Molly wasn’t particularly well-liked by the people of Falcon’s Hollow. It was one of the main reasons she lived outside the walls, on the far side of the Greenflow. In all honesty, she found people more concerning than animals. There were two exceptions to the people she avoided: Jack and Laurel.

Jack was an old adventurer who had traveled enough and worked with enough people to avoid judging Molly by her appearance. Laurel was…well, Laurel. Molly wasn’t sure if Laurel actually liked anyone. The older, taciturn woman seemed to categorize people into two camps: those who were “useless” and those who were “competent.” Being an herbalist, Laurel had somehow placed Molly in the “competent” category. Still, it was surprising to be summoned. The errand boy Laurel had sent to fetch Molly hadn’t been too happy about entering anywhere near Molly’s little hovel, but he delivered his message and tore off.

Why Molly needed a pack for a three-day hike, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps Laurel was leaving town—plausible, but not especially likely. In the years Molly had known the stern woman, she’d noted that Laurel utterly refused to wander the wilds.

Having crossed the river and made it through the eastern section of town with only a few calls of “Mousy Molly” and “witch” and “hellspawn,” Molly slunk into the alleyways and rapped twice on Laurel’s door. She then tried to open it, expecting it to be locked. For once, it wasn’t. The pungent odor of countless drying herbs surrounded Molly—a thick miasma of potential remedies.

Once the door was shut, she turned to greet the older woman, only to find that it was not Laurel but some strange man standing there, scrubbing one of the smaller cauldrons. Molly froze—perhaps not on the verge of panic, but feeling pretty close.

The man, a fairly decent-looking fellow, tall with broad shoulders and a short mop of nearly black hair, wore what looked like a red-and-off-white surcoat. He turned his head toward her and gave a smile. Now Molly was definitely about to panic. The red eyes of a Fire Islander bored into her—knives that seemed to flay away her skin to look at the soul beneath. A Fire Islander inquisitor, perhaps? Someone who’d come to purge Falcon’s Hollow of its most “undesired” resident?

Had Laurel betrayed her—summoned her here to meet someone who would…what? Execute her? Imprison her? The man’s genuinely warm smile horrifyingly contradicted his terrifying purpose, or so Molly feared. And then Molly heard Laurel’s voice.

“Molly. This is Kallik, with the library. He needs a guide to the Vale.”

Molly watched the man grimace at that introduction. He dried his hands on a towel before turning to her, hand extended. Molly’s eyes locked on the symbol on his chest. The surcoat buttoned to the side and offered plenty of room for the emblem of a white, open book within a flame. Did the Fire Islanders have to put flames on everything?

Molly’s gaze dropped to his still-extended hand. Only then did she realize he’d been offering it for a while, and she’d been awkwardly staring at his chest instead of shaking.

“Oh…sorry,” she squeaked, thrusting her considerably dirtier hand out to meet his.

He didn’t clasp her wrist in a normal greeting, nor did he grab her fingers and lift them to gently kiss her hand like some nobleman in one of those romance novels Molly had stolen. Instead, he took her hand in his, firm but not crushing, and gave it a single solid shake before letting go. With that action, he spoke a phrase she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard outside of a story: “A pleasure to meet you.”

Molly stared at the man. A moment ago, she had been considering fleeing, thinking him likely some Fire Islander inquisitor come to hunt down “demonic influences” in the world. Now her brain was floundering with the tiniest possibility that he might be her “prince charming” in some romantic story. Another thought crossed her mind—maybe it was Laurel’s reference to a library, or that he used words she’d only ever read in books, or that he wore the symbol of an open book on his chest, but Molly found herself thinking, This guy might have some books.

Again, she realized she was staring. In fact, her hand was still extended in the same position it had been when he let go. She had to salvage the situation before her own awkwardness drove away the only person who’d ever greeted her kindly. Though, in Jack’s case, it was her fault that their first interaction had involved harsh words.

Too quickly, she pulled her arm back to her chest, then did something she’d read about in countless stories: she tried pushing a strand of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. It did not end well. Her dark brown hair was a frazzled mess, and she winced as she accidentally yanked out a few strands by the root.

“Molly,” Laurel snapped as she poked her head in from the front. “He needs a guide to the Vale. You should be discussing pay.” Laurel jabbed a finger in Molly’s direction. “He needs you. Don’t go cheap.”

“Uh…” Molly began, then stopped. It was just like Laurel to think of money at a time like this. To be fair, Laurel was always thinking about money.

Fortunately, the man—who had gone back to tidying the area around Laurel’s washbasin—saved her. “As long as you can adequately guide me around this Vale, I see no reason I can’t pay you a gold per day.”

Once again, Molly found herself staring. A full fucking gold per day? That was more than she’d made… well, more than she’d made in the last couple of months. In truth, she didn’t need much gold. Laurel would probably want her to bargain for more. Part of Molly wanted to refuse taking so much. In the end, she decided just to accept the offer—until she noticed he was looking slightly above her head.

