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Laz is clearly amused as he watches our exchange. "The spell has literally been split between the two of you and the pumpkin. Because it didn't land solely on the pumpkin as intended, it isn't strengthening the pumpkin anymore. It's attached to what needed the most strengthening between the two of you: the new mating bond. Congratulations, by the way."

We both mutter unenthusiastic thank-yous.

"In any case, the magic has adapted and will continue making adjustments, like controlling how far you can wander from each other, and possibly other effects, until it considers your bond sufficiently strengthened."

"Other magical adjustments?" I ask flatly. I don’t like the sound of that.

Laz shrugs. "It's hard to say. The magic decides."

Translation: because of his memory issues, Laz has no idea what might happen next or where to find out.

Great.

"But it won't last forever," he says as he stands and brushes the dirt off his pants.

"It won't?" Randy asks.

I swear there's a hint of disappointment in his voice. But that can't be right… can it?

"No. The spell was originally intended for the pumpkin, so it was always meant to end once the pumpkin fully matured. Since you still attached it to the pumpkin, I expect that remains true."

It takes my overwrought mind a moment to catch up.

"So once the pumpkin's done growing, the spell will release us?"

He nods.

"What if the pumpkin dies?" Randy asks. Now that the spell is attached to us and not protecting the pumpkin this is a horrible possibility. My heart feels like it stops. He might as well have asked what happens if one of my family members dies.

Laz cringes. "Let's not find out."

Randy and I exchange alarmed looks, but Laz either ignores them or doesn't notice. He bids us good night and saunters up the lane in the direction of his tower.

Randy

There's so much space between us as we walk that another person could fit in the void. I can't stop reliving what Willoughby said about tradition.

His words cut into my heart. He doesn't think we should be mates? How can he think we’re mismatched?

I mull over the whole conversation. Hell, the entire town hall meeting. Nothing I said was untrue.

Not untrue for you.

His words ring through my mind. From my perspective, I was correct. Tradition above all. That's always what I've believed. It’s been my family's way for—well—ever, as far as I know.

Your traditions leave no room for me. Not as a gnome.

I've always been alone and only had to worry about myself. I've never had to consider another person when deciding how I live my life. No siblings. Only fleeting romantic partners before now. My friends are more like colleagues.

But now I have a mate. And I want to understand him above everything else, even tradition. For the first time, I wonder if the bedrock of tradition might also be a shackle.

I watch Will's back as he strolls ahead of me on the narrow forested path to our homes, and hope it's not too late to try harder.

Will suddenly yelps and leaps backward, crashing into my chest. My arms automatically go around him, both to steady him and to pull him behind me if need be. His muscles flex under my hands. I place my chin on his shoulder, attempting to see what might have scared him.

I find two big orange-yellow orbs glaring at us from inside a bush.

I exhale. "It's just Morty."