“This is why we can’t be friends,” Chauv snapped, and walked away.
The door swung open, and the living room was full of his friends, not looking at her — most of them — but they had heard, of course they had. Jules looked as wounded as she felt right now; everyone else avoided her gaze.
Damn it, she wasn’t going to cry.
Slowly, Viola closed the book that still rested on the bed. She picked up the notes she had been scribbling on — oh, one of Sage’s notebooks, hopefully he wouldn’t mind — and shoved it in her handbag. With her head held high, she walked through the living room, to the kitchen.
She didn’t even see Chauv, but she felt the tingling snap of Sage McClaren’s magic as he fell into step beside her.
“Are you escorting me out?” she demanded. “I think I can find the door on my own.”
He reached for a thick plaid coat and yanked it on. “Nah, I got a Mirrorweb alert about a couple more trolls roaming the local streets. Want to bust some heads?”
“You don’t have to be nice to me,” she said, rubbing quickly at her eyes.
“I honestly just want to explode some trolls,” Sage said, and there wasn’t a single hint of sympathy in his face. “You seem like an asset.”
She sniffled, and decided that if this was happening, she could be benevolent. “Can I bring Nightshade?”
Sage’s smile lit up the room. He was just so sincere. How did Jules not want to put a pillow over his head and smother him to death? “Sure. More the merrier.”
By the time Viola learned that ‘more the merrier’ also included D the artist, it was too late to say no. She was far too invested in getting to throw some more hexes tonight.
Chapter 10
2am, Ill-Advised hook Up
Trolls absorbed magic. You couldn’t kill them, no matter how many hexes and curses you slammed into their ice-cold, rock-hard skin.
You could slow them down. Every piece of magic they absorbed made them slower, dumber. Like hitting a punching bag that got heavier with every punch. Viola should have been doing this for stress relief weeks ago.
Her magic lit up the night, flaring in the narrow street. She could smell the familiar, icy tang of Jules’ magic — which dazed the trolls even more, his magic was chamomile tea to them — and the static, vibrant charge in the air that she could now identify as belonging to Sage.
Trolls weren’t allowed in built up areas, which meant someone had brought them here — either to cause trouble or to make drugs, possibly both. According to Sage’s sources, this was happening in various suburbs all over the city tonight, not only their sleepy little Hemlock Square and the six block radius that everyone counted as the Belladonna University district.
The police never had enough hex workers on duty, especially night shifts, and Urban Invasion of Magical Beasts was one of three official situations that allowed for vigilante action.
Viola had miscalculated badly. Exploding trolls with hexes in open streets was fun, and served to blow off any Chauvelin-related steam she had built up over the evening. But she had failed to identify the most obvious risk.
She felled the last of the frost-streaked monoliths with a tidy bit of cursework, only to turn around and spot Sage McClaren crowding Jules up against a brick wall so they could make out with each other.
“Give me strength,” she muttered.
A flash lit up the alley, as someone clicked her photograph. Viola turned, and glowered at the photographer.
Declan. Dec for short. D the artist had a real name now. Being Chauv and Sage’s roommate meant he was probably entitled to more than the initial she usually allowed for her one-night stands.
“Haven’t you got enough sketches of me?” she said, hand on hip. “You made the sculpture already.”
“Sure, the gorgon,” Dec said easily. “But do you realise how many mythological creatures are based in some way on the form of angry women? You rock so many different angry expressions. You’re like an encyclopedia of rage and fury.” He took another picture.
“It’s been a hard night,” said Viola pointedly.
That got through to him. Dec lowered the camera, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I should have asked first.”
That was worse. Now he was hot AND considerate.
Viola was tired; hex-bruised. Her anger had worn down into a dull crankiness. Jules and Sage were really going for it against that wall, and part of her wanted to give up tonight as a complete 100% bad idea and go home.
The rest of her was too tense, too rattled to sleep, and couldn’t help remembering how good Dec’s hands had felt against her skin all those months ago, before the world shifted under her feet. Viola always preferred the Real over the Unreal — magic made everything better. Anonymous hookups were her one exception. There was a delicious emptiness about nulls. She loved the physical feel of a body against hers, without the usual flicker and spark of letting someone else’s magic into her bed.
When they left, it was like they had never been there at all.
Declan the artist wasn’t anonymous anymore, but he was pleasantly null, the silence of his body a peaceful contrast to the frantic fireworks that rolled off Sage and Jules as they ground against each other.
After tonight’s drama of broken friendships and terrible music and ice trolls and so much tension she wanted to scream, was it unreasonable for Viola to crave a brief interlude of feeling something other than pissed off at the universe?
“So we’re not pretending we don’t know each other any more,” Declan said, taking her hand in his, smoothing her soft skin with his rougher palms.
“I don’t know you,” Viola said. “Sculpting me in clay and snakes and placing me in your kitchen doesn’t mean you know me.” She liked it that way. She was already too tangled up in these people. Any more would be… impractical. Unfortunate. Ill-advised.
His thumbs grazed the underside of her fingers, making her shiver. The adrenalin from the troll fight was starting to wear off. “You know my name now,” said Dec. “That’s a plus.”
