Chapter 6
Leaning against the brick wall of a shop front, August watched the festival crowd, the dancers now a chaotic swirl spinning around the grand fountain at the heart of the square.
The music had only grown louder as the night went on, and now, in the small hours of morning, with ale thick in their veins, the festivalgoers were at their wildest. Laughing, singing, shouting.
Why had he never come to his own birthday festival? It wasn’t horrible like he’d thought it would be. It was . . .
He tipped his head back against the wall, trying (and failing) to think of the right word.
Well, it certainly wasn’t horrible.
The last time he’d felt this free, he was racing barefoot through the castle halls, playing hide-and-chase with Lottie and the anchored boy he’d once called a friend.
Before he crossed that invisible line into the age when play became improper and his personality became an inconvenience to his mother.
Before he realized his gift—Lottie’s word, not his—made him far too similar to the wielders.
Before August had dug in his heels, rejecting his ability, because to admit he was like them was to admit he was dangerous, too.
A trilling giggle disrupted August’s thoughts. He looked up to where Felix was dancing with a girl in an elegant dress and pinned blonde hair.
Felix hadn’t stopped moving since the empath session.
Already having danced with three girls and a striking boy in a richly embroidered waistcoat, he was now on his fifth dance partner.
Though a bit unsteady and slow in his dancing, Felix was clearly enjoying himself, and August wondered what it would be like to be that at ease.
With one hand, Felix spun the girl, then pulled her close, their noses almost touching. He traced his fingertips gently up the lacing of the girl’s dress to the back of her neck before she pulled him flush against her and pressed her mouth to his in a deep kiss.
When Felix lifted her long skirt and hoisted her up, her legs wrapping tightly around his back, August rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall.
It was probably time to go. The empath’s effects were wearing off, anyway.
He considered disappearing without saying goodbye, but when he started walking, his feet led him to Felix.
August tapped him on the shoulder, and Felix let the girl slide slowly back to her feet before breaking the kiss.
“Henry!” he chimed, and the grin that crossed his face was like a beam of sunlight. “This is…” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted back to the girl.
“Lady Sarah Farrows,” she said, sparing August a brief glance.
“Lady Farrows,” Felix repeated thoughtfully.
A sharp pang of jealousy pierced August’s calm as the girl bit her lip, eyes lingering hungrily on Felix’s mouth.
He pushed the absurd, unwelcome emotion away, and said, “I’m going home.”
Felix’s smile vanished. “Don’t go. Lady Farrows has just invited me to her residence for a drink. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you joining us.”
The girl assessed August, then smirked. “I wouldn’t mind in the slightest.”
“It’s late.” He retreated a step. “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Farrows. Goodbye, Felix.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Felix offered.
“No, it’s alright,” August said with a smile. It was weird how easy smiling was tonight. Was this how it felt for everyone else? Effortless? “You go. Please.”
Felix’s eyes followed him as he took another step back. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” It was best to leave it like this.
The girl yanked Felix roughly back in, her fingers weaving through his hair, and August took the opportunity to slip away. He pushed through the square, threading through the crowd, then turned down the street toward home.
He ignored the shifting shadows around him, his steps unhurried as the clamor receded. He was in no rush to get home, to have the crushing weight of responsibility placed back on his shoulders.
The vague shape of an anchored hovered in the centre of the street. August tucked his hands in his pockets and sidestepped it without as much as a passing glance, preoccupied with thoughts of the magnetic boy and the way the air seemed to thrum around him.
Felix felt like a first breath after years buried underground. And now August was expected to return to that suffocating existence. The thought made his chest ache. He wasn’t even home yet, and he was already struggling for air.
“Auggie, wait,” a voice called from behind him.
He spun around as Felix hurried to catch up.
“Still a few hours until sunrise,” Felix said. “I know a great pub. I think you’ll like it.”
August glanced around at the dark, sleepy street. “Everything’s closed for the night.”
Felix responded with a mischievous smile. “Follow me.”
