Three: Roots That Bind and Break

Night had fully settled over Hollow Creek, with the sun long gone and the sky painted in deep indigo hues. Oil lamps flickered to life, their soft, amber glow casting halos of light that barely cut through the darkness.

Everly knew she had stayed out far too late. Gathering the yellow flowers for Damian’s relentless headaches should have been a quick task. Yet time had slipped away as her mind wandered, tangled in the burdens of her secrets.

As she passed the quiet shops, her fingers traced the worn engravings on the holster of Brassleaf, the herb knife Damian had crafted for her twenty-first birthday. She could still recall his proud smile as he showed her the tweezers and hidden compartment, everything designed so she could carry her tools in one place. He’d even added a small brass clip, allowing her to keep it at her hip.

Now, with each lamp-lit step, she felt the weight of that memory pulling at her heart, slowing her trek through the dusty streets. It had been a time when he looked at her with familiarity, not as though she were a stranger—a creature from another world. Over the last several days, Damian had become uncharacteristically awkward around her, as if he feared she might suddenly combust from the magic threading through her veins.

The wind carried the familiar scent of metal and oil, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace as it rattled the darkened signs along the boardwalk. Silence pressed in, heavy as the secrets she’d carried alone since her grandmother’s passing. Admitting it felt both a relief and a risk. Now Damian shared that truth, bound by their family’s purpose to guard the amulet. She gripped Brassleaf a little tighter, as though its familiar feel could reassure her that confiding in him had been the right choice.

By now she was certain Rhett knew of the amulet’s magic, too. Damian and Rhett never hid anything from each other. Once, she’d confessed to her brother that she couldn’t join him on his ride to St. Falls for a day at the market, where he’d display his quirky inventions, due to an unfortunate rash. The next day, Rhett, with a teasing grin, offered to stop by the apothecary for an ointment. Everly had since learned to choose her words carefully around them.

She pushed open the creaky front door of her home. The familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air, a reminder of the calming teas her grandmother used to brew. Nothing was out of place: a sprig of dried lavender lay crushed in the mortar and pestle. The gentle hum of a copper filament lamp, its gears softly whirring as the glow shifted between amber and green, cast dim light across the worn countertops. By the sink, a brass faucet dripped steadily—she really needed to fix that. Everly halted for a moment, letting the kitchen’s warmth envelop her, yet a sense of unease slithered in her stomach like a shadow taking root.

“Damian?” she called, her voice breaking the stillness.

Her shoulder burned, the magic from the amulet pulsing from the wound despite the nightly applications of Plainskeeper’s Balm. She could still smell the earthy blend of silverleaf sage and goldenrod oil clinging faintly to her skin. The scar throbbed in time with her quickening heartbeat. Ancient symbols flickered in her mind as she steadied herself on the kitchen counter. She’d never seen markings like these before, but ever since the injury, they’d been creeping into her thoughts with more frequency. Whether it was a warning or a gift, she could not tell—but the ache felt like a thread, binding her to something beyond her control.

“Damian, are you home? I collected more marigold.” Everly set the woven basket on the cutting block. “Damian?”

The sense of unease thickened around her as she crept further into the house. Since the amulet’s rare display of power last week, every shadow felt watchful, every sound amplified. A faint clinking of metal drifted from the back room, and she hesitated before following it. As she rounded the corner, she found Damian hunched over the workbench in his workroom, gears and springs scattered around him. His brow furrowed in concentration.

“Damian!” she exclaimed, a wave of relief flooding her as she crossed into the room.

He looked up, the worry in his eyes mirroring her own. With his tousled blond hair and intelligent features, she understood why girls lingered near their street, hoping for a glimpse of him. But little did they know, Damian had the focus of a mule—when he set his mind to something, like his latest gear gun upgrade, the rest of the world might as well not exist. One day, she figured, he’d notice one of those lovely girls, but until then, their loitering only served to get in her way. She’d lost count of the times she’d had to shoo them off.

Footsteps echoed from behind, and the atmosphere shifted as a familiar figure entered the room after her.

“There ya are.” Rhett flashed her a crooked grin. “You’ve got a look like a storm’s brewin’. Did ya already hear what went down? Bet the whole town’s buzzin’ like a kicked hornet’s nest.”

“What are you talking about?” Everly’s voice wavered slightly as she tried to balance her focus between the two men. The warmth of Rhett’s smile faded, and she sensed an undercurrent in the air. What had she missed?

Damian cleared his throat, hesitant to respond. Rhett leaned in, “We had a bit of trouble at the saloon tonight. Couple of big, mean fellas cornered us, askin’ around for ya. Looked like they meant business.”

Blood drained from Everly’s face. “Are the Justiciars here?”

“Not the Justiciars,” Damian said, “but these were dangerous men. Perhaps worse than them Scouts. If it wasn’t for Rhett convincin’ those men you’d gone to Chevy Town for the week, we’d be in big trouble.” He picked up a bolt that had fallen among the metal shavings on the floor and swore softly. “We can’t stay in Hollow Creek. It’s gettin’ dangerous.”

