Chapter 4 Maren
MAREN
Maren needed bread, candles, and salt. Basic supplies that required venturing into Hollow Oak's square during the busiest part of the day.
She'd rather face her shadows gone feral.
The morning sun hung pale and cold over the town, turning snow to diamonds and ice to mirrors. Maren pulled her cloak tight and kept her basket tucked against her hip as she walked the main street. Her shadows stayed pressed close, barely visible in daylight but present enough that people noticed.
They always noticed.
The Hollow Mercantile stood first on her route. Maren pushed through the door, bells chiming overhead. Warmth hit her face along with the smell of dried herbs, wood polish, and something baking in the back room.
Rufus Tansley looked up from behind the counter, his rugged features neutral. "Morning."
"Morning," Maren said quietly. "I need salt. The coarse kind."
"Back shelf, left side."
She navigated the narrow aisles, aware of two other customers who'd stopped browsing the moment she entered. Their whispers carried despite their attempts at discretion.
"—asking questions about her—"
"—Council met last night—"
"—can't be coincidence—"
Maren found the salt and carried it back to the counter. Rufus rang it up without comment, which she appreciated more than he probably knew.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Candles. White, if you have them."
He pulled a bundle from beneath the counter. "These work?"
"Perfect."
"Three silver."
She counted out coins, fingers steady despite the continued whispers behind her. Rufus bagged her purchases and handed them over with a slight nod.
"Stay warm," he said.
Small kindness, but she'd take it.
The bells chimed again as she left. Cold air bit at her cheeks, sharp and clarifying. Two errands down, one to go.
The Griddle & Grind sat across the square, windows fogged with warmth and the promise of hot drinks. Maren almost walked past it entirely, but her tea supply had run low and Twyla stocked the good stuff. The kind infused with actual magic, not just wishful thinking.
She pushed through the door. Conversation didn't exactly stop, but it stuttered noticeably. Several faces turned her direction, expressions ranging from curious to cold.
Twyla Honeytree appeared from behind the counter like she'd been waiting. The fae-touched woman moved with unconscious grace, wheat-colored hair pinned up in a messy knot, light brown eyes bright with concern.
"Maren, sweetheart!" Twyla's voice carried across the café, warm and deliberately loud. "I was hoping you'd stop by."
"Just need tea," Maren said. "The nightshade blend, if you still have it."
"Of course I do. Made a fresh batch yesterday." Twyla bustled behind the counter, pulling jars and measuring leaves with practiced efficiency. "But first, you look frozen. Sit. Have something hot."
"I'm fine—"
"Sit." Twyla pointed at a small table near the window. "I'm not letting you walk around in this cold without warming up first."
Maren recognized a losing battle when she saw one. She sank into the chair, setting her basket on the floor. Her shadows spread slightly, seeking warmth from the nearby hearth.
Twyla returned minutes later with a steaming mug and a small paper-wrapped package. "Chamomile with honey and a touch of starflower. Good for nerves." She set both down and patted Maren's shoulder. "On the house."
"Twyla, you don't—"
"Hush. It's cold, you need warming, and I've got more tea than sense." Twyla's smile carried edges of sadness. "Besides, someone should be kind to you today."
Maren's throat tightened. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." Twyla squeezed her shoulder once before returning to the counter, immediately engaging a new customer in loud, cheerful conversation about weather and gossip.
Maren wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped. The tea burned going down, but in a good way. Warm and sweet and exactly what she needed.
She tried not to think about why Twyla felt compelled to show her kindness. Tried not to hear pity in the gesture.
The package contained her nightshade blend, already measured and wrapped. Maren tucked it into her basket and finished her tea quickly. The longer she stayed, the more people stared.
Outside again, she breathed easier despite the cold. The apothecary sat just down the street, Freya's familiar green-painted door a welcome sight.
Maren pushed inside to find Freya grinding something in a mortar, the sharp scent of eucalyptus filling the air. Sage sat on the floor surrounded by dried flowers, sorting them by color with intense concentration.
"Maren!" The little girl scrambled up, abandoning her project entirely. "You came back!"
"I did." Maren crouched down, letting Sage approach on her own terms. "What are you making?"
"Flower patterns. See?" Sage pointed at her careful arrangements. "Purple ones are sleepy flowers. Yellow ones are happy."
"They're beautiful."
Sage beamed, then reached out without warning and tugged at Maren's dress. "Show me shadows?"
Maren glanced at Freya, who nodded permission while continuing her work. "Alright. But gently, remember?"
She let her shadows unfurl slightly, the thin ribbons of darkness curling through the air between them. Sage's eyes went wide with delight.
"Pretty!" The little girl reached out with both hands.
The moment Sage's fingers touched shadow, something shifted.
The darkness flared suddenly, brighter than it should be, pulsing with light instead of absorbing it. Sage's own magic responded, green and gold sparks dancing where skin met shadow. The air crackled, sharp and electric.
Maren jerked back, pulling her shadows in hard. "Sage, are you okay?"
"That was different," Sage said, tilting her head. "It felt sparkly."
Freya dropped the mortar and crossed the room in three strides. "What happened?"
"I don't know." Maren's hands shook slightly. "My shadows have never done that before. Never with her, never with anyone."
Freya knelt beside her daughter, checking for burns or marks. "Sage, does anything hurt?"
"No, Mama. It tickled."
"Tickled," Freya repeated, looking at Maren with concern creasing her forehead. "Your shadows reacted to her magic?"
"More like they recognized it." Maren tried to steady her breathing. "Like meeting another shadow for the first time."
"But she's not shadow-touched. She's earth and growth, like me."
"I know." Maren stood slowly, putting distance between herself and Sage. "Something's wrong with my magic. Since yesterday morning, it's been—off."
"The distortion you mentioned?"
"Maybe. I don't know." Maren pressed her palms against her temples. "Everything feels unstable. Like the magic's looking for something and can't find it."
The apothecary door chimed. Both women turned to find a middle-aged man Maren vaguely recognized stepping inside, his expression tight with barely controlled anger.
"You," he said, pointing at Maren. "You were at my house this morning."
Maren's stomach dropped. "I wasn't—"
"My daughter saw you. Walking past on the forest path." He took a step forward. "Right before our wards started cracking."
"I went to gather herbs. I didn't touch anyone's property."
"But your shadows did something. Maya said they looked wrong. Bigger than they should be."
Freya moved between them. "Thomas, your wards are old. We've told you three times to have them reinforced before winter."
"They were fine until she walked by."
"Correlation isn't—"
"I don't care about your fancy words, Freya." Thomas's voice rose. "I care that my home's protections started failing right after that witch passed by with her dark magic."
"My shadows don't break wards," Maren said, forcing her voice steady.
"Then why are three houses reporting the same thing? Wards cracking. Protections failing. All after you walked through that part of town." He pointed at her again, hand shaking. "You're doing something. The Council needs to know."
"The Council already knows I'm here," Maren said. "They've tested my magic. I'm not—"
"Not what? Not dangerous?" Thomas laughed, harsh and bitter. "Tell that to the people who died in your last town. Tell that to the families who lost everything because you couldn't control whatever darkness you carry."
Maren's shadows recoiled violently, snapping back so fast they left frost patterns on the floorboards.
"Get out," Freya said, voice gone cold as winter stone. "Get out of my shop."
"She's cursed," Thomas continued, ignoring Freya entirely. "Everyone knows it. Everyone's seen what happens when she's around. And now she's cracking our wards, breaking our protections—"
"I said get out!" Freya's hand slammed down on the counter, rattling jars and sending dried herbs scattering. Green light flared around her fingers, power responding to anger.
Thomas backed toward the door, but his gaze stayed locked on Maren. "Mark my words. Something's coming for this town, and it's following her."
He left, door slamming hard enough to make the windows rattle.
Silence pressed heavy in the aftermath. Sage had gone very quiet, clutching a purple flower in both hands.
"I should go," Maren said.
"Don't." Freya's voice gentled. "He's an idiot. His wards are failing because he's too cheap to hire proper maintenance, not because of you."
"But what if he's right?" Maren looked down at her hands, at the shadows curling around her wrists like shackles. "What if something is following me?"
"Then we'll deal with it." Freya crossed to her and gripped her shoulders firmly.
Maren wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust that friendship and good intentions could stand against fear and suspicion.
But she'd been here before. Knew how this story ended.
"I need to go," she said again, pulling away gently. "Before anyone else decides I'm responsible for their problems."
She gathered her basket and headed for the door, shadows pressed so close they barely existed. Outside, the square looked the same as when she'd entered. Same snow. Same buildings. Same town.
But the whispers had started. She could feel them spreading like ice across water.
Maren Pitch cracked the wards. Maren Pitch brought darkness.
Maren Pitch was dangerous.