He guided August through an alley, out an iron gate to a small side street before stopping in front of a wooden building tucked between two others. The sign above the door read The Raven’s Perch. The building was quiet and the shutters were all drawn.
“It’s closed,” August said.
Felix pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open to a dark interior. “Looks open to me.”
He disappeared inside, but August hesitated, unease creeping in.
Was he really foolish enough to follow a stranger into a dark building? Every instinct screamed danger.
“Auggie,” Felix called, and August cursed his own feet as they carried him through the door.
With a flick of a match, a lamp flared to life, the amber light illuminating rich mahogany paneling and deep maroon carpet.
Beautiful paintings of lush green fields and charming villages adorned the walls.
Behind the bar, colourful glass reflected the flames, the room alive with the subtle scents of aged liquor and spices.
August stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind him, trying his best to avoid looking at the anchored woman in a shadowed corner booth. He felt her watching him, waiting for confirmation of what she most likely already knew.
You’re wrong. I can’t see you. Go away.
Felix rounded the bar and disappeared through the arched entrance of what August guessed was a kitchen. A second later, another lamp came to life.
“You’re not a murderer luring me to my death, right?” he called. Joking . . . mostly.
Felix appeared again, one eyebrow raised. “You do realize you already followed me inside?”
August shrugged.
With a tilt of his head, Felix asked, “Do I look like a murderer?”
“Do murderers have a look?”
A thoughtful pause. “Maybe?” Felix said. He pushed a hand through his hair. “But if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it outside. Less cleanup.”
August frowned, the answer not the slightest bit reassuring.
“Do you like waffles?”
At that, August’s expression softened. “Of course I do. What kind of ridiculous question is that? Who doesn’t like waffles?”
Felix smiled. “Come on. I swear, I won’t try to murder you.”
He disappeared again through the doorway.
“That sounds exactly like something a murderer would say,” August replied as he followed—because of course he was going to follow now that waffles were involved.
The pub’s kitchen was cramped, but cozy, with a long counter and shelves lining the walls.
Felix flitted around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, then lit a flame on the stove and set a hinged iron contraption overtop.
August leaned against the counter, watching him work, gaze occasionally drawn to his lips as they pursed with concentration.
When Felix was finished, he handed August a plate with two perfect waffles, then grabbed his own and led August back to the front of the pub. He hopped up onto the wooden bar top while August settled onto a stool.
As Felix propped his feet on the stool beside him, a flash of smooth metal caught the light, drawing August’s attention. He studied the slender foot of a prosthetic leg, wondering at the story behind it.
He must not have been subtle in his staring, because Felix said, “Not as interesting a story as you might think. Took a hit as a kid and didn’t get it treated fast enough.”
Heat crept up the back of August’s neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t . . . ”
“No worries,” Felix said breezily, waving off August’s pathetic attempt at an apology. He cut a piece of waffle and speared it with his fork. “I’m not ashamed of it. Just proof that I’m too damned stubborn to let anything slow me down.”
When Felix took a bite, August did too.
And he melted.
How was it possible that Felix had whipped up something so unbearably delicious with such little effort? August had never learned to cook—never needed to. But maybe he’d ask their cook back home to show him how. Or maybe Felix would . . .
No, that was a painful line of thought. They weren’t friends—weren’t anything. This was a one-off. There was no future to be had here.
They ate in silence, the faint sounds of distant music and the ticking second-hand of a grandfather clock serving as a backdrop to August’s thoughts. Felix, who had carried the conversation all night, was now oddly quiet.
“Are you seeing Lady Farrows again?” August asked, mostly to break the silence.
He regretted the question as soon as it tumbled out.
It was none of his business. The jealousy was absurd, and whatever attraction he felt was only a temporary distraction.
He shoveled a large bite into his mouth to prevent any further stupid questions.
Felix bit his bottom lip before he said, “I may have gotten a little carried away.”
“Not sure what you expected,” August mumbled around the bite. “You did ask the empath for ecstasy.”