Everly’s fingers drifted to the chain at her neck, curling around the delicate silver. “But this is our home. Our roots are here!”

Damian shook his head. “This ain’t about where we’re rooted. Those men . . . they were asking about you. I don’t know if it’s your magic they’re after or the amulet, but I suspect it’s the latter. One of them mentioned a trinket just before they cleared out of town.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The longer we stay, the more likely they’ll come back searching for it.”

A chill skittered down Everly’s spine. Grandma Destiny had warned there were people eager to get their hands on the amulet, but she never imagined she’d actually encounter them.

“We can’t just leave!” Her voice rose, a desperate edge creeping in as she took a step closer. “Grandma Destiny’s teachings are tied to this town. We have a duty to protect it, to protect others!”

For as long as Everly could remember, their door had always been open to refugees with Faith magic passing through, their presence a constant reminder of the silent war waged beyond the town’s borders. Grandma Destiny had dedicated her life to this quiet yet relentless mission. In the safety of their small town—far removed from the reach of the Justiciar Scouts who prowled the wildlands, hunting those who wielded Faith magic—she opened her modest home to the weary, the persecuted, and the forsaken.

Everly had long since taken up the grueling work, tending to the endless cycle of cleaning and cooking, her hands sore from the weight of it. But there was a quiet joy in it too. The gratitude in the eyes of those they helped moved something deep within her—a sense of purpose that swelled in her heart, fueling her desire to do more.

“This house has been empty for weeks,” Damian said. “No one’s come callin’. Surely no one will until we’ve settled this.”

Rhett’s expression turned sympathetic. “Damian’s right. He’s not suggesting we leave for good. But if they find you…” He trailed off, the implications hanging heavy in the air.

“And there’s something else.” Damian rubbed a hand over his face, expression haunted. “You said the shadows sprang from the amulet. I don’t know how, but I see them, and those men carried the same darkness on their backs. They have to be tied to the amulet somehow. That damn thing is a beacon, drawin’ in trouble.”

Everly knew he was right, but the thought of leaving everything behind was unbearable. “We can confront them. Perhaps we can reason with them.”

“Evie, we don’t know what they’re capable of,” Rhett replied. “They don’t want reason. They want power. I don’t doubt they would burn this whole town for that amulet.”

Their words seemed to close in around her, and she clenched her fists, fighting the instinct to back down. “Then we’ll stand and fight. We’ll find a way to protect our home.”

“It ain’t that simple.” Damian shook another bolt loose from the gear gun on his workbench. “If we stand against them, we need a plan that will ensure the safety of the town.”

“We don’t need a plan!” Everly protested. “We have true power on our side—we have the light!”

Damian slammed his favorite pair of brass-framed goggles onto the table, where they landed with a resonant thud. “What good is the light if we don’t understand what’s lurking in the dark?”

“Easy now,” Rhett cut in. “Y’all’re both right. Might be best we pack up and lay low awhile. Come back after we’ve done a bit more diggin’. We’ll ask around, see if anybody’s heard somethin’.”

Everly glowered at Rhett. He was taking Damian’s side as usual.

Rhett’s face gentled as he picked a devil’s beggar-tick from the shoulder of her vest. It must’ve latched on during her hunt for marigold.

His smile stirred something within her, but she squashed any emotion there. Rhett possessed a striking blend of both arrogance and charm. His broad shoulders and strong frame spoke of physical prowess, while his dark brown hair framed sharp features. But it was his green eyes that truly captivated, hinting at a complexity beneath his confident exterior. There was a mischievous spark within them. Even though Everly had been forced to trust him with certain secrets, she could never trust him with more than that.

“Pack up and regroup?” she repeated, incredulous. “You make it sound so simple! What if they follow us? What would be the point of leaving in the first place?”

Rhett straightened, heat flashing in his eyes. “And what if you stick around and things go south real quick? We ain’t helpless, Evie. But right now, we need to know what we’re up against. If those fellas are a danger, we can’t go charging in blind.”

Damian brushed a loose strand of hair from his face. “And we can’t just rely on your magic—or our shooting skills.”

Everly clenched her jaw. “I can’t leave Hollow Creek. This place needs me!”

“Evie—” Rhett began, but she cut him off, feeling the weight of their gaze like a pressure cooker ready to burst.

“I know it sounds reckless, but I can’t sit back and let someone else dictate my fate. I’ll take my chances.” She stepped back, the finality of her words hanging in the air.

“Everly,” Damian said, his tone dropping to a softer note. “I understand what you’re getting at, but we can’t afford to lose you. Let us help.”

“You want to help now?” she snapped, her resolve hardening. “After your scandalous display of the amulet in the first place? I don’t think so. And I don’t need saving. I’ll figure this out on my own if I have to.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut. Rhett exchanged a glance with Damian, but Everly refused to let their concern sway her.

“I’ll face them myself,” she stated firmly. “And I’ll protect this town on my own.”