Page 12 of The Autumn Leaf Bookshop (Everly Hollow #1)

A Fall Scented Trap

Raene

T he small town auditorium smells like cinnamon and eucalyptus, which feels on-brand for Everly Hollow. They even pulled out the fall decorations. Grandma beat them to it.

The walls are strung with twinkle lights and garlands of dried autumn leaves, and there is a pumpkin patch-worth of pumpkins and other gourds at the front entrance.

I’m sitting in a slightly creaky folding chair with a piping hot coffee in my hand, the to-go cup wrapped in the cutest honeycomb-textured brown cardboard sleeve. The steam rising from the lid is the only thing saving me right now. I have my phone on my lap, notepad ready.

Jasmira is sitting to my right, bringer of this blessed beverage. She brought me my new favorite, her honey lavender latte, like a magical caffeine fairy.

I love that she is thoughtful and sweet to bring her group of girls a drink from her cafe.

To think I’m one of the girls . I think she also knows I don’t like PSLs or anything even remotely acorn-spiced because the last time she offered me one, I smiled politely and made a weird face as I said, “No thanks.”

She didn’t push. Just gently passed me the Honey Lavender Latte, like it held the key to all the world's problems.

I’ll venture out to newer flavors eventually, I swear. But this drink? It has a hold over me.

She also gave me the lowdown on who I’d be meeting tonight. And by lowdown, I mean species list. I’m pretty excited because it is pretty fucking cool to live in a place where humans and other beings can coexist.

There aren’t that many mythical beings and creatures in the city. Some may live there, but I haven’t seen anyone like I have here. Everyone just seems happy.

On the other side of me is Elora, she’s a dryad, a tree spirit, and she is beautiful, ethereal.

Like makes you question your entire aesthetic, kind of beautiful.

Her deep chestnut brown hair is tied into the most perfect braid I’ve ever seen—hanging over her shoulder to her waist, with flowers and vines woven in.

Wisps escape around her face, softening her already flawless features.

Freckles dot her nose and cheeks on tawny brown skin, and her big, round green eyes peer over the rim of her PSL as she crosses her legs.

She’s wearing a burnt orange cardigan, a white tank top, a baggy olive-green maxi skirt, and long brown boots with a flat heel.

If I went on Pinterest and looked up dryad in fall, she would come up. She’s shy but seems very sweet.

Jas told me Elora owns a farm, The Sunflower Farm & Market, to be exact, and she’s the only child of Lady Sylva and Mayor Eldon Caraway. Lady Sylva doesn’t appear to be on stage, but apparently, she’s human, which makes Elora half-human, half magical dryad, and fully gorgeous.

In front of me sits a goddess carved from the dreams of the sea.

Smooth ivory skin glows under long, deep blue hair tumbling in loose waves down her back.

Her turquoise eyes gleam, bright and hypnotic, as if she can lure the soul of anyone with a look.

She's not really a goddess, but she looks like one.

She's a siren. Think Jessica Rabbit, but with different hair and eyes, that'd be Oriana.

Flitting around her head and shoulders is Corra.

Corra is a Tide Sprite. She’s absolutely adorable, and I’m not sure if she’ll approve, but she is.

She’s no bigger than a teacup. She told me herself that she is made of seafoam and moonlight.

A beautiful coloring of blues, greens, and silver.

She darts around like a hummingbird to talk to different people in the crowd.

Sitting on her right is Penelope, her ash blonde ponytail swings side to side as she shakes her head slowly, her amber eyes glaring at someone who appears to be an orc. Penelope is a kitchen witch and owner of The Sugarplum Bakery.

Garruk, the orc receiving the death glare, is the owner of The Stone Hearth Bakery.

When they came into the room earlier, they immediately started making snide comments to one another.

Her cinnamon rolls are fluffier than his.

His bread rises perfectly every time… they're a love story waiting to happen.

In front of him, Dominik, the florist, is sitting with arms crossed and head thrown back in laughter as he talks to a troll sitting next to him .

Taking a sip of my latte, I look in the direction of where Poppy is glaring at Garruk. I lean back slightly to see who is next to him. The place is packed. There are trolls, minotaurs, pixies, witches, elves, centaurs, and more.

Even Nim is here, resting in an alcove, like it was built just for him.

Wait a minute .

If Nim is here, then...

Golden eyes meet mine, and my stomach flips.

Sylas.

