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Evelyn shut out the memory but believed the words to be true. The shrill voice only fed her doubt like an obstinate weed while her hope wilted away. Maxie purred in her hold, providing some comfort. It did little. Evelyn sank into the hollowing absence of her flame, the reason she ran, the reason she had left in the first place, the reason she needed to move on to the next place.
She rushed from the kitchen and let Maxie down. The cat, for once, understood the initiative and headed for their exit. Unlike the night before, the pub was empty, silent, and cold, the platform where the band played abandoned. The mismatched rickety chairs were empty and solemn.
“Good morning, my dear!”
Evelyn jumped at the sound of Miss Patricia’s cheery voice.
The owner of the inn didn’t miss her reaction. Middle-aged eyes assessed Evelyn’s attire, lingered on her cloak, and spotted Maxie by the door.
“You’re leaving,” she said, her face falling. Not a question but a fact.
Guilt sliced through Evelyn. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint the older woman who’d been so kind to her these last three months. She’d given Evelyn a job and a roof over her head and never asked questions.
“What gave me away?” Evelyn said with a meek laugh.
“I run an inn. I see people come and go every day.”
Again, Evelyn’s guilt rose to the surface. She’d hoped to leave and avoid this confrontation. Fucking flames, her morning was not going as planned.
“I’m sorry.” It felt like she’d been saying this over and over for two years, even to herself. Goddess, another thing she was tired of. Here she was letting someone down, yet again. Like her parents, like her people. It almost felt like it was the only thing she was good at.
“Aye, think nothing of it. I knew the moment I met you, Saige Ferriwether, you’d be here for only a short time.”
Evelyn’s fake name echoed as loud as any band that played at the Runaway Radish, and Evelyn tugged at the collar of her blouse.
“At least let me send you off with some fixings,” Miss Patricia said.
Evelyn nodded, afraid of disappointing her boss any further.
Miss Patricia placed her basket of fresh eggs down on the kitchen counter, feathers bouncing off the top. Her ruddy cheeks were darker from exertion and her wheatfield curls frizzed with sweat. She wiped her hands on her floured apron. In no time, she put together a parcel of barmbrack slices, a few hard-boiled eggs, an apple, and even two cured lamb sausages.
“I added a sprinkle of salt to the parcel in case you come across any faerie during your travels. The grains will distract them.”
Evelyn fought a smile, biting her lip. “Thank you.”
“Aye, now what did I tell ya?” Miss Patricia raised a brow.
Evelyn tensed, gripping her satchel and parcel of food close. Maxie popped in between her legs and meowed at Miss Patricia.
The inn owner tsked and pointed a finger at Evelyn. “Always say hi to a lone magpie, keep a cat, keep the faerie out back, and don’t dare disturb a faerie fort.”
Ah, Evelyn’s skin tingled, and her ears perked. She’d heard the innkeeper’s jolly saying about faerie before and how the enduring presence of the ancient faerie gave the wind its howl and the air its chill. Not that Evelyn believed a word of it. In her homeland, those tales were told as bedtime stories. Here in Torren, they had a millennium-old history, and if accounts were true, the humans had driven the faerie underground and they’d yet to resurface. Miss Patricia, along with the rest of the town, whispered about them as if they were still around, but Evelyn hadn’t seen evidence of that.
Slowly, Evelyn nodded. “Of course. Thank you again. For everything.”
Sadness flashed in the older lady’s eyes, but she managed a warm smile. “You’ll be missed, dear,” she said and pulled Evelyn into a hug.
Evelyn’s innate magic zapped, feeling the goodness of the woman’s soul vibrating through the air. A witch’s magic was tethered to their soul, weaved into its making. It sensed likeness and the essence of others, whether they had magic or no magic. It gauged one’s true nature.
As she hugged Miss Patricia back, she bristled. Not from the older woman’s warm kindness but because she hated goodbyes. They reminded her of those she’d left behind. Those she’d never had the chance to say goodbye to. Likely never see again. Like Miss Patricia and the other kind townsfolk of Callum.
As they parted, a breeze charged with a haunting chill escaped from the outside and through the open door. Evelyn’s magic sensed the darkness, the threat lingering outside the inn, looming in the morning.
A scream rang out.
Gut-wrenching terror. Raw pain. And pure panic.
Evelyn rushed outside the Runaway Radish, searching the town square. At the center, Brenna McCarthy, an older woman who ran a farm with her husband, knelt under the clock tower, her stare fixed upward. Her features contorted with anguish, and she let out another horrific cry, as if the worst pain ailed her.
