Chapter 3
BLOSSOM
“Welcome to the twentieth annual Pumpkin Wars! Where two combatants battle for the coveted pumpkin crown. Witch versus wolf. Who will win?” Root Fernmore, normally a quiet man, always finds the voice of a circus ringmaster on these weekends.
In response to my papa’s intro, the crowd gathered in his pumpkin patch roars their predictions. There are shouts of, “Witch!” and, “Wolf!” and, “Where’s the pumpkin pie?”
That last one came from Owen MacNamara. The selkie grins as he holds a mug of spiked cider, steam rising into the slight chill of the sunny autumn day.
From his silly comment, one might guess he has no stake in these games.
But the seal shifter owns Clean Haven, the local recycling company Manny works for.
Which means he’s on the side of the enemy.
I gaze out over the collection of attendees, a number that has shot up over the years.
The first time my dad arranged this, I think it was to distract Heather from her melancholy.
It was right around this time of year that our mother had left.
I was barely two when she disappeared from our lives, so I don’t remember her.
But Heather was five and had formed a connection with the woman who decided a magical small-town life and motherhood weren’t for her.
Cornelia Fulmer didn’t completely disappear on us.
She’s head of a law firm in Boston, and she responds to texts and calls if we make them.
I don’t. Papa is the only parent I’ve ever needed. The man is creative and loving. Hence the pumpkin-themed tournament he set up for my sister and her best friend.
An event that has become an annual tradition in Folk Haven.
Attendance is only open to mythics and mythic mates due to the magic sometimes utilized, and the crowd largely consists of witches and werewolves.
When the coven and the pack caught wind of the playful battle years ago, spectators started to show up and cheer for Heather and Manny.
Over the years, I kept score, cheered for my sister, ate delicious fall treats, and tried not to let on how much I longed to join the games.
This year, I get my childhood wish.
But I’m not sure I want it anymore. Especially when competing means being within close proximity to a certain werewolf all weekend.
“Seems we have support for both sides!” My dad grins wide at the crowd.
“And I’m glad to announce we have a special treat this year.
Because Heather is away on her honeymoon, my equally talented youngest daughter, Blossom, has offered to take her sister’s place and battle the veteran contender and last year’s victor, Manny Ramirez.
I present to you your Pumpkin Princess and Pumpkin Prince! ”
Goddess save me from theatrical fathers. I silently send the comment to The Dark One as I step forward.
As corny as all this is, I’ve decided I’m going to embrace the festivities as fully as Heather does every year.
In that vein, I’m dressed in neon-orange leggings and matching sneakers, paired with a pumpkin-patterned sports bra.
Luckily, there’s padding so no one can see how the cool air is making my nipples into icy points.
I spread my arms and accept the wild cheers from the gathered witches. Meanwhile, Manny is dressed in all black, and he grins toward the howling pack members here to support him.
Cocky asshole. I can’t wait to rub a win in his face.
“The first test is one of the mind,” Papa calls out when the crowd settles. “Bring forth the mega gourd!”
Behind my father, I spy a figure moving through the pumpkin patch. The creature looks massive and ungainly, but as they near, I realize it’s only a man carrying a pumpkin.
A very large pumpkin.
“Here you go.” My dad passes me and Manny each a small whiteboard and marker. “Whoever guesses the closest to the pumpkin’s weight, without going over, wins the first round,” he explains loud enough for the gathering to hear.
Suddenly, there’s a roar of noise from the crowd as everyone starts shouting out numbers. None of it is helpful, seeing as how their guesses vary so widely, and I don’t know if the witches are calling out to help me or to hinder Manny.
So, I let the clamoring fade to white noise and study the gigantic vegetable.
This isn’t a new challenge. Dad has twenty or so he cycles through, using a different combo for each year.
Some are brainteasers, some are physical, some are both.
There also tends to be an artist challenge and maybe a food thing.
But we can all count on the fact that every challenge will be fall-themed.
The autumn equinox might have been last week, but this is how my family truly welcomes in the new season.
I see now that the pumpkin carrier is Heath, a local bear shifter and co-owner of Coffee & Claws. The bear is a baker and has a contract with Papa for local produce. I wonder if that signed agreement includes a special clause, stating, Must carry very large pumpkin for seasonal festivals.
