Chapter Twenty
Love at First Fright
Bellamy
The whole town smells like cinnamon and pumpkin spice.
Which would be delightful if I wasn’t trying my hardest to hate every second of it.
The cobblestone streets are glowing with lanterns, their light seeming to bounce in time with the fiddle music spilling out of the square.
The fae have strung enchanting lights that mimic the musical notes and pulse in time with the beats.
Every few steps you are either showered in confetti, candy, or small frogs. It’s sure to give you a jump scare. There is even the smell of roasted almonds, caramel popcorn, and apple pie floating through the air no matter which direction you move through town.
I tell myself I came down here to make sure no idiot tries to summon a demon in the bobbing-for-apples tub again this year. Not because I actually enjoy the Samhain festival.
Nyx disagrees as he taps his tail against me.
He rolls his eyes from where he’s laying across my shoulders, Lady Bandit peeks her head out from my over-the-shoulder bag.
I never imagined I would be toting around a fox and a racoon in my life, but here I am.
We are weaving through the crowds as I scrunch my nose at the couples arm-in-arm.
“You want that, don’t pretend you don’t.” Nyx hums.
“Wipe that look off your whiskers,” I mutter. “I’m here as the most powerful witch. I have to keep these idiots from summoning something we aren’t ready for.”
He yawns wide enough I can see his entire mouth and promptly hops onto a barrel of candied apples, ignoring the vendor’s protests. Of course he does.
Rolling my eyes, I continue down the street.
Children run past in costumes that sparkle and change colors every few seconds—seems the fae have been extra busy this year with the charms. Parents are trailing behind them as they sip their spiced apple ciders and talk amongst themselves, smiling proudly at their children.
A sentiment I wish I could have experienced, at least once in my life.
And then there’s Miles.
He’s standing there, right in the center of the festival chaos, looking far too much like a golden retriever, happy to exist. His bed hair is tamed, shirt annoyingly fitted, and his grin wide enough to split his face in two.
His dimple is on full display and there is a gaggle of girls captivated by it as they fan themselves.
He’s practically glowing beneath the lantern’s light, as if they want to ensure I see him.
When he spots me, he turns towards me, and if we were in a movie I swear the theme song for the intended lovers would start here.
The crowd parts—why is everyone suddenly moving out of the way?
—as he moves towards me. It’s as if he’s in slow motion.
Of course the confetti would pop when he comes to a stop in front of me.
“Dog Boy,” I say in greeting. “I see you survived the Costumegate.”
He holds his arms out, ruffle sleeves on full display, as he presents himself on a stage in front of the town of Pumpkinridge. He’s wearing a cape. A literal cape. Who gave him a cape? And—saints save me—is that a foam sword?
“Behold,” he declares, his voice deeper than normal, with a mock seriousness that is far too rehearsed. “Sir Miles of Pumpkinridge. Defender of small towns, wielder of ghost cupcakes, and protector of a witch’s heart.”
From somewhere, I don’t even know if I want to know where, he pulls out a ghost cupcake, drops to one knee, and presents the cupcake to me with his head bowed and everything.
I roll my eyes as I shake my head, I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. Someone in the crowd gasps, but I can’t stop staring at this guy.
“Stand up,” I whisper-shout at him, trying and failing to make the smile disappear off my face.
“Doth must take thy cupcake as a sign of my affection,” he declares.
“You’re kidding me right now,” I hiss.
He doesn’t say a word, only continues to hold the cupcake like it’s a golden egg he found after traveling to a foreign land.
He doesn’t even look up, and now people are stopping to stare at what is happening.
I can feel my cheeks warming, but this time from embarrassment instead of anger. This isn’t good.
Snatching the cupcake from his hands, I can only pray that the shenanigans will end here, but knowing him, this is only the beginning of the longest night of my life.
He stands, a smile almost splitting his face, his eyes twinkling.
I think I made his day, maybe his year. “The princess has accepted my prize,” he proclaims and people are cheering…
my head swivels around and we are surrounded.
People aren’t looking at me like I might hex them into an early grave.
Instead they are staring with variations of adoration and love. What is happening?
Before I even have a chance to sling a hex or an insult, a group of fae children shriek with laughter as a pie at the contest table explodes into glitter. People cheer and someone sneezes glitter for what looks like an eternity.
