Page 22 of Vesuvius

Elias continued, ‘It’s enough to make one wonder about you.’

‘Keep wondering.’ Felix pushed Elias’s dice at him. ‘Again.’

Sparing the pieces a cursory glance, Elias locked eyes with Felix. His were blisteringly dark. ‘Just ask what you mean to ask.’

‘Why did you really bring me here?’

‘To stall you until Loren returned. Obviously. Why did you follow?’

‘You threatened me,’ Felix hissed. ‘Over the . . .’

The crowd was loud enough that he didn’t fear being overheard, and both being street-scum, he and Elias blended in. Besides, thieves protected their own. But naming his crime would carry finality, regardless of what Elias already knew.

‘Please. You followed because you were curious. I know that because I know Loren. He isn’t a liar, but he holds a mess of secrets in his head. You can’t ask him a question and expect a straight answer. Whatever he told you about the helmet, you couldn’t possibly be satisfied.’ Suddenly suspicion twisted Elias’s face. ‘But you wasted your question asking after tourists. As if, maybe, you’ve already made up your mind about the helmet. And what use you might make of it.’

‘A bath,’ Felix said dryly. ‘Food. A roof.’

‘You aren’t thinking big enough.’

The words, though casual, sent a chill down Felix’s spine. He eyed Elias in a new light. Outside, day had turned to dusk. Without stray bars of sunset streaming through slitted windows, shadows fell harsher. They dripped down the planes of Elias’s face, ageing him before his time.

Loren and the statesman both called the helmet divine. Powerful. Deadly. A tingle raced across Felix’s palms, a craving to touch, to hold skin-warmed silver again. To make the helmet his own.

He wet his lips. ‘Doyouwant it?’

The spell cracked when Elias snorted. ‘Gods, no. I want you – and it – far from Pompeii when you use it.’

As if it wasn’t just a glorified piece of metal. Magic was still horseshit. It had to be. Or else . ..

The air thickened until Felix couldn’t breathe. He shoved back, bench legs screeching, and stormed off. Dice weren’t the only thing being played that evening. He shouldn’t have followed Elias. He shouldn’t have been curious.

Curiosity led to caring, and caring never won Felix favour.

The statesman had also said,Your father is dead.

Even if he brushed the comment off as a lucky guess, Felix couldn’t shake how it rattled in the hollows of his mind, where memories should be, but weren’t. An emptiness with only a fearful ache to fill it.

Whatever once fitted there was no longer his to hold. But that never stopped him wondering.

Maybe Elias had been right: Felix did have an interest in Pompeii’s politics beyond self-preservation. That if he asked the right questions, caught a fraying thread about the statesman’s identity, Felix might trigger an answer to what he lacked. But his story was nothing special. In the end, all threads snapped. He was one in a long line of fatherless boys, and the statesman was some no-name tourist, and Felix should know better than to dwell.

Out in the muggy evening air, where rain clouds hung heavy, Felix’s headache returned in full force. Mind muddled like this, picking out the details that mattered, the lifesaving details, proved impossible. The city sparked with nightlife, sounds stacking on his frustration. Further down the street, a handful of boys circled in the careless way only close friends could. Something throbbed low in Felix’s gut as one boy burst into laughter and slapped his friend’s back. An easy gesture, foreign to someone like Felix.

Dangerous for someone like Felix.

Elias’s hand landed on his shoulder, not gripping, but not friendly, either. The impact echoed down his vertebrae, like an earthquake.

‘You feel like an omen,’ Elias said. ‘I can’t have you lurking around my city.’

‘I’ll be gone by morning.’

‘Then here’s my question: what do you intend to do with your time left?’

But Felix had no real answer. Intentions never counted for much. Rain began to patter, and he tore his eyes from the laughing boys to face Elias. Before he could formulate an answer – or an excuse – a man twice their age sidled up. No words were exchanged, but Elias’s eyes drooped, seductive but threaded with reluctant resignation, and the man pushed him against brick. Felix took that as his cue to leave.

‘Hey, Fox?’ Elias called. Felix looked back to see the man lick a stripe up Elias’s neck. ‘Loren can be self-righteous, but he’s a good person. I don’t want to see him hurt.’

Envy raked through Felix’s gut. Clearly Elias had a tense history with Loren, but he still looked out for him. What must that be like? To count on someone to watch your back? By design, by his rules, Felix would never know.

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