Chapter 19
IVY
Market day brought pumpkins and autumn produce to the square, along with children wearing crowns made of maple leaves and vendors selling hand-knitted shawls in jewel tones.
The festival atmosphere should have been comforting, but Ivy found herself scanning the crowd with nervous energy as she set up near the fountain.
"Beautiful morning for music," said Martha, approaching with her usual offering of coffee. "Though you look like you didn't sleep much."
"I'm fine. Just thinking about song choices."
"Mm. Well, whatever you decide to play, I'm sure it'll be lovely."
Ivy settled her guitar across her lap and began tuning, her eyes continuing to sweep the market stalls and gathering crowd. Every tall man with dark hair made her pulse jump. Every unfamiliar face could be Sebastian or someone working for him.
She forced herself to start playing, choosing a bright Irish reel that would mask her nervousness with its cheerful complexity. Her fingers moved through the intricate melody while her gaze darted between the listeners and the market edges where shadows gathered.
"Wonderful as always," called Tom from the Gazette, raising his camera. "Mind if I get another photo for the follow-up article?"
"Of course."
The camera clicked several times as Ivy played, but she found herself more interested in the people behind Tom than the photographer himself. A woman browsing the vegetable stalls. A man examining handmade pottery. Normal market behavior, nothing suspicious.
So why couldn't she shake the feeling of being watched?
"Ivy, dear?"
She looked up to find Twyla standing beside her.
"Yes?"
"You keep looking around like you're expecting trouble. Is everything alright?"
"Just people-watching while I play. It's a habit."
"Is it." Twyla's tone suggested she found that explanation about as convincing as Martha had. "You know, I was thinking. The acoustics out here can be tricky with all the market noise."
"They seem fine to me."
"Oh, but you can't hear what I hear from inside the café. All that lovely guitar work gets lost in the general bustle." Twyla's smile was bright and completely artificial. "What would you say to moving inside for the rest of the morning? Better acoustics, more intimate setting."
Ivy studied Twyla's face, noting the careful way she wasn't quite meeting her eyes. "You think I'd be safer inside."
"I think you'd be more comfortable inside. Away from all the distractions."
"Twyla."
"Yes?"
"I'm not fragile. I don't need to be protected from market crowds."
"Of course you don't. You're strong as steel and twice as sharp." Twyla's expression softened. "But being strong doesn't mean you have to face everything alone. And being careful doesn't mean being weak."
"Who told you?"
"Told me what?"
"About Sebastian. About why I left the festival last night."
"No one told me anything specific."
Ivy looked at her fae counterpart and saw she was telling the truth. She was just observant. Very observant.
"But, this is a small town and Rufus noticed someone lurking around the stage area between sets.
Described a man in an expensive suit who didn't look like he belonged at a small-town festival.
" Twyla's voice was matter-of-fact. "We've all heard stories about the kind of managers who prey on talented musicians. "
"Stories."
"The kind where young artists sign contracts that turn out to be cages. The kind where leaving means legal battles and career destruction." Twyla gestured toward the café windows. "The kind where a smart performer might appreciate having friends watching her back."
"And you think moving inside will help with that?"
"I think it simply means that anyone who wants to approach you has to come through me first. And I'm not nearly as accommodating as I look."
Despite her anxiety, Ivy found herself almost smiling. "Threatening to defend me with coffee and pastries?"
"Don't underestimate the power of properly brewed coffee as a weapon. Very hot, very accurate when thrown correctly."
"Have you practiced?"
"Once or twice. Results were quite satisfactory."
This time Ivy did smile, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased. "Alright. Café acoustics it is."
"Excellent. I'll set up a proper spot for you near the window. Good sight lines, easy escape routes, comfortable seating for your audience."
As Ivy packed up her guitar, she noticed several familiar faces from the crowd following them toward the café entrance. Diana appeared from the direction of the inn, Moira emerged from the bookstore, and even Maeve left her tavern preparations to lean against the café's doorframe.
"Busy morning," Ivy observed.
"Market day brings everyone out," Twyla replied innocently. "Pure coincidence that so many people developed sudden cravings for coffee and pastries."
"Of course."
Inside, Twyla had indeed arranged a perfect performance spot near the front window. Ivy could see the entire square from her position, but the café's layout meant anyone wanting to reach her would have to navigate past several protective community members first.
"Better?" Twyla asked, setting a fresh cup of coffee within easy reach.
"Much." Ivy tested the guitar's sound in the smaller space. "You're right about the acoustics."
"I'm right about a lot of things. It's one of my more annoying qualities."
As Ivy began playing again, she noticed how the café's other occupants positioned themselves with casual efficiency.
"This is nice," said an elderly woman who'd followed the music inside. "Much cozier than the outdoor setup."
"I think so too," Ivy replied, and for the first time since finding Sebastian's calling card, she meant it.
"Will you be playing inside regularly now?"
"For a while, yes."
"Wonderful. My arthritis much prefers indoor seating anyway."
As the morning wore on, Ivy found herself relaxing into the music and the comfortable warmth of community protection. Sebastian might be somewhere in Hollow Oak, but he couldn't reach her here without going through people who had made it clear they wouldn't let that happen.
It wasn't a permanent solution, but it was enough for now. And sometimes, enough was everything.