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I hold up a hand.

“Clara, did they take anything?”

“I don’t know. The sheriff’s here. He wants you to come down.”

“Okay. I’m coming.”

I end the call.

Grayson’s expression has changed.

The warmth is gone.

His jaw tightens, and his eyes turn hard.

“What happened?”

“Someone broke into The Witching Hour.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then he picks up my helmet.

“Get on the bike, Pumpkin.”

Chapter 8

GRIM

Somebody’s going to have a very bad fucking day.

I know that much before I even pull up outside The Witching Hour.

The front window is smashed. Yellow police tape stretches across the entrance, and shattered glass covers the sidewalk. A sheriff’s cruiser sits at the curb, lights flashing against the orange pumpkins Autumn spent three hours arranging yesterday.

Beside me, Autumn goes completely still.

“Oh, my God.”

I kill the engine.

“Stay here.”

She climbs off the bike.

“Not a chance.”

“Pumpkin.”

“That’s my bakery, Gray.”

I look at her.

Her face is pale, but her jaw is set.

Stubborn little thing.

“Fine. Stay behind me.”