Five: Under Watchful Eyes

After days of silence, the cloaked men had returned. Every corner of the town seemed a little darker with their suffocating presence. On her way home from the butcher’s, Everly had overheard the rising commotion near The Steel Horse—a loud, heated conversation spilling into the street. Slicker’s voice, sharp and desperate, was followed by the crash of something breaking inside.

Then, with no warning, the saloon door swung open and Slicker was hurled out, his body crashing to the dirt right in front of her. Before he could get to his knees, the interrogators had seized him, dragging him by the collar, their voices a low growl. They weren’t asking questions anymore—they were punishing him, dragging him like a ragdoll across the ground, as their demands rang out with cruel force.

Every muscle in Everly’s body had tensed. It wasn’t just the words or the anger in their voices—it was the violence, the total disregard for Slicker’s dignity. Her blood boiled. This wasn’t just about the amulet—it was an attack on the town, on its people, on everything she stood for. Confronting the cloaked men in that moment had been an instinctive decision. She knew it was rash, knew it might make things worse, but seeing Slicker humiliated for the town to see—she wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing.

She’d marched toward the scene, abandoning her recent purchases of plump pork sausages and glistening drumsticks outside the saloon. Standing in the middle of the thoroughfare, Everly felt every gaze on her. Sheriff Jebediah Hawke stood near the edge of the crowd, too outnumbered to make a scene but clearly watching with growing concern. His hand hovered near his sidearm, but it stayed put—no one wanted to provoke a gunfight in the middle of Hollow Creek.

Old Man Hargrove stood off to the side, his wrinkled face pinched with unease as he glanced between her and the cloaked men. Around him, a few townsfolk lingered, their gazes darting between her and the confrontation, but no one had stepped forward.

“Leave him be,” Everly demanded, aware of the watchful eyes around her. The cloaked men had paused only briefly, their shadows stretching long in the waning sunlight. Their laughter rang out sharp and cruel, their long coats swaying with their movements. Black bandanas masked all but their gleaming eyes. They looked at her as if she were an ant daring to challenge a mountain lion, their dark cackles grating against her ears.

Not far off, Everly caught sight of young Lilla Forsythe. She stood behind her new husband, Hank, her face partially hidden by the broadness of his shoulders. Lilla’s eyes flicked to Everly, then quickly darted away, as if afraid of being caught watching. Everly recognized her immediately—Lilla had spent too many afternoons outside the livery, waiting for the chance to talk to Damian on his way to the saloon. It had been Everly, in the end, who told Lilla plainly that Damian wasn’t interested, a truth that left Lilla simmering. But, of course, Lilla had turned that sting into something else entirely, twisting the story until Everly was painted as the villain. She spread rumors, casting Everly as a selfish busybody who had nothing better to do than meddle in others’ affairs and spill everyone’s secrets. Everly knew them for what they were—lies—but that never stopped them from spreading.

In the end, she’d chosen not to fight them. When the townsfolk began to avoid her, she took it as an excuse to keep to herself. She no longer participated in town meetings, festivals, or the annual games. She knew they wondered about her, and soon enough, the truth of her Faith magic would be exposed, laid bare for all to see. How they would react, whether with fear, distrust, or worse, she couldn’t say. But that no longer mattered. The real threat was here, and it was time to face it.

As soon as Damian and Rhett had arrived at her side, she felt a rush of warmth fill her—something she’d never admit aloud. She had been set on facing the cloaked men alone, determined to prove she could handle it. But standing on the precipice of danger, the strength she had tried to summon faltered. Her fingers twitched with a tremor she couldn’t suppress, and her breath came a little quicker, betraying her calm façade. Yet, as Damian’s steady presence and Rhett’s quiet confidence anchored her, she squared her shoulders, the fear still there but no longer in control.

Rhett spat into the dirt. “I reckon I’m mighty fond of you, Evie, but I ain’t sure this is the smartest move you’ve ever made.”

“You’re one to talk. What about when you went after that fox last month.” Everly’s gaze shifted between the cloaked men as they circled. “Jumped straight into a briar patch, if I recall.”

“That damn fox made off with my favorite cufflinks. I had no choice but to track it down.”

“And I ended up picking every last thorn out of your pretty face.”

“I didn’t make a fuss about it, now, did I?”

“Now ain’t the time for courtin’,” Damian hissed. “Here comes their leader.”

Everly’s gaze snapped to the tallest of the cloaked figures as he stepped forward, his appearance a gathering tempest. The air around him seemed to hum with suppressed hatred—an unspoken threat that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She swallowed hard.

“I see you brought your friends,” the leader sneered. “It won’t make any difference. You can’t protect the amulet forever, Miss Cunningham.”

The amulet stirred to life, its warmth pulsing against her skin. Since learning of the cloaked men and their hunt, she’d kept the amulet chained to her wrist, tucked securely into her leather brace.

“You ain’t layin’ a hand on her, or that damn jewelry,” Rhett growled. His hand rested on the butt of his gun.

Everly froze, gaze shifting to her brother’s best friend. His words landed like a buckshot, blunt and unrestrained. Over the years, she’d seen Rhett bruised, bloodied, and rattled after more than a few brawls at The Steel Horse. But never like this. Never had she heard him speak with such raw emotion, his voice so stripped of the charm and ease that usually guarded his words. This wasn’t the confident, easygoing gunslinger she knew.

The amulet burned hotter against the tender flesh of her wrist, the magic in her shoulder flaring suddenly in response to the leader’s proximity. She clenched her jaw, doing her best to ignore the discomfort.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she warned. “This magic isn’t something you can control.”

The leader’s jagged smile widened on her. “We’ll see about that.”