“Guess the hexed pie,” Miles reads off the banner, eyes alight. “I want in on that.”
“Of course you do,” I sigh.
He grabs me by the arm and pulls me along. But for once, I don’t stop him.
He pushes us through the crowd, his excitement is vibrating through him, and I can feel it seeping into my skin.
A small smile spreads across my face, one that thankfully he can’t see.
When he reaches the front of the crowd, he moves straight for the person taking sign-ups. No, we will not be doing this.
He eyes the table, full of excitement. He pulls me under his arm, as I lean away from him. The vampire running the eating contest flicks her eyes between the two of us, clearly questioning what is happening. “I’ll take two tickets for the next round.”
I shake my head. “No, you will not.”
He looks down at me, smile still permanently on his face. “Come on Trouble, don’t you want to guess which pie is fruit and which one is well…not?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll watch you though.”
The contestants clear from the table and just like the dog he is, he bounds over, sliding down into the center chair like a child about to have a spaghetti dinner.
He wraps the ugly, massive plastic bib around his neck as he licks his lips.
The witches disperse the new rounds of pies on the table.
They are far too gleeful for there to be any regular pies in this batch.
If I had to put money on it, I would say they are all hexed to some degree.
Miles dives into the first pie in front of him, chewing excitedly as he ponders which pie it is. “This one’s got pecans. Pecan pie shouldn’t glitter. Rookie move.” He scoops another bite, as if he’s the judge on some dessert show and he has to make sure his selection is right.
I cross my arms, but my lip twitches as I hold back my smile. “You know you’re supposed to guess which pie is hexed, not demolish the pie like a starved wolf.”
“Gotta use all your senses, you know,” he replies. “Sight, smell, touch, taste, and…” he pauses dramatically, tapping his temple as he pulls the pumpkin pie towards him, “…pure instinct.”
Nyx sighs audibly as he walks over from wherever he’s been. With Miles deep into his pumpkin pie, Nyx says, “Your boyfriend’s instincts are telling him to eat pies without hesitation. He’s like a lost puppy.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, but that last part is accurate,” I mutter back, too fast and too defensively, because Miles chooses that moment to look at me. Dimples on full display as he winks at me.
The crowd’s watching him with interest, half-cheering him on as he makes his way down the line.
He doesn’t care that there’s glitter on his chin, or that he has powdered sugar on his ruffled sleeve.
He’s glowing. Radiant. Ridiculous. But what I hate more than anything, is that I can’t seem to look away.
I should be walking around checking the wards or at the very minimum checking for rowdy teens performing rituals. But no. I’m stuck here watching the most adorable wolf shove forkfuls of pie into his mouth like the world’s happiest idiot.
“Bellamy!” Miles exclaims suddenly, holding up a cherry pie like he solved a murder mystery. “This is it. This pie is hexed.”
I arch a brow. “And your expert reasoning is…”
He leans across the table, cupping his hand around his mouth, and says, “It tastes like love.”
The crowd swoons, literally swoons, and I want the ground to swallow me whole.
Nyx is cackling in my head. Lady Bandit chitters like she’s actually cheering him on. And me? I hate myself just a little because I’m smiling too.
Miles takes another triumphant bite, ripping the fork from his mouth with a flourish. His chest is puffed out, like the proud peacock he is. He opens his mouth, ready to proclaim his victory when there’s a boom.
The pie erupts into a spectacular burst of rainbow glitter. But not the chunky, easy to brush off kind, oh no. This is the ultra-fine, sticks-to-your-soul, will-still-be-there-when-you-die kind.
Miles is blinking through the cloud of rainbow glitter as the crowd cheers, and then bursts into a round of applause.
His hair sparkles like a disco ball as the glitter clings to it, still pink from the hex that he loved.
It’s clinging to his eyelashes, dusting his dimples, and even coating his ruffle sleeves.
And somehow, amongst the glitter, pie chunks, and chaos, he looks absolutely thrilled.
“Did you see that!” he exclaims, standing up with his arms wide open, taking a bow. “I called it. Totally hexed.”
I snort, unable to combat his infectious demeanor. “You look like you’re auditioning for the lead unicorn in our Samhain festival.”
“That might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” He points at me and winks.