“Auggie, wait,” a voice called from behind him.
He spun around as Felix hurried to catch up.
“Still a few hours until sunrise,” Felix said. “I know a great pub. I think you’ll like it.”
August glanced around at the dark, sleepy street. “Everything’s closed for the night.”
Felix responded with a mischievous smile. “Follow me.”
He guided August through an alley, out an iron gate to a small side street before stopping in front of a wooden building tucked between two others. The sign above the door readThe Raven’s Perch. The building was quiet and the shutters were all drawn.
“It’s closed,” August said.
Felix pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open to a dark interior. “Looks open to me.”
He disappeared inside, but August hesitated, unease creeping in.
Was he really foolish enough to follow a stranger into a dark building? Every instinct screameddanger.
“Auggie,” Felix called, and August cursed his own feet as they carried him through the door.
With a flick of a match, a lamp flared to life, the amber light illuminating rich mahogany paneling and deep maroon carpet. Beautiful paintings of lush green fields and charming villages adorned the walls. Behind the bar, colourful glass reflected the flames, the room alive with the subtle scents of aged liquor and spices.
August stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind him, trying his best to avoid looking at the anchored woman in a shadowed corner booth. He felt her watching him, waiting for confirmation of what she most likely already knew.
You’re wrong. I can’t see you. Go away.
Felix rounded the bar and disappeared through the arched entrance of what August guessed was a kitchen. A second later, another lamp came to life.
“You’re not a murderer luring me to my death, right?” he called. Joking . . . mostly.
Felix appeared again, one eyebrow raised. “You do realize you already followed me inside?”
August shrugged.
With a tilt of his head, Felix asked, “Do I look like a murderer?”
“Do murderers have a look?”
A thoughtful pause. “Maybe?” Felix said. He pushed a hand through his hair. “But if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it outside. Less cleanup.”
August frowned, the answer not the slightest bit reassuring.
“Do you like waffles?”
At that, August’s expression softened. “Of course I do. What kind of ridiculous question is that? Who doesn’t like waffles?”
Felix smiled. “Come on. I swear, I won’t try to murder you.”
He disappeared again through the doorway.
“That sounds exactly like something a murderer would say,” August replied as he followed—because of course he was going to follow now that waffles were involved.
The pub’s kitchen was cramped, but cozy, with a long counter and shelves lining the walls.
Felix flitted around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, then lit a flame on the stove and set a hinged iron contraption overtop.
August leaned against the counter, watching him work, gaze occasionally drawn to his lips as they pursed with concentration.
