Page 39 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

Logan grunts out a laugh, but he hasn’t turned away from the wheel.

“We need to get it out of here before we can do anything else,” I argue to his stunned silence. “Where there is one, there are a hundred more, and I don’t want them getting into the picking bags.”

“ ‘They might get into the picking bags,’ ” he repeats flatly, “is not the slam-dunk argument you think it is.”

“It is if you know just how bad I am at patching.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fairly certain I’ve seen this exact episode of The Twilight Zone. If I remember correctly, the rabbit is a messenger from the underworld, and the story either ends with an alien invasion or an eternal punishment time loop.” He frowns. “Possibly both.”

I snort. “You should watch more rom-coms. Also, in less than two weeks from today, there will be about a hundred guests in this barn. We can’t have a silver bunny—nightmare-world messenger or not—darting across the dance floor.”

This does seem to sway him because he considers for a beat longer, then nods. “Fine. But I’ll pick up the rabbit.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Why? Because you’re tall and manly and have burly muscles?”

“You think my muscles are ‘burly’?”

My cheeks warm, but I still manage to gesture at his broad chest and the sleeves of his flannel, where the fabric pulls across the ridges of his biceps. Logan’s muscles—the ones clearly wrought over the last decade and a half of hard manual labor—are an undeniable fact. I don’t need to be remotely nostalgic to notice them.

“I’m not telling you anything you couldn’t see for yourself with a mirror or, I don’t know, a really shiny plate. Actually, come to think of it, our underworld friend would probably work, too.”

A smile hitches up one side of his lips. It’s a small triumph, getting him to make that face.

Another glint of light hijacks our attention and we both turn abruptly back to the problem at hand.

“How about if neither of us touches it?” I offer. “We could chase it into a picking bin.”

After Logan agrees to my idea and we spend another minute or so coordinating (though perhaps it’s not quite enough logistical planning, considering the unusual circumstances), we prop a big, white picking bin on its side and I get on my hands and knees to try to shoo the bunny into our makeshift trap.

Under the shadow of the Gator’s carriage, the rabbit’s fur is nearly dark as it remains stock still. I flap a hand toward it, but just as my fingers edge closer, the rabbit moves again. Not a hop or a jump.

It blurs.

The rabbit bolts out from the wheels, sprinting across the floor so fast I can barely track it. Logan, apparently thinking faster than me, grabs a picking bag and rushes forward.

I point at the last place I saw a flash of silver. “There!”

He wheels. I lunge in the opposite direction, trying to hem the moving body between us.

Suddenly, there are more.

Rabbits pour out of the crack, fur flashing in hues that can’t possibly be natural. One the color of a sunflower careens around me, glancing against my ankle. I twist to find another, this one electric blue, vaulting through the wheels of a tractor. A third appears on top of a toolbox—at first presenting as natural brown, but when it moves, I realize it has a sheen like a copper pipe.

“Logan?”

Behind me, I hear a bang followed swiftly by a loud curse. I whirl to find Logan rubbing at his elbow as he ducks under a ladder. The magenta rabbit he’s chasing after scurries away but rounds a corner and hits a dead end. He lunges and manages to close his hands around its tiny torso.

“Got you,” he whispers with endearing triumph as it wriggles against his broad chest.

“Picking bin!” I say, pointing to the corner.

Bolstered by Logan’s success, I whirl toward a soft rustling