Chapter 8 Felix
Felix
The end of my workday always ended with the same routine.
Monitor one: off. Monitor two: off. Monitor three: off. I coiled each cable into neat circles, filed every piece of stray paperwork, gathered my impressive collection of used mugs, then wiped down every surface until my desk gleamed.
I couldn’t dawdle—it was Wednesday.
Wednesdays meant dinner with my family. My mother’s voice had been sharp on the phone earlier—“Try not to be late again, Felix”—and I couldn’t afford to give her more ammunition to complain about my “London lifestyle” corrupting my sense of responsibility.
I’d reminded her on more than one occasion she chose to move us from Seoul to London when I was five, so any corruption was on her.
I was reaching for my jacket when someone knocked on my door. Tensing, I turned.
“It’s me,” Priya called through.
Trying not to sigh, I slumped back in my chair—which took up most of the narrow space in what used to be a storage cupboard. The tiny plants Priya had optimistically placed on my desk looked as droopy as I felt. I kept forgetting to water them. “Come in.”
Although I was tired, I could manage Priya. She was my second favourite unexpected visitor, right after Flynn.
“What’s up?” I asked warily—I didn’t really want to turn my computers back on. “I was just heading out…”
The worry must have shown on my face because she held up both hands in a calming gesture.
“It’ll only take a second. Do you remember last Christmas Eve, when we had that party?”
I blinked at her. Of all the things I’d expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them. “Um… sure?”
“Of course you do, you were the only well-behaved one in front of Emma.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, when you came into work after Christmas, was there something on your desk?”
I stared at her. Was this some elaborate prank? Had Rory put her up to this?
“A gift? Wrapped up?”
The memory clicked into place like a puzzle piece sliding home.
“Oh! Yes!” Realisation slowly dawned on me. “Oh, crap. Was that from you? The blue light glasses? I’m so sorry I didn’t say thank you. I thought it was from Seb! Like, he’d got everyone a Christmas bonus gift or something.”
“It wasn’t from Seb.”
How was I supposed to know that?! “Right. Sorry… again. That was really nice of you. I just didn’t know we were doing presents. I’ll be prepared this year.”
“Why haven’t you worn them?”
I cringed, already knowing how this would sound. “So… I still have them in a drawer, but if you look it up, you’ll see that research shows that blue light glasses are just a gimmick and do nothing at all to help… and my eyes are actually pretty good despite my staring at screens all day…”
Priya stepped forward and grabbed my arm. Her fingers held firm. Insistent. “Felix, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you really need to wear those glasses.”
I tried not to yank my arm away. I wasn’t the biggest fan of physical contact, even from people I liked. Priya knew that. She must have been seriously concerned about me. “What? Why?”
“I’ve seen it. In the tea leaves. That it’s super important you wear those glasses.”
“Oh. What will happen if I don’t?”
Her grip tightened. “Bad things, Felix. Seriously bad things.”
The certainty in her voice sent ice down my spine. Priya never joked about her tea leaves. Never.
“Okay!” I said, desperate for her to release my arm. “I’ll wear them from tomorrow. If I remember.”
“You must remember. But tomorrow is great.”
“Okay! Can I go now? I have to go home for dinner this evening!”
Priya’s grip loosened, and her familiar grin spread across her face. “Sure! See you tomorrow!”
Before I could reply, she was gone, leaving me alone in my cupboard.
Strange.
Putting the weird encounter out of my head, I headed out of my cupboard into the basement.
The others liked to utilise the tunnel system that could be accessed via the secret bookcase door, but I couldn’t stand it, even if it would shave time off my journey.
I couldn’t help imagining having a heart attack down there, dying alone with my body left to be devoured by the rats.
Nope. No thank you. Better to take the underground all the way, even if I hated the Tube as well.
The station buzzed with evening commuters, all sharp elbows and impatient sighs. I slipped my over-ear headphones on and cranked the volume up until the world disappeared behind a wall of electronic beats. Much better.
I always walked super far down the platform to get a slightly quieter carriage. Call it a survival instinct—fewer people meant fewer chances for awkward eye contact or accidental brushing against strangers. The train arrived with its familiar screech and hiss, and I found my usual corner seat.
