Chapter 3 Ivy
IVY
The next evening brought a soft drizzle that misted the festival preparations like watercolor brushstrokes. Ivy stood behind the makeshift stage area beside Griddle & Grind, her guitar case open at her feet as she tuned the strings with practiced fingers.
The festival had officially started an hour ago, and the square buzzed with energy. Lanterns cast warm pools of light across the gathering crowd, and the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke drifted from various food stalls.
"You ready for this, honey?"
Ivy looked up to find Twyla approaching with a steaming mug and that knowing smile that seemed to be her permanent expression.
"As ready as I will ever be." Ivy accepted the cider gratefully. The warmth helped steady her hands, though her nerves still hummed beneath her skin.
"First time performing in a while?"
"Something like that."
Twyla's eyes sparkled with understanding. "Well, you picked the right place for a fresh start.”
Before Ivy could ask what that meant exactly, Twyla was moving toward the small stage area, clapping her hands to get the crowd's attention.
"Folks, we've got a special treat tonight. Please welcome Ivy Lane, traveling song."
Traveling song. Not traveling musician or traveling performer. The phrasing sent a warm flutter through Ivy's chest, like Twyla understood exactly what her music meant to her.
Ivy slung her guitar strap over her shoulder and stepped onto the small platform they'd erected behind the café. The crowd wasn't huge, maybe forty people scattered across hay bales and blanket squares, but their faces were warm and expectant in the lantern light.
She adjusted the microphone stand and tested the levels. "Evening, everyone. Thank you for having me."
A murmur of welcome rippled through the audience, and Ivy felt some of her tension ease. These people weren't here to judge or critique. They were here to listen.
"I thought I'd start with something that feels like autumn," she said, settling her fingers on the guitar strings. "Hope you don't mind if I make it my own."
The first chord rang clear despite the drizzle, and Ivy felt her magic abilities rise to meet it. Not the controlled, manufactured sound Sebastian had demanded, but the wild, true magic that lived in her fae blood.
She began to weave a protective charm into the melody, something to shield the listeners without binding them. It was an old technique, one her grandmother had taught her before the human world had claimed her attention.
"Steady there."
A voice beside her, low and amused. Ivy glanced over to find Dorian materializing out of the shadows, his dark hair damp with mist and his green eyes catching the lantern light.
"What are you doing up here?"
"Volunteering. Twyla mentioned you might need someone to handle the tech." He reached past her to adjust the microphone stand. "This better?"
"Much better. Thank you."
"My pleasure." He stepped back but didn't leave the stage area, instead positioning himself near the small soundboard they'd set up. "Whenever you're ready."
Ivy took a breath and let her voice join the guitar, weaving the melody with careful precision. The crowd settled into listening stillness, and she felt their attention like a warm embrace.
This was what she'd missed. Not the contracts or the fame or Sebastian's twisted version of partnership, but this simple connection between performer and audience. The magic flowed freely through her voice, protective and nurturing rather than controlling.
Halfway through the song, Dorian's voice joined hers in a low harmony that made her falter for just a moment. She hadn't expected backup vocals, hadn't planned for the way his voice would complement hers so perfectly.
But the harmony held, and the crowd seemed to lean forward as if drawn by invisible threads. The lanterns themselves seemed to burn brighter, though that might have been a trick of the mist.
When the song ended, the applause was genuine and warm. Ivy felt her cheeks flush with pleasure and something that could have been relief.
"That was beautiful," called a woman from the front row. "Do you know any requests?"
"What would you like to hear?"
For the next hour, Ivy played everything from traditional ballads to more modern folk songs, adapting each one to fit her voice and her magic. Dorian stayed at the soundboard, occasionally adding harmonies when the songs called for them, but mostly just ensuring everything ran smoothly.
His presence was oddly comforting. She'd expected him to showboat or try to steal attention, but instead he seemed content to support her performance from the shadows.
"One more?" Twyla called from the crowd as Ivy finished a particularly complex piece about lost love and found hope.
"Of course." Ivy looked out at the faces gathered before her, some familiar from the previous night, others new. "This one's for anyone who's ever had to find their way home."
She closed her eyes and let the song build from memory, a piece her grandmother had sung to her as a child. The melody was simple but profound, the kind of song that stuck in your heart long after the last note faded.
Her magic wove through the words, offering comfort to the lonely and strength to the weary. When she opened her eyes again, she saw more than one person wiping away tears.
The final chord hung in the drizzle-soft air for a long moment before the applause began. This time it was accompanied by cheers and calls for an encore.
"Thank you," Ivy said, her voice slightly hoarse from the extended set. "Thank you all so much."
"Will you be back tomorrow night?" someone called.
Ivy glanced at Twyla, who nodded encouragingly. "I think I can manage that."
More cheers, and then the crowd started to disperse, people stopping to thank her personally or simply offering warm smiles as they headed home.
"Not bad for a traveling song," Dorian said, appearing at her elbow as she packed her guitar.
"Not bad for backup tech," she replied, surprised to find herself almost smiling.
"I do have my moments." His grin was infectious. "Buy you a drink when I finish up this last set? Least I can do after all that harmony work."
Ivy hesitated. Accepting drinks from charming men had gotten her into trouble before. But there was something about Dorian that felt different from Sebastian's calculated manipulation. More honest, somehow, even wrapped in all that effortless charisma.
"Just a drink?"
"Scout's honor."
"Were you actually a scout?"
"God, no. But the sentiment stands."
Despite herself, Ivy laughed. "One drink."
"Deal."
As Ivy settled down to watch the last set, she found it hard to keep her eyes from the green-eyed playboy that so casually made her feel comfortable.
She knew he was trouble, but not the kind like Sebastian.
He didn’t seem to want to overshadow her or pressure her into anything.
Everything was…light. Maybe he was just the distraction she needed.
At least for tonight.