plays with my breasts, flicking my nipples and stroking down to my cunt.

“Such a beautiful statue. My beautiful statue.”

I don’t need to answer her, don’t need to say a word because she is right. This is right. However this thing between us started—spurred on by revelations about gods and magic—this is where it is rooted.

Finn strokes me, long languid strokes that I feel down in my very toes. There’s nothing rushed or hurried about this, and when she finally touches my clit it’s as if I’m opening up for her. Blossoming.

And I let it all go. Let the trauma and the grief and the fear fade into the background, until there is only us.

I can sense the moment she decides that she’s going to make me come, and I resolve to be as silent and as still for as I can possibly me. Her fingers are insistent on my clit, never letting up, alleviating pressure, circling, stroking, again and again until I let out the softest sigh and come on her fingers.

“Look at me,” Finn says, and I flick my eyes to hers. “Whether covered in paint, or reposing as a statue, you will still always be the most beautiful piece of art that I have ever seen.”

I close my eyes and let that sink in. Let her words sink in.

She touches me then, fingertips not pressed to my clit or my nipples, but to my lips. “Kissing you has changed my life—in far more ways than I could ever have imagined—but it comes down to this. When you and I are together, the rest of the world fades away. It is quiet. You are my eye in the storm.”

“And you are mine,” I reply. And kiss her.