Page 31 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

Someone designed these with survival in mind.

The tunnel widens slightly as we round a bend, the walls here rougher, less finished than before. Cobwebs hang in tatters, recently disturbed.

"STOP!" Whiskers shrieks suddenly, his small body freezing in place on Delia’s shoulder. "DON'T MOVE!"

Too late.

Something snags beneath my boot, followed by a deep, mechanical moan that reverberates through the stone around us.

I react without thinking.

Two lunging steps forward, my body colliding with Delia's, pushing her hard against the wall of the tunnel. My arm braces against the stone beside her head just as the ceiling comes down where she was standing.

Rocks and dirt cascade in a thunderous rush, filling the passage with dust and the sharp crack of breaking stone.

In the narrow space between collapse and wall, my body presses against Delia's, pinning her to the rough stone. Our faces are inches apart, her startled breath warm against my cheek. Her eyes widen, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise.

"You're crushing me," she manages, but her voice sounds tiny in the echoing tunnel.

I don't move, not right away.

Bits of gravel rain down onto my shoulders, the aftermath of narrowly avoided obliteration, but even still, all I can focus on is the strange heat flooding through me.

My skin feels too tight, too warm, despite the chill air. My breath comes quicker, and something flutters in my stomach.

Delia blinks up at me, her cheeks flushed crimson beneath the dirt smudges. Her rapid breaths come in short puffs against my face. The scent of her fear hits me first—sharp as vinegar, electric as a storm—but beneath it lurks something honeyed and familiar that catapults me back to my living days. The frantic rhythm of her pulse visibly jumps beneath the delicate skin of her throat, the sound of it seeming to echo through my own hollow chest. I know I should move away, give her space, but I remain frozen, transfixed by that fluttering lifeline.

"Jasper?" she whispers, and my name in her mouth sounds like a question and an answer all at once.

I don't know what's happening to me. This surge of…what?

Concern? Protectiveness? Desire?

It shouldn't be possible without my heart. Yet here it is, rushing through me like a flash flood, violent, unstoppable, and absolutely terrifying.

"How touching," Whiskers comments, his voice strained but amused. "But perhaps save the longing glances for when we're not about to be buried alive?" The ferret's tail flicks excitedly despite the danger, his red eyes darting between us with what looks suspiciously like hope.

I blink, the spell breaking. "Right," I mutter, pulling back slightly but keeping my body between Delia and the worst of the falling debris. "We need to move. Now." I say, knowing there's no time to analyze the strange feeling that surged through me moments ago.

Survival first, existential crisis later.

Behind us, the passage is completely blocked by debris, cutting off our retreat. Our only option is forward, through whatever other traps might be waiting.

Delia pushes against my chest, creating just enough space between us to raise her hands. Her fingers move in a practiced pattern, words of power spilling from her lips. Light blooms above us, brighter than our stones, forming a shimmering dome that temporarily halts the falling debris.

"It won't hold long," she warns, voice tight with concentration.

My mother's frost-sprite blood stirs within me, a forgotten inheritance I've neglected since returning from the dead. Cold energy surges from my fingertips, crystallizing along sections of the crumbling ceiling. Ice spreads in jagged patterns, temporarily reinforcing the weakest points.

"Good thinking," Delia breathes, watching the frost spread.

There's no time to discuss how seamlessly we've fallen into working together, how our magic complements like it did before everything changed. The ice is already creaking under the strain, and Delia's warding light flickers.

Whiskers scouts ahead of us, his white form darting through the dusty air. "Move, move, MOVE!" he shrieks, "There's a left turn coming up that seems more stable!"

We lunge forward, ducking under a half-collapsed archway. My hand finds Delia's elbow, steadying her when she stumbles on loose stone. The contact sends another jolt through me, but I push the sensation aside.

The tunnel ahead narrows dangerously, forcing us to turn sideways to squeeze through. Dirt rains continuously from above, filling my eyes and mouth with grit. Delia coughs beside me, her face pale in the fading glow of her magic.