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Same general theme. More fabric. Fewer opportunities for a wardrobe malfunction.

And considering she’s standing next to Georgie, she practically looks ready for church.

“It was all the costume shop had left,” Mom says the second she catches me staring. “I tried to talk her out of it.”

“Why would you do a terrible thing like that?” Georgie demands. She gives us a spin, and her corset catches the festival lights while the feathers in her hat nearly take out a passing vampire. “I look fantastic.”

She does.

Alarmingly so.

“And I’ve already commandeered three phone numbers.” She hikes one boot onto a nearby hay bale and gives it an approving look. “These babies are excellent for boarding.”

“Ships?” I ask.

Georgie gives me a look. “Sure, Bizzy. Ships.”

Mom closes her eyes.

I decide not to ask what she plans to do with the sword.

“We should have coordinated!” Georgie cries, waving a hand between my vampire costume and her pirate getup. “We could have been vampire queens! Vampire pirates! An entire undead pirate crew!”

Evidently, regular pirates weren’t dramatic enough.

“Next year,” I tell her.

There’s no point arguing with Georgie once she has a theme. You just agree and hope she doesn’t order matching hats.

Mom looks happy, exhausted, and about one caramel apple away from demanding a chair. They’ve clearly been here all day, which means Georgie has probably dragged her through every contest, booth, game, and anything else involving a prize she has no business winning.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Ella squeals.

I turn, and sure enough, another branch of the family tree is headed straight for us.

Dad has dark hair and blue eyes like me, and tonight he’s traded his usual dad uniform for a purple wizard’s robe and matching hat. The whole thing is aggressively friendly. He looks less like he casts spells and more like he teaches introductory wizardry at the community college.

“Grandpa!” Ella holds her arms up and begs for him to take her.

Dad lights up and scoops her right off her feet. “There’s my favorite little vampire.”

Gwyneth glides up beside him dressed as a witch, although calling it a costume feels generous. Her black dress is sleek, her pointed hat is somehow chic, and her makeup hasn’t shifted so much as an eyelash. She has dark hair and light eyes, and a marked disdain for you-know-who.

Come to think of it, she doesn’t look dressed for Halloween.

She looks like Gwyneth found out witches were trending on this spooky night and decided to show them how it’s done.

“We can take Ella for the rest of the evening,” Dad offers, already bouncing her in his arms. “Give you two some adult time at the festival.”

Adult time.

I glance at Jasper.

At a Halloween festival.

With a killer still running loose.

Apparently Dad’s definition of adult time and mine have taken a very dark turn.