Admittedly, there aren’t many others in town who could haul that thing around on their own. Dad must have worked some spells on that gourd to get it to grow to the gigantic size.
He puts more and more planning into these games each year.
And that—even more than the urge to defeat Manny—is why I agreed to be Pumpkin Princess.
As much as I’m proud of how I’ve done out in the world on my own, more and more, I realize the extent to which I miss my sister and my father.
Being apart for weeks at a time has given me time to remember all the things I love about them both.
The way Heather laughs with her whole heart and hugs me like she’ll never let go.
The way Papa always makes time for me and smiles as if I bring him nothing but joy.
When I was younger, their love felt stifling. Like a too-tight life jacket when I wanted to swim unencumbered.
But now that I’m free to float on my own, I long to enfold myself in their caring orbit again.
And if being here means I get to defeat an annoying, too handsome for his own good werewolf, then that’s just a sweet bonus.
“Write down your guesses. Reveal your answers in ten seconds.”
Papa begins a dramatic countdown, and the crowd joins him. Meanwhile, I concentrate on the height and width of the pumpkin while also taking in the strain of Heath’s biceps.
Confident with my answer, I write out my guess.
510.
Manny is the type to write 501, in hopes that I’d choose a whole number. But he knows that I know he would do that, so I bet he expects me to write 502 or 505.
I figure 510 is safe.
“Time’s up! Show us your boards!”
I hold mine aloft and glance over to see the werewolf’s guess.
403.
I snort. Knew it. Only I’m sure he’s wildly underestimated.
Then, Heath sets the pumpkin down on a scale, and half the crowd groans when the number pops up on the digital display.
“Five hundred six pounds!” Papa roars, throwing me an apologetic smile.
It’s all I can do not to snap my whiteboard in half. When I see the triumphant grin on Manny’s face, I can’t help twisting my hand in the well-used gesture to tug on my magic.
And as if sensing my intent, the wolf’s hand flies up in time to catch the apple hurtling toward his head.
The arrogant asshole sinks his teeth into the crimson flesh as he saunters my way.
And I recall how I dug my own teeth into his lip only a week ago. Manny’s blood should have tasted metallic, but instead, it was full-bodied, like an expensive, dry red wine. I licked the droplets with relish and wanted more.
Then, I reminded myself that I was a witch, not a bloodthirsty beast, and admitting I liked anything about this wolf would only lead to disaster and mockery.
“If it had been closest guess, I would’ve had it,” I snarl at him.
“But it wasn’t.” Manny holds the half-eaten apple out to me, as if I might want a bite. As if I might be tempted to put my mouth where his just was.
I am tempted, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“The next challenge starts in a half hour in the east field,” my dad calls out. Then, he throws Manny and me an eager grin before trotting off.
“Hear that?” I cross my arms over my chest and glare up at the aggravatingly attractive werewolf. “You have a whole thirty minutes to pretend like you’re smarter than me.”
Manny slips closer without seeming to move his feet. “Hmm,” he rumbles deep in his throat. “Then, what?”
“Then,” I hiss, pressing up on my toes to shove my face into his, “I will destroy you.”
Instead of being cowed by my very frightening threat, Manny keeps on smirking. The expression only fades when his stare drops to my mouth, then lower to my heaving chest.
Wait, why is my chest heaving?
“You get so worked up,” he mutters, his slate eyes finding mine again. “It’s adorable.”
“Adorable?” I grit my teeth when he goes to take another bite of the apple.
I can’t handle seeing his perfect white teeth dig into that crisp skin again. Can’t watch the sweet juice coat his lips. Can’t listen to the pleased hum he makes after every taste.
I snatch the fruit out of his grasp and wing it into the pumpkin patch, watching the Red Delicious soar an impressive distance.
Maybe apple chucking will be one of the challenges. Looks like I’d dominate.
“I wasn’t done with that,” Manny says, his expression disgruntled.
“Good.” Now, I’m the one smirking, enjoying seeing the grown man pout about his lost snack.
No need to dwell on my level of maturity. I will be an adult come Monday, when I have to go back to work as a college professor.
“That was quite a throw. Love this spirit of competition.” The delighted comment comes from Owen as he strolls up to us with a collection of other people.
