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Though there aren't any cars on the island, straw bales have still been stacked at the end of the street to denote the festival boundary. The shops are closed, and makeshift booths have been set up along the cobblestones.

Various vendors are setting up their wares. Some booths sit in front of their owners’ shops. Ada is setting out fall-themed cookies, doughnuts, and cider in front of her Cozy Charm Café. Ivy displays cute home decor and gift items, from floral plates to fun welcome mats. Even the Alexandria Book Nook has a small table full of bookmarks and pamphlets about the dangers of open flames to personal book collections. Other booths belong to residents of the island offering their own crafts and specialties. Dolly, a local woman of about twenty with pink hair and pink eyes, has a booth with knitted pink scarves, hats, and mittens. Colt has a booth selling fishing lures he creates himself.

We pull the enormous floating pumpkin along until we get it to our spot at the vegetable-growing contest, between a corn stalk as tall as me and a tomato shaped like Morty.

The beach tents hold all the contests and show materials. Several large chickens, some goats, and a particularly angry-looking goose that squawks when I stare too long are also housed here. Everything is decked out in orange and black, from bunting to wreaths to flyers.

"That is an insane pumpkin, Willoughby. You've done it again."

Lawrence, Will’s unicorn friend, approaches us. His red eyes find mine.

"Nice to see you and your mate out and about for the festival."

Behind Lawrence, two of his farmhands, a centaur and an orc, roll up a pumpkin of their own. It's a shade darker than ours, and if I'm being honest, it might be the tiniest bit larger.

"You compete in the pumpkin-growing contest?" I ask, floored.

Lawrence smirks and nods.

"Every year. Of course, we have a hand in the butternut and mum competitions." He gestures to the other tables. "But who knows? This year might be our year for the pumpkin."

He winks at Will and saunters off to arrange the other vegetables.

I turn to Will, surprised to find an amused expression on his face.

"I thought you two were friends?"

Indeed, Will often meets with Lawrence for coffee or lunch. I am not even a little bit jealous, of course… not at all.

His eyebrows shoot up. "We are."

"He knows it's your family tradition to win the pumpkin contest every year. Yet he's competing against you?"

Will laughs and kisses me until he's stolen my breath.

"It's not really a competition if no one tries to beat me, Randy," he points out.

I suppose that's true, but still. "What if he wins?" I ask, worried about my mate's disappointment.

But Will shrugs, smiling happily.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later. I'm proud I didn't give up. That's because of you, my love," he says, kissing my cheek again.

My chest swells with pride, and I lean into the caress.

Once the pumpkin is placed, we don't need to stay with it, so we wander the festival. A purple tent is pitched at the edge of the beach, where Layla has taken up a spot at a small round table with her deck of tarot cards. But as with all sphinxes, her readings come in small riddles, and Will and I can't make heads or tails of our futures. Which is probably for the best.

As the sun sets over the water, candles flick on within lampposts and jack-o'-lanterns, thanks to Laz's magic. They cast flickering shadows along the cobblestone walkways. Leaves swirl in little eddies as the breeze picks up. A table near the roundabout serves hot cider with cinnamon sticks and warm doughnut holes.

At the center of the roundabout's grassy area, I hear a cough and the sound of stone scraping against stone. The statue at the town center is a gargoyle with the face and body of a man, the enormous wings of a bat, and the fangs, horns, and tail of a beast.

Cursed to only live at night, Hugo stretches as he rises from the day’s sitting position. His wings snap out, and he glides down from his rock pedestal to the opposite side of the street, where caramel apples are being handed out by Titus, the only minotaur on the island.

I'm surprised to see him out, as he usually keeps to himself. But maybe with the wards changed, some of the residents' attitudes have changed too. I know mine have.

Nola is out today. She's strolling with Ivy and Dolly, Conall trailing behind them. Someone must have explained the island's inhabitants to her because when she sees Titus, she only flinches a little, recovering quickly.

He bows at the waist, bringing his considerable eight feet of height down to her much shorter eye level, and holds out a caramel apple by the stick. She takes it, blushing so bright I can see it creeping up her face from here. He speaks to her in low tones, and she smiles shyly in response.