Page 7 of Nix and Tell (The Arun Nixes #1)

7

Chlo

W aiting feels like torture.

In no small part because the compulsion tugs at me constantly. The only thing that keeps me calm is running the onyx beads through my fingers.

“What’s that?” asks Hazel, curiously. She’s cast an illusion over the two of us, so that passers-by can’t see us sat, slumped against the door of the church.

“A bracelet Violet gave me.” I lift my wrist so she can have a look, but pull my arm back when she goes to take it off. “Please don’t. It’s the one thing that’s keeping me sane right now.”

Hazel looks impressed. “So your witch has more innate magic in her than we thought.”

“Huh?”

She has the good sense to look slightly guilty. “I might have mentioned her to Trisantona. Not–” she adds hurriedly “–because I thought anything like this would happen. She was just curious about you, and it seems like Violet is a big part of your life these days.”

“Yes, just as Finn is a big part of your life.”

Colour washes from her face and I instantly feel regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’d serve me right if you did. I am sorry, Chlo. I didn’t think that…” Violet’s voice trails off when I start coughing. A hacking cough that threatens my lungs and my stomach and urgh .

“What is that? ”

It’s a piece of paper, screwed up tightly, and as I flatten it out, I see that it’s been torn off one of Hazel’s paintings. I just about make out the corner of Hazel’s studio by the river. It’s from a painting of the Riverside Shops.

Hazel’s shoulders hunch, but I’m not angry with her. I understand.

Not all families are as understanding as mine are, about wanting to work amongst humans. I’ve never seen Hazel’s parents acknowledge her existence since she set up in the Riverside Shops, creating art and selling paintings to mortals. She works with Trisantona, yes, but it feels symbiotic. Each painting is an act of worship to a goddess starved of such for centuries; and in return, as an acolyte, she’s protected from her family’s scorn.

They might not acknowledge her, but they can’t endanger her–not without pissing off Trisantona.

“She wanted a painting of Riverside Shops?”

Hazel nods. “I’m not sure what she does with them exactly, but… it’s tribute.” I join in with the last two words and we smile weakly at each other. “Is the compulsion gone?”

I stop playing with the onyx beads and blink rapidly. “Yeah.” The weight in my chest is lifted and I’m no longer having to fight an unwavering need to proposition Violet. Shit. Shit . “It’s gone.”

Any relief evaporates as my breathing shallows, and I struggle to my feet, pressing my fist tightly against my chest so hard I can almost sense the pain. The onyx beads fall to the floor, forgotten in my panic, as I hammer against the church door.

I’m aware of the irony, of the fact that Violet was here just minutes earlier, doing exactly the same thing, but I can’t have this happen.

What has she done?

What has she agreed ?

I open my mouth to shout and the door opens, Violet stepping deftly out and letting the door shut behind her.

“No need to shout Chlo, I’m right here.”

She doesn’t look different, doesn’t look like she’s sold her soul or promised terrible things or… or… If I’m perfectly honest, I don’t know what she could possibly have said to get Trisantona to lift her compulsion; don’t know what a mortal could offer. But whatever it is, it’s big.

She looks thoughtful, blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, and not a strand out of place. To anyone else, Violet looks completely composed, but I know better. Her fingers are fluttering by her side—very slightly, but it’s enough to betray emotion.

Hazel is torn as she stands, looking between Violet and the door, until Vi smiles at her, a smile that is entirely too wide. “It’s okay, Hazel. She is waiting for you.” There’s something infused in that word that wasn’t there before, a power of sorts and it throws me off-kilter.

Hazel just bobs her head, smiles apologetically at Violet, and slips into the church behind us.

“Vi?”

“Let’s just… Let’s go to Spellbound, okay?” Her tone is bright too, the way it is when she’s dealing with customers, and it’s as if a wall has been erected between us. My stomach clenches and my mouth dries. It’s not until this moment that I realise quite how much I’ve come to rely on the relative stability of our friendship—of all of our friendships in the Riverside Shops—and this formal version of Violet, this ‘on’ version is freaking me out just a little bit.

The walk back to her shop couldn’t be more different from the walk the night before. Neither of us are talking, and Violet still has that strange, fixed smile on her face as she greets passers-by.

When we walk into the shop, I open my mouth to speak, but she places her finger on my lips, silencing me in more ways than one. Even when she removes it, turning the shop’s sign to ‘Closed’ and flitting about the room, I can still feel the imprint of her there, against my lips.

“Violet?”

“Wait.” Her voice is short to the point of curtness, and I don’t know what’s happening, don’t know what’s going on with her. But I wait.

I’d wait forever for her.