Chapter 8 #2
The girl behind the counter takes my order, but the second I say my name, her eyes flick to mine and widen. Then, just as quickly, she masks it, smoothing her features into a polite but tight-lipped smile.
“Thank you. I'll let you know when it’s ready.” She tells me, before hurrying into the back.
Weird.
Maybe she’s just surprised by the amount of food I ordered. That, or she thinks I’m about to eat my feelings. And honestly? She wouldn’t be wrong there either.
I shake it off and wander over to the shelf where the book was, drawn in despite myself. The second my fingers brush the worn leather, opening the book, a strange feeling ripples through me, like a current under my skin.
My stomach tightens as I flip through the pages. The bindings creak in protest and the scent of aged parchment fills the air. The pages are delicate and frayed, but something feels off about this book.
I skim a random section and my eyes catch on a single word that makes my breath stutter. I see my name.
My pulse quickens as a strange rush of anticipation floods through me.
But when I lean in, the rush deflates just as quickly.
It’s not my name at all. Well, it is, but it’s a raven.
Literally. A hand-drawn sketch of the bird, its wings outstretched in flight with delicate strokes at the bottom of the page.
A small laugh slips past my lips, more out of relief than amusement. Seriously, Raven? Get a grip. I shake my head at myself, willing away the ridiculousness. But as my eyes linger on the drawing, something tugs at the edge of my mind, like a word on the tip of my tongue that refuses to take shape.
I close the book and the lights flicker.
The bulbs overhead dim and a faint hum vibrates through the air. I look up, scanning the café, but no one seems to react.
Another flicker. Stronger this time. Something shifts through the room, crackling against my skin. The air turns crisp and every hair on my arm stands up. I rub them instinctively, trying to shake off the sudden chill crawling down my spine.
Then, just as fast as it started, it stops, and my name is called. I blink, and step toward the counter. The girl behind it hands me my order, but her gaze flickers toward the ceiling before settling on me.
“Were the lights just flickering?”
My heartbeat stumbles. So it wasn’t just me.
I force a casual nod. “Yeah… I thought it was just my imagination.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but her expression stays unreadable as she glances around the café. “It was and wasn’t,” she murmurs, like she wants to say more but holds back. The silence between us stretches until she busies herself behind the counter.
Something about the moment latches onto me in a way I can’t quite shake. But I swallow the unease, offer a smile and turn to leave.
As soon as I step outside, I can smell the rain. But something is different now. Something presses at the edges of my senses.
And I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a whisper. There’s definitely something about Scotland.
I start to walk back, but the feeling doesn’t fade.
It lingers, weaving itself into the air, pressing in from all sides.
A shiver runs down my spine and the hairs at the nape of my neck start to prickle.
Remain calm. I tell myself, but the unease is impossible to ignore.
That distinct sensation of being watched creeps in.
I stop mid-step and turn, looking across the street behind me. A few early risers are walking their dogs. A man waters the flowers and a cyclist speeds past. I can hear the faint hum of his tires whispering against the pavement.
No one’s watching. And yet, I still can’t shake it.
There are more people out now than before, but the feeling clings to me like a shadow. My pulse quickens, and the instinct urges me to move faster. It’s probably just my imagination. At least that's what I try to convince myself, but my body disagrees.
By the time I reach the front porch, I exhale slowly, but the weight in my chest doesn’t fully ease. I check the porch again, hoping my phone will magically appear. Nothing. A frustrated sigh escapes me as I step inside and shut the door behind me.
The house is quiet, with no signs of life. Which means Rachel is still dead to the world.
I drop the bag onto the counter and start retracing my steps, scanning every usual spot. The couch? Nothing. The side table? Empty. The bathroom counter? Nope. Weird. I know I had it this morning, I was literally scrolling through emails.
My heart sinks as I sweep the house again, a nagging discomfort creeping up my spine. Where could it have gone?
Oh well. For now, I'll just focus on the one thing I can control, food. I start unpacking the breakfast, deliberately making as much noise as possible in the hopes of waking Rachel.
