Page 83 of Halloween Town

His friend sent him a shit-eating you’re-so-stupid smile. “Guess you get it now, huh?”

Yeah. Mostly.

Poppy

This Halloween, every tree bordering Blackweather Green had been wrapped in orange lights, the branches sporting realistic bats and lengths of fake spiderweb that fluttered in the cool evening breeze. Pumpkins—hundreds of them—lined the sidewalks and paths, a few looking like they’d been attacked by enthusiastic children with blunt knives.

The air smelled like sugar and cinnamon and woodsmoke. Someone near the bandstand was selling huge caramel apples, another booth sold spiced hot chocolate, claiming it could raise the dead—fitting, considering half the town believed the ghosts were hanging around or hovering.

There seemed to be about a million kids in costumes—tiny witches, superheroes, many different dinosaurs, and a surprisingly convincing zombie Lady Gaga—while their parents followed, acting like they weren’t going to steal their candy later.

H-Town looked both magical and slightly unhinged: festive, ridiculous, and more than a little bit haunted. In other words, perfectly on brand. Poppy walked through the green to Lantern Beach, to where the massive bonfire stood, her hand in Wren’s elbow. In jeans tucked into knee-high boots, Poppy buried her nose into the neck of the sage-green, cashmere polo-neck she wore under her sheepskin-lined bomber jacket. The temps had dropped over the past few nights, and Poppy felt like winter was hovering around the corner, ready to make an early arrival.

“How long has it been since we were last together to attend the B of B?” Wren asked, gesturing to where Hayes, Dane, and Thom stood, a few yards from the bonfire. Built on the wide beach, it towered over the guys, easily reaching eight or nine feet. Unable to help herself, Poppy looked over at Thom again. He wore black jeans, a black jacket, and a hard expression. With his thick stubble and wind-tousled hair, he looked a little rough and devastatingly masculine. She wanted nothing more than to run to him and launch herself into his arms. She’d missed him…

No, that was too tame an expression. She’d missed him like she would miss a hand, or a heart, or the breath she took. Life was far less fun than it had been before.

“You go join them, but I’m not going to, Wren,” Poppy told her. “I can’t be around him yet.”

Wren pulled a face. “Have you two still not spoken?” she asked, placing a hand on her back.

Poppy shook her head. Thom had been back for four—five?—days and she hadn’t had a call, text, email, or visit from him. With every minute that passed, she felt they were drifting further apart. And God, it hurt. More than she believed was possible.

“Wren! Poppy!”

She and Wren both turned at the sound of a piping voice, and Poppy smiled when she saw Hadley running to them, two Sharpie pens and what looked to be paper bats in her hand. She braked in front of them and pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes, her smile revealing a set of braces. God help the boys of H-Town when she was older, Poppy decided. Her future face and body would make them stop in their tracks.

She knew that Hayes’s scowl and his shotgun would deter anyone from making the smallest wrong move on his daughter. Add Thom to the mix; he was as protective of her as Hayes, and Hadley might get to date when she was, oh, forty? Fifty?

“Did Luna rope you into helping again, Hads?” Wren asked, after they’d both hugged her.

Hadley wrinkled her nose. “I don’t mind. It’s fun.” She shoved a Sharpie and a paper bat each into their hands. “You’ve done this before, you know the drill. Write a name or a regret or a wish or a dream on the bat, and when Luna gives the okay, toss it into the fire and hand it over to the universe.”

“You’re being very woo-woo, Hadley darling,” Wren said, looking down at her bat.

“I am very woo-woo, Wren, darling. I just tone it down because Dad’s not a fan.”

Poppy smiled at her, thinking that Hadley knew herself better at sixteen than Poppy did at nearly thirty.

“That’s ten dollars each,” Hadley said, holding out her hand, after they’d scribbled on their bats.

Poppy frowned at her. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“It’s five dollars to burn a wish, five to burn a regret,” Hadley explained.

“I only wrote a wish,” Poppy said.

“Me, too.”

“Okay, then it’s five each.”

“I cannot believe they are charging us to make wishes,” Wren muttered.

Hadley shrugged. “Many people forget to bring their wishes and regrets along with them, so Luna suggested providing the bats and the Sharpies. The tourists are happy to pay.”

“We’re not tourists!” Poppy protested.

“Technically, you are,” Hadley argued. “Wren, you don’t live here full-time, and Poppy, you’ve only been here for the summer, permanent residency TBC.” Hadley held out her hand and waggled her fingers.