“Is it really?”
Behind them, either Sage or Jules had lost their shirt.
“So, that’s a terrible idea, right?” Dec asked. “Sage, and your mate Nightshade?”
“It’s the worst,” Viola agreed. “It may cause the apocalypse.”
“Better keep our distance, then. Do you uh, want to go get a coffee or something?” Dec asked.
“No.”
“Right, witch, sorry. Want to go back to the party?”
“Anywhere else,” Viola said. “Not your place. Somewhere with no people.”
Dec considered, and then smiled. Oh, that smile. She remembered it now, warm like honey. Why should Jules be the only person making terrible decisions tonight?
“I might know somewhere,” he said.
Declan led her back to the sharehouse, which wasn’t promising at all, until he unlocked the garage and drew her inside.
Viola was close to puffing up into another exhausting round of rage because come on, did she look like the kind of girl who was up for a quickie against a car boot or a shelf of tools?
She was pleasantly surprised to find that this wasn’t a working garage at all; it was Dec’s studio. It smelled of clay and wet paper and there was an artificial tang of painter’s varnish, but these were all clean smells, lacking in magic. It was an Unreal space, and she liked it.
Past a series of half-finished sculptures and crates of materials, he led her to a daybed covered in a dropcloth and actual throw cushions. A cosy nest, and more than satisfactory. A man who valued throw cushions was a rare prize. She should seduce art students more often.
Dec was still holding her hand. She could live with that. “I would like to use tonight’s photos as references, if you’ll let me,” he offered.
Viola rolled her eyes at him. “What kind of monster am I going to be this time?”
“I was thinking Amazon, maybe sphinx. Artemis’ murderous nymphs if you keep looking
at me like that…”
She preened. “Make sure you get my most murderous side. Later, though.”
“Later?” he teased.
Viola pushed him down on the narrow bed. The mattress was old beneath the white dropcloth, and it squeaked in protest.
“Later,” she confirmed, and climbed into his lap.
When he kissed her, there was silence, blessed silence, in her head and in his.
All terrible ideas should taste this good.
Chapter 11
3am, Clearing The Air
“So,” said Dec, much later. “It’s because I’m friends with the band, right?”
Viola went very still. “Excuse me.”
“Don’t worry, I’m used to it. You know. The Fake Geek Girl groupie thing. It’s surprisingly effective on bookish girls. Once they figure out Sage isn’t straight, and Holl is genuinely not that geeky, and Juniper doesn’t do casual, they zero in on their friends.”
She was naked and wrapped in a drop sheet that, now she came to look at it closely, was spattered with paint. She was already far outside her comfort zone. But this — presumption was so outrageous that she couldn’t even respond, for several seconds.
As she worked herself up to burning fury, Viola realised that Dec was shaking with laughter.
“You,” was all she managed to sputter.
“Sorry. Thought it would break the ice.”
“Pretty sure we did that fifteen minutes ago,” she said, without her usual sharpness. (The sex had been very good)
“True,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his chin. “But I have a short window here to make an impression on you before you lose my number and never speak to me again, so.”
“You thought terrible jokes would do it?”
“I tried to be all sexy and aloof last time, and you didn’t call.”
She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. If that removed some of the cover from him, well. He was the one treating this like an audition. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t like to repeat myself.”
Dec spread his hands wide. “And yet.”
“I fought four trolls earlier. I’m treating this as a nights of exceptions.” She eyed his bare chest. “And I can’t lose your number this time. I don’t have it.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Want me to paint it somewhere?”
An electronic chime blared. Dec rolled over, and just like that, they weren’t flirting any more. “Damn. Flatmate drama. I’ve got to go.”
“Go where?” Viola asked, searching for her knickers.
“Not far.”
The party, if it could still be called that, had taken to the lawn behind the Manic Pixie Dream House. Some arsehole in a drop dead gorgeous designer suit was yelling at Sage and Chauvelin, who had him cornered away from the house.
Hebe and a couple of other women from the party gathered around her twin sister. It was clear from their own contribution to the yelling that they were equally invested in giving the bloke a hard time.
Jules was there, sullen and dishevelled. His shirt had been buttoned in a hurry, and his hair product had dissolved into the night. Viola, who had reluctantly accepted a plaid (plaid!) flannel (flannel!) shirt from Dec to throw over her little black dress, went to Jules immediately and rebuttoned his shirt.
Even on a night of exceptions, one had to have standards.
Dec went to join the manly group of male protectors, adding his voice to their neighbour’s future noise complaints.
“Interesting look for you,” Jules said slyly.
“Shut up,” said Viola, tweaking his collar. “We’re going home. This is not our bullshit.”
There was less shouting now, but plenty of angry gesticulating.
Hebe left her sister’s side and came over, looking tense. “Holly’s ex is making trouble. I really wish she’d start dating girls again, because she has the worst taste in men.”
Viola nodded like she was interested. “Which one’s Holly again?”
Hebe looked dazed. “She’s the famous one. Everyone on campus knows who Holly is.”
Viola shrugged. “Sure, but was she on the honour roll for Unreal Literature last year? Was her paper about gendered interpretations of Charlotte Bronte published in the Belladonna Siren?”
Hebe’s mouth fell open. “Did you… stalk me?”
Stalk was such a harsh word. “I researched you,” Viola corrected. “I like to know about people, especially those who date my friends. You could have been anyone.”
Hebe stared at her for a moment. “Okay, you two, come with me.” She raised her voice slightly. “Ferd, I need you!”
Hebe had Chauvelin better trained than any of his previous girlfriends. He left Sage and Dec to deal with the trainwreck ex, and came trotting over. “What’s up?”
“Inside,” said Hebe. She led the three of them into the ground floor flat, which was some kind of shrine to Fake Geek Girl including band posters, an open box of t-shirts, and flyers for their next gig. “Bedroom.”
“This is so sudden,” drawled Jules.
With surprising grit, Hebe escorted them into a tidy bedroom that featured no Fake Geek Girl memorabilia whatsoever. She then marched out and slammed the door behind her. The familiar hum of a locking charm sounded in Viola’s ears, along with something else… a background magical resonance that had been buzzing at her since she walked into this flat.
“Oh, come on!” Chauvelin groaned. “Hebe, no.”
“Hebe yes. You miss your friends! Sort it out, Ferd,” she said through the door.
“You realise that I have two of the most talented magical students in Belladonna U’s history in here with me,” he growled at the door. “I love you, but your locking charms are rubbish.”
There was a moment of silence. “You love me?” Hebe said through the door in a very small voice.
Well, this was awkward.
Chauv looked like someone had walloped him over the head with an anvil. “Um,” he said.
“No,” said Hebe with greater determination. “We’ll talk about that later. Viola and Jules might be perfectly able to break my locking charm, but I’m pretty sure they want to have this out with you.”
“She’s got that right,” said Jules.
Viola arched an eyebrow.
“Come on, really?” said Chauv, looking betrayed. He turned back to the door. “Hebe, you and your friends have to learn that you can’t solve all your problems by locking people in rooms!”
“Watch me,” said Hebe. “I love you too, Ferd. I do. But I am not going to the opera with you. And everyone who lives in this house is scared of your mother. You need your old friends back in your life. Talk to each other instead of yelling and avoiding. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Chauv listened to his girlfriend walk away, then turned around. “Let us out.”
Viola crossed her arms. “No.”
“Are you really going to use my lack of magic against me here?” he demanded.
Jules draped himself on Hebe’s bed. “Hey, first rule of friendship, don’t piss off the new significant other.”
“Sure, you’re on her side now,” said Chauv.
That buzzing was still in Viola’s ear. Something in this room was reacting against her magic. Something cold — but not like Jules’s familiar frost and ice. Another, more intrusive magic. She ran her eye over Hebe’s wardrobe, and the clothes hanging there.
“Why did you even hang around this late?” Chauv complained, then did a double take. “OMG.”
“Did you just say OMG aloud?” Viola snarked. “These people are having a terrible effect on you. You’ve gone whimsical.”
“You both got laid tonight,” Chauv accused.
Viola and Jules glanced at each other. Yeah. The signs were pretty obvious. Jules was more relaxed than he had in weeks. And there was no coming back from whatever Sage McClaren had done to his hair in that alley.
“That’s not relevant,” said Viola. “You’re being a dickhe
ad, shutting us out of your life. Why couldn’t you just tell us to leave the magic thing alone? We’re not complete bitches.”
“Not all the time,” Jules agreed.
“It was hard to come to terms with what happened,” Chauvelin admitted. “The hardest thing I’ve ever done. I needed to not be around you, or anyone else from my old life.”
The stabs kept coming. “Is that a forever thing?” Viola asked. “Because that is unacceptable to me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we check in with you on a bimonthly basis to see if you’re ready to let us back in?”
Chauv’s mouth twitched. “Is there a form for that?”
“I am willing to design one.”
“Vale’s presenting a paper at the conference on Monday,” Jules said, unexpectedly. “It’s a big fucking deal. Want to come listen and make fun of her afterwards?”
Chauvelin looked desperately uncomfortable. “I can’t — that’s right in the middle of the College of the Real, Nightshade. I haven’t been back there in a long time, I don’t — I don’t think I can.”
“It’s fine,” Viola said. “It doesn’t matter. What about lunch? Weekly. Neutral territory. You, me and Jules. Occasionally with girlfriend. She isn’t terrible.”
“Wow,” said Jules. “Do you know how long it’s been since she’s deemed one of my partners as not terrible? Take the lunch, Chauv.”
Viola whirled around and pointed at him. “You. Your choices are terrible. We will be discussing drummer-related hook ups later in this meeting.”
“We’re going to need a separate meeting for that, because I have so many details to share,” said Jules with a wicked grin.
“My flatmate, Jules,” Chauvelin whined. “Really?”
Jules snickered. Viola pasted an innocent expression on her face.
“Weekly lunch,” Chauv agreed. “And… Friday nights?”
Viola’s face fell. “No.”
“Come on, Vale,” Jules encouraged. “Music, drinking, dancing…”
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