Page 4

"I’m exhausted, Randy. I'm going to bed," he says, closing the door in my face with a thwack.

I pound on the door over and over before it's ripped open again by a thoroughly furious wizard.

"Randy, I will hex you into next week. I will cast a plague upon you. I will ensure that you always hear the faint buzzing of a fly in your house that you can never, ever find." I swallow. None of that sounds particularly pleasant, but the image of Willoughby's tear-filled eyes fortifies me.

"I don't believe you remember how to do any of those things." He winces, but I plow on. "And I will keep knocking on this door until my hands are bloody. Or your ears are. Whichever comes first." For one brief moment, I wonder if I've gone too far. Laz's eyes flash a deeply concerning shade of purple. But then he slumps, apparently giving in, and stomps toward the spiral staircase leading up the tower.

"Come on!" his voice booms back down. I jump with a squeak and scurry after him. The stairs are steep and considerably longer than they appear from the outside. By the time I reach the top, I'm regrettably winded. I reach for my handkerchief to wipe my forehead, only to remember I gave it to Willoughby.

A sharp ache squeezes my chest. I'd much rather be with Willoughby discussing the appropriate progression of our courtship, but instead I'm here.

A large black cauldron sits in the middle of the room, and with a snap of his fingers, Laz ignites a purple flame beneath it.

"A pumpkin," he mutters.

"Yes, I need a spell to protect the pumpkin or keep it from dying."

He huffs and rubs his eyes, then pulls a book from the middle of one of his many teetering piles, letting the rest tumble over. I cringe and resist the urge to tidy it. Laz pulls out his half-moon spectacles and begins flipping through the pages.

"Fine. This'll be fine," he says, raising his hand. The weary, careless ease of his words makes me recoil. Perhaps forcing a memory-deficient wizard to perform magic while drained wasn’t my finest idea.

"Perhaps I should come back..."

Purple light flares from his fingertips as he pricks one with a knife and begins reciting words in a language only witches and wizards understand. My ears pop with a sudden shift in pressure before he snaps the book shut.

"Go to your pumpkin and say the word strength while looking directly at it. It’ll strengthen the pumpkin's life force so it grows without harm from animals or disease or whatever else kills pumpkins. But you have to say it directly at the pumpkin," he says, sitting on the edge of his desk as a few stray hairs fall loose from his bun. "Time to go, Randy. If I don't get some sleep before the meeting tonight, I may murder someone. It's only a few hours."

"Um, so I just..." His eyes catch mine, temporarily losing all trace of exhaustion. I take one large step back, then another, until I reach the stairs. I turn and scurry down them. Apparently, my courage only extends as far as getting what I need. I burst through the front door, and it slams shut behind me.

Willoughby

The Cozy Charm Café is busy today. Ada, the fairy who owns the place, rushes around behind the counter, filling coffee and tea orders, setting out sandwiches and pulling pastries from the oven. With autumn in full swing, jack-be-little pumpkins sit on every table, wreaths of leaves and twigs hang over the windows, and decorative straw bales flank the front door. Everything smells of cinnamon and apples, and the interior is painted in warm yellows.

I’m tucked into a table in the far corner, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of apple cider. Across from me sits Lawrence, one of my oldest friends. With snow-white skin, curly white hair, red eyes, and a shimmering silver horn rising from his forehead, Lawrence is a rare albino unicorn.

"I can't believe it," I continue. "Mates are finally possible here, and who do I get? The most arrogant asshole on the entire island."

Lawrence frowns, his nose wrinkling. "It isn't… ideal," he concedes.

I stare at him. Lawrence is one of the calmest people I've ever known. At times like this, his gentleness is infuriating.

"Not ideal? Lawrence, this is the same leprechaun who called a town meeting trying to kick the only human off the island simply because she's human. The same one whose cat is constantly scratching up my beautiful pumpkins. The same one who acts like change is the end of the world. We couldn't be more unsuited for each other."

"Well, you did say he brought you scones after your garden was destroyed," Lawrence points out. "That may prove a little heart exists in there somewhere."

I shake my head. "That man only cares about tradition and resisting change. Like the ward situation. If the wards hadn't been altered, none of us would be forming mate bonds."

"Bet you're regretting that particular change now," Lawrence says before taking a sip of his coffee.

I groan and throw my head back, staring at the ceiling. "How could I be mate-bonded to Randy?"

A hair too late, I realize I've been a bit too loud. I quickly look around to ensure that no one heard my outburst. The noise level of the café is high today, so I think I got away with it without anyone notic—

Nick Claw is staring right at me with a cutting smirk on his face. With his black eyes, blood red skin, and twisted, sharp horns protruding from his head, Nick stands with his forked tail wrapped around his coffee cup.

"Nick, did you hear…" I start, but then trail off. I don't want to say in case he didn't hear it.

His smile grows.