Chapter 9: Chapter 9

  Hazel led the way down the stairs and into the street. Appealing aromas filled the air in all directions, but it was hard to find one that stood out from the rest.

   “Where to go...?” Hazel reached out and grabbed Fletcher by the hand, pulling him along so they would not be separated. 

  As tempting as pastries were, the pair had yet to eat a proper meal, so on they went. Releasing Fletcher’s hand, Hazel looked up and down the street at a row of restaurants. 

  Seafood...foreign...Oh! Crepes! Just like back home! 

  Hazel gestured towards the shop. Floral arrangements adorned the candlelit tables where many couples were seated enjoying one another’s company. 

  “It looks nice here. It reminds me of home..,” they trailed off.

  “Whatever you wish,” he said, voice coming out breathless. He let Hazel lead him into the shop.

  It was small, more of a cafe than anything. The intimate atmosphere, dimly lit by candles at each table felt, was nice. There was the quiet conversation and the clinking of silverware on plates. The smell of southern cuisine, crepe bread, sizzling meats, and fresh fruits filled the room. 

  They were led to a table by a smiling waitress, far in the back corner against a window. There were simple parchment menus already laid on the white tablecloth. 

  “Can I get any drinks started for you,” the waitress asked.

  Fletcher glanced over the menu. “Coffee, please. Black.”

  “And for you, ma’am?”

  “Cider, if you don’t mind,” Hazel answered 

  The waitress jotted their drink orders down, not missing a beat as Hazel skimmed the menu to find the crepe that most reminded them of Veridia’s cooking. 

  “Eggs, ham, a side order of croissants...” they said. 

  The waitress repeated back and then turned to Fletcher. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

  “Ham and cheese crepe.” 

  The waitress nodded, bowing politely before leaving them alone.

  “I wonder if it’ll be anything like the real thing?” Fletcher chuckled, deep and quiet. “I suppose you can be the judge.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Fletcher’s face was cast so gently in the candlelight. He cleaned up well, his scruffy appearance transformed into something more akin to rugged.

  Honeymoon suite.

  Hazel attempted to force down their embarrassment, clearing their throat. “My sister used to make us crepes with the most delicious buttered croissants on winter nights like this,” they said, averting their eyes.

  “That sounds lovely,” Fletcher toyed with the flower arrangement on the table. His eyes were cast downward to the powder blue petals, thankfully not catching the way Hazel’s face heated.

  “My father and mother both cooked until we were teenagers,” he said. “Then it was Louis and my turn to fend for ourselves most of the time.” 

  He chuckled. “Until he nearly burned down the house. Then it was just me. Or Vivian when she took pity on us and brought meals over.”

  “The way you say that sounds as though he fled to hide his shame at nearly committing arson.” Hazel stifled a laugh. 

  “Louis doesn’t have the shame to flee after anything like that. He is as vain as an opera singer.”

  “Melody, my other sister, couldn’t cook to save her life,” they recalled.”She once mistakenly added sugar to a stew thinking it was salt and I still remember the noise she made when she finally tried it. She sprayed broth all over the kitchen table.”

  Melody always behaved with such confidence, it was nice to have these memories that she was just as human as everyone else.

  “She was convinced that Veridia or I had switched the salt and sugar to play a trick on her, but she also seemed to find it just as humorous as we did,” Hazel sighed. Their chest clenched tightly. 

  Fletcher barked out a laugh. “Sounds like Vivian. She could do no wrong in her eyes.” 

  His expression softened, eyes closing at the memory. “She was the baker’s daughter back in Maple Hollow and switched salt and sugar enough that I got used to the taste of salty cupcakes,” 

  Something akin to sadness crossed over his face but was gone when he blinked. He said.”When we became engaged she burnt the cheesecake she made for my mother”

  Hazel froze.“Oh...you... are engaged?”

  Sudden swelling of shame filled them. Just because he never mentioned a significant other that did not mean that he wasn’t spoken for! And Hazel had behaved so shamelessly.

  Fletcher flinched, fists clenching at his sides. “No. I’m not anymore, Miss Hazel.” 

  The waitress swept back to their table, a smile faltering at his tense expression. “I hope everything is to your liking,” she said as she put the plates and drinks in front of them.

  “It looks lovely, Miss,” Fletcher answered, smiling once again as he took a sip of his coffee.

  Hazel pitched their brows together, chewing on their bottom lip. Why would his fiancé suddenly no longer be engaged to Fletcher?

