Relax. It’s just a bunch of drunks.
There was no immediate danger. It was probably just an anchored watching him. Nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, if he left now without ordering, it would draw attention.
One drink.
August jumped as a glass of clear liquid landed in front of him. He looked up to find a curvy woman with kind brown eyes and auburn hair, an apron tied around her waist. Just a server.
“I didn’t order this,” he said, nudging the glass back.
“It’s from the handsome fella by the fireplace.”
August frowned, the thought of some stranger sending him a drink making him more uncomfortable than he already was. “Thanks, I guess.”
Her smile creased the corners of her eyes. “He said to tell you happy birthday.”
August’s heart stuttered a painful, frantic beat, and his gaze darted to the fireplace. There was no one there. “Where? Who was it?”
She scanned the room with a thoughtful hum. “Don’t see him. Guess he left.”
A coincidence, August assured himself. An unlikely mistake.
But even as he fed himself the lies, dread crept in. He’d felt the air vibrate. He should’ve made the connection.
His fingertips prickled, his power reacting instinctively to the threat.
What was Felix doing in Bedwyck?
“I need to—” August shoved up from the table, not bothering to finish the sentence. He barreled out onto the deserted street, the sounds of the pub muffling as the door fell closed behind him.
His hand went to the holster at his hip, but he hesitated, his fear and resentment at odds.
Go home.
As much as he wanted to bury the dagger in Felix’s chest, he wouldn’t win that fight.
A large raven glided soundlessly from the fog and settled on a weathered sign. It ruffled its inky feathers, then fixed him with familiar hollow eyes.
Every muscle in August’s body tensed. He’d never trusted birds. Shifty, unnerving things. Butthisone, he trusted least of all.
They stared at each other for a long moment, locked in a silent standoff, until the bird finally took off in a flurry of wings and smoke, disappearing down a dark street.
Conjuring required concentration and line-of-sight. If that raven was here, Felix wasn’t far. He was toying with August. Baiting him.
August spun and bolted in the opposite direction. He couldn’t fight Felix, didn’t stand a chance against his magic. But he could outrun him.
The raven appeared again, this time perched on a windowsill. August veered sharply, plunging into a narrow side street. He listened for any sign of pursuit.
Nothing but his own too-loud footsteps.
The street widened into a vast park entrance. Darkness swallowed the distant edges, and dense fog choked the soft glow of the gaslamps. Paths extended out from a central gazebo like spokes on a carriage wheel.
He hurried forward and slipped into the shadowed structure to catch his breath.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a hand clamped onto his arm, spinning him around and slamming him hard against a marble pillar.
“August Ellingwood, back from the dead,” Felix mused, eyes still glowing pale blue with illusion magic.
August drew in a sharp breath as the cold barrel of a gun pressed beneath his chin.
