Chapter 7 Ivy
IVY
The window rattled against its frame as wind gusted through the mountains, sending tree branches scraping against the inn's siding. Ivy sat on the edge of her bed, guitar in her lap, and tried to ignore the way the sound made her stomach clench.
Sebastian had always loved storms. Loved the way the wind carried power that he could twist to his purposes, the way lightning provided cover for magic that would be too obvious in calm weather.
During their time together, she'd learned to dread the approach of autumn storms, knowing they meant he'd be experimenting with new binding spells.
"You'll never truly leave me, little songbird," he'd said the last time she'd tried to walk away. "I've woven myself too deeply into your magic. You'll come back when you realize you can't sing without me."
The memory made her fingers tremble on the guitar strings. She forced herself to breathe steadily and began to hum a soft melody, something she was taught years before Sebastian had poisoned her understanding of what magic could be.
The ward song was simple but effective, designed to protect the singer and anyone within hearing range. Not the kind of binding magic Sebastian specialized in, but something older and cleaner. Protection offered freely, not taken by force.
As the familiar melody wrapped around her, Ivy felt some of her tension ease. Sebastian's reach was long, and his network of warlock contacts stretched across several states, but he couldn't track her through fae ward songs. That much she was certain of.
The wind gradually died down, and Ivy's humming faded with it. She set her guitar aside and finally managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, dreams filled with storms and voices calling her name.
Morning brought the scent of wet leaves drifting through her open window. Ivy dressed quickly in jeans and a soft green sweater, tied her copper hair back with a ribbon, and made her way downstairs.
Diana was arranging fresh flowers in the front lobby, her curls catching the morning light streaming through the windows.
"Good morning," Diana said, looking up with a warm smile. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough. Thank you."
"There's coffee in the dining room, and I made cinnamon rolls if you're hungry."
Ivy's stomach growled in response, reminding her that she'd been too nervous to eat much dinner the night before. "That sounds wonderful."
In the dining room, she found a plate of still-warm rolls and a pot of coffee that smelled like heaven. She was halfway through her second roll when Diana appeared in the doorway.
"I hope this isn't presumptuous," Diana said, settling into the chair near her. "But I was thinking about your situation."
Ivy tensed. "My situation?"
"Needing to earn some money for travel expenses possibly, since you say you plan on traveling. I know performing at the festival helps with room and board, but that doesn't give you anything for the road."
The empathic awareness Ivy had sensed the night before was stronger this morning, Diana was an empath apparently, her gift picking up on currents of need and worry that Ivy tried to keep hidden.
"I appreciate the concern, but I'll figure something out."
"I'm sure you will. But in the meantime, what if you busked in the square? Tips only, nothing formal. Twyla mentioned the morning crowd at the café always appreciates music with their coffee."
The suggestion was practical and kind, offering a way to earn money without the pressure of formal contracts or obligations. The kind of arrangement that would let her leave at a moment's notice if necessary.
"That's not a bad idea."
"I thought you might like it. And if anyone gives you trouble, just mention that you're staying at the inn. People around here respect boundaries."
An hour later, Ivy found herself setting up near the fountain in the town square, guitar case open for tips and a small crowd already gathering. The morning air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of woodsmoke from chimneys and fresh bread from the bakery.
She started with gentle songs that complemented rather than competed with conversation, melodies that wove through the square like background music. A few coins clinked into her guitar case, and someone from the café brought her a steaming mug of coffee.
By mid-morning, the impromptu concert had drawn a larger audience. Children sat cross-legged on the cobblestones while their parents listened from café tables. Even some of the shop owners had stepped outside to hear her play.
"That was beautiful," said a woman with mahogany curls and bookish glasses. "I'm Moira. I run the bookstore with my husband."
"Ivy. Thank you for listening."
"My pleasure." Moira adjusted her glasses and studied Ivy with curious brown eyes. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I'm fascinated by the structure of your ward songs."
Ivy's fingers stilled on her guitar strings. "My what?"
"The protective magic you weave into your melodies. It's quite sophisticated. Old-style fae magic, if I'm not mistaken."
The casual acknowledgment of her magical techniques should have alarmed Ivy, but something about Moira's scholarly interest felt safe. This wasn't Sebastian's calculating assessment of power to be controlled, but genuine academic curiosity.
"You know about ward songs?"
"I'm something of a researcher when it comes to magical traditions. My husband and I maintain the town's archives." Moira gestured toward the bookstore behind her. "We have quite a collection of texts on fae music magic, if you're interested."
"I might be."
"Wonderful. Stop by anytime." Moira paused, her expression thoughtful. "I don't mean to pry, but the way you structure your protections suggests you've had reason to be careful about magical binding."
The observation was delivered gently, without judgment, but it still made Ivy's gut clench.
How much could this woman read in her magic?
How obvious were the scars Sebastian had left?
She had grown so used to the obliviousness of humans and the mundane, that she never realized how open she seemed to be to her own community.
"Some experiences teach caution."
"Indeed they do." Moira's voice carried understanding that went deeper than mere sympathy. "Well, if you ever want to talk about magical theory, or research protective techniques, you know where to find me."
As Moira headed back to the bookstore, Ivy found herself staring after her. Another offer of help, freely given without expectation of return. Another reminder that Hollow Oak operated by different rules than the world she'd been living in.
The question was whether she dared to trust it.