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‘Do you really think that?’

The look was more than enough answer.

‘She’s right,’ Aiden reassured her. ‘There’s nothing that would ever part me from you. And if magic tried, it could get stuffed.’

‘Aiden, be careful what you say!’

‘I mean it. I love the magic I can pour into my bakes and teas – but I love you far more. If ever I had to choose, it would be you. Every time.’

‘Well, let’s hope you don’t… because I really like your baking.’

‘Oh you do, do you?’

‘Yeah.’ She took another step towards him, already feeling the thrill of attraction sparkling through her. ‘I really do.’

Here they go again, Lunar grumbled.

Even the spring décor is getting fed up of it, Mist quipped back.

All four jumped at the crash from the book nook.

‘I thought you said we were the only ones here?’ Mia asked.

Lunar’s corvid response was rude enough that no translation was needed.

‘Sorry, Lunar, Mist, obviously I meant the only humans. Of course you both count.’

‘It is just us here.’ Aiden frowned. ‘Mist, you haven’t been bringing in brownies again, have you?’

A rude snort was their only answer – and an eerie scratchy scuffling noise coming from too near for Mia’s comfort, and she grabbed Aiden’s hand tightly.

‘It’s OK.’

‘How do you know if you don’t know what it is?’ she hissed at him.

‘I don’t. But it usually is,’ he whispered back. ‘And Glimmers is very well protected.’

‘Then why are you whispering?’

‘Because you started it!’ He let go of her hand.

‘Wait! I can’t let you go by yourself.’ She followed him, heart in her throat, to the book nook where the noise was louder. As much as she was enjoying magic being real and learning what that meant, Mia hadn’t encountered anything scarier than the obnoxious but harmless haunted pumpkins, and this sounded a lot worse than that. Screwing up her courage, she peered around the corner.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not to see a heavy-looking book flopping around on the floor like an injured bird.

Aiden bent down to retrieve it.

‘Is it Frank?’

‘I don’t think so. He usually only haunts pumpkins. It’s the wrong time of year for him, and this is a lot more subtle than his usual approaches.’

‘But it is haunted?’ Mia persisted, unable to think of any other explanation.

‘I don’t think so. Mist?’

‘Mweep.’

‘She says no.’ He carried the book to a table. ‘And that’s not usually what this type of thing is.’