Garruk is sitting next to Sylas. I was dreading this entire meeting after Grandma asked me to step in tonight and take her place, ever since that bathroom musical seance that conjured the sex demon that looked like Sylas with tousled hair and a wicked smile.

Feeling his warm breath on my neck as his fangs scraped against my skin…bathwater rippling around muscles I had no business imagining. I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.

This is my first time seeing him since, and every time his eyes flick in my direction, I quickly avert my eyes. I pretend to be very interested in the contents of my latte. He can’t possibly know what I saw in that fever-dream vision.

Right?

And stars help me, he’s smiling.

“Simmer down, simmer down!” The voice booms across the auditorium. The Mayor’s voice is loud, powerful, and strong-willed.

A quiet hush fell over us. He stands tall, his hands on the podium as he controls the room. With large white grey antlers growing from the top of his head. “We have a lot to discuss, so let’s begin.”

First up on the list of town concerns: expired potions.

Apparently, we are not supposed to dispose of them in the community recycling bins.

Why? Because the last time someone did, a magical mishap caused a sentient gelatinous being to form, and now it lives peacefully in the mountains.

No one really knows what it eats or what it even does out there.

The assumption is that it’s living its best life.

A new solution is presented: a potion recycling company that will drop a box off on your porch. You fill it up, call the number on the tag, and they’ll come collect.

Next, a pixie light ordinance. Due to the glow-moth season approaching, I have no idea what a glow-moth is and will have to ask someone knowledgeable later.

The streetlights must be turned down a notch because the brightness may be confusing to them this season.

Just as Mayor Caraway clears his throat to move to the next item, there’s a sound.

Knock. Knock. Two sharp raps echo at the double door entrance.

A few whispers ripple through the auditorium.

“You’d think after all this time, he’d remember,” someone giggles.

“Oh, that’s right.” The mayor runs a hand through his salt and peppered hair, giving a shy smile.

“Malik, come on in,” he calls out, voice loud and warm.

The door creaks open, and in walks Malik.

He has a cold aura, but kind, if that makes sense.

He’s timeless and extremely handsome, wearing black slacks, black shoes, and a black vest with a matching tie.

He doesn’t just walk in, he glides. Oriana turns around in her seat, a smile beaming on her face as she pats the empty seat beside her.

It was also shared with me that Malik is a vampire and newly engaged to Oriana. They’re a striking couple. He grabs her gently by the chin before sitting and kisses her so softly, she practically melts against him.

Corra is darting around them happily as he takes his seat. She perches herself on the back of Oriana’s chair, her form in shades of blues and greens with an iridescent pearl sheen that glimmers in the light.

I take another sip of my latte, still at the perfect temperature, letting the honey lavender lull me into my thoughts.

I love how my brain begins to drift. Maybe I should write a vampire-siren romance next.

Title it Sin & Salt. Or maybe Wicked Tide.

I am still blissfully tuned out when the mayor clears his throat and taps his mic.

Tap. Tap. Followed by a loud, piercing screeeech of feedback in the auditorium, causing a few people, myself included, to wince.

“Now then,” the Mayor says, straightening his suit jacket proudly. “Before we wrap up, let’s talk about the upcoming Fall Festival.”

I take another sip, letting my mind drift again as I hold my latte with one hand and type in the notes in my phone with the other.

Something about hayrides, booth signups, and pie donations for the pie-throwing booth.

Whatever. I’m only here to take notes, then debrief back at the cottage like the good granddaughter I am.

“This year,” he continues, with way too much cheer, “we have our wonderful coordinator spearheading the event, Sylas Ashvale.”

Hearing his name makes my hand tighten around my latte, and my other hand fumbles with the phone. No one saw that. I quickly glance at Jas, and her eyes are focused on the mayor.

“…and with Vera Whitmore being out due to an unexpected surgery after signing up to volunteer, her granddaughter Raene Hart has graciously taken her place.”

My stomach drops.

The words hit me like someone threw a pie in my face. Graciously?! I graciously did no such thing . This has Grandma written all over it. She knew. Of course, she knew.

She told me I was coming here to take notes at the meeting. “ Just notes ,” she said, spooning soup and nodding her head innocently.

Lies.

Everyone’s heads turn to get a good look at me. I stand out, I’m new. No one’s seen me before, and according to Sylas, I look like my grandmother. Which, at this moment, feels like an unfortunate curse.