It took her a second to realize what had caught his attention. She’d felt something crawling up the back of her neck and nestling into her hair, but she was so used to her familiar’s presence that it hadn’t registered as unusual. Pointing upward, she said, “Oh, that’s Quarrel.”

The man’s momentarily surprised look turned into a grin, then a chuckle, then a full-on gleeful laugh. Molly blushed. Yeah, she wasn’t great at naming things, and calling her squirrel, Quarrel might be extreme, but did he have to find it that funny? He actually seemed to give the squirrel a tiny nod before turning his gaze back to Molly and asking, “Well, is one gold enough for the two of you?”

“Oh—er, yeah,” Molly stammered. A moment later, a party invite blinked into her peripheral vision. She accepted it, then stared at the prompt in fascination before dismissing it. She had never been invited to a party of this sort or any other.

“Any idea where we can find other people?” the man asked. “Preferably someone with combat skills.”

It took Molly a moment to realize he was speaking to her again. “No,” she blurted without thinking, then hurriedly amended, “I guess we could ask Jack. He knows a lot of people.”

“All right, come on. Where do we find him?” The man, Kallik, said as he lifted his pack and swung it over his shoulder. Then he reached for his spear. A librarian who carried a spear? That was unexpected.

“Uh, he’s by the crossroads. Can I, um… can I ask you a question?” Molly asked.

Kallik gave her a smile that almost warmed her heart. “I’m not a Fire Islander, just a steelborn. Does that answer your question?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Molly’s eyes widened. Either he got that question a lot, or he was a mind reader. Instead of verbally answering, she just nodded her head rapidly, causing Quarrel to grip her hair more tightly.

Kallik opened the door and gestured for her to go first. “Lead on,” he said, then turned toward the front of the shop and called out, “We’re heading out, Laurel!”

“Hurry the fuck up!” came the sharp response from the taciturn old lady.

Kallik chuckled as he exited the building.

It felt strange walking down the alleyways with a giant looming over her. The top of Molly’s head didn’t even reach his shoulder, and she could practically feel his broad presence behind her like some sort of storm cloud. She tried not to look back—though she was sorely tempted—reminding herself that, for once, he was supposed to be following her. Still, it was extremely awkward.

Not that Kallik was freakishly tall. He might have been a little taller than average, but his broad shoulders made him look bigger. Take away the red eyes and the fancy surcoat, and he would have fit in with the rest of Falcon’s Hollow just fine. Except he lacked the rundown, weary look that most folks wore. No, once they emerged from the alley, people would stare, and their gazes would end up on her. Kallik, for all his height and bulk, was still overshadowed by how short Molly was. She was perfectly proportioned, but she was about the size of a young teenager. Add in gray skin, horns, and a tail in a town that hated everything about gray skin, horns, and tails, and she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her general disheveled look probably didn’t help matters.

Lost in these thoughts, she exited the alley and stepped into the main street. So focused on the large man behind her, she wasn’t paying attention to anything else. A shout of “Hey, Mousy!” brought her attention back just in time to see something brownish hurtling toward her. The light-brown object sailed through the air before she could even flinch.

Oddly enough, a similarly hued hand reached out and snatched the object before it contacted her. Molly couldn’t decide which surprised her more—that she’d been so preoccupied she hadn’t noticed some kid was about to throw something at her, or that someone would bother intercepting the projectile.

In the tangle of her own thoughts, Molly identified this as a pivotal moment in her life. She had just been saved. Not in any grand sense, but in a small, significant way. In one of her novels, this was where the two characters would stare into each other’s eyes, their bond slowly deepening while readers squealed over how many chapters remained before they finally kissed.

Molly looked up at Kallik’s face so she could fulfill her part of staring deeply into his red eyes.

Kallik was not looking at her.

Part of Molly berated herself for being stupid, while another part of her watched Kallik’s expression transform from a confident smile to something not quite a frown. He stared at his hand, where yellowish and clear goo dripped down onto the ground near the shattered remains of an egg. The egg likely wouldn’t have hurt Molly—hells, it didn’t even look rotten.

Kallik turned his head to the boy, who seemed just as shocked as Molly that anyone had intercepted the projectile. Then Kallik spoke, but not in the pleasant cadence Molly had come to associate with him. Instead, his words emerged in the harsh brogue of a Fire Islander:

“You throw egg at me? Perhaps you will… burn!”

That last word was laden with enough malice that Molly herself took a few steps back. The boy reacted similarly. He stumbled backward, fell on his rear, and dropped the basket of eggs he was carrying. He then scrambled away, leaving the basket on the ground, finally flipping over to bolt down the street.

Molly turned her attention back to Kallik just in time to see his previously dark, menacing countenance break into a bemused chuckle. When his eyes settled on her again, he was smiling.

“It’s crazy how scared you people are of Fire Islanders.”

“Uh…?” Molly managed. Of course, this man wasn’t afraid of Fire Islanders. If Molly understood “steelborn” correctly, Kallik was half–Fire Islander: someone who carried the physical traits but none of the terrifying authority that came with belonging to the ruling class.

