She meets me by the main entrance, wearing a soft gray sweater that clings to her curves like it's made to worship them. Her hair is loose tonight, wild red curls bouncing with each step. Her cheeks are already flushed—not with fear, not with danger, but with the cold.
Or maybe with me.
“You clean up nice,” she says, eyes scanning me from boots to brow.
I tug at the collar of my borrowed leather jacket. “I feel… contained.”
“You look hot.”
I frown. “Am I overheating?”
She laughs, low and warm, like it’s our secret. “It means you look good.”
“I always look good,” I say, deadpan.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Conan. Try not to terrify anyone until the actual monster shows up.”
The town green has been transformed. Strings of colored lights drip from the trees like enchanted vines. Paper lanterns bob in the air, glowing orange and gold, casting shadows that sway like spirits dancing. Booths line the walkways—syrup-drenched waffles, caramel apples dipped in crushed peanuts, grilled meats glistening on iron grates. The air is loud with laughter, music, and the squeal of children high on sugar and chaos.
But I can’t stop scanning. Every shadow. Every flicker. Every shape too still or too fast.
I spot Burnout near the gazebo. He waves me over, juggling glowsticks like they’re sacred relics. “Dude! Kurt! You made it!”
“I did,” I reply.
Booger pops up behind him, holding a giant funnel cake and a cheese-stained smile. “Where’s your hot librarian handler?”
“She’s setting up the music booth,” I tell them. “You know the plan?”
Booger gives me a thumbs up with syrup-glazed fingers. “See the thing, blast the blues.”
Burnout nods, all serious now. “We got it queued. ‘Hellhound Stomp’ and ‘Murder Whiskey Shuffle.’ Loud enough to make Satan flinch.”
“Good.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Stick to the plan.”
I leave them with their snack pile and make my way toward the AV booth near the dance floor, where Olivia is cursing under her breath while plugging cables into a tangle of archaic boxes.
“Need assistance?”
She looks up, brow furrowed, then smiles. “Only if you can explain why every speaker in this town was built by a warlock with a grudge.”
I kneel beside her, hands steady. The illusion magic hums around me like an itch beneath the skin, but I push it down. There’s no time to drop the veil.
“Do you hear anything strange yet?” she asks.
I close my eyes.
Beneath the music and laughter, the wind still whispers. But nothing screams.
“Not yet.”
She nods and stands, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Alright. Then we do this like it’s an actual date. A normal, cozy, small-town American date.”
I arch an eyebrow. “This is how you court your mates? Carnival games and fried sugar?”
“Yes.”
“Your people are very strange.”
