Page 31

DELILAH

T he market was in full bloom.

Laughter floated through the air like pollen, caught between the jangling of charm bells and the bubbling chatter of friends trading jars of preserves and whispers of gossip.

Delilah carried her woven basket close to her hip, its weight familiar, filled with rosehips, fennel bulbs, and a half-pound of mossroot flour Wren had insisted on for her oatcakes.

The past week had been… good. Surprisingly good.

She and Rollo had settled into something new.

Something warm. He met her at the apothecary most mornings, always with a thermos of coffee from The Spellbound Sip and a dimpled grin that made her stomach twist. They hadn’t put a name to it—whatever this was—but their touches lingered longer, their silences filled with meaning.

He called her “babe” under his breath when he thought she couldn’t hear. And she never corrected him.

They were figuring it out.

Even if the world outside their quiet moments still spun too fast. Even if Garrick’s shadow still stretched longer by the day.

Junie waved her over from her herb stand, eyes crinkling. “Morning, moonvine!”

Delilah smirked. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I will start and finish. That boy’s been walking lighter. You’ve been smiling more. Don’t play coy.”

Delilah set her basket on the table, plucking up a sprig of lemongrass. “It’s just... easier. Being home. Being with him.”

“‘Bout time,” Missy chimed in from the adjacent booth, where she was enchanting lavender sachets with subtle sleep charms. “Whole town’s been waiting for you two to stop circling like cautious cats.”

Delilah rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. “Well, maybe we were waiting for the right time.”

Junie leaned over. “There’s never a perfect time, hon. You just pick a moment and leap.”

Delilah’s laugh was soft, but she pocketed the advice anyway.

She reached for a string of protection beads—a new design Missy had woven with juniper and golden thread—but froze halfway through the motion.

A shiver crept up her spine. The hairs on her arms stood straight. A low hum pressed against her chest, like the forest had taken a breath… and held it.

She turned toward the trees.

From the edge of the market square, the Whispering Woods looked normal—lush and swaying—but she knew better. Knew when something wasn’t right.

The trees vibrated. The wards flickered. Then the pain struck—low and deep in her gut, like her soul was being yanked sideways.

Delilah staggered.

“Hey—hey, you okay?” Junie’s voice barely broke through.

Missy dropped her charmwork. “Delilah?”

Delilah opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. Her vision blurred, the vibrant world around her going soft and distorted, like watercolors left out in the rain.

Another pulse hit.

She clutched her chest, knees buckling.

Someone caught her elbow. Maybe Junie. Maybe the ground. She couldn’t tell anymore.

Voices blurred. The market twisted around her.

The forest roared in her head.

It’s almost time.

Delilah collapsed, the world going black around her.

She came to in a haze of voices and the smell of damp earth.

“Delilah—can you hear me?” Rollo’s voice was thick with worry, somewhere near.

She tried to sit up, groaning as her head throbbed.

Warm arms eased her upright. His arms. She knew that scent, that grounding presence. Her head lolled against his shoulder.

“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Missy’s face appeared above her, pale and pinched. “We called Hazel. She’s on her way.”

Delilah blinked hard, her voice a whisper. “The woods... they cracked. I felt it.”

Rollo brushed the hair from her face. “Felt what?”

“Everything. All of it. The wards... the veil… it’s breaking.” Her voice shook. “It’s him. Garrick. His magic’s twisted into something worse.”

Rollo’s jaw clenched. “He’s pushing through.”

Missy murmured a quiet curse. “Then the council was wrong to wait.”

“Help me up,” Delilah rasped.

“No way,” Rollo said. “You just dropped like a stone. You’re staying down.”

“I’m not fragile,” she hissed.

“No,” he said gently, tightening his grip. “But you’re still healing. Just let us help.”

She slumped, frustrated but too weak to argue.

A moment later, Hazel appeared—her hair wild, robes trailing leaves, eyes lit with quiet fire.

She knelt beside them, placing a palm against Delilah’s brow. “Spirits are louder now. That tether you made? It’s bound you tighter to the land than you realize.”

Delilah’s heart stuttered. “Then what do I do?”

Hazel’s gaze was somber. “You anchor. You prepare. And you let yourself be held, child. Because this next bloom? It won’t come easy.”

Delilah nodded, tears prickling.

She didn’t want to be scared. But she was.

And all she could do now was hold tight to the hand wrapped in hers and pray they’d all survive whatever was coming.