Page 44 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
With a finger to my chin, I study the menu, trying to appear as if I can’t decide between the spiced Mexican hot chocolate orthe mega chocolate. The conglomeration comes with so many different toppings and drizzles that the never-ending list takes up four lines on the board. Just the thought of it makes my stomach roil, and yet . . . I’m intrigued.
I stand there so long that the girl behind the cash register starts to eye me warily.
“Do you have any questions?” The way she asks it sounds as if she’d rather be asking if I’m going to order in this lifetime or the next.
“Um, yes . . .” My words trail off as I try to think of something to ask, as I scan the line of trucks, searching for a large form to come save me from this awkward interaction. “Are your . . . er, actually, was your Mexican hot chocolate made in Mexico?”
When the stunned woman in the truck blinks at me, I play back what I just said, and I decide it is, in fact, possible to die of humiliation. I stare at her open-mouthed, trying to decide if I should take the question back or if that would look even worse.
“We make all of our hot chocolates in the truck, ma’am,” the woman eventually answers.
I repress a sigh at myself. “Of course you do . . . obviously. Can I just get—Oh, crap!”
Around the corner of the food truck hall comes Stacy, staring at that damned clipboard.
“Maybe next time!” I squeak at the hot chocolate lady, and before I can tell if the look on her face is relief that she doesn’t have to answer any more questions or concern for my mental state, I dart between trucks. I trip over lines of extension cords laid out across the ground, too busy checking over my shoulder to make sure the coordinator hasn’t seen me shirking my hostess duties.
I make a sharp turn, veering away from the trucks and toward town hall. There’s a large statue of a man sitting atop a horse that looks out over the square from a distance. Its baseis so wide that three people could stand shoulder to shoulder behind it, and a person sitting in the gazebo wouldn’t even know they’re there. I dart behind it, and after a moment, I peek around the corner to make sure an angry wedding coordinator hasn’t followed me.
“Did she see you?”
I jump, clamping a hand over my mouth to suppress a scream when I turn and find Oliver hovering over my shoulder.
“Don’t do that!” I press a palm to my chest to ease my racing heart, but he just laughs, his shoulders shaking with amusement.
Adrenaline rushes through my veins, causing a burst of giggles that make me sound like a sixteen-year-old sneaking off at night with her crush. As opposed to a grown woman, who has every right to leave a movie night if she wants to. I feel like I’m back in high school, reminded of the time Lucy talked me into cutting class. This time, I won’t spend the whole time so anxious about the homework assignment I’d be missing that I can’t enjoy a minute of it.
The whole thing feels a bit ludicrous, and I realize how immature I’m being. Sneaking off to avoid Stacy, like an overbearing parent. I’m nearly thirty, not a teenager. But I have to admit . . . I’m having fun. For the first time during this event, I’m actually enjoying myself and getting a taste of that mischievous side everyone should experience during Halloween. I like the way Oliver brings that out in me and the way he feels like an escape from my socialization duties, rather than just another person to check off my list.
“Come on.” I smile at him, waving for him to follow me after one last look to make sure the coast is clear. “Lucy’s waiting.”
Chapter Eighteen
Once we get on the now-abandoned path of the lantern walk from a couple of nights ago, it doesn’t take long to find Lucy in the woods. She’s set up a circle of thick sticks and fist-sized rocks, creating a boundary for us to work within. On a nearby boulder, she sits cross-legged, as per usual, playing on her phone as if she isn’t randomly hanging out in the middle of the woods two nights before Halloween. The arms of her fuzzy checkered coat lay limp by her side, her arms tucked into the body so that the glow from her phone lights up her face through the neck hole. Around the circle, she’s set up fake candles, which flicker and dance on a phantom breeze.
“What witch uses fake candles?” Oliver eyes the circle with a mix of scrutiny and amusement.
“I’m not trying to start a forest fire,” Lucy retorts. “Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”
“That’s not . . .” Oliver starts, then he simply shakes his head. “Whatever. The candles aren’t what’s important here. Did you bring the rest?”
“Of course.” Reluctantly, Lucy gets to her feet and grabs a cardboard box that had previously been sitting on the groundbeside the boulder and starts laying out the contents on a nearby downed tree. Including, but not limited to, Oliver’s own book of shadows, since we still can’t trust our own.
Oliver takes the book and flips through it until he finds the page he’s looking for and lays the book flat against the boulder before turning to me.
“Ready?” he asks.
I shake my head, warily eyeing the circle the way a bug might a Venus flytrap. “No.”
“Good!” Lucy claps her hands together before bouncing on her toes and shaking out her arms. “Let’s get this over with. It’s freezing—and I’m hungry. Some of us haven’t had a chance to visit Food Truck Alley yet.”
I sigh. Just as I know I have to host the festival, I also know I need to do this. If we wait even one more day, the magic might get so out of hand that we can’t handle it anymore. If we wait too long and let Halloween pass, there might not be enough magical oomph to do anything at all. That doesn’t mean I’m not dreading it, though . . . Something deep in my gut is telling me this is a bad idea. That the consequences are something we aren’t prepared to handle. But what choice do we have?
So, I step into the circle with Oliver and we face each other, waiting for Lucy to get things started.
Lucy picks up a smudge stick, lights it with a match to let it burn briefly, then blows it out, allowing the smoke to swirl in the cool air. With slow, methodical movements, she begins painting X’s through the air along the border of our circle; the scent of white sage, lavender, and rosemary grows stronger with each pass.
Despite the ever-buzzing magic between Oliver and me, I feel lighter with each swipe of the smudger. It might not be visible, but I can sense the barrier building around us, cutting us off from the rest of the forest. The click and rhythmic song ofnighttime bugs becomes deadened background noise, and even the crunch beneath Lucy’s boots takes on a muted quality, as though there’s a thick blanket between us and the world.
