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Three times.

I stumble away from him, taking the chiming as an excuse to scurry toward the front door, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED before anyone else can sneak in at the last minute. While the Fall Festival is an all-day affair, it doesn’t really pick up until four. I promised Mrs. Robbins I would meet her there with her five pies at four o’clock on the dot, and I still want to shower and change into my costume—which is really just a black apron that has π, the symbol for pi, on it so that I can be a π-maker—after closing up the shop.

I didn’t even see him move. One second, he was behind the counter. The next, he’s turning the lock for me.

I glance up at him.

“What? I’m helping.”

Yes. Yes, he is.

While I close out the register, he finds a broom in the kitchen and begins the sweep all around the storefront. It’s actually pretty funny how bad he is at it. Whether it’s because he’s used to paws or because powerful warlocks rarely sweep, but I have to show him how to hold the broom after he nearly takes out a chair, and he insists that the problem is the broom rather than him. Five minutes later, I catch him using magic to send a pile of crumbs skittering neatly into the dustpan.

I snicker to myself while counting the day’s receipts.

Still, as he injects a little magic into such mundane tasks—like using his powers to hover a table a couple of inches off the ground so he can attempt to sweep there—I can’t help but say, “If I could do that, it would make searching for lost things so much easier.”

Vincent lowers the table and lifts his head. “Did you lose something?”

I give mine a small shake. “My orange recipe book. It’s still missing. I thought that Mr. Whiskers might have played ‘fling’ with it, knocking it under a fridge or something⁠—”

He holds the handle of the broom against his chest. “I would never.”

I give him a look.

He sniffs. “Not when it’s something important to you, dear Kate. I know how you spent many nights bent over that book. Apart from it making me jealous that it had all your attention, it reminds me of my spell ledgers. I would treat your recipes with as much respect as I would a brother warlock’s spells.”

You know what? I actually believe him. “I’m sorry for blaming you. It’s just… I have no idea where it’s gone. But… hang on.” I start to get a little excited. “You have magic! Can you use that to find my book for me?”

He frowns, and I feel silly for even asking.

“Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

“If it is a concern to you, it’s a concern to me so, yes, I will worry about it. Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as that. Witches… their magic is simple. Want something and let yourself have it. Warlock magic is a lot more intricate than that. With time, I can create a potion that would lead us right to it. But can I summon it when I don’t know where it is? I’m sorry. I wish I could.”

“I… thanks. And it’s okay. I’m sure I’ll find it eventually.”

“Kate—”

I wave him off with a dollar bill. “It’s okay. Besides, we need to get ready for the Fall Festival. I promised Mrs. Robbins I would meet her with her pies. I don’t want to be late.”

During the rare downtimes today, I mentioned that my Halloween plans consisted of going to the Fall Festival, watching the pumpkin carving contest go down, delighting at all of the dressed-up kiddies getting ready for the costume contest, and gorging myself on all the treats and goodies for sale that I didn’t have to bake. I considered it supporting my local vendors and small businesses. Vincent pointed out correctly that he cleaned out my fridge upstairs and I was in dire need of a grocery store run.

Tomato. To-mah-to.

Either way, I was going to throw myself into the Halloween festivities. I know there’s also a haunted house set up on Caldwell, off of Main. Plus there’s a bobbing for apples contest, and a petting zoo where you can feed the goats. Shadowvale is going all out, and I’ve been looking forward to it all week.

Of course, I never expected I would have a sometimes-cat, sometimes-warlock trotting along behind me, but Vincent made it clear: just like when he was Mr. Whiskers, wherever I go, he wants to go, and since I refused to bring my cat along with me to the festival for fear he might escape, I don’t have the same excuse when it comes to Vincent the man.

So he’s coming with me, and when the festival ends and I have to bring him home to wait until midnight strikes and… yeah. I’ll worry about that part later. For now, there’s just enough time for me to freshen up after a long day at work before heading out for the evening.

And that’s when Vincent leans over the counter and plucks the black ‘cat ears’ headband from its place on top of my head.

“What are you doing?”

The answer is simple when he tucks the headband on top of his shaggy blond hair. “If I’m going to the festival, I need a costume, too.”

He turns slightly, showing off his ears, his black T-shirt, his black jeans, his black boots… all he’s missing is a tail and he’d be the spitting image of Mr. Whiskers.