Felix sighed and slid down to the stool beside August. “And I certainly got it.” He paused for another bite, swallowing it before continuing.
“But, no, I sort of left Sarah alone in the square with no explanation. Not sure she’ll be happy to see me again.
” His expression turned turbulent. “I swear I’m not usually so capricious. Sorry if I messed up your birthday.”
August shook his head. “What do you mean? This was the best birthday I’ve had in years.”
“How low was the bar set?”
August shrugged, not wanting to think about how different his birthdays had been since his father’s death. He was cosy in his waffle euphoria and preferred to stay that way.
As Felix reached to take his empty plate, their fingers grazed. Goosebumps lifted on August’s skin, and his cheeks flushed as he snapped his hands into his lap.
“So,” he said, trying to cover his own awkwardness, “why do you have keys to this place?”
“It’s my murder den,” Felix answered. “I keep the bodies in the cellar.” The corner of his mouth lifted, then he added, “My ma owns the pub. Well, technically, I do. Won it in a bet. I live upstairs.”
As Felix took the plates back to the kitchen, August’s attention shifted to the staircase at the back of the room.
He’d unintentionally gone home with someone he’d just met. That was possibly the most un-August-like thing he had ever done.
Felix returned and sat back on the stool, facing August. “Now, are you going to tell me what your deal is?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been telling half-truths all night. I want to know who you are.”
August blinked, his pulse kicking up. “I told you who I am.”
“You’ve told me nothing. In fact, it’s quite impressive how little you’ve given away, despite my prying. I’m very persistent.”
“What else is there to know?”
“You have fascinating eyes,” Felix said, as nonchalant as if he were commenting on the weather. August flushed, thinking it was a compliment until Felix added, “I’ve never seen silver rings. Are you a wielder?”
“No,” August blurted, too quickly, too defensively.
He wasn’t a wielder. He was nothing like them. Despite the silver rings. Despite the abilities he hated with every fiber.
Felix’s expression soured. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only curious.”
The shift in the air was subtle, the thrumming suddenly stronger.
“I’m not offended,” August clarified. “Just not a wielder.”
Felix said nothing. Why was he so upset?
Oh.
Dread landed heavy in August’s stomach, and he forced himself to ask, “Are you?”
Felix gave a half-hearted smile and pointed lazily at his eyes. “No rings.”
The blue of Felix’s eyes seemed darker now, like the sky just before dawn, speckled with a plethora of golden stars.
August stared, mesmerised, unable to break the connection. Finally, Felix looked away.
The quiet pushed back in, heavier.
Hovering beside him now, the anchored woman leaned in, eerily close, trying to catch his attention, and it took everything August had not to react.
“My Isobel,” the woman rasped. “Is she safe?”
August clenched his teeth, irritated at the intrusion. He didn’t know her or Isobel.
Go away, he thought, fighting to keep his face steady. When she reached out to put a hand on his arm, he flinched away.
“The sun will be up soon,” Felix said, thankfully oblivious to August’s reaction. “Your cousin seemed pretty serious about you being home on time.”
“Right,” August said. “I should probably go.” He wished he could freeze time. With the start of a new day, Henry would transform back into August, and all the weight would pile back on top.
He reluctantly stood and followed through the pub.
Felix pulled the door open, leaning a shoulder against it as he offered to walk August home.
“I’ll be alright,” August answered, though the idea of walking through that door, of saying goodbye, was devastating. He glanced past Felix to the anchored woman. A thick, blackened bruise circled her oddly angled neck, and she watched him with a tight, pleading frown.
“Same time next week?” Felix asked, the air humming at his proximity. “I’m not done asking questions.”
August hesitated. “I’ll see you then.” The words cut so deep on their way out, he expected to taste blood. Because it was a lie, and he wished it wasn’t.
He couldn’t come back here. This was a goodbye, and it felt like being buried alive.
After lingering for a moment longer, August forced himself to step back onto the street, the crisp night air shaking away the last dregs of his blissful haze.