Chapter 11
“You’re late,” Felix said with a twitch of a smile. “By four weeks, actually.”
August stayed pinned against the wall, the terror immobilizing.
His gaze jumped from the blonde woman pulling a knife free from the bar top to a group of rowdy men yelling at a nearby table, and finally, to the battered painting of his mother with knives buried in her face. He hadn’t noticed that the last time.
What was he doing? He shouldn’t be here.
When he realized Felix was waiting for a response, he said, “I wasn’t going to come back.”
“Well, then I’m glad you changed your mind.” Felix moved closer. The air hummed around him the way it had before, barely perceptible, and August realized with sickening clarity what it was.
Wielder. Felix was a wielder. The buzz in the air was his magic.
Did all wielders affect the air like that? Why couldn’t he feel any of the others in the pub? Was Felix’s magic that powerful?
The thought sent his pulse soaring, his throat so dry it hurt to swallow.
Dangerous.
“You look like you’re in desperate need of a drink,” Felix added.
His eyes were a lighter blue than August remembered, but they held the same entrancing golden flecks. No rings.
How was he a wielder if he had no rings?
He said he wasn’t. He said—
“You lied.”
Surprise flickered on Felix’s face at the accusation. “About what?”
“You said you’re not a wielder.”
Felix ran a hand through his hair and gave a thin smile that did little to hide his tension.
“You saw that, then.” A heavy pause. “And no, I said I didn’t have rings.
” He pointed to his eyes, the way he had before.
“Not a lie.” The smile dropped. “I understand if you want to go. It was a big omission on my part.”
August’s gaze flicked to the door.
Dangerous he’s dangerous he’s—
“I am leaving. But not because of that.” The lie was obvious, so he added, “I just need some air.”
The hurt in Felix’s expression was devastating.
August didn’t want to go home. But the thought of staying now made him physically ill. Felix was a wielder. Chaos and destruction. He needed to get away from here. He had to go.
“Join me?” He surprised himself with the offer. What was he doing?
In a blink, Felix’s smile was back. “Yeah definitely. I’m off tonight. Just let me…” He turned and walked away without finishing the sentence, ducking behind the bar to say something to the woman. The resemblance was unmistakable. His mother, August assumed.
The woman nodded and kissed Felix on the cheek before he slid out the other side. He grabbed a jacket and pulled it on, then stopped at a table on his way back, saying something to a girl with short brown hair. She twisted to look at August, and when her eyes narrowed, his heart dropped.
She recognized him.
August’s attention snapped to the studded painting. They clearly hated his family. What would happen if they knew? What would Felix say?
But the girl’s brow smoothed, the scrutiny shifting to indifference, and a second later Felix was back beside him, bringing with him the light scent of spices, like he’d spent the day cooking.
“Alright, ready.”
They stepped out into the bustling street, and August took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves.
The sky was streaked pink and orange with dusk, a chill settling in the air as night approached.
A man in a tattered jacket paused to light a streetlamp with a flick of his hand, and August watched him warily as he passed.
“Lady Farrows,” Felix said as a girl in a ruffled dress hooked her arm through his. “You remember Henry, don’t you?”
The girl from the festival. Felix said he’d probably never see her again. So why was she here? Were they together?
Not that it was his business. Why would he care who Felix was courting? He wouldn’t. He didn’t.
She gave a polite greeting, which August automatically returned.
As Felix led her away from the pub, she leaned into him, and August followed, scolding himself for the pang of jealousy when she ruffled Felix’s hair.
After a short walk, they stopped on a small side street lined with lavish homes. Felix unlinked their arms to take a step back, and her expression darkened.
“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question, and her voice was edged with something sharp. “We talked about this, Felix. I thought you agreed.”
He touched her gently beneath the chin, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Word would reach your father that you neglected his warning, and that wouldn’t end well for either of us.”
This seemed to placate her. “Perhaps you’re right.” She grabbed Felix by the lapels and pulled him into a deep kiss.
August turned away, heat rising to his face as resentment twisted in his chest.
That wouldn’t end well. It was a goodbye, August realized. Felix was saying goodbye. Ending whatever this was.
A flicker of satisfaction.
Stop that, August reprimanded himself.
Finally, Lady Farrows withdrew, hesitating a moment before heading up the stairs to the first residence.
After she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Felix seemed to uncoil.
“So, Auggie,” he said as they walked. “Which are you upset about? That I didn’t tell you or that I am one?”
