That’s a failsafe? More like a safety fail.
I gulp as the squash folds itself around my body, and a tempo later, I am no longer an occupant in a carriage; I am wearing a pumpkin like a costume. My arms and legs are free, but the sides and top of my head are surrounded, leaving my face uncovered. My broom darts forward and frantically dusts the skin of the vegetable. A plus for effort, but no amount of sweeping will get this thing off me.
“Are you okay?” Gwyneth asks.
Malachi shakes his head and hides his smirk behind his hand while Hart glares at Charming like he is going to squash him.
“I’m fine,” I say as I twist my head to stare at the inside of the pumpkin. I wonder if... my tongue darts out, and I lick the inside. Yup, tastes like pumpkin.
“Did she just lick the magic pumpkin?” Malachi asks.
“I wanted to know what it tastes like.”
“And?” Hart drawls.
“Pumpkin,” I confirm.
“Get her out,” Gwyneth snaps at Charming.
Charming rubs his forehead. “I paid a fortune to hire this thing.”
“I don’t care.”
Idols, pumpkins are heavy. I think I’ll just... I drop to my ass, and the pumpkin explodes into pieces, falling free from my body. “Problem solved,” I say with a grin, proving I can save myself once again.
Charming’s mouth drops open. “We only had it on loan until midnight. The fairy godmother will have my head.”
“Hopefully,” Malachi says as he and Hart grab my arms and yank me upright. Malachi drops a kiss on my lips, his eyes alight with mischief. “Never a dull moment.”
“Luckily you got us another carriage,” Gwyneth says with a nod at the tired but tried and tested version.
We pile into the squash, Hart and Malachi forcing Charming to sit between them, leaving me and Gwyneth opposite. My broom settles between us, ready to bat Charming’s hand should he get any bright ideas. Charming looks two tempos away from exploding. Did he really think this date was going to go in his favor? What an idiot.
The ride to the circus takes less than ten tempos. The tent rises like a colossal jewel against the velvet night sky, its vibrant stripes of crimson and gold shimmering under the glow of a thousand enchanted lanterns. It seems alive, the fabric breathing with the gentle whisper of the wind. From its towering spire, a banner unfurls, rippling like liquid fire, proclaiming the wonders within to all who dare to enter.
At its apex, a constellation of fairy lights twinkles, cascading down like a waterfall of stardust to the edges of the tent, wherethey mingle with the earthy scent of sawdust and the sweetness of spun sugar. The canvas gleams as if spun from threads of sunlight and moonbeam, an ethereal glow that beckons and promises magic.
The carriage jerks to a halt, and I fling open the door, too excited to wait for the doorman. Around the perimeter, curling smoke from roasting chestnuts mixes with the distant sound of ethereal music, its haunting melody twisting through the cool night air like an invisible ribbon. Shadows of acrobats dance against the illuminated walls of the tent, teasing glimpses of the impossible feats to come.
The entrance yawns wide, a grand archway framed with intricate carvings that shimmer as though alive, depicting roaring lions, soaring phoenixes, and a thousand other impossibilities. Beyond it lies a darkness filled with mysteries, punctuated by flashes of kaleidoscopic light and the faint roar of an enchanted crowd.
The tent stands not merely as a structure but as a gateway, a promise of wonder, awe, and chaos that whispers to all who gaze upon it,Step closer. The impossible awaits.
Gwyneth loops her arm through mine. The reason we are here falls away into the darkness. This event springs up once an annus, for three diurnals only, and tickets are limited to the Hallowed. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would witness the wonders here tonight.
We dip under the archway, revealing a circle of benches, each row rising to offer an unobstructed view of the central arena. The acrobats spin along ropes and swing from above, the prelude to keep the audience happy while we wait for the show to begin.
Charming takes the lead into the middle row, and Gwyneth sighs as she follows him. I guess for it to count as a date, she needs to be close to him. I can chaperone from beside her. Plus, I have a magical broom to warn off floof-fiddling fingers.
Malachi slides in next to me. I lean around, finding the seat next to him empty. “Where’s Hart?”
“He went to get snacks.” That man knows how to get to my heart.
As the pre-show continues, I’m glued to every detail of the wonders unfolding before me. From the miniature horses that seem oddly more terrifying than their larger counterparts, to the people dressed as clowns entertaining the audience with their antics of falling over everything and nothing.
“I think I identify as a clown,” I mutter. “At least I’d get paid for it.”
Malachi snorts as a pink cloud on a stick appears over my shoulder. I blink. Floating pink clouds?
