The brass key turned in the lock with a rusty shriek that drowned out the cracking of the kitchen wood behind them. Bri pulled the heavy door inward, stepping out of the shadowed hallway and into the long-abandoned parlor where dust motes floated like lazy gnats in the shafts of fading sunlight. Pip fluttered close to Bri's ear, her marigold wings humming a frantic, high-pitched rhythm against the quiet. “That is not a miner,” Pip whispered, her tiny voice sharp with sudden realization as heavy boots crossed the kitchen threshold. “That is old blood. I smell the ink on him.”
Bri froze, her hand still resting on the polished mahogany of the parlor table where the family land deeds had sat untouched for ten years. The heavy footsteps drew closer, and then the tall figure in the canvas jacket filled the parlor doorway, his cold-eyed glare softening into something smug and irritatingly familiar. It was Caleb, her estranged brother who had vanished to the town council a decade ago when the panic attacks first chained her indoors. He spat onto the braided rug, his gaze locking instantly onto the tiny, glowing figure hovering near Bri's hair. “Well, sister,” Caleb said, wiping a smudge of dirt from his forehead. “You always were stubborn about keeping the weeds out, but you managed to catch yourself a small fortune in the bargain.”
Bri backed up a single step until the edge of the horsehair sofa pressed against the back of her knees. “You broke my door,” she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, level quiet that surprised even herself. Caleb laughed, a dry, grating sound that brought back every cruel afternoon of village gossip she had spent a decade trying to forget. “The elders want the deed and they want the dew-well fairy,” Caleb said, gesturing toward Pip with a calloused thumb. “The copper-miners need her magic to drain the old springs for silver ore, and the council agreed to clear our family's old debts if I brought them both back before sundown. Hand her over, Bri, and I might let you keep your groceries.”
Pip darted downward, landing directly on top of the leather-bound land deeds resting on the parlor table. “He lies,” Pip shouted, her chest heaving as she pointed a tiny, mud-stained finger straight at Caleb's chest. “The dew-wells beneath this house feed the entire valley's magic, and once they drain the water, this cottage burns to ash.” Bri looked from the stolen strawberry saucer peeking out of her brother's canvas pocket to the trembling wings of the tiny creature who had offered her comfort in the grass. Ten years of locked doors and cowardice suddenly felt less terrifying than the thought of handing anyone over to the men outside. She reached down, her fingers sliding over the cold brass handles of the heavy desk drawer where the oldest property laws were kept.
“You're trespassing on land that isn't yours, Caleb,” Bri said, pulling a yellowed parchment from the drawer with a firm, steady tug. Caleb took a step forward, his hand reaching out to grab the fairy off the table before Pip could dart away.