Chapter 10 #2
He took her by the hand and led her through the pub toward the staircase, but they only made it to the first step when the door to the street opened, the sounds of the city pouring inside.
Out of reflex, Felix turned, studying the two wiry men. Both rough, working-class types.
Every so often, a rowdy group of nonwielders would wander in, eager to stir up trouble, gawk at the creatures who frequented the place. And judging by the disgusted twists to their mouths, these two were of that mindset. He tensed, not just anticipating a fight—hoping for one.
But his ma was already on it. “Welcome, gentlemen,” she called over the sounds of the other patrons. She placed two glasses on the bar top. “What can I get for ya?”
Felix had inherited a lot of things from Petra Connolly.
His light hair, his flawless teeth, the scattering of freckles that only appeared in the summer.
But her patience had definitely eluded him.
He’d mastered every nuance of the role he played, with the exception of his temper. That was still a work in progress.
The men shared a look, then crossed to the bar and dropped onto the stools.
“I’m going to walk you home,” Felix told Sarah. “Would you mind meeting me outside?”
Her lips pursed.
“I just need two minutes. Please.”
“Fine, but we still have more to discuss, so don’t be long.” She waited for him to agree, then turned and headed outside.
Felix crossed back through the pub and sat at the bar beside the men. His ma gave him a warning look, and he responded with a playful tilt of his head, feigning innocence.
She knew him well enough not to believe it.
The men ordered, and while one scanned the place, the other studied his ma.
“You’re not a wielder,” he said, not bothering with subtleties.
“I’m not,” she replied dryly as she poured them drinks.
Neither of Felix’s parents were. Magic wasn’t passed down through bloodlines. It was chaotic. Religious wielders believed they were hand-picked by Arunas to be her eyes and hands until she reappeared to save them, but Felix didn’t buy into any of that.
“Then why would you let your pub become a den for these animals?”
Felix forced himself still.
“Why would I turn away paying customers?” she replied, confused, like this was the first time anyone had mentioned it.
It wasn’t.
“Because they’re dangerous.” He took up the glass, watching over the rim as she set the bottle down and bent forward to rest her elbows on the bar.
Her mouth tipped in a half-smile as she poured herself a glass. “As am I, hon.”
The tension on the man’s face broke. He chuckled and gave her an evaluative once-over, gaze lingering too long on the neckline of her dress. “Yeah, I’m sure you are.”
“Is there anything else I can get you?” his ma asked, voice honeyed.
“Just got my week’s pay,” the man said. “Could use someone to warm my bed.”
“Plenty of businesses in town that cater to that,” she said. “But if you’d like, I know a couple people here who work privately.”
The man snorted. “I don’t touch wielder trash.”
She threw back the drink in one swig, then with the calm of a saint, set her hands flat on the bar and leaned in close. “I recommend you mind your manners before I string you up by your boots and give all these fellas a brand new dartboard.”
The man struck her across the face.
Felix’s vision went red. He sprang up, delivering a powerful punch that sent the man from his barstool to the floor with a satisfying thud.
The second man was there in a breath. Felix dodged his slow right hook, then countered with a jab to the nose that snapped his head back.
“Felix!”
He whirled at his ma’s warning just in time to see the first man—already back on his feet—snatch the whiskey bottle from the bar and swing it at his head. Felix caught the man’s arm mid-swing and twisted it around.
“That’s low,” Felix said reprovingly. “And a waste of good whiskey.” With his free hand, he pried the bottle loose and passed it to his ma, then landed a kick with the hard metal of his prosthetic to drive the man back.
The move threw Felix off balance, and he grasped at the edge of the bar. He barely had a moment to steady himself before the second man seized his shoulder. Felix swung, but the man was ready, catching Felix’s arm and ramming a fist into his gut.
He gasped for breath as he doubled over.
“You gonna give it another go, lad?” the man taunted.
Every nerve in Felix’s body sparked, anger bubbling to the surface. He could drop both men with a few well-chosen words.
“Easy now, darlin’,” his ma warned.
But it was unnecessary. He knew better than to use that magic. The moment of satisfaction wasn’t worth his life. He may have been brash, but he certainly wasn’t stupid.
And he didn’t need his magic to win a fight.
A sharp smile flickered across Felix’s face as he straightened. The next two punches landed: one to the man’s stomach, the other to his chin. As the man staggered back, dazed, Felix grabbed the side of his head and slammed it down hard against the bar.
He collapsed, and Felix turned back to the first.
The man drew a blade from beneath his frock coat, and a sharp, cold flutter of panic froze Felix in place.
His ma’s reaction was immediate. She reached across the bar, disarming him effortlessly, then slammed his hand down and plunged the blade into the wooden bar top, missing his fingers by a hair.
“It’s time you both left,” she said, the softness gone from her voice.
Felix blinked, stunned.
The man yanked his hand free and opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
“Choose your next move wisely. You only get the one warning.”
He held his ground for a moment, but after a glance at the rest of the patrons, he dragged his friend off the floor, and the two stormed toward the exit.
Before the door even shut, the patrons had returned to their conversations, glasses clinking against the wooden tables.
But the blow to Felix’s pride lingered.
He could’ve handled it. Without the constraints of self-preservation, the fight would have been decisively one-sided. If he didn’t have to worry about the repercussions of being himself.
It was unfair that he had to hold back and pretend when none of them did.
The prickly heat of angry magic buzzed beneath his skin. He wanted to shout, to smash something. Instead, he clenched his fists and, surrounded by the familiar din of the pub and the patrons he trusted, flung his hands open, releasing a burst of darkness that swallowed the room like smoke.
As it thinned, his gaze caught on a raven-haired boy pressed against the wall by the front door, eyes wide and unblinking.
For a moment, all he felt was the fluttering in his chest, like tiny wings.
He’d given up on seeing August again, figured he’d returned to wherever he was visiting from. But he was here now.
Felix almost smiled.
Then comprehension dawned, and the fluttering turned to a lurching panic.
August had just seen him use magic.