It took a moment to understand. August’s reaction to Felix being a wielder hadn’t been subtle. Of course he’d picked up on it.
August settled his expression to a neutral one, ensuring the storm in his head didn’t reach the surface, before he looked at Felix. “I’m not upset.”
With an evaluative glance, Felix said, “You look upset.”
August threw out his hands in a huff. “Why does everyone—that’s just my face!”
Felix grinned. “I didn’t mean to offend.” His gaze lowered, his inspection extending to the rest of August. A flash of something crossed Felix’s expression, too quick to pin down. Then it was gone, the grin settled back into place.
With a quirk of a brow, Felix asked, “So, mystery boy, which noble house are you from?”
The question made August flinch. “Why would you think I’m a noble?”
“You’re dressed like one.”
August glanced down at his clothing; the outfit Lottie had picked for banquet. He’d completely forgotten.
“Montgomery?” Felix pushed. “Barrymore?”
August rolled his eyes. “Gods, you are so nosy.”
“Yes,” Felix replied proudly. “Yes, I am.”
They followed the narrow street, passing around the outside of the market square, and kept walking until the sounds of the night market faded into the distance.
August tried to set aside the wielder thing, but eventually, curiosity got the better of him. “How does it work?”
“How does what work?”
August scanned their surroundings. Ahead, an elderly couple walked arm-in-arm. Otherwise, the street was empty. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“You did a whole”—he made a wide gesture with his arms—“smoke thing. You’re a conjurer?”
A beat of silence, then Felix said, “I am.”
August had learned all about the different classifications of wielders. The controlled magics, the restricted, the prohibited. Conjurers didn’t destroy, only deceive. They weren’t seen as an immediate threat, so their power fell into the controlled category.
Felix waited for the couple to round the corner before slowing to a stop. “Want to see?”
No. “Yes.”
One more glance at the now-empty street, then a pale blue glow lit up his eyes, like wielder rings, but as wide as his irises.
He extended his hand, palm down. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he flipped it over.
From the swirling black smoke, a raven materialized and soared up to perch on a streetlamp.
A near-perfect replica, down to the soft feathers.
It cocked its head, and August cringed as its eerie hollow eyes landed on him.
“I hate birds. They’re creepy.”
Felix responded with an offended scoff. “Don’t listen to him, Silas. You’re not creepy.”
“He’s incredibly creepy.” August shuddered.
“You’re afraid of birds?” Felix asked, far too amused. With a flick of his hand, the raven dissolved.
“I’m not afraid of birds. I just don’t like them.”
A laugh burst from Felix’s lips.
“Shut up,” August said, stifling a smile. “Can you conjure anything?”
“Sort of. Though nothing else ever turns out as well as Silas. Not even close, really.” He grinned. “My friend Marlow says I conjure like a drunk toddler.”
“That’s rude.”
“No, that’s just Marlow. She’s nothing if not honest.”
“And the cost?” Magic always had a cost. When August used his own—he cut the thought short. He wasn’t a wielder. His ability wasn’t magic. Even if it did work the same way.
Felix shrugged. “With little things, I don’t even notice anymore. I know my limits. When I was younger, I’d push too hard, get bloody noses and splitting headaches. Even made myself pass out once trying to conjure a full person, face and all. That was a horrifying mistake I won’t make again.”
“But why a bird?”
Felix laughed again. “He’ll grow on you.”
“I very much doubt that.”
As they continued on, Felix stuffed his hands in his pockets, his steps unhurried, and slowly, August let himself relax.
“Where were you headed all dressed up?” Felix asked.
“I was at a dinner party.”
“And you left before sundown to come to the pub? Why? What changed your mind?”
“About the party?”
“About me.”
August paused, realizing he didn’t have an answer. Why had he ended up at The Raven’s Perch? He could’ve simply hidden out in the gardens or the temple. Nobody would’ve found him. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
He could feel Felix’s eyes on him as they walked, so to avoid looking, he lifted his gaze to the buildings pressing in against the narrowing street.
The brownstones had shifted to soot-covered russet brick, the cobblestones beneath their feet caked with mud.
In an open doorway, two women with hunched shoulders watched them pass.
“Where are we going?” August asked.
“You’ll see.”
He peered through a shattered window as they passed a dilapidated building. “Does that promise to not murder me still stand?”
Felix smirked. “We’ll see how the night goes.”