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In as flat a voice as possible, I responded, “It steals your money.”

He nodded. “That’s right, it steals my money. Eats it up and gives it to you later.”

“Do you want me to give you a quarter, Albert? I don’t know if I have any change, so I might have to give you a five dollar bill. Do you think that’ll cover it?”

“I’m trying to make you feel better, not offend you.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“I know,” I said flatly. He got plenty of it in rent already. “And I feel fine, thanks. You can stop helping me.”

“You know…” He cracked a small grin. “I could go for some peanut butter crackers right now.”

I laughed.

My phone dinged. I slipped it out of my pocket and found a text. From Carson.

Carson: Are you free Saturday night?

Me: Yes

Carson: Meet me at 9:30, The Blue Whisper

Me: I’ll be there

Nine thirty.

At night.

I hadn’t purposefully been out so late in years. I’d have to drink some caffeine late, make sure I didn’t get drowsy. As if I could fall asleep waiting to see Carson.

He’d chosen The Blue Whisper, the jazz bar where we’d first met. That had to mean something, right? We weren’t just going to chat. We were going to rekindle.

“You’re smiling,” Albert said.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket. “I smile all the time.”

“On camera. Not spontaneously. Not since….” he trailed off, but it was obvious he’d intended to say the separation.

“I’ll try to remember to keep myself in check.”

He chuckled. “That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. You just…you seem happy. Whoever texted you just now, spend more time with them.”

“I will.”

People showed up at a trickle at first, but quickly that trickle turned into a flood. We’d expected a surge in the shelter’s popularity after the segment, but not all at once, and definitely not so quickly.

Albert pressed our way through the throng into the building, like it was totally normal to shoulder past three different moms arguing over the same Labradoodle mix.

Inside, it was worse. People were shouting, waving adoption papers in the air like they were bidding at a cattle auction. Someone started crying.

“He’s mine.” Someone else yelled as if volume would make his claim true. “Leonidas is mine.”

My stomach tightened. The crowd wasn’t helping my distress. But mostly, I couldn’t help but remember the last time a situation got this frenzied.

I grabbed onto Albert’s sleeve and scanned the room for signs of trouble.

No undead rodents yet.

I cupped my hands and hollered into his ear. “Any word from the studio yet?”

He shook his head.

What happened if the zombies came? With as packed as we were, one rodent bite could mean a crush of people infecting each other.

There would be no escape.

And if we filmed the chaos live?

No way would the witches let that slide.

Why hadn’t I considered all of this before? Had anyone been bitten at the park? Was there already an undead epidemic in Piccadilly?

No. The news would know. Therefore I would know.

I tried to keep my breathing even, my face neutral. I tried to pretend I wasn’t silently mapping the nearest exits and calculating who I’d have to knock over to make my escape.

“Thank you all so much for coming out to support Barnacles.” Wendy Ariti stepped up onto a table above the crowd.

Her hair was wild, her eyes bright. “Here’s how this is going to go—everyone is going to go outside and form a line.

Being first in line does not mean you will be the family to adopt any particular pet.

And until everyone has followed this direction, no one will meet any of the animals. ”

People started moving.

Fast.

Wendy had seriously strong crowd control powers. Was it magic? Or simple authority?

She hopped down from the table, eyes intent on me.

Either way, I couldn’t risk going live here. I couldn’t risk anything else going wrong.

I turned to Albert. “We’re not filming. Wait in the van.”

“We’re not?”

I shook my head.

“You’re sure.”

“Albert.” I used my most sure voice, my mom voice.

Albert scurried out.

And Wendy Ariti hugged me. “Thank you so much for everything. This is all you.”

My every muscle clenched at the contact.

None of this was me. I wanted zero credit. I wanted to slink into the shadowy night and erase myself from Wendy and her coven’s memories.

She kept squeezing me, so I gave her a gentle pat on the back. Finally, she released me.

“You are responsible for the crowd,” I said. “Your work speaks for itself. I’m happy to spotlight the good things happening in our community.”

“Well, thank you for choosing us.” She smiled, wide and genuine. Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “And thank you for not showing the…rest of what happened at the park.”

I tried not to recoil from her closeness. I narrowed my brows in my best faux look of confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Right.” She gave an exaggerated wink.

Did she not know about her friend’s threats?

It didn’t matter. I needed to get out of here unscathed, and never see any of them ever again.

I told her, “We shared the best of the footage we collected.”

The goth witch—Marnie—stepped up beside Wendy. “Wendy’s a kidder. Please excuse her bizarre sense of humor.”

Two witches.

My pulse thrummed in my veins.

Where the other two were, I had no idea. Maybe I should have kept Albert with me. What if they had intercepted him on his way back to the van?

If I didn’t get out of here soon, my head would burst from my shoulders.

“I’m here to apologize for not running the piece sooner.” I pulled up the charity page I’d started and showed Wendy my phone screen. “And I thought you’d like to know that this is the amount donated so far to your shelter.”

“That’s a lot of digits,” she said. “Are you sure the decimal is in the right place?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “Congratulations, Wendy. And best of luck.”

There. I’d shown up. I’d done the good things. I’d successfully played dumb. And now the witches had plenty of other people here to occupy their attention.

I turned for the door and walked as briskly as I could without flat out running.

“Thanks,” Wendy called after me. “Thank you so much.”

Never seeing any of them again was all the thanks I needed.