Author's Preface
Delilah winced as she lifted a packed green bag onto her back, pulling her long braid from under it. From her bedroom window, lightning flashed through her ivory-colored curtains, and thunder soon followed. She snapped the bag in place across her hips and chest and huffed a breath. Her room now had a mostly stripped bed, neatly closed drawers that were without their usual belongings, and a single candle burning.
With a last check, she nodded to herself, cupped her hand around the candle’s glass enclosure, and blew. Her room went from a yellow familiarity to the navy light of the night. She stood watching the smoke drift into her room. Lightning cracked again, illuminating the room in white for an instant.
Delilah turned away from her bed and window and crept to her door. The glass knob turned silently, and the door swung open without complaint.
The hallway was long and had an ornate rug down the middle. Delilah walked along it, her footfalls near silent as she avoided the squeaky boards.
She passed the bedrooms, occupied or emptied, toward the central staircase. Lightning flooded the entryway at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, showing an empty room. Taking care to avoid the loud steps, Delilah floated to the first floor.
Trying to keep her breathing contained as thunder rumbled through the house, she pulled a folded note from her dress pocket. She went through the rumpus room, crossed through the silent, formal dining room, and stopped in the kitchen.
She held the note with two hands in front of her chest, looking between it and the orderly counters. A large arched masonry oven with several S hooks glowed faintly across the room from Delilah. Perfectly kept kettles, pots, and lids hung on the wall surrounding it, with large-bellied pots on stubby legs on the floor. She stood, looking at the room where her mother had ruled like a queen for decades.
Delilah’s attention drifted to the dishes on open shelves, where mugs hung underneath. Dozens of dishes waited to be used again. They had been washed and set away daily for around thirty years; the colors and floral designs were nearly gone. Over years of use, what began as a beautiful wedding gift had faded into plain dishes.
Nodding, she crumpled the letter, crossed the room, and tossed it onto the coals. They wrinkled the paper, consuming it with a small flame that danced across her admission in a moment. Delilah raised her chin, leaving the kitchen.
She went through the house to the mudroom. Delilah stopped, gathered her most practical shoes, and took the time to put them into her bag. She stepped into her boots and took her father’s rain jacket from the coat tree. Slinging it over her shoulders, she covered the top half of her bag with the raincoat and tightened the strings around her face to improvise a cape covering.
With one hand on the doorknob, she took a deep breath. Lightning jolted her from her thoughts, and she pulled the door open as thunder shook the house.
The rain came from every direction, mocking the raincoat’s attempts to keep her things dry. Her face twisted into a grimace as she fought the storm to the garden shed. She paused by her mother’s white roses for lightning to strike, groaning to herself. As the thunder beat drums in the heavens, she pushed herself forward.
The shed’s door latch twisted open, yet the wind yanked it to the side, slamming into the shed’s wall. She held it with one hand and turned back to the house.
It stood uncaring and unaffected by Delilah or the door. Curtains remained still behind windows that had not closed their shutters.
The young woman dipped inside into the dark, her hands reaching forward and following hooks hanging on the wall. Wind slapped the door closed with a clap, making her jump and choose a machete in dark haste.
She felt her way out of the shed again and latched the door behind herself as the rain pelted her. Delilah’s grimace continued when she trudged through the storm to the road.
Streams had formed along the walkway, forcing Delilah to walk in the center. She huffed, carrying her bag, machete, and hope toward the one entrance and exit in Sychar. Delilah passed the houses of her sisters and brothers, as well as several finished homes still unoccupied, awaiting for their owners. She moved her hood to look at what would have been her dowry property.
The house stood empty and passive to her blight. Furniture and an unfinished marriage quilt waited for her, but they could easily be given away. She moved the hood back to act as a blinder and focused on the road. She moved forward, refusing to look back again.
Delilah reached the edge of Sychar soaked, tired, and moody. She trudged toward the twenty-foot-tall iron gate surrounded by walls made of sharpened logs. The gate itself stood in artful design and subtle brutality with sharp vines woven between thick bars. Delilah came to a stop before it, her boots sloshing with each step.
The gate was closed.
Delilah panted, rainwater dripping from the hood in front of her face.
She growled, rushed the gate, and shoved it, hoping it would open for her. It groaned, iron grinding against iron. She took a moment to catch her breath and pushed again, this time making a cowbell clang far above her head. Delilah spotted the traitor as lightning sprinted across the clouds, and she cursed it quietly.
The wooden guard post peeked its windows over the fence with a spiral staircase leading up to the square building. Delilah peered back down the road from where she had come just as the door to the guard post opened. Warm candlelight spilled out, illuminating the large, shadowy figure in the doorway.
“Who goes there?” a nine-foot-tall man called out. Delilah cringed and dashed under the guardhouse without a thought. She tore off her hood, looking up at the creaking steps above her as she hid amidst the support beams. Heavy drops surrounded her as thuds warned her of his approach.
“What business do you have this late?” he asked in a deep bass. Delilah took long, slow breaths. He stopped on the steps halfway down.
“I heard the bell, so leave!” he shouted at the gate, angered that some fae would ruin his evening after making his day difficult.
Delilah ducked lower when he came down the stairs. His dark outline went to the gate despite the pelting rain and low light to use a long shepherd’s hook and realign the bell.
She held her breath when he returned to the guardhouse, grumbling as he set the hook away near the stairs. Lightning flashed, and they spotted each other under the watchtower.