Page 11 of The Heartbreak Hex

“Yep. I’d stake my professional reputation on it. It’s low grade, not like something you’d get at my shop, but definitely magical interference in growing. I’d bet my favorite hat on it being homemade.”

“Well that disqualifies them,” I say firmly. “The rules of the contest state magic-free pumpkins only.”

“Whose pumpkin is this?” she asks.

“I don’t know. It’s blind judging. We’ll just have to announce that it’s disqualified at the end when we give the results.”

“What are you whispering about?” interrupts Betty, another farmer in the group.

“Confidential judge stuff,” I reply easily, before turning back to Gertrude. She’s already moved onto the next pumpkin, this time putting her face next to it and sniffing. It’s adorably odd looking and I move closer to her.

This time she shoots me a worried look.

“What?” I ask.

“This one used a growing potion too. Also homemade.”

My jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”

She shrugs. “Nope. This one is magically enhanced too.”

At the third pumpkin, I cease to be surprised when Gertrude announces thattheyused a growing potion as well. And the fourth. And the fifth. But by the time we get to the last pumpkin and find thatevery singlefarmer cheated, I have a hard time keeping a straight face. It’s just so ridiculous that I almost burst out laughing.

Gertrude gives me an amused look, obviously sharing my opinion of how ridiculous this is, before whispering, “What are you going to do? City Hall needs a jack-o-lantern for the ball. But everyone used magic to enhance their pumpkins!”

That is a good point. City Halldoesneed a pumpkin, and who knows how long the farmers have been cheating? We’ve never had an inspection before, so who knows how long they’ve been using potions and getting away with it? I ruefully shake my head.

“I’ll think of something,” I whisper back to Gertrude before reaching out my hand to help her up from her crouched position. She takes it and I pull her upright, still secretly thrilling at the connection of our hands.

Turning to face the crowd, I put on my sternest frown.

“Well, I think we all know what we found,” I say, imbuing my voice with almost fatherly disappointment.

All the farmers are looking at their shoes or the sky, none looking straight in my eyes. My frown almost cracks with a grin.It’s just so funny thatevery singlefarmer cheated. But I fight the instinct to smile and continue, “Well, I think it’s only fair to call this one a draw.”

The farmers’ eyes snap back toward mine and some bickering starts again.

“That’s not fair!”

“Just pick one!”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

That last one banishes my amusement for real.

“Alright, that’s enough out of all of you,” I snap, my affable mayor persona disappearing. “Ms. Nightshade is one of the most talented potion makers in all of Holiday Village. Her expertise is unimpeachable. If she says that all of you used growing potions, I believe her.”

“All of us?” echoes the farmers, before turning on each other.

“I knew you couldn’t get a gourd that big without magic!”

“Well what about you? You used one too!”

On and on they argue. It’s exhausting. I’m about to yell at all of them again, when a shrill whistle goes off at my side. The sound startles the shouting crowd quiet and we all turn to see Gertrude with her fingers in her mouth. When we’re all staring at her, she puts both her hands on her hips, the string at our wrist tugging on me slightly, and glares.

“Alright, everyone, knock it off. You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” declares Gertrude. “This contest is supposed to be in good fun, a way for the village to get into the Halloween spirit and you’ve all turned it into something ugly. It’s more than fair for the mayor to call it a draw. By all rights, you should all be disqualified and the contest canceled!”

I have never seen Gertrude with so much fire before, but I like it. She has my back when it counts and I appreciate that.She really is my dream girl. Her speech seems to do the trick too, because all of the farmers are back to looking at their shoes.

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