  There were only two options, that Vivian had backed out or that she had-

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  “Thank you,” they said, numbly, to the waitress. 

  The crepes and croissants steamed. The smell was incredible. Not quite the same as home, but that wasn’t a bad thing. 

  Hazel didn’t know how to progress in their conversation now. They had been thinking about someone in mourning for their fiancé in that way. Horror and shame congealed in their chest.  

  The silence felt thick, like stagnant air from a forgotten basement. 

  He looked up, watching Hazel. “She died ten years ago, Hazel,” he said, quietly. “In the werewolf attack.” 

  “I’m so sorry.” Hazel did not know what further to say. Fletcher was concerned about ruining the atmosphere, something Hazel should appreciate.

  No. If it was off the table, he would never have shown interest at all. At least Hazel believed so.

  Fletcher cleared his throat. “I apologize. I should not have brought her up.”

  “It is alright,” Hazel shook their head, taking a croissant from the plate and biting into it.“W-wonderful.” They held out the rest to Fletcher. “You need to try this!”

  The excitement returned to Hazel.  The taste of new and delicious food pulled their attention away from Vivian. Fletcher still looked dreamy by the candlelight, after all. Distractions. Little distractions helped to quell the shame. 

  Fletcher obliged, taking the croissant from them. The bite he took was small.

  “It is,” he exclaimed and put the rest back on her plate. “How does it stack against your sister’s?

  “Quite well actually. But they are only a side item.” 

  With a delicate hand, they sliced away a piece and lifted it to their mouth with the fork. The Lord had instilled impeccable table manners in his clerics. That much showed in the way they held their silverware. 

  Hazel breathed, a content sound escaping them. “Not the same as home, but still wonderful.” They swallowed the food, wiping the tip of their mouth with a napkin. “And yours?”

  Fletcher’s cheeks were red behind his cup as he took a sip of his coffee. “It's lovely,” Fletcher said. His crepe was mostly uneaten, however. Bringing up Vivian has killed what appetite he had.

  “I wish one day I could experience it with you,” Fletcher murmured. “I’m sure the real thing is much better.”

  “I would like that a lot.” Hazel looked up and noticed that he had been staring at them. There was a half-lidded expression on his face, as intense as fire.“If-if that is ok with you I mean!” Turning back to their food, they took another bite. 

  “I could introduce you to Veridia and Melody,” Hazel mused.

  It wasn’t until the last bite of their crepe that the thought suddenly returned.

  Honeymoon suite.

  That image of the two of them passed through Hazel’s mind again, but this time Fletcher leaned forward towards Hazel’s neck and then-

  Hazel’s blushing returned. 

  “Does Lord Garth give you time for a holiday,” Fletcher asked.

  Hazel fell silent, thoughts of the hotel swept away at once. “No,” they finally said. “He doesn’t. We are only allowed to leave on jobs.” 

  Hazel’s hands folded into the lap, as they had done countless times before. Their nails bit into their palms to cease their trembling. “We are given money for food and travel fare. But that is all.”

  “Miss Hazel.” Fletcher’s hands stilled around the mug as he stared at them.

  “Are you...a-,“ he paused, as if the words were suddenly hard to utter, “Are you enslaved?” The look he leveled on them was tense, widened eyes flashing a strange glow.

  Hazel froze. Hearing those words so bluntly sent a shiver down their spine.

  “I...um...” Hazel’s voice trembled. “Lord Garth...gave me my embedding... and...”

  They couldn’t bring themself to finish the mantra. It was a harsh reality, one almost impossible to ignore.

 

  “G-Garth took me from my home.” The admission felt like lead on their tongue. “He embedded me with Lyfe and demanded I repay him for it through service. Disobedience means he will go back for my sisters. I- I can’t stand up to him. I can’t let him hurt them.” Hazel fell silent again. 

  Fletcher matched their silence, food uneaten. The click of glassware and twinkling laughter flowed over them from other tables. 

  “You spoke of duty,” Fletcher finally rasped out,” I…” He trailed off. 

  Suddenly, he stood. “Please excuse me for just a moment.” He had already turned, looking at Hazel over his shoulder. “Bathroom.” 

  Hazel lifted a hand as Fletcher rose suddenly, but he had already got up and darted away.

  "...Ah.” They let their arm sink. This was dangerous. Did Garth have a way of listening in? Did he already know? Veridia...Melody...are you going to be ok?

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