“What is going on?!” a familiar voice screeches.
I sigh.Stacy.
“Just a little outage . . . of candles . . . I guess,” Pat relays into his radio, losing confidence in his report with every word.
“Candles don’t have outages, Patrick!” Stacy replies through the static, and the outline of Patrick slumps with the realization that there is no reasonable explanation for what’s going on.
I can barely register anything they’re saying, though. The magic is swirling so fast that I can hear it like a roar in my ears. Oliver’s hand tenses around mine with every passing moment, his grip turning from anxious to strained to almost bone-crushing. But I can’t bring myself to pull away, because every muscle in my own body has constricted around my bones until I feel like a spring coiled too tight.
Oliver turns his gaze on me the moment I look up at him, and in unison, our eyes widen, and Iknowhe can feel it. I just can’t tell if he knowswhatit is he’s feeling, but there’s no doubt in my mind that his expression is a mirror of my own.
The swelling surge of magic feels as though it’s about to burst when a booming voice startles me so bad I jump.
“Miss Amelia.”
I drop Oliver’s hand to clutch at my chest in an attempt to keep my heart from leaping right through my breastbone. Oliver holds his head between his hands, trying to catch his breath.
Don appears like a specter in the night, dressed in a wizard costume, complete with a pointy star-embroidered hat, bent in half and flopping as he walks. He stops before me, placing his hands on his hips and eyes Oliver carefully.
“Mr. Oliver,” he mutters. I didn’t even know Don knew how to mutter.
Now that our physical connection has broken, the magic sighs, melting away until it’s as if it had never been about to explode in the first place. I’m so relieved I’m tempted to burst into tears, but I can’t let myself fall apart when everything isalready going so wrong. So, I allow myself a few deep breaths to compose myself before straightening to face Don.
“What’s up, Don?”
His gaze flicks to me, but his wary expression doesn’t change. “Miss Amelia, you’ve always been a good kid, so I hate that I have to ask, but you aren’t behind this . . . are you?”
I sigh and shake my head. “No,” I assure him, “I’m not. I swear.”
His lips purse beneath his thick mustache. “Because this isn’t something I would put past Stella to set up the moment she learned about Moonlit Pages sponsoring this year. But this isn’t funny anymore, people could get lost or hurt, and after the parade . . .”
I squeeze my eyes shut, resisting the urge to jump to Grandma’s defense because he’s absolutely right. Thisisthe exact type of thing she would have found hilarious, and no one in town would have been able to stop her. Not Don, nor even Stacy.
So, instead, I shake my head. “Don, I can assure you I had nothing to do with this.”
“I see.” His gaze slides to Oliver once again, and I can tell he’s putting together the same pieces Lucy and I did this morning.
I open my mouth to defend Oliver, but my phone chimes, and I’m so confused that the words become lost on my tongue. I pull out my phone, double-checking the settings, and sure enough, it’s on vibrate. I’m not sure I’ve ever taken this particular phoneoffvibrate. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve taken any phone I’ve owned off vibrate since I graduated high school.
But my messenger app has three notifications nonetheless. All from Lucy.
COME BACK TO MP ASAP!
DO *NOT* BRING THE NEW GUY
But ask about the fritters
The momentI step through the door of Moonlit Pages, Lucy comes flying out from between bookshelves.
“Finally!” She grabs my wrist and starts hauling me toward the back of the store before I’ve even had the chance to make sure the door closes behind me. I stumble over my own feet as I wave to Marilyn, who’s so wrapped up in her book, she doesn’t seem to notice my entrance.
“Hi, Marilyn.”
The elderly woman doesn’t even glance up at me from behind the register, her chin resting on a fist as she flips through what looks to be a newly released billionaire romance. Her brown eyes merely flick to me over the rim of her thick glasses before returning to her story, her fingers flicking in greeting.
“Come on!” Lucy pleads, tugging at my arm like a kid in a candy store.
I let her drag me away, vigorously shaking my free arm in an attempt to rid myself of my coat as we enter the back room. “What in the world is going on with you?”
