Page 22 of In The Dark

Ezra pivots to knock on Ren’s door, raising him from his slumber. He stumbles out of his room with nothing more than apissed off look and a grunt, clearly waking up. Rolling my eyes, I turn and head in the opposite direction.

Dusk has arrived, bringing life to the seemingly small town. Walking down the cobblestone, we see the lights line the road, an orange glow reflecting off the stone as people gather hand in hand.

I spot the Cauldron—one street south of the inn—under a few orange lamp lights and a sign hanging on a metal post. Turning the corner, I finally reach a tiny arched door.

Something that was clearly made for a child.

My brows pinch with a glance around, and I bend to peek inside, suddenly unsure of where to start. This must be a cruel joke.

“You must not be from around here,” a little voice says, and I whirl to find the same boy from earlier. How does he do that? I scan the area again, utterly confused.

“No.” The word comes out unsure, my eyes warily locked on him. “Is this the Cauldron?”

“Yes, but that door is for pixies. The Fae door is around the corner.” He tilts his head with a toothy grin. “You should see the inside. Looks can be… deceiving.”

My hands land on my hips. “Okay then. I guess I’ll try to go in.”

“Thank you,” he quietly blurts, and I stop. “For the coin. I’ve been asking all day, and you are the first to give me something,” he says in such an innocent way that it squeezes my heart.

I know what it’s like being an orphan—hungry with people shooing you away like you’re nothing more than a stray. At a loss for words, I watch him retreat down the path, vanishing around the corner.

After a quiet minute on the street, I decide to follow him, finding the doors he mentioned, and let out a huff of disbelief. I almost forced myself through those tiny doors without a second thought.

How embarrassing would that have been?

I pull the large oak doors open, revealing the most exquisite tavern I’ve ever seen. Having frequented a lot of taverns, I’m shocked that this one escaped my notice.

Looking around, I now understand why the Golden Oak is booked. It looks like I’ll be apologizing to Ezra for assuming he lied about the rooms with how busy it is. I chuckle to myself, knowing that I definitely won’t be apologizing.

The tavern is spacious, and I think of what that boy said, about how looks can be deceiving. The tavern is mesmerizing.

A large skylight rests on the ceiling, bathing the tavern in a soft moonlight glow. Candles and lanterns litter wooden tables while Fae, human, and Halflings of every kind sit at them. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, Fae sprawled out across the room. Some read, some sit with company, and others are drinking.

A mantel with a roaring fire sits to the right, complete with settees. The tavern fills my nostrils with ale, cedar, and incense.

With a grin, I stride to the large bar near the back that’s bustling with guests. I slowly scan the room and sit, looking for anyone familiar.

“What would you like, miss?” a scruffy male asks from behind the bar, kind eyes and a wide grin. There’s hardly an empty seat at the tall bar, surrounded by groups of two chatting and laughing. Intricate melodies drift by when my eyes land on the floating violins playing themselves.

“An ale, please, and stew if you have it,” I say.

I find myself staring at the instruments magically playing when the male nods, and I slide a few coins across the bar. After a moment, he comes back with my ale, a friendly grin spread across his face.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, just passing through.” I grin, though my eyes go wide,the small sip of ale shocking me as the taste of crisp apples touches my tongue.

“I can see that.” He grins. “My name’s Donny. Holler if you need anything.” He pats the bar, parting to take orders from the other guests.

I make my way around the room, beginning my investigation by chatting with a few of the locals, subtly trying to identify those who are not from the area. I’m careful not to reveal the real reason I’m here to avoid raising suspicions.

Yet I find myself easily laughing, sitting on laps, and becoming one of the locals for a few hours, meeting a slew of new people. And as grateful as I am for the company, I eventually find myself walking to the darkened corner of the tavern toward the mantel, too dim to be noticed. With an exhale and a large grin on my face, I rest my head on the back of the settee and close my eyes.

After a moment, someone settles in on my right.

Assuming it’s one of the males that I was flirting with earlier, I’m suddenly greeted by the familiar scent of tobacco and oakmoss.

“I think you forgot this.” His voice is deep and smooth—a voice I recognize.