Page 145 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

Grievance gave Esmerelda another piece.

Milo groaned. “You are impossible.”

“So I have been told.”

Night had swallowed Pumpkin Hollow completely by the time they reached town. There were no stars. No moon. Only thousands of jack-o’-lanterns burning against the darkness.

They floated above rooftops and crowded windowsills. They grinned from fence posts and hovered between crooked buildings, their orange light spilling across cobblestones thick with autumn mist.

Shadows stretched impossibly long. Some moved when nobody did. Laughter carried on the wind, as did the music.

And Lanterns—the smell of it all.

Burnt sugar. Woodsmoke. Pumpkin pastries. Someone was roasting chestnuts. Someone else was absolutely violating several local ordinances with caramel.

And of course, the MythFolk, who emitted so much joy that it permeated the air. Grievance breathed deeply. He could have gotten drunk on its scent alone.

Instead, he got cider for both of them, and they sipped as they wandered. Letting their feet walk without purpose, shoulders brushing, fingers intertwined whenever their cups allowed it.

They watched children race enchanted broomsticks around the square, sparks bursting from their tails whenever they overtook another rider. They stopped for the annual pumpkin regatta, where miniature carved pumpkins sprouted tiny legs and sprinted madly through an obstacle course while their owners screamed encouragement.

One pumpkin cheated by tripping the others. Grievance respected it.

Then came the carnival games.

Grievance could have happily walked past most of them. Milo, however, slowed at every brightly painted booth they passed, that familiar, almost childlike excitement creeping into his expression. Darts thrown at enchanted balloons. Balls hurled at stacks of milk bottles that rebuilt themselves with smug little shakes. Rings tossed over the horns of wooden imps.

Simple games. Ridiculous prizes.

Milo loved them. Which meant Grievance inevitably found himself standing beside him while Milo tried each one. Usually, Grievance was content to watch. He liked watching Milo more than he liked playing anyway.

After waiting in line for ten minutes, it was their turn at the cauldron games booth. Grievance didn’t see what made this one more appealing than any of the others, but it was clearly the most popular game at the festival. Three tiny black cauldrons bobbed erratically through the air twenty feet from the counter while contestants attempted to toss miniature ceramic skulls into their open mouths.

Grievance barely glanced at them. Then he did a double take when he spotted the prizes.

Hanging from the back wall was a large black teddy bear with a white skull stitched over its face, mismatched buttons for eyes, and a fat white pumpkin clutched between its paws.

“Can I take this one?” he asked.

Milo blinked at him. “You want to play?”

“Yeah, why not? Can’t be that hard.”

A grin spread across Milo’s face. “Oh, this I have to see.”

Grievance handed the attendant a coin and was given three little skulls.

“You know it’s probably rigged,” Milo said.

“I know.”

“That cauldron on the left just moved when that woman threw.”

“I saw.”

“And you still want to try?”

Grievance glanced toward the teddy bear again. “Absolutely I do.”