Page 10 of Of Poison & Pumpkins (Of Witches & Men #3)

“And the umbrellas could be made of actual pumpkin skin, then after they get wet, they’re edible.”

I bite my lip and nod. “Keep those ideas coming. I’m gonna get to work.”

The hours whiz by with tasks to complete.

I’ll need to hire more staff soon instead of relying on my family.

After completing a checklist verging on a thousand items, I approach a young couple, each holding a pair of sandals plastered in pumpkins.

The closer I get, the more obvious their snickers and whispers become.

“This is ugly.”

I stop in my tracks and hold my breath.

The second one laughs and adds, “Take a picture of this one, too. Yeah, make sure you tag this store for our shitty review.”

“I can’t believe a place like this exists. I mean, come on, who buys this crap?”

My skin heats and I back away slowly. My heart spasms like I’ve had five cups of caffeine, and my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls. I bump into Kurt by accident, who catches my shoulder.

“Woah, easy there. Don’t want you to break the wind chimes, son.”

The camera flash from the couple’s phone goes off. I watch as they look at the screen, point at whatever image they captured of them surrounded by pumpkins, and laugh quietly.

“Hey, you two,” Kurt’s voice rolls like a wave. “Out. Now.”

“But the customer is always right,” one whines.

“Leave.”

“We’re writing this in the review!” They stomp out the front door, making the bell jingle again.

A few others nearby stare at the commotion.

When I meet their gazes, all their chins drop low.

I take three deep breaths, like I’ve practiced in therapy to release all my tense muscles.

First, I clench then release my jaw. Next, my shoulders.

All the way down to my ankles. Usually, that does the trick, but this time, it feels like there’s a missing ingredient to this magical potion that should calm me.

I need alcohol. No, I need to breathe. No… I need Rynn.

“Be right back,” I mumble to Zanther as I pass him by, gently pushing his arm in the process, a shove of love.

“Dickweed,” he whispers, but nods to show he understands he’s in charge.

“Chucklebutt,” I retort quietly.

Outside, the air tastes like pure October. The breeze carries a whip of chill and the trees towering over the shops paint the city in crimson and gold. As I walk to Purple Palooza, I trip on the cobblestone.

I slam into the uneven ground with a thud and pain bursts up my side.

“Woah there, careful.” The voice of my dreams—full of wicked edges and sharp rejections.

Rynn crouches next to me and brushes my hair from my eyes. At this angle, a halo of light wraps around her head like an angel. I must’ve hit my head.

“You okay, Freefall?”

I groan and push up to my side. “Freefall?”

Her hazel eyes twinkle with the promise to someday wreck me. “Yeah, I owe you a nickname.”

“Nope, not that one. Not a chance.” I lift my shirt and check my hip where a couple of scratches bloody my skin. “My nickname must be adorable.”

She helps me stand. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“If you choose Freefall, then I won’t let you nurse me back to health and tend to my lethal wounds.”

“You’re fine. Come on, I have bandages inside.”

“Let me guess. They’re purple.”

Rynn smiles. Holy Sols-Above that does it. Her smile shatters me, as if she’d been born to demolish me. I might prefer a life in which she can utterly destroy me every day. It’s not the curve of her lip that is an arrow to my heart, but the energy in her gaze.

Rynn has never been the type to blend in naturally.

But she has made it a purposeful habit to camouflage herself as a shield against others.

I saw the way her friends all turned on her junior year.

They ghosted her after they used her for magic, and I’m sure she’s still haunted by that.

Rynn had always treated others with quiet respect, empathy, and kindness.

When they cast her out of their groups for being different, she never attempted revenge.

Except … Last night’s secret meeting in her apartment rushes back into focus. The poisoned objects were cursed for revenge. Maybe she has her own demons she’s still working through.

A high-pitched scream pierces the air. Rynn’s hand clasps around my wrist and I reel her in close to my body.

“Help!” someone else screams. “My son!”

Another yells, “Call 911!”

My heart rate doubles, and I hold Rynn tighter.

“What’s going on?” she asks, voice laced with fear.

Fast footsteps thunder along the street and a horn beeps in the distance. Another scream.

Was there a car crash? I realize we’re walking. Rynn is tugging me towards the commotion. We arrive at the town fountain where a cluster of people are circled around something, or maybe someone.

Did someone pass out? Heart attack? Stroke?

Half a dozen people sit with a blank stare.

They’re all holding popsicles, dripping a purple, sticky liquid down their hands.

Their friends are snapping in front of their faces, yet none of them respond.

Others wave their hands frantically, jump up and down, trying to elicit a response from the zombie-like victims.

“What happened?” someone asks, pushing through the crowd. “I’m a doctor.”

“Emily isn’t moving! She was sitting here, having a snack, and then she stopped talking mid-sentence,” one person says, then someone else cuts them off, “My son won’t stop staring at that bird. It’s like he’s suddenly deaf and blind. I don’t understand.”

More whispers, followed by gasps.

“It’s like Mark stopped talking all of a sudden,” someone says quickly. And then, “Did someone bewitch him?”

Rynn tenses and takes a step back. My pulse races, trying to understand what she has noticed. Purple popsicles. Does she think they bought them from her store?

“Do you sell these?” I ask.

She shakes her head, eyes wide, and backs up further. Is she in shock?

“Rynnlee, talk to me.” I step between her and the scene to get her eyes on me. Finally, her terrified gaze locks onto mine.

“Alexandra,” she whispers. “Last night …” Rynn has trouble getting out the words, stumbling and breathing heavily.

“She said she wanted to take away someone’s passion .

” Her eyes well, full of unshed tears. “She wanted them to suffer like an empty shell.” She gasps, trying to take in a full breath as realization hits her.

“I did this. She stole my enchanted paint and cursed them. I’m responsible. ”

My jaw drops and I don’t know what to say or what to think, but I won’t let this crowd become a mob. I pull her into my chest, then slowly walk her backwards into my shop.