Chapter 9 Elara
ELARA
The Silver Fang Tavern sat near the town square, its wooden sign creaking in the wind.
Elara pushed through the heavy door and found herself in a space that smelled like whiskey and woodsmoke.
Low beams crossed the ceiling, and mismatched tables filled the room.
A fire crackled in a stone hearth, and above the bar, animal skulls mounted on plaques stared down with empty eyes.
The conversations didn't stop this time. But they shifted. Quieter. More watchful.
A woman behind the bar looked up. Short black hair, sharp features, and eyes that assessed Elara in one sweeping glance. She set down the glass she'd been polishing.
"You must be the journalist." Her voice carried an edge. "Diana said you might wander in eventually."
"Word travels fast here."
"Small town. Not much else to do but talk." The woman gestured to a stool at the bar. "Sit. I'm Maeve. I run this place."
Elara settled onto the stool, setting her bag on the floor. "Nice spot."
"It serves its purpose." Maeve pulled out a clean glass. "What are you drinking?"
"What do you recommend?"
"Depends. You looking to warm up or forget?"
"Warm up."
Maeve reached for a bottle on the shelf behind her. Dark liquid poured into the glass, steam rising immediately. She added something from a smaller bottle, then slid it across the bar.
"Spiced ale. Family recipe. Try it before you decide if you like it."
Elara sipped. Heat spread down her throat, followed by flavors she couldn't quite identify. Cinnamon, maybe. Something sharper underneath. "That's good."
"Course it is." Maeve leaned against the bar. "So. A journalist. What brings you to Hollow Oak?"
"Research. Small communities that maintain traditional ways of life."
"That what we're calling it now? Traditional ways of life?" Maeve's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Seems like a polite way of saying we're backwards."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Sure you didn't." Maeve picked up another glass to polish. "But you're here looking for a story. Something interesting enough to write about. Something different."
"Is that a crime?"
"Depends on what you do with the story once you find it."
Elara took another sip of ale. "Everyone here seems convinced I'm going to hurt the town somehow. But I haven't done anything except ask questions."
"Questions can be dangerous. Especially when they're about things people want to keep private."
"Like what?"
"Like why we live the way we do. Why we stay hidden. Why we don't want outsiders poking around in our business." Maeve set down the glass. "You seem smart. You've probably already figured out there's something different about this place."
"I've noticed some things."
"What kind of things?"
Elara hesitated. Testing how much she could say without raising more suspicion. "Protection charms. Symbols I recognize from folk magic traditions. Lights that flicker without power sources. People who are very, very protective of their secrets."
"And what do you think that means?"
"I think it means Hollow Oak takes its traditions seriously. More seriously than most places."
"That's a diplomatic answer." Maeve poured herself a small glass of the spiced ale. "But we both know you're thinking something else. You're thinking maybe there's more to those traditions than just superstition."
Elara met her eyes. "Is there?"
"What do you think?"
"I think if I answer that honestly, you'll either kick me out or warn me to stop asking questions."
Maeve's laugh was sharp. "At least you're honest about being dishonest. I can respect that."
A man at a nearby table called for another round. Maeve moved to serve him, leaving Elara alone with her ale and her thoughts.
When Maeve returned, her expression had hardened. "Look. I'm going to be straight with you because I don't have the patience for games. You seem like a decent person. Probably think you're doing good work, exposing hidden communities, telling their stories."
"I am trying to do good work."
"Maybe. But some stories don't want to be told.
Some secrets exist for good reasons. And when you go digging in places you don't understand, people get hurt.
" Maeve leaned closer. "Five or so years ago, we had another outsider show up.
Influencer, big following, looking to document authentic mountain life.
She started posting about Hollow Oak before anyone could stop her. You know what happened?"
"What?"
"We had people trying to find us. Dozens of them. Hikers, photographers, curiosity seekers. All wanting to see the quaint little hidden town." Maeve's voice dropped. "The Veil held, but it was close. Too close. And the stress of maintaining it nearly killed one of our elders."
Elara's hand tightened on her glass. "I'm not going to post anything publicly. I write articles, not social media threads."
"Articles get shared. Get picked up by bigger outlets.
Get seen by people who have nothing better to do than track down places that should stay hidden.
" Maeve straightened. "I'm not telling you this to scare you.
I'm telling you this so you understand what's at stake.
This isn't just about protecting privacy. It's about protecting lives."
"Whose lives?"
"Everyone's in this town. Everyone who depends on staying hidden to stay safe."
"Safe from what?"
Maeve's expression closed off. "That's not my story to tell. But if you keep pushing, if you keep digging, you're going to find answers you're not ready for. And once you know, you can't unknow. Can't unsee. Can't go back to your normal life and pretend everything's fine."
Elara finished her ale. The warmth in her chest had turned to something heavier.
Maeve took her empty glass. "But if warnings don't work, if you become a real problem, then there will be consequences. We protect our own here. Whatever it takes."
The door opened. Cold air rushed in, and Alaric entered. His eyes found Elara immediately, then shifted to Maeve.
"Evening," he said.
"Alaric." Maeve's tone shifted slightly. Less sharp, more familiar. "Your usual?"
"Not tonight. Just checking in."
"Everyone's accounted for. No trouble." Maeve glanced at Elara. "Yet."
Alaric crossed to the bar, positioning himself three stools down from Elara. Close enough to hear, far enough to maintain distance. "Good."
Maeve poured him something dark and slid it over. "Our guest here was just asking some interesting questions."
"Was she."
"Told her some stories don't want to be told. Think she got the message?"
Alaric looked at Elara. Those eyes held hers for a long moment. "Hard to say. Some people need to learn things the hard way."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Maeve moved down the bar to serve another customer.
Elara picked up her bag. "I should get back to the inn."
"Probably smart," Alaric said.
She stood, then paused. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask."
"Why does everyone here act like I'm some kind of threat? I'm one person with a notebook. What could I possibly do that scares an entire town?"
Alaric took a drink. Set down his glass. "You ever heard the saying about how the smallest spark can start the biggest fire?"
"Yes."
"You're the spark. We're trying to make sure you don't become the fire."
Elara headed for the door. Outside, the temperature had dropped with the sun. She pulled her jacket tighter and started toward the inn.
Behind her, through the tavern window, she could see Alaric and Maeve talking. Both of them watching her leave.
She pulled out her notebook as she walked, jotting down everything Maeve had said. The warning about the influencer. The mention of the Veil needing protection. The threat masked as concern.
And underneath it all, the certainty that Hollow Oak was hiding something bigger than old traditions and protective charms.
Something worth protecting at any cost.
Something Elara was more determined than ever to uncover.
Even if it meant becoming the fire they were all so afraid of.