Chapter 100: The Fall Festival, Part Fifteen

Chapter 100: Chapter 100: The Fall Festival, Part Fifteen

Chapter 100: The Fall Festival, Part Fifteen

The rooftop door swung open hard enough to strike the wall.

Audra stepped out into the wind and scanned the fenced perimeter at once.

No one was there.

The roof had only a few dark corners, a maintenance unit, and a broad stretch of concrete lit unevenly by fireworks above the athletic field. Cyrus could not have gone far if he had been standing here only moments ago.

Yet the rooftop was empty.

Audra crossed it quickly, checking behind the equipment housing and along the far fence before turning back toward the stairwell. Her expression remained composed, but the pace of her steps had changed.

She had not come up late.

She had seen the figure from below. She had been sure it was Cyrus.

Why had she missed him?

Audra went down to the fourth floor and searched the quiet hallway. She checked the empty classroom where she had found him earlier, glanced toward the roof access stairwell, and looked through the long corridor toward the building’s other side.

Nothing.

By the time she reached the third floor, irritation had started to settle beneath her ribs.

Then she stopped beside one of the windows.

Below, near the school gate, a familiar figure was walking away beneath the streetlights.

Cyrus.

He had already left the building.

Audra watched him from above as he paused on the sidewalk and turned his head, as though he had sensed someone looking at him. The fireworks gave the path a brief wash of color, then darkness returned between each burst.

Cyrus saw nothing.

After a second, he turned back toward the gate and continued walking.

Audra did not move away from the window.

Was he avoiding her again?

The possibility came too easily.

He had spent the morning walking with her. He had accepted the games, the snacks, the mask, and the time she gave him. He had even said he enjoyed the festival.

Then he had slipped away the first moment he could.

Audra’s fingers curled against the windowsill.

A few minutes later, she left the academic building.

At the edge of campus, she stopped beneath a tree and took the fox mask from her bag. The painted white face covered enough of her features to make her less recognizable in the dark. She adjusted the straps, checked that her hair was tucked behind the mask properly, and headed down the same street Cyrus had taken.

Her pace did not hesitate.

The fireworks continued behind her.

Each burst lit the street for a second, then left it dim again. Audra walked through the alternating flashes with a quiet certainty that had nothing to do with the festival.

She would find him.

Cyrus had not recognized the person near the third-floor window, so he did not think about it for long.

The fireworks were fine.

They looked good against the night sky, and the colors had been bright enough to make the festival feel larger than it really was. Still, after watching them for a few minutes, Cyrus decided that playing games with Miles and Lena would have been more entertaining.

At least Miles complained loudly when he lost.

Fireworks only exploded and disappeared.

Halfway to The Full Moon Lounge, Cyrus paused near a dark shop window and fixed his hair. He smoothed the front down, adjusted the angle of his glasses, and made sure nothing about his school appearance looked too close to the version of himself people saw at work.

The transformation was not dramatic.

That was the point.

At school, he was easy to ignore.

At the lounge, ignoring him became more difficult.

The street leading toward The Full Moon Lounge looked familiar in the nighttime quiet. Cars moved slowly along the main road. A few pedestrians passed under the streetlights. The distant fireworks still echoed through Grayhaven, though the sound was softer this far from campus.

Cyrus reached the lounge entrance and found Helena Baird standing outside.

He had not seen her in a while.

A trace of worry crossed her face before she noticed him. The expression disappeared quickly, replaced by the calm look she usually wore around him.

Cyrus caught the change anyway.

Before he could ask whether something was wrong, Helena spoke first.

"You are early tonight."

"I came straight from the festival," Cyrus said.

"That explains why you seem happier than usual."

Helena glanced toward the distant flashes above the school buildings, then looked him over from his jacket to his shoes.

"Did your class have a costume event?"

"There was one, but it was optional."

Something like disappointment passed across Helena’s face.

It lasted only a moment.