Kallik pulled out a rag and wiped his hand. “Why’d he throw an egg at you?” he asked.

“Because I’m…devil-blooded,” Molly said, as though it was obvious.

Kallik’s brow furrowed. “You mean a tiefling?”

“What’s a tiefling?” Molly asked, staring at the man who used words she had never heard before.

“A person with demonic or infernal blood in them,” Kallik answered, as though the term was common knowledge.

Molly just stared. She had no idea there was a single word to describe her that wasn’t devil-blooded, demon-blooded, demon-kin, hellspawn, or countless other derogatory epithets.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

“Why did he call you ‘Mousy?’” Kallik asked.

Molly looked up at him again. The answer seemed obvious to her and presumably everyone else. Him not thinking she looked mousy was almost perplexing. Then again, “Mousy Molly” did roll off the tongue.

“Um…because I’m small. And timid,” she admitted.

Kallik studied her. This time, he did that thing where a man’s gaze roams from the top of a girl’s head to her feet and back again. Unfortunately for Molly, this was more about him evaluating how mousy she was than appreciating her charms. Life really sucked sometimes.

The big man shrugged, then bade her to lead on. Once again, Molly was struck by the odd sensation of having a large person walking behind her as she tried not to scurry away. Mousy Molly, indeed.

Finally, they reached Jack-a-Napes. The journey wasn’t far. Falcon’s Hollow wasn’t very large, but the oppressive feeling of having this large man behind her wasn’t something Molly enjoyed.

Jack-a-Napes was a leaning ramshackle inn next to the town’s stables. Its faded sign depicted a stack of pancakes and key. Molly walked through the squeaky door and was greeted almost instantly.

“Molly?” said a rotund red-faced human with a single wisp of bright red hair on his otherwise bald head.

Molly dipped her head, and in a considerably less enthusiastic voice, replied, “Jack.”

“Who’s your…friend?” The tone of Jack’s voice suggested he was misreading the situation. He seemed a bit surprised when Kallik moved around Molly, approached him, and held out a hand in greeting.

“My name is Kallik. I’m an acolyte of the Ritter Litteratti out of Kal-Drovak.”

Jack squinted at him for a moment, his gaze flicking between Kallik’s face, his hand, and the symbol on his surcoat. He cast a quick glance toward Molly, then finally took the proffered hand.

“Jack. Just Jack. And this is my inn.” He shook Kallik’s hand, then added, “Been a while since I’ve seen anyone from the library.”

Kallik seemed to grimace at the mention of the library. Both Molly and Jack noticed, but neither commented on it.

“Will you be staying for lunch?” Jack asked.

“No,” Kallik answered promptly. “Molly here is going to guide me through the Vale. We’re looking for ingredients to help with this plague, and I was hoping to hire a bit more combat-focused help for protection.”

“I’m retired,” Jack said at once.

Kallik tilted his head, clearly not understanding. “Okay…we came here to ask if you knew anyone who might be available.”

“Oh, I see. That makes a bit more sense. Hmm.”

The two men began discussing the guards that came with various caravans, caravans that currently weren’t in town and with the tight timeframe Kallik was working with, as well as how much he was willing to pay. Meanwhile, Molly slunk off toward a corner. Some of the patrons were eyeing her. They were also eyeing Kallik, but likely because of his fancy surcoat and the fact he was clearly not from Falcon’s Hollow. Without a direct view of his red eyes, most of their focus rested on “that evil, horrible, demon-blooded witch” they believed was poisoning their children, and so on. Nobody said anything. This was Jack’s territory, and Jack wouldn’t tolerate trouble.

“You know the way to the Temple of Iomedae?”

The question startled Molly. She’d been so focused on blending into the shadows that she hadn’t noticed Kallik and Jack finishing their conversation.

“Sure,” she mumbled. She didn’t get another word out before walking out the door, doing her best not to appear as though she were running.

Molly didn’t particularly like the Church of Iomedae. It felt a bit like a small malignant cancer on an otherwise healthy body. Or perhaps the opposite, a single spot of healthy flesh on an otherwise mangy beast. Neither analogy seemed exactly right. While the Goddess of Justice might genuinely seek justice, her local priestess was far more… human.

Molly and Castilia did not see eye to eye, mostly, Molly believed, because Castilia assumed she was some sort of evil devilspawn who’d poisoned the well with Blackscour mushrooms. Molly had not done so, but if people kept accusing her anyway, maybe she’d consider it. She knew where to find Blackscour and knew where the wells were. Though she acknowledged it wouldn’t be fair to essentially kill the entire town for treating her poorly. There were more than a few people who might deserve it. Even the corrupt antagonists in some of her stolen books didn’t seem as vile as certain folks in this little mountain settlement.

As the two approached the Temple of Iomedae, Molly considered what it said about her home that some of its population seemed worse than fictional villains. Nearing the temple’s steps, she slowed and let Kallik take the lead. She knew from experience that she wouldn’t burst into flames upon entering—as long as Castilia’s glare wasn’t enough to set someone ablaze—and, so far at least, it couldn’t.