Page 18 of Wishing for a Werewolf
It deters her not at all. If anything, she makes an extra effort to bounce around the seating area, playfully headbutting everyone’s calves before finally settling at Autumn’s feet.
“Is Operation Events Binder a success?” I ask Autumn,who’s been looking at her phone through all of this.
“Maybe.” Autumn swipes repeatedly, studying one photo after another. Then her hand finally pauses, her eyes darting across the screen, her mouth twisting as she reads. “This makeszeroeffing sense.”
“What is it?” I lean closer to better see the photo, but I still can’t read the human language.
“This isn’t your application—it’s mine. It’s even my handwriting, for eff’s sake!” She jabs a finger at the screen. “The name and address on the application are yours. It’s my handwriting, but the info is yours! What the hell? I didn’t put you on my application! I couldn’t have—I had no idea you owned the old Clemmons place when I filled this out.” Her tone changes from anger to despair. “This is all so unfair! The hay maze wasfinallygoing to be mine, and now it’s all effed up!”
“Let me see that.” Hannah takes the phone, and she and Skye huddle together to read over the form.
As soon as they’re done, I take the device from them and say, “Severin, can you cast a translation spell for me?”
The shadow fae flicks his fingers in my direction, and the words on the screen reform into ones I can read. But it’s exactly as Autumn said. “This isn’t my handwriting, and nothing about this form is familiar. I definitely didn’t fill this out. In fact, I didn’t fill out any forms. Mrs. Greely wrote everything down when she asked me to judge the pumpkin carving contest.”
“What do we do?” Skye asks, looking troubled.
“It’s okay.” I hand the phone back to Autumn. “I’ll tell Mrs. Greely to give the hay maze to you.”
“No, wait.” The redheaded witch closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Whoever messed with the paperwork did an excellent job mimicking my handwriting. It looks likeI’mthe one who made the mistake, and Mrs. Greely hates people who make mistakes. If we tell her about this, she’ll never let me host the hay maze.”
I bristle. “But you didn’t do it.”
“I know that, and you know that, but…” She shrugs, throwing up her hands.
“I can back you up,” Hannah says. “After all, what’s the point of having a bestie who’s mayor if I can’t help you with things like this?”
“You know that’s not how things work around here.” Autumn shakes her head. “The events committee is a volunteer organization, and Mrs. Greely will resent any kind of interference from the government. She’s already upset that you won’t turn over the Halloween day celebrations to her. She’ll make town meetings unbearable for you foryears.”
“I don’t get it.” Skye’s face crumples with confusion. “Why would anyone do this?Whowould do this?”
“Do you think it was Maria?” Hannah says.
Autumn stares at her phone, her lips twisting in the way that means she’s thinking. “Nah. None of this does her any good. It doesn’t give her the hay maze.”
“It would if you brought the mix-up to Mrs. Greely, and the elder reacts as you expect,” I say. “She’d be forced to pick the only other application, which is Maria’s.”
“Maybe, but…” Autumns shakes her head, her hair swaying like a curtain of fire. “No, I can’t see it. I might not like that Maria’s farm keeps winning the hay maze competition, but she’s not the type to do something underhanded like this.”
Skye asks, “Then who?”
“What if it wasn’t a person?” I say.
Everyone turns to look at me.
“What if it was magic? This isn’t the only odd thing to occur recently.” I look at Autumn. “Are you opening a bodyguard or security business?”
Her eyes go wide. “Awhat?”
“A bodyguard business.”
She doubles over laughing, her arms wrapped around her stomach as her shoulders shake. Babybelle baas and bounces at her feet, and whatever the mini-goat says makes the redheaded witch laugh even harder.
When she finally gets hold of herself and straightens, her cheeks are flushed, her freckles dark stars scattered over a pink sky. My fire can barely control her grin. “Me, a bodyguard? I’m about as physically threatening as overcooked pasta. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Severin did.”
“I did?” He jolts, then frowns. “No, you’re right. I did say that the other night. But I’m uncertain as to why.”