Cyrus wondered whether she had hoped to see him in costume. The thought made him cautious, though he could not think of a reasonable way to ask.

"Come inside before it gets colder," Helena said.

Cyrus opened the door and stepped aside.

"Please go ahead."

Helena entered first.

"Thank you for holding it."

Cyrus shook his head.

"It was only polite."

Helena disappeared into the lounge.

Cyrus remained outside for another second.

The feeling had returned.

Someone was watching him.

He looked down the street.

A cyclist passed near the curb. A couple walked past a closed café with their heads bent together in conversation. Beyond them, the streetlights left long patches of darkness between storefronts and parked cars.

There was no obvious figure standing nearby.

Still, the attention pressed against him with enough force that he could not dismiss it.

It did not feel like the uneasy awareness he sometimes carried after thinking about the Frostborn settlement. This was sharper. More immediate.

Cyrus stared into the darker stretch of sidewalk across the street.

The shadows near a parked car were deep enough to hide someone.

He watched them for several seconds.

Then his imagination supplied the image of something suddenly stepping out from the dark, and Cyrus turned away before he could make himself more nervous.

He went inside.

The Full Moon Lounge was quiet.

Only a few customers sat near the windows, and the low music drifting from the speakers barely rose above the clink of glassware. The warm lighting softened the room, making it feel far removed from the festival crowds and the bright bursts still flashing above Grayhaven.

Cyrus changed into his work clothes and stepped behind the counter.

Helena sat at the bar.

Normally, she ordered coffee and lingered over it while she spoke with Malcolm or watched the room settle into its evening rhythm. Tonight, she rested both hands around an empty glass and seemed to be thinking about something else.

Cyrus approached the counter.

"Would you like your usual coffee?"

"Not tonight," Helena said. "I would like a Low Tide."

Cyrus paused for a fraction of a second.

That was not her usual order.

"All right, I can make that."

He did not ask why.

A customer could order whatever they wanted. Helena had never needed to explain herself to him, and Cyrus had learned that asking too many questions often invited answers he did not want.

He assembled the drink with practiced movements.

Ice went into the glass first. Then came the pale citrus base, followed by the sweeter orange layer and the green herbal liqueur that settled into a sea-glass shade above it. The final result shifted from soft amber near the bottom to green near the surface.

The drink looked almost too bright for the lounge.

Cyrus set it in front of Helena.

"Your Low Tide is ready."

Malcolm had appeared near the back counter at some point. He looked over at the drink, then gave a small approving nod.

"That one came out nicely."

Helena picked up the glass without answering.

She took a slow sip.

The cocktail was sweeter than the coffee she usually drank, though not unpleasantly so. The alcohol was present without being harsh. Helena rested the glass on the counter again and stared into the shifting colors as though the answer to something might be sitting at the bottom.

Cyrus watched her from a respectful distance.

She was not acting like herself.

Helena usually carried a composed ease, even when she was tired. Tonight, she drank in silence, her thoughts clearly somewhere else.

Cyrus glanced toward Malcolm.

Malcolm met his eyes and gave a small shake of his head.

He did not know either.

Cyrus waited another moment before speaking.

"Helena, is there anything I can help with?"

"Just stay where you are," Helena said.

Cyrus blinked.

Helena took another sip, then seemed to catch herself.

"I mean that I do not need anything right now," she added. "Seeing you work is enough."

That answer was strange.

Cyrus did not know what to say to it, so he gave a small nod and returned to wiping down the counter.

A few minutes passed.

Helena looked toward him again, and something in her expression changed.

"Which day can people from outside visit the festival?" she asked.

"The public day is Saturday," Cyrus said. "That is the day after tomorrow."

"So it is Saturday."

Helena leaned back slightly.

"I may stop by then. I need to find some inspiration."

Cyrus considered the word.

"Inspiration for what?"

Helena’s mouth curved faintly.

"Something I am working on."

Cyrus did not press further.

