Page 120 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

“Come on. We have to go out.”

“Why?”

“We have traps to check.”

“Oh.”

He continued to look dejected.

“Buuuut,” Milo said, squeezing himself closer, “I don’t see why we can’t sneak into town for a bit. I bet the cider truck is up and running.”

That got his attention.

“Hot cider with cinnamon sticks and whipped cream on top,” Milo said more insistently.

Grievance considered. “And those little apple candies?”

“And the little apple pieces.”

Grievance sighed. “Fine.”

“I knew I could count on that sweet tooth to make you come around.”

He kissed Grievance on the mouth, and relaxed when he finally felt a smile press against his.

The Hollow had somehow become even more crowded overnight.

With Pumpkin Festival only a few days away, MythFolk had begun arriving from towns scattered across the valley—and some, according to the national flags hanging outside the inn, had come from considerably farther away.

October was Pumpkin Hollow’s season.

Everyone knew it. And everyone wanted a piece of it.

Main Street was a river of pointed hats, horns, wings, tails, colorful coats, and floating shopping bags. Witches wandered alongside goblins. A family of trolls posed beneath an archway made entirely of glowing jack-o’-lanterns while someone attempted to convince three excitable pixies that it was in their best interest not to provoke the sleeping cerberus snoozing outside Thistle & Threads clothing store.

Leaves spiraled overhead in enchanted currents of red and gold, occasionally arranging themselves into scary faces before scattering again. Somewhere down the street, a brass band was playing a slightly questionable rendition of Monster Mash.

Milo loved every second of it.

“COMING THROUGH!”

Milo jumped aside as a group of children shot past on miniature broomsticks, their pointed hats nearly flying off their heads.

A painted sign hovered above the street.

JUNIOR BROOMSTICK RACING — HEATS EVERY HOUR!

“Five silvers on the little goblin!” someone shouted.

“He’s six years old!”

“He’s aerodynamic.”

“This is a children’s race, no gambling!”

Milo laughed.

Farther down the road, an enormous pink cloud floated above a booth advertising a cotton-candy eating contest. Milo wasn’t entirely certain how one competitively ate cotton candy, but judging from the purple-faced dwarf currently shoving an entire sparkling cloud into his mouth, Pumpkin Hollow had found a way.