Sure enough, there’s a loud groan, followed by a very dramatic, very grumbled, “Please tell me you have coffee and food. In that order.”
I stifle a laugh as I hear what sounds like an elephant tumbling out of bed, followed by sluggish, uneven stomps. A few seconds later, Rachel drags herself into the kitchen, her hair an absolute disaster, looking like she’s been through an exorcism.
Her bloodshot eyes land on the coffee and pastries, and she gasps like I just handed her the cure to every problem in existence. “Oh my God, bless you. This is why we’re friends,” she declares, snatching the coffee like a lifeline before immediately tearing into the food.
I giggle as she shoves half a croissant in her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”
She mumbles something incoherent around her bite, giving a lazy thumbs-up. She plops into a chair like moving was already too much effort for the day.
I take a sip of my tea before filling her in on my strange morning. The odd conversation with the old man, the unsettling moment at the café, and, most annoyingly, the fact that my phone has somehow vanished. “I still have no idea where it is, which is mildly irritating.”
She's still half asleep, blinking slowly as she processes my words. She's nursing her coffee like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality. When she sets the cup down, she leans forward and gives me a look that’s equal parts curiosity and mischief.
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” she pauses for dramatic effect.
“I leave you alone for an hour, and in that time, you’ve nearly knocked over a fortune-telling old man, had some kind of haunted café experience, and lost your phone? ”
Her lips twitch and she completely loses it. She throws her head back, clutching her stomach as she cackles like this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
I roll my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. Trust Rachel to turn my morning into a comedy special. “It’s really not that funny.” I shoot her a flat look.
“Oh, but it is,” she gasps between fits of laughter. “This is literally your life, Raven. Weird shit follows you around like a lost puppy.” She wipes at her eyes dramatically. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re even surprised anymore.”
I groan, throwing a pastry at her in retaliation. “You’re annoying.”
She grins, taking another sip of coffee. “You love me.”
“Debatable.”
Still chuckling, she waves a hand toward the bedroom. “Just call your phone. Maybe it fell between the couch cushions or something.”
I nod, standing to go get her phone. I hit call and it goes straight to voicemail.
I frown, hitting redial. Same thing.
“That’s weird,” I mutter, more to myself than her. “I was literally just using it this morning, and it definitely wasn’t dead.”
“Are you sure you didn’t drop it on your way in?” She asks, stepping outside without waiting for an answer. A second later, she pops her head back in. “Nope. Not out here.”
I exhale, forcing myself to brush off the unease creeping in. Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
“Let’s just get ready.” She stretches her arms over her head. “It’ll turn up.”
I nod, sipping my tea in an attempt to shove the growing tension aside.
Getting ready is easy enough since I’m already dressed.
I quickly brush my teeth, splash some cold water on my face to rinse off the lingering fog, and I’m good to go.
Our plan is to wander Edinburgh without a real destination in mind.
We just want to see where the day takes us.
But one thing is certain, castles are definitely on the agenda at some point.
While Rachel finishes getting ready, I sit at the edge of the bed, my mind still racing, but I can’t hold it in any longer.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “We need to talk about last night. What the fuck happened?”
Rachel pauses mid-mascara swipe, then shrugs. “Look, I didn't plan for last night to go the way it did either.” She says it like she’s already rehearsed this defense in her head more than once. “Those guys just happened to be in the same place at the same time. And they were fun.”
Uh-huh. That’s the story she’s sticking to?
I arch a brow, smiling. “Oh yeah. So much fun.” I lean back, crossing my arms, waiting for the real talk to start. “That’s the official version? Have you been texting Cam?”
The way she freezes for half a second before schooling her expression tells me everything I need to know.
“Maybe.” She sighs in surrender. “Yes. He texted me last night.”
A grin spreads across her face and her eyes light up in a way that tells me exactly how those texts have been going.
She bites her lip, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “Look, he’s really nice.”
I raise a brow.
“And fun to look at,” she adds, caving instantly.
I burst out laughing. “Oh, that you made abundantly clear. Multiple times.”
Rachel huffs, but the look on her face is pure mischief. “Listen, I’m allowed to appreciate a pretty man, okay?”