Chapter 7
The gun’s hilt was pleasantly cool against Felix’s palm as he savoured the shock on August’s face.
So long, he’d waited for this. He’d known the aesling survived, even if Marlow insisted otherwise, and the bone-deep need to find him, to make him pay, was a constant nagging pull, burrowing into his mind, invading his dreams.
His fingers twitched, everything in him aching to pull the trigger. His restraint was slipping. August had always had that effect on him.
Not yet.
Drawing a slow, steady breath, Felix stilled his body, every muscle held in check. Movement invited mistakes. Whenever he felt like he was losing control, he divested himself of the chance to act on it. He froze. Waited. Let it pass.
He had just been handed a solution to a previously unsolvable cataclysmic problem, and he wouldn’t throw that away, no matter how gratifying it would be. As maddening as it was, they needed the aesling’s magic. Felix couldn’t kill him yet.
All in good time.
He’d already waited this long. What were a few more days?
When Felix felt steady again, he exhaled slowly.
“So, Aesling.” He spat the title with an intended sharpness. “How long has it been?”
August squirmed, jaw clenched tight, eyes forward.
Felix knew exactly how long it had been since the last time he’d seen August. He’d been counting the months. The days. The hours.
He lowered the gun and caught August’s chin with his free hand, forcing his head back to look up at him.
The aesling’s scowl was venomous.
“You look…” Felix’s evaluative gaze slid slowly from August’s messy hair to the blackened veins creeping up his neck before finishing the sentence with a simple, “different.”
Truth of it was, he looked like death.
Felix stepped back, releasing him, and August reacted instantly, drawing a dagger as he lunged. But Felix was ready. He narrowed his focus, summoning his magic, and the warmth of it threaded through him, a calming hum of energy in his veins.
“Stop,” he commanded languidly, and the aesling obeyed.
As a triple-wielder, Felix possessed a range of abilities. His other powers didn’t match the strength of wielders who focused solely on a single skill, his magic distributed unevenly, stretched too thin. Compulsion, however, he excelled in.
“Drop it.”
The dagger slipped from August’s grasp, clattering loudly against the stone path, and his expression settled into a peaceful calm.
“Kneel.” The word was a low snarl.
August complied, looking up from beneath dark lashes, eagerly awaiting further instructions.
Felix let the moment stretch, reveling in the deliciousness of it. He deserved to.
He’d always been the superior one. Not just to August, but to all the despicable people in power. And he had been forced to spend his life pretending otherwise. Too many orders followed. Too many indignities endured.
But not anymore.
“Why in the hells would you walk into such an obvious trap?” Felix asked. “I barely had to try.”
He freed the aesling, and with a quick flip of his hand, summoned his raven in a puff of smoke. Felix could conjure many things—faint silhouettes created by diluted magic—but Silas was his favourite. The one thing he could call forth in full detail, thanks to years of practice.
“Like herding a scared little sheep,” he added. “They really thought you were fit to rule a damned country?”
August moved to stand, but Felix lifted his pistol, freezing him in place.
A brittle voice seeped through the fog. “Neat trick.”
The hair lifted on the back of Felix’s neck.
“Go away,” he called as Silas vanished. “You won’t like how this ends for you.”
A long, whispering shush, like the rustling of wind through dead leaves.
“Do not fret,” the voice drawled. “I won’t hurt you. Just a taste. One little taste.”
Felix’s lip curled.
Cursed creatures.
He spun in a quick circle, scanning the darkness. “Are you just going to hide in the shadows all night? Because this feels like an enormous waste of everyone’s time.”
A low, hummed lullaby floated out from the fog, and a shape appeared a moment later, resolving into a thin man. A smooth metal mask covered half his face and a top hat sat off-kilter on his head.
There we go.
Felix poured his will into a single word. “Stop.”
The man did.
“Solach,” August cursed as he scrambled to his feet.
Felix kept his focus on the creature. His compulsion required his undivided attention and could only affect one person at a time. He’d have to be fast. And quiet. Gunshots would draw more in.
“Walk away,” Felix ordered.
The man’s head tipped curiously to the side, but this time, he didn’t obey.
Felix huffed in frustration. The creatures were terrible at following instructions. He wasn’t sure how they were able to fight his compulsion, but it irritated him to no end.
A gunshot rang out through the park, and the impact sent Felix staggering back. Pain followed close behind, sharp and searing.
He gritted his teeth and clasped a hand over the wound.
August swore again, the word more of a panicked breath this time, and retreated a step.
Felix redirected his magic, turning it on him.
“Don’t move, Aesling,” he growled, forcing him to a stop. “We are not done.”
Warm blood leaked between his fingers. Too much. He should’ve waited for Marlow.
The thin man lumbered closer, shoulders hunched, fists clenched at his sides.
No gun. Where had the shot come from, then?
“I can hear it,” the creature warbled. “Thump-thump. Cut you open, take a bite.”
“As fun as that sounds,” Felix said, lifting his flintlock, “I’m going to pass.” He fired a round into the creature’s chest. It managed another step, then crumpled.
An eerie whine of a laugh echoed around him, the direction impossible to pin down.
“Well, come on then!” he shouted, tucking the spent pistol into his cross-holster and plucking the loaded one from the other side. “I’m right here!”
The second figure was in a full sprint when it emerged from the fog—a woman, skirt torn off at the knees and feet bare.
Felix fired—
And missed.
He cursed as he fumbled backward, dropping the gun and drawing a dagger. Metal jarred against stone as his leg landed too hard and set him off balance.
He swung the blade, but she ducked beneath it and tackled him to the ground, spilling the breath from his lungs and leaving him gasping for air.
Felix jammed the blade into the creature’s side. She screeched like an animal, clawing at his face, nails digging deep into his skin and tearing down his cheek.
Groaning against the white-hot pain, he tugged his blade loose, pushed her to arm’s length, and stabbed her again, this time through the throat.
Her strength faltered, and Felix shoved her off.
Blood poured in ribbons from the cuts as the creature struggled to her feet. She turned to flee, but only made it two steps before her legs gave out.
Finally, she stilled.
Felix slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his stomach wound sending fire through the rest of his body. He clenched his fists, grimacing at the stickiness of the blood on his hands, then sent the corpse a furious scowl.
The woman’s dress, though tattered and stained, was elegant, a soft blue with a ruined ruffled collar that hung in shreds from her neck.
Burns and blisters covered half her face, continuing down her neck.
Fissures made her leathery skin look like tree bark, and angry red muscle showed through the cracks of the ruined flesh.
He shuddered.
Usually, they had enough remaining dignity to cover the deformations with masks or veils or scarves. Especially the nobility. This one didn’t bother.
His gaze fell to the slick red down his front. His shirt was ruined.
Great.
Niall, the mender from Gideon’s crew, could’ve removed the stain, but they’d abandoned Bedwyck months ago.
Blood was conspicuous. He’d have to change before leaving town. A terrible inconvenience, especially with the aesling in tow. He was difficult enough to keep hold of without additional stops, his magic serving as an ever-ready means of escape.
At the thought, Felix spun to face the spot where the aesling had been.
The park was empty.
August was gone.