Page 51 of Moth to a Flame

“I haven’t been to the Pumpkin Festival since…well, since I was cursed.”

“But you used to go every year, right?”

I had. Even after my family had moved out of Pumpkin Hollow to be closer to headquarters, we had always come back for the festival. The memories were still there—of my brother and me bobbing for apples, watching the broomstick race together, betting on the winner. I wished I could freeze them like a beetle in amber and not remember anything that came after.

I looked over at Hawk, his face etched with concern.

No, I wanted to remember, no matter how much it hurt.

Some memories were worth it.

“Okay, let’s go.”

His eyes brightened. “Yeah! It’ll be fun.” He got up and fetched my boots from beneath the coat rack near the front door. Then he returned, kneeling in front of me and holding them out.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Fishing for compliments, Mothman?”

I pressed my foot into the boot, then set it against his chest, raising my eyebrows expectantly. He laughed, and his longer fingers laced it up. “Just reminding a certain furry creature who your favorite is.”

From the windowsill, Mugen yowled in annoyance.

“Please, boys. I hate it when you fight.”

“He started it.” Hawk trailed his lips over my ankle, just above my boot, then higher, to the side of my knee, then higher still.

I pressed my other foot against his chest, pushing him back. “I thought this was a one-hour distraction.”

He laughed and helped me with my other boot.

I frowned.

“I’m a bit of a pariah around these parts. Don’t know how much fun you’ll have with me.”

“Don’t forget, I’m part cryptid. Crowds aren’t really my thing either. I had a bit of a different idea.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself.

He grinned at me. “Tonight will be your first lesson in lurking, boss.”

Here’s the thing about flying. In theory, any witch could do it. All it took was a broom with the right enchantments. Lots of us flew when we were kids because that was when it was easiest. In order to fly, your magic had to be light, still filled with the joy and wonder mostly found in youth. Before the world and its rules and expectations weighed you down, boxed you into thoughts of “productivity” and “responsibilities.”

Most witches didn’t fly much past their early twenties. I hadn’t flown since the curse, as if my magic were rooted to the ground every time I tried. I’d retired my broom to its original purpose of sweeping the greenhouse.

Held now between my outstretched hands, parallel to the ground, it was taunting me.

“Nervous?” Hawk stepped up behind me, peering over my shoulder. “I know I always get nervous when I haven’t flown in a while. But it’ll come right back to you.”

Like it was that easy. Like I could just shake off the weight that had been dragging me into darkness these last five years. Like I could just rise out of the curse and the muck and the⁠—

“Hey.” He set his chin on my shoulder, and his warm arms wrapped around my waist. “You’ve got this.”

I shook my head, hating the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll catch you.”

The enchantment on my broom lit up under my fingers, like it really was that easy. Like just having him there made everything that had been weighing me down disappear.

Like with him, I was safe.