Page 104 of You’re So Vein

I’m the one who fixes things. I’m the one who’ll rebuild Beth’s studio and save the Gazette and make Isis the official village seer. I solve their problems, not the other way around.

Plus, if I get their help with Augustin, I’ll have to tell them the truth about all the things I’ve been hiding since I returned to Argleton. That I’m a complete loser who imploded her life over a stupid fear of the dark and a man who absolutely was not worth it. That I kissed my rival under a table when I was supposed to be fighting for our village. That I had a panic attack in the middle of a vampire party and blamed it on Augustin and even though he said he loved me, I can’t work up the courage to say anything to him, so instead I’ve ruined any chance we had to make it work and I’m terrified he’s secretly still in love with Dante and now we’re back to being rivals for the mayor’s job and that’s it, that’s all we will ever be.

So I’m not going to tell them any of that.

But I still need their help.

Augustin and I may be doomed before we even get going, but I have to do something for Hannah. And after talking to Dora last night, I know exactly what it should be.

“Komal?” Dora nudges me now, her gentle eyes urging me to speak. “Tell us your idea.”

“Yes. Well… I know this kid. She’s ten years old, and she’s wonderful and smart, but she’s had to live this sheltered life. She’s human, but she’s got this… er, rare skin disease, so she can’t go out in the sunlight.”

“Sounds like a vampire,” says Beth.

“I know, but she’s not. She’s just a totally ordinary human kid. Her dream is to be a shopkeeper, but she’s never even been in a shop because they’re all closed in the evenings. So I want to do something special for her—”

“As much as I love your generous spirit,” says Beth. “Shouldn’t we be focused on a theme for the Uncurse November Festival?”

“Oh, I’ve already thought of that,” I say. “We’re going to do a… heritage festival.”

I pluck the first idea that flies into my head. Judging by my friends’ bemused expressions, they’re underwhelmed.

“Er. We did have a heritage festival one year, remember?” Dora says gently. “But the Plantaganet players had that tussle with the Waterloo Historical Society about who got to do the battle re-enactment, and then Colonel Whitby was in charge of the cannon display and he blew a hole in the church, and a food fight broke out in the baking tent over the most historically accurate scone recipe…”

“I don’t think Argleton and history mix.” Mina makes a face. “Heritage festivals sound fun, but everyone takes it far too seriously.”

“What about the Historically Inaccurate Heritage Festival?” I lean forward, filled with excitement for the idea. “We could celebrate areas of history with displays from the various societies, but we keep everything light and whimsical and silly. The whole festival could culminate in a dramatic retelling of an imaginary key moment in town history.”

“That sounds awesome.” Mina makes notes on her BrailleNote. “We could incorporate some literary events, too, like historians reading from the more salacious chapters of their books.”

“Your dad could run a medieval curry stand!” Isis exclaims, rubbing her stomach with glee.

Celeste frowns. “Curry isn’t really medieval—”

“That’s why it’s the Historically Inaccurate Heritage Festival.” I grin. I’ve done it again. Madam MacGyver has figured out a solution.

“I love this! The paper could contribute an ‘interactive crimes from history’ display.” Maisie rubs her hands together. “We’ll get the whole village sleuthing, and raise a bit of money so we can upgrade from Windows 98 and replace the air conditioner with one that doesn’t double as a wildlife habitat.”

“And I could offer herbal infusions based on ancient recipes.” Beth grins. “Komal, you are a genius.”

“I know.” Finally, something is going right. I’m back where I’m supposed to be – Komal Ahuja, enemy of Augustin Durant, upstanding community organiser, fixer of everything, definitely-not-kissing-her-rival-under-a-table, brilliant future mayor. “So we’re doing this? The Historically Inaccurate Heritage Festival and a special surprise for this very human young person in our community?”

The chorus of enthusiastic cheers from the Nevermore Coven gives me my answer.

Maybe I’ve blown it with Augustin. Maybe I pushed him away because I was afraid. But I’m not going to let Hannah down.

40Augustin

HANNAH AND I ARE PLAYING Monopoly beside the fire when there’s a knock at the door.

“Who’s that?” Hannah asks, the spoon from her ice-cream-and-blood sundae frozen halfway to her mouth, her eyebrows going way up because we never, ever get visitors.

I set down my glass of Victorian Dock Worker. (A Dante di Sangro – the man may be odious to me, but he is a genius when it comes to blood. He can never know that I drink his vintages when I can’t get to my feeding club.) I smell the plum and cedar scent before I’m even on my feet.

“Councillor Ahuja.” I fling open the door. She’s bathed in moonlight, dressed in her signature red – the same red jacket she wore at the debate, with a cute pin of a witch on the lapel. “You shouldn’t be here. If you have council matters, they can wait until next week’s meeting—”

“I’m not here to see you, actually,” says Komal. “I’ve come for Hannah.”