Everyone wears relaxed smiles, and most hold steaming mugs of cider. For them, this is a fun outing.
But they don’t have a werewolf to conquer and a bet to win.
“Blossom is all about intimidation.” Manny gives his boss a one-armed hug hello.
Then, the wolf turns to me and points people out.
“You know Griffith, right? He bartends at Local Brew. Then, this is Jack, newest member of the pack, and Ame Shelly, one of the witches who opened the library on the lake. Jack, Ame, this is Blossom Fernmore.”
I’m thrown off-balance by Manny introducing me in his easy way. I was in verbal sparring mode, not meet the new townsfolk mode.
“Hello.” I give them a jerky wave. “Welcome to The Patch.”
Technically, it’s called The Fernmore Pumpkin Patch, but everyone just calls this field of orange gourds The Patch. Papa loves the fact that his place has a nickname.
Manny slips up beside me and drapes an arm over my shoulders. As if this is the most normal thing in the world. As if I didn’t recently try to assault him with fruit and make him bleed after kissing him.
“Nice to meet you.” Ame returns my wave with a small smile of her own. “That was a good guess.”
I try not to grimace, knowing she’s just being nice.
“Yeah, but not the winning one, huh? Like to think I hire the best brains in town.” Owen taps his knuckles on Manny’s shoulder and puffs up his chest.
I’m tempted to poke the selkie right in his stomach to deflate him, but I tend to keep my physical assaults aimed at Manny.
Speaking of, I pinch his side in an attempt to extricate myself from his hold.
But the infuriating wolf only winces, then tugs me closer. And damn him, he smells good. The same way he tasted. Like a rich red wine that gets me drunk too fast.
“Just in case it wasn’t clear”—Griffith, the bartending werewolf, offers me an apologetic smile—“Owen and I are Team Wolf.”
And that’s when I notice their custom orange T-shirts that read, All hail the Pumpkin Prince!
Now that I acknowledge the design, I realize a decent portion of the crowd has them on.
“And I would like to make it clear,” Manny says, “I specifically requested you not make shirts this year.”
Owen shrugs, grin unrepentant. “I had to. If I ordered more than fifty, they gave me a discount.”
“That’s terrible logic.”
Ignoring his Pumpkin Prince, the selkie turns his attention on Ame and Jack, the witch and the werewolf couple.
“What about you, newbies?” he asks. “Who are you rooting for?”
Jack fixes his dark eyes on the redhead whose hand he holds. “Who are we rooting for?”
Ame offers him a sweet smile. “Well, I’m a witch. So, go, Blossom!”
He nods, as if that decides everything. “Go, Blossom.”
“Now, wait a minute, Jack,” Griffith chimes in. “You’re a wolf. You’ve gotta root for Manny.” He points to the man at my side, who’s currently running his thumb gently along my collarbone.
Wait, what is he doing? When did this start? Why is he touching me like this? Why am I letting him?
Why does it feel so good?
My nipples pebble again, but this time, it’s not from the cold.
Jack’s hard stare flicks between Griffith, Manny, me, then back to his mate.
“Go, Blossom,” he repeats.
The show of loyalty—to his mate, not to me—has me smiling.
Then, the wolf, who’s still manhandling me, opens his annoying mouth.
“Eh, can’t blame you.” Manny laughs. “If I didn’t like seeing her in a temper so much, I’d be rooting for Blossom too.” The hot fingers of his free hand pinch my chin, holding my face in place as he presses a loud kiss to my forehead.
A rush of emotion blots out all rational thought, and in self-preservation, my hands dance through conjuring motions before I consider the consequences.
Manny slips away fast, catching and dodging three separate apples I rocketed his way.
Unfortunately, one misses its target and instead knocks Owen’s cider out of his hand, sending the spiced beverage spraying through the air.
Jack turns his body in time to shield Ame, blocking any of the splatter from hitting his witch.
“Damn. I was enjoying that.” The seal shifter scoops his empty mug off the ground, voice mournful.
I’m not in the apologizing mood. “Well, that’ll teach you to root for the wrong competitor.” Nose in the air, I stalk away from the group toward the next challenge, where I plan to ignore the unwanted reactions my body has toward Manny Ramirez as I dominate the rest of this competition.
“Go, Blossom!” Ame cheers at my back.