Whatever Helena did outside the lounge was her business. He had a feeling it involved something creative, but he did not know enough to guess whether she wrote, designed, painted, or simply collected ideas for herself.

"Would you be willing to show me around?" Helena asked. "I might need someone who knows where everything is."

Cyrus hesitated.

Helena had been kind to him. She had helped him when he needed housing. She treated him warmly at the lounge and never made him feel like he had to explain every strange thing about himself.

Refusing without a reason would feel ungrateful.

"I can show you around," Cyrus said. "I know most of the festival areas by now."

"Then I will rely on you."

The agreement made Cyrus think of his school appearance.

Helena knew the lounge version of him. She knew the hair he wore when he worked, the way he moved behind the counter, and the version of his face he did not let most classmates see.

At school, he kept himself forgettable.

That might become inconvenient on Saturday.

Still, it was probably manageable.

Helena finished her drink earlier than expected.

She called a rideshare, said goodbye to Malcolm, and gave Cyrus a brief wave before leaving. The worried look from outside the lounge had not returned, but it had not fully disappeared either.

Cyrus watched the car pull away through the front window.

Then the evening picked up.

Customers came in slowly at first, then in enough numbers that the next few hours passed without giving him much room to think. Cyrus made drinks, polished glasses, restocked napkins, cleared empty plates, and answered the usual questions from customers who wanted something sweet, something strong, or something that did not taste like alcohol.

By a little after nine, the lounge had settled again.

Malcolm looked over the counter and checked the room.

"That is enough for tonight," he said. "You can head home if you want."

Cyrus looked up.

"Are you sure?"

"You worked early today," Malcolm said. "Go get some rest."

Cyrus nodded.

"Thank you for letting me leave early."

"You do not need to thank me every time."

Cyrus did.

He had no better way to repay Malcolm or Helena yet. The thought stayed with him whenever Malcolm gave him an easier shift, extra food, or permission to leave before closing.

Someday, Cyrus would find a way to return the kindness.

He had just turned toward the changing room when the entry bell rang.

A regular customer walked in.

Cyrus recognized her immediately.

She came in often enough that he remembered her usual seat and the way she held her glass. She always asked him to make the drink herself, then sat a short distance away from the counter and drank slowly.

Every so often, she looked toward him.

She never approached. She never asked personal questions. She never tried to extend the conversation.

That made her easier to handle than most people.

The woman stopped when she saw him heading toward the back.

Cyrus understood the look on her face.

He had been about to leave.

Without saying anything, he turned back toward the counter.

One final drink would not hurt.

"What would you like tonight?" he asked.

The regular gave her order.

Cyrus made the cocktail quickly and placed it in front of her.

Then he stayed behind the counter.

The customer drank slowly.

Cyrus did not have any tasks left that needed his attention, and he was already off the clock. He could stand there until she finished. It seemed like part of the service, especially because she never asked for more than a drink and a quiet place to sit.

If she took another half hour, it would not cost him anything.

He had already been sent home.

"Thank you for waiting," the woman said when she finally stood.

"I hope you enjoyed it."

She gave him a small nod, paid, and left.

Cyrus watched the door close behind her.

He had spoken with that customer only a handful of times.

Her attention always carried a softness that he did not know how to read. It looked almost like affection, though she never acted on it. She came in, ordered a drink, sat where she could see him, and left without asking for anything else.

Maybe she was simply shy.

Cyrus respected that.

Restraint was rare.

After saying goodnight to Malcolm, he changed back into his street clothes and headed home.

The city had gone quiet.

The festival fireworks had ended, leaving the streets darker than they had been earlier. Cyrus heard his own footsteps, the soft scrape of his jacket sleeve, and the distant hum of traffic from the main road.

Nothing else stood out.

Yet the feeling returned.

Someone was watching him.

Cyrus stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked back.

No one stood behind him.

The street was empty.

He turned forward again.

A figure stood beneath the next streetlight.