Thirty-five minutes later, I’d arrived. The sun was setting properly now, painting the sky in soft oranges and purples, and the air had that crisp bite that meant autumn was properly settling in.
Crowds from the station dispersed quickly as I made my way down the high street.
The further I walked, the quieter it got.
When I turned the corner onto the residential street, the bustle died completely. Just me and the sound of my trainers on the pavement.
That’s when I pulled my headphones off and stuffed them into my bag. My new routine.
I hated that I’d become this paranoid. Hated that I couldn’t enjoy music on quiet streets anymore because I needed to listen for footsteps behind me. I still hadn’t worked up the courage to talk to Seb about it all. About my probably ridiculous delusions.
Honestly, I was so pathetic.
How was it that I still felt awkward around them all, even though I’d worked at Killigrew Street for almost two years now?
Don’t get me wrong, things were far better than they’d been at the beginning—bloody hell, those first few months had been torture.
At first, I’d tried to communicate with them all via emails, which hadn’t worked.
The others just appeared at my door to reply to me.
In person. Using words. Expecting me to talk back to them.
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory, despite myself. God, what a disaster those early weeks had been.
It had taken me months to recover from the shock of learning I’d actually joined a bunch of supernaturals in their haunted hotel. That things that go bump in the night do indeed go bump in the night.
Seb had been deliberately vague in his interview, describing Killigrew Street as “a specialised security consultancy dealing with unusual cases that require discretion.” Professional euphemism at its finest. Then, after I’d accepted the position—after I’d already signed the bloody contract and everything—Seb had dropped it so casually over tea and biscuits.
Tea and biscuits that only I ate.
“By the way, you’ll soon see that we’re a bit… out of the ordinary here. I’m a vampire—but don’t worry, I’ve sworn off drinking directly from humans—and Kit and Rory are wolves. And as for Priya…” He’d waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, she’ll explain, I’m sure.”
I’d stood there and tried to laugh, thinking it was the weirdest practical joke slash new guy initiation ritual ever. It soon became apparent it was not a joke.
The first time I saw a massive timber wolf in the basement, I’d actually fainted. Properly fainted. Hit the concrete floor like a sack of potatoes. When I came round, Kit was back in human form, crouched beside me with the most mortified expression I’d ever seen on anyone’s face.
“Sorry,” he’d mumbled. “I thought it was the best way to prove it to you.”
Rory had found the whole thing hilarious, of course. “Welcome to the madhouse, Felix!”
I’d retreated even further into my shell after that. I barely knew how to interact successfully with other humans, and now I had to learn how to interact with vampires and wolves? It wasn’t fair.
It hadn’t helped matters that I’d joined Killigrew Street just a month after their teammate Issac died.
They were still deep in mourning when I arrived.
From what I’d gathered through photographs and overheard conversations, I was the polar opposite of Issac—where he’d been confident and charming, I was anxious and tongue-tied.
It wasn’t like I was ever meant to “replace” their dead necromancer, but at the beginning, I couldn’t help feeling that sometimes they looked at me and wished they saw Issac instead.
Flynn joining Killigrew Street last October had been a turning point. Maybe because he was the “new” one now, but mainly because he was so genuinely friendly towards me. The others weren’t unfriendly, exactly, but they weren’t particularly skilled socially either. Not that I could talk.
But Flynn had this way of including me in conversations without making it feel forced. He’d stop by my lair just to hang out for a moment, ask about my work, remember details from previous chats. Things had been much better since his arrival.
Still, I couldn’t always shake the “odd one out” feeling I got, from being the only human at Killigrew Street.
And the youngest as well. And the only one who worked solely from the hotel, rather than gallivanting all over London.
Aside from that one traumatic trip to Scotland where I almost got eaten by a wolf.
I turned the final corner and there it was—the house I’d grown up in, all red brick and bay windows. To people elsewhere in the country, it probably looked like a normal-sized, detached, four-bedroom family home. But because it was in central Ealing, the house was worth well over a million pounds.
It was purchased courtesy of my mother’s salary. Apparently, being the first female CEO of Korean quantum computing giant QuByte paid well.