Page 4 of The Pumpkin Bride

“Do your worst.” The acorn he dropped clinked against the others in his sack.

The branch before him bowed under the sprite’s weight. “I admire your confidence. Now, listen close:

I am not claw nor tooth nor spell,

Yet I’ve tripped more knights than roots that swell.

I puff your chest and steal your sense—

Name me, shiny man of dents.”

Nerves bubbled in Bram’s gut as he repeated the first lines to himself. He should’ve paid better attention to the last bit, but he’d been too busy trying to memorize it all. Marigold had often accused him of this, paying attention to the first part of what she was saying to the exclusion of the rest.

“One more time?” Bram asked.

The autumn sprite flipped his palms skyward. “That’s your lot. What’s your answer, then, handsome?”

Bram closed his eyes to let the rhyme play back in his mind. Not claw . . . tripped nights . . . steal sense . . .

The answer clicked.

He snapped his eyes open. “Pride.”

“Hmph.” Orange glitter trailed the autumn sprite as he flitted to the edge of the tree’s canopy. “Here now, Crispin,” he called down to the prince. “Your man got it right. What’ll I do with him?”

Bram narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Curse him anyway,” Crispin shouted from below.

Fear sliced through Bram. The prince was in cahoots with the sprite? This would not end well for him. Unless he could slip away. As he stretched his foot down to the next weight-bearing limb, the velvety leaves tickled his ears.

“But he got it right, so he did!” the sprite shouted. “The curse won’t take as well.”

Crispin’s voice cut sharper than a dagger between the ribs. “I said do it anyway! And make sure he can’t leave this land, either. I don’t want him seeking a mage’s counsel.”

The autumn sprite appeared directly in front of him. “Sorry, handsome. This one’s out of my hands.”

He tapped Bram’s forehead.

Hot pain forked from the spot, eagerly arrowing from his head to his limbs, setting his skin and veins aflame. Bram’s vision blurred as he gritted his teeth and held fast to the branches. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, trying to ride it out until the agony subsided, but it was no use. He swayed.

As he fell, twigs and branches snapped along with his bones.

The earth met him with a mighty thump.

And blessedly, the stabbed-with-molten-metal sensation abated. His trial was over. He opened his eyes and found his questing party standing over him. Crispin smiled, Fergus had paled, and Kevin scratched his head. Coby, in the glimmer of the lamplight, wept.

“Have I died?” Bram sat up slowly.

His voice was strange in his ears, like he’d gargled prickly burrs and tar.

“No, but you’ll wish you had.” Crispin handed him one of the pauldrons he’d discarded before climbing the tree. “Look.”

As he reached for the shining metal, cold washed over Bram. His enlarged hand was a deep mossy green. But there was no mistaking this was indeed his hand. The fleshy pad at the base of his thumb bore the shiny scar he’d earned when his blade had slipped while carving Marigold’s unicorn charm.

Trembling, he looked at his reflection. The change was undeniable: green skin, two small tusks rising from his bottom jaw, pointy ears, black hair.

An orc.