Page 12 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

“You’re completely unhinged!” Whiskers accuses.

I stab a finger in his direction. "I prefer to call it determination. Something you wouldn't understand, being too busy creating your little chicken bone museum and critiquing my coping mechanisms."

Whiskers' tail puffs to twice its size and he hops down from his perch on my shoulder. "I'll have you know my bone collection is curated with artistic precision. And I'm only trying to keep you from making catastrophic magical decisions." He retorts.

“I know, okay. But damn it, Whiskers—It’s my catastrophic magical decision to make. I’ll buy the damn pig a spa day first if that makes it better.” I snap the book shut and set it on the table, then kneel to pull a canvas duffel from beneath the workbench, "If our positions were reversed, and if I were the one lying cold on that metal slab, you'd move heaven and hell to bring me back, and you know it."

Whiskers’ eyes go round as marbles, red and glossy. “Not the same.” he mutters softly. “Besides, you’re my entire pension plan, Delia. What would I do with myself?”

I glance at him and almost crack a smile.

Almost.

“Probably starve.”

He sighs, “Yeah, probably. So, what’s your grand plan anyways?”

"You'll help me?" I ask, shoving the ingredients I do have in the bag.

Whiskers sighs, long and theatrical. "Only because I know you'll do it with or without me. And because I haven't forgotten how you fished me out of that Boston dumpster when that pet shop creep tried to dispose of me…Familiar code of honor and all that."

My throat closes around any gratitude I might express. Instead, I drop to one knee and touch my forehead to the crescent shape on his, feeling his whiskers tickle my cheeks as we share a silent moment of understanding.

Then, I toss a fresh candle onto the growing pile in my bag, silently tallying what I still need. The Grimoire said seventy-two hours. Jasper's been gone for thirty-six. The clock is ticking down like a bomb strapped to my chest.

I zip the duffel shut, and straighten up, my knees popping with the motion. The wedding ring goes into my front pocket where I can feel its weight with every step. "First stop, the farm supply store on Route 9. They sell live pigs for roasting this time of year."

Whiskers hops ahead of me toward the door, pausing to look back at me. "And after that?"

"After that, we break into the morgue."