Whatever the Price

Chapter 2: Things Between Us

 No Light, No Light — Florence + The Machine

One could smell the desperation coming from this room, even outside the building. How many tears had been shed in there? How many people had been shrunk to half their size? Of all the rooms, why would she want to have this conversation here?

Nick could smell his own sweat despite having showered twice today already as he was standing in front of the Directrix' office, where he had been summoned to formally ask for Sabrina's hand. Zelda Spellman's voice berating some poor kid was all too prominent, even through the thick wooden door.

He could see her silhouette move around the table through the milky glass, rephrasing the words he had prepared for the hundredth time only this morning. He could not allow himself to mess up. If he got past Zelda Spellman, there was nothing to be afraid of anymore — and the prospect of having Hilda there gave him hope.

He wasn't ready at all when the door flung open and Melvin practically crawled out the office; face flushed red, his gaze tied to the ground.

"Good luck, Nick," he murmured, brushing past him and it sent chills down Nick's spine.

Swallowing hard, he waited to be called in when Hilda came ushering towards him. He felt a sudden wave of relief at seeing the sweeter one of the Spellman-Sisters.

"Hi, Nick, love... Listen, I've got a little situation with Sabrina... planning the dress... you know how it is with girls and their clothes. So I'll just pop home quickly, do you mind? You've got my blessing, don't worry and I'm sure you can soften my sister as well."

Hilda didn't even give him the time to say something and was gone before he could blink. Left alone with the prospect of facing the feared Spellman Matriarch on his own, he gulped. He looked down to his hands, red now from wringing them together. The overwhelming weight of this situation came crashing down on him when Zelda's low voice rang in his ears.

He was tempted to cross himself before entering but remembered that was the wrong religion, so a simple eulogy would have to suffice. Crossing the threshold, he quickly noticed the room smelled more of cigarette than it usually did, which could only mean the Directrix wasn't in a good mood at all. More sweat began to tickle his brow, as he thought about her mood and the fact the four fires in the corners of the room were all lit.

She was sitting behind her desk, not even looking up at him as if this was going to be part of her daily business. She was skimming some papers, her elbow on the table with a cigarette in hand, large amounts of smoke forming around them.

"Mr Scratch."

"Mrs Spellman... How... How's it going?" he asked clumsily, the suspicion creeping up on him that this wasn't the right approach at all.

Zelda's expression didn't move, it was carved in stone, for the simple purpose of keeping him on edge.

"It is going as it should, Mr Scratch," Zelda replied, not without mockery.

He was standing awkwardly behind the chair opposite her, not daring to sit without permission and therefore shifting from one foot to the other restlessly. With a sigh, Zelda put the piece of paper down and tended to her cigarette, now scanning Nick for the first time before nodding to the chair. He could've sworn to have seen a hint of a sly smile.

"Sit, will you?"

And like the good puppy he was, Nick sat down in the chair under the watchful eyes of Zelda Spellman, feeling like a small child under her gaze.

"If I may ask, wasn't Madam Spellman supposed to be here as well?" He needed at least one person who he could be sure wasn't about to chop his head off. "Shall we wait for her?"