Page 6

And he’s gone like a bolt of lightning.

Fish watches him disappear into the dark between the trees.

Of course we’re running into the orchard, she mewls, stretching her paws in front of her. Nothing bad has ever happened in an orchard on Halloween.

She hops off the hay bale and trots after him, because that’s Fish—appalled by everything and yet present for all of it. Come to think of it, she’s a lot like me.

I straighten up and turn back toward the haunted festival at hand.

Mackenzie is standing near the stage entrance with a woman in a headset clutching a clipboard, because apparently no festival is official until someone has a clipboard and a look of impending doom.

She spots me the same moment I spot her.

Her hand shoots up, followed by one sharp crook of her finger.

Oh, I know that finger.

That finger means now.

It also means Mackenzie has temporarily forgotten I’m her sister-in-law, co-host, and the woman who owns the property she’s currently standing on.

I head her way anyway.

Nothing says I’m co-hosting this festival out of the goodness of my heart quite like being summoned across my own lawn by my sister-in-law.

Then again, Mackenzie has been bossing me around since we were kids.

Why ruin a perfectly good tradition?

Mayor Mackenzie Woods, my brother Huxley’s wife and my sister-in-law by a marriage that continues to be its own adventure, is tall, put-together, and has rarely, if ever, managed to say my full married name out loud. Her chestnut hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing a black blazer over dark jeans that somehow look both professional and effortless. Honestly, I’d expect no less from her.

Mackenzie is also co-organizing the Scream Queens Showcase through the mayor’s office, which means for the next seven days we’re partners.

Partners.

There’s a word that would have sent teenage me running barefoot into the woods.

Then again, teenage Mackenzie once shoved my head into a barrel of water while we were bobbing for apples, so I feel as if my reluctance has historical precedent.

Still, we’re older now. Wiser.

Well, I’m older and wiser.

Mackenzie is mayor.

“Bizzy Baker.” She says it the way people say don’t make me come over there. “Get over here. Now.”

I frown at her for leaving out my marital surname, Wilder. She always seems to forget that one.

I take a breath and smooth the front of my sweater, black with a glowing orange jack-o’-lantern because if I’m anything, I’m festive to a fault.

Mom appears at my elbow and presses something into my hand. It’s a cider donut on a napkin, still warm, and very much a delicious distraction I can’t afford.

“Emergency provisions,” she says.

“Thanks, Mom.” Because we both know Mackenzie Woods manufactures emergencies and drama by the second.

I start across the lawn toward the feisty mayor, and the crowd parts around me as if nobody wants to get caught in the blast radius.