Page 8 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

The reporters waste no time.

Blue Blazer thrusts a mic in my face. “What’s your secret to running such a successful operation?” he asks, grinning in a way that makes me want to dunk his head in the caramel fountain.

I resist the urge and answer with my best mock-serious tone. “Strong coffee, witchcraft, and an amazing staff that isn’t afraid of a little bit of pumpkin guts.”

The Mayor laughs a little too loudly at my mention of witchcraft. “See? I told you. She’s a treasure.”

I pose with the Mayor and the reporters for a round of awkward photos, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Every question is the same—how are we coping, what safety measures have we put in place, am I worried for the festival? I give them my best answers, all positive spin and folksy optimism, avoid mentioning the murder or curfew unless absolutely necessary.

When the press clears out, Mayor Bishop's smile vanishes like a light switched off. She grips my elbow, voice dropping to a murmur. "This curfew is killing us, Delia. Killing the whole damn town."

I nod, keeping my own smile frozen in place. "We're managing. For now."

Her perfectly lined eyes flicker toward the door where the reporters just left, and I catch a glimpse of something raw beneath her professional veneer. "Are we, though?"

“It’s been a challenge.” I admit, “but safety first, right?”

She lets out a little bark of laughter, so brittle I imagine it would cut skin. “Right. Safety before solvency."

“How are things going in town?” I ask.

She runs a hand through her carefully styled hair, disturbing the hairspray barrier. “Not the best, but so far, everyone is surviving the first day of the festival.” she sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly.

I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, feeling the tremor beneath her perfectly pressed blazer. "The town will get through this, Mayor. We’re too stubborn not to."

She gives me a wan smile, the kind that doesn't reach her eyes. “Thank you, Delia. I’d better go check on the other vendors before heading back into town. The parade begins in—” she glances down at the gold watch on her wrist. “Shit. I have to go.” She gives me a desperate little finger wave and whirls away, heels clicking as she wriggles her way back through the crowd.

I step outside on the wraparound porch, where Jasper has finally made it in from the field, his arms dusted with a fine layer of pumpkin residue. He beelines for me and scoops me up in a bear hug, spinning me once before setting me down.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against my neck, a hint of sweat and autumn musk curling beneath the light layer of cologne he spritzed himself with this morning.

“You were gone five minutes,” A giggle erupts from my throat, “but I missed you too.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where I'm pressed against him. "Five minutes too long." His hands find my waist, thumbs tracing small circles through my sweater.

A gaggle of children passing by makes retching noises, one of them dramatically clutching his throat as another pretends to faint on his friend's shoulder. I roll my eyes, sticking my tongue out at them but don't pull away from Jasper's embrace.

I give Jasper a sideways glance, voice pitched low. "You know those kids are going to start a betting pool about how long until we make out in public."

He smirks. "Let them. Builds character."

We lean against the porch railing, side by side, watching the crowd with hawk eye vigilance.

“How’s it been out there?” I ask, tipping my head to where a group of teens are hanging around the entrance to the haunted trail.

"Busy, but manageable," Jasper answers, scanning the property with that predatory alertness I've come to recognize as his protective mode. "We've got the football team running the hayrides, and Mr. Peterson is handling the corn maze. No incidents so far, just the usual scraped knees and one kid with a pumpkin seed up his nose." He shifts his weight, the railing creaking beneath us. "Sheriff's deputies did a sweep about an hour ago. Said they're checking all the major attractions every few hours."

I nod, feeling a tingle of unease climb up my spine. Those “routine sweeps” are a reminder that we're all just pretending this is a normal festival. I exhale, my breath fogging in the snap of late afternoon as I watch the sun slip behind the trees. Around us, jack-o'-lanterns flicker to life one by one, their carved grins transforming from playful to predatory as shadows stretch across the farm.

“Time to open up the haunted trail.” Jasper says just as the first star of the evening pops up in the sky. “I’d better get going.”

I squeeze his hand, not loving the idea of splitting up with the daylight fading, but there are a dozen parents with candy-ravenous children all waiting for a proper scare, and the festival schedule is already hanging by a thread.

Before he heads off, Jasper brushes a kiss to my forehead, and hands me the twin to the battered walkie-talkies we use to keep in touch across the sprawling property. "Channel three. Holler if you need backup." His tone is joking, but I catch the edge lurking behind the words.

"Copy that, sir," I reply, giving him a crisp salute as I clip the radio to the waist of my jeans and watch as he runs across the property.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Nice ass!” I shout after him.