Hazel should have known the day would be anything but ordinary the moment the spice jar threw itself from the shelf, shattering against the old plank floor.
She’d been scrubbing furiously at the soot-stained hearthstones in one of their unoccupied rooms, alone with her thoughts while Pa skewered the day’s meat onto the spits out back. The inn’s patrons were still asleep, and the tavern below was peaceful. It was her favorite time of day, and she didn’t mind spending it on dirty work.
Today, though, Hazel couldn’t pull her thoughts from the nightmares plaguing her. They’d began rather recently but with an intensity and frequency she couldn’t ignore. Last night, her mind replayed the most recent nightmare it couldn’t seem to let go of; the one where she was running through a dark castle corridor, never knowing from whom she fled or why. Despite knowing the long hallway led to a blood-spattered torture chamber deep within some clandestine dungeon, her feet—which she was almost certain were someone else’s—always carried her forward of their own volition.
Her sigh evolved into a full-fledged yawn as she willed the memory of the nightmare to leave her alone. If Hazel bothered tocare about her looks, she might have cared about the impact of these Helish dreams on her beauty rest. She snorted to herself at the idea.Hazel the Nobody. And I wouldn’t change a thing,she thought.
Somewhere between the sloshing strokes of her stiff-bristled brush, a clatter arose downstairs, ending with the undeniable sound of breaking glass. She jumped, hand clasping at the locket dangling around her neck. In doing so, she elbowed the bucket of dirty, gray water, causing it to spill over the side, soaking her apron as she attempted to keep it from dumping its contents onto the floor.
Hazel blew out a breath and glanced at the soapy mess streaking down her apron. She didn’t move otherwise, listening for any movement that might indicate she wasn’t alone. But all was quiet. The guests were, gods willing, still asleep. In the distance, she could just barely make out the song Pa was whistling to himself outside.
No one else should be milling about Briar & Roseat such an hour. Even though she’d overslept again, most of their patrons wouldn’t arrive for a few hours, around midday. Occasionally a local drunkard would drop in early to break his fast with mead or whiskey, but she’d either missed them in her own tardiness, or they too had slept in.
She stood and dropped her brush into the bucket, straightening her apron and the tunic beneath. Then she crept down the stairs, every floorboard announcing her descent. It was a good thing she wasn’t worried about stealth.
“Hello?” Hazel called as she stepped onto the main floor of the tavern. She was unsure if she wanted anyone to respond, but thankfully, no one did. And as she stepped into the open dining hall, Hazel was happy to see she was indeed alone. Nothing was obviously amiss, so she set her sights on the kitchen.
With a sigh, she pulled her apron over her head and hung it on the hook beside the bar. Then, with what was probably more trepidation than the situation called for, she approached the kitchen door.
Pull yourself together, woman,she chastised herself. She knew she was being ridiculous, but figured it was the nightmares, surely, that had her so on edge. Why else would she feel so jumpy about something as innocuous as broken glass? More than likely, there was a completely logical explanation.
Hazel pushed open the door and immediately located the source: a medium-sized spice jar had taken a dive from the shelf, destroying itself. Its contents—a fine, ink-black powder—spilled upon the floor. Her locket warmed against her skin and she pawed at it absentmindedly.
As she stooped to clean the mess, she checked the glass shards for a label to identify the mysterious powder. But unlike the rest of the herbs and spices in their collection, this one was unlabeled.Strange.Surely, they would have noticed a missing label while inventorying their stores…
Curious, Hazel fetched a new spice jar to house the unfamiliar powder. She swept as much of it as she could into a dustpan and dumped it in unceremoniously.
She moved to pick up the larger glass pieces… and immediately sliced her finger open.
“Ah, shit,” Hazel cursed at the sudden sting. She put her fingertip in her mouth to stop the bleeding. But when she looked down, the sight made her skin tingle.
A droplet of her blood was disappearing—having dropped into what remained of the black powder on the floor—sizzling and smoking into nothingness. Her mouth fell open, injury forgotten.
“What the Hel?” she hissed.
What the Hel, indeed. Within moments, the droplet of blood was gone, as though it had never been. She eyed the jar in her other hand suspiciously, two deep lines forming between her brows.
“Whatareyou?” Hazel glanced up at the spice shelves, searching for an opening, the place the original jar might have been sitting before it took a tumble. But to no avail. There was no opening on the shelves. Everything else was in its rightful place.
Her mouth turned down at the corners as she popped a cork into the jar and slid it into the chestnut-leather satchel she kept in the corner for errands. She could ask Pa about it. Should ask Pa about it. But she decided to replenish the contents first and quiz Pa later. And she knew just the woman to replace what was lost. As she closed the clasp on her bag, Hazel made a mental note to ask her Aunt Agnes what it was used for.
She stuffed the bag back into the corner and left the kitchen, sparing only a brief glance over her shoulder as she pushed the door open.
As Hazel rounded the corner toward the bar to fetch her apron, she slammed into her father. Connall Callahan was a stoic, menacing figure of a man, with broad shoulders and musculature reminiscent of his years in the militia.
It was like walking into a wall.
“My girl!” he said, features softening. “I was about to send someone to check on ya. Thought maybe you’d taken ill on me and got to worrying.”
She hugged him; his warm, firm embrace akin to hugging a bear—just without the claws. “No need, Pa. Just overslept is all. Was upstairs for a bit scrubbing the hearth.”Before a spice jar filled with black powder shattered on the kitchen floor.
He eyed her curiously. “Again with the oversleeping? Listen, it’s of no matter to me, but that’s not like you at all. Are you sure you’re alright?”
She shrugged him off, removing herself from the hug and moving toward the stairwell.
“I’mfine, Pa. Just not sleeping well. The roof sprung a leak again, and I haven’t had a chance to fix it.” It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. The thatch above her bed leaked when it rained.
But the real reason? She wasn’t ready for that conversation. She hadn’t told him about the nightmares or how she’d been waking up in the middle of the night in a pool of sweat, because he was the kind of father who would drop everything to fix his daughter’s problems.
