Instead, I pull Sophie into my arms. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re alright!” I cry, cupping her cheeks in my palms so I can verify with my own eyes that she’s unharmed.
Sophie only giggles conspiratorially, not a hint of fear to be found. “Miss Amelia, did you see me? I can fly!”
“Maybe keep your feet on the ground for a little while. Okay, kid?” Oliver suggests, patting her on the head once.
I pull the ballerina into a bone-crushing hug, not only relieved that she’s safe but that her fathers, Mike and Jim, aren’t going to kill me. They spent years going through the adoption process, and I’d be incurring theentiretown’s wrath if Sophie had so much as scraped her left elbow.
I’m about to thank Oliver for his heroism when a scream echoes from behind me. Before I even have a chance to turn andsee what it is now, Oliver takes off toward the new source of chaos, coat flapping behind him.
I’m horrified to find that as I sprint after him, a skeleton on one of the floats is dancing all on its own. The boy who’s supposed to be operating it like a puppet cries out as the plastic skeleton does the jig, its knobby knees flailing back and forth in the jerkiest dance I’ve ever seen. Then, another starts dancing until all four are wiggling about independently from the teenagers who should be controlling them.
As I’m racing down the street, I realize I recognize these props too! They’re the faux skeletons I found in the bookstore basement while searching for decorations. Grandma used to hang them out front. They would rattle in the breeze, but them being charmed was news to me, and they certainly weren’t supposed to dothat.
Just as Oliver reaches the float, Lucy comes flying out of Moonlit Pages and shoulders her way through the stunned crowd. I meet her at the corner of the float, and she shoves a bag of moon-soaked salt into my hands before helping me onto the platform.
This time, I have no idea what spell Grandma used, and my chances of guessing it backward are slim to none. Instead, I grab a handful of salt, throw it at the dancing skeleton, and recite a general reversal spell, hoping for the best. The decoration freezes, its unhinged jaw clacking open and closed before collapsing into a heap of plastic.
I start toward the next one, but it’s already in a mercifully still pile at Oliver’s feet. Before I can question how he managed to do it, another teenager shrieks. A discoing skeleton is closing in on where she’s backed up against the center tier of the float. I repeat the same process I did with the first, and thankfully, it falls into a heap of motionless fake bones.
Oliver shoves the fourth and final skeleton off the edge of the float, and it shatters into a dozen pieces of wiggling plastic. I upend my bag of salt, dumping it atop the bone pile, whisper my reversal spell, and the pieces finally lie still.
The whole parade comes to a standstill, and the crowd goes quiet for several long-drawn-out seconds.
Panic starts to rise in my throat as I meet the wide eyes and slack jaws of onlookers openly staring at me atop a float. I do my best to straighten my spine and smile back at them, but my lips shake beneath the weight of their stares. All I can imagine is one tourist shoutingwitchand Ashwood Haven reverting to Puritan-era Salem to reenact witch trials with Lucy and I standing side by side at the chopping block.
Well . . . at least I’ll have an aesthetic death, with the town all decorated. Maybe they’ll do it on one of the floats.
Yeah, that would be fitting . . .
Cheers erupt from every corner of the street; even the tormented teenagers and terrified dance teacher start laughing.
I’m utterly stunned.
It’s not until Oliver grabs my hand and makes a grand gesture that I realize they all think I staged the whole thing as an elaborate prank. I glance down at Lucy, looking for some sort of direction on what I should do, but her eyes are wide with questions. I shrug and shake my head, letting her know I’m just as confused as she is.
I start toward the edge of the float to jump down, but before I have the chance, the whole thing lurches forward. The moving floor sends me off-balance. I reach out to balance myself against Oliver, but he’s no longer by my side—he’s already on the street below. He throws me an apologetic smile, maybe for abandoning me, before melting into the crowd, leaving me behind to face the world on my own.
One of the teenagers appears at my side, laughing and waving. She beams with the thrill of being the center of attention, and I do my best to play off her endless energy.
Together, we ride the float all the way to the end of the parade.
When the float finally turns out of sight of Main Street and comes to a stop, the teenage girl with a cloud of coiled black hair bounces on her toes. “That was so cool! How did you do it?”
My cheeks ache from all the smiling, and I have to work my jaw before answering her. “Do what?”
She rolls her big brown eyes in the dramatic way only teenagers can. “The skeletons and brooms, obviously. How did you do it without anyone knowing?”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out. I have absolutely no idea what to tell her, and I realize I’m about to be bombarded with about a hundred more questions just like this. Specifically, from outraged parents of flying ballerinas and a festival coordinator who had her entire schedule thrown off.
Mercifully, Lucy’s voice cuts through my thoughts and the ever-growing awkward silence, saving me from a bumbling explanation.
“Nope. No revealing your secrets!” A mess of red hair appears at the base of the float and holds out a hand to help me down.
I give the teenage girl an apologetic smile, much like the one Oliver gave me, and force myself not to sag with relief. The moment my feet hit the ground, Lucy throws an arm over my shoulders and leads me away.
“What the hell was that?” she whispers frantically.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
