“Hello again,” he said, voice slipping into an almost purr.
Ridiculous.
The woman’s expression brightened, and her entire body seemed to pull toward him.
“You’re back,” she said, and Marlow internally rolled her eyes at the seductiveness in her tone. “What can I get you?”
“The fella I sent a drink to. Do you remember what he looked like?”
Disappointment dampened her features. “I do, yeah. Black hair, dirty cloak. Real jumpy.”
Marlow looked to the ceiling for patience. “That means nothing, Felix.”
He ignored her. “Did you get a look at his eyes? Can you tell me what color they were?”
“I did,” the woman responded. “They were dark grey.” Then she added with a smirk, “Like your shirt.”
Felix glanced down at his button-up and scowled. “That’s grand,” he muttered. “And did he have rings?”
The server’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, actually. Silver ones. Ain’t that strange?”
He turned to Marlow, and there was that look—the one he’d given her more times than she could count. The one that radiated, “I told you so” without having to say a word. She hated that damned look.
“Alright,” Marlow said, though she still wasn’t convinced. “So, he’s somehow still breathing. Where is he now?”
Felix’s expression dropped. “I don’t know. I was shot, remember?”
“Did he see you?”
With a sharp laugh, Felix said, “Yeah, he definitely saw me.”
“If it helps,” the woman interjected, pulling a glass bottle from her apron and setting it on the table in front of him. “He left this at the table. Not sure what it is.”
There was no label, just a dark liquid inside, but the bottle was familiar enough for Marlow to know exactly where it came from. Every apothecary had a signature style to their products, and this one, with its rust-coloured string and brown glass, came from the shop two doors down.
“Thanks a million, love,” Felix told the server, and once she was gone, he said, “I think perhaps we need to pay the Vermillion Draught a visit.”
“We’ll go after you do something about all that.” Marlow scrubbed a thumb roughly over the smear of dried blood on Felix’s cheek.
He swatted her hand away. “Lot of good that’ll do. My shirt’s wrecked.”
“I’ve got a change of clothes here. Just hold on.”
He frowned. “Since when?”
She ignored the question and headed to the bar.
When Gideon and the others left Bedwyck, Samuel agreed to let her keep a stash of supplies here, in case they ever had to stay overnight. She and Felix were on their own again, and she’d never let them be caught unprepared.
When she returned to their table and tossed the bag on top, Felix gave her a bright grin.
“What would I do without you, Mar?”
She hoped he’d never have to find out.
The Vermillion Draught was closed for the night, but there were footsteps inside. Felix shared a look with Marlow—hers a warning for him to play nice, and his a defiant reply—then he knocked on the heavy oak door.
“We’re closed,” came a curt voice.
