Page 38 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

His head cocks. The smile sharpens, turning full on for the first time since the farmer’s market. Logan is attractive enough with his level stare, but this smile? It rearranges my atoms.

Then, as though this wasn’t enough, Logan says, “It’s good to see you again, Ali Reid.”

Heat spreads from my temples to my toes. My freshly rearranged atoms reach for his.

“It’s good to see you, too, Logan Wright.”

He steps back, expression turning serious. “Ali, I should—”

Before he can finish, something bright—as startling as a camera flash—catches my eye. We both wheel toward it. For a split second, all is dark and still: just a pile of dried leaves that must have blown in at some point, and a thick netting of cobwebs where the wall meets the floor.

But before I turn away, it happens again. A glint of light. Like the edge of a knife catching the sun.

It came through a small, jagged hole at the base of the wall. The kind that an animal with sharp teeth and claws might use to get into this barn and ransack my picking bags.

Cautiously, we both set down our armloads, and as we step toward it, a whiskered nose pokes out of the hole. It’s pink and small and far too adorably round to belong to an opossum.

The nose twitches. A single dark gray paw follows.

“Oh, it’s a bunny!” I squeal before clamping a hand over my mouth.

Logan glances at me, amusement ghosting his expression.

“Sorry,” I say through my fingers. “That was my last high-pitched outburst. Probably.”

“Please,” he says, “don’t hold back on my account.”

Fortunately, I haven’t thwarted our new furry friend because the rabbit takes another few steps out. Its coat is the most unusual color I’ve ever seen—like the blue-steel reflection of an overcast sky in a shallow puddle.

Nose thrust in the air, the rabbit hops forward. And then the fur, er, catches the light?

Like…it’s…silver?

I grab Logan’s arm. His whole body has gone rigid.

The astonishing rabbit turns. Its eyes gleam in the dark.

Holy shit. Its eyes are silver, too.

For a long moment, the three of us are immobile, a triangle of frozen awe and confusion.

Outside, a magpie caws.

The rabbit bolts. Its body streaks away like a minnow just below the surface of the water, disappearing under the wheels of the Gator.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” I say, my fingernails digging half moons into Logan’s forearm. “Is it just me or was that a silver rabbit?”

“I saw it, too,” he says, although he sounds like he isn’t sure he did.

“Do you think we’re having a stroke? Do you smell anything strange? I’ve heard people smell strange things when they’re having strokes.”

He side-eyes me. “A joint stroke?”

I drag a hand down my face, from temple to cheek. “Maybe we’re hallucinating. Or I don’t know, did we get a contact high from my uncle’s patchouli stash?”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “How strong was his patchouli?”

“I don’t know.” I throw up my hands. “Very? Sometimes the man wore two kinds of hats, right on top of each other, and I once caught him giving a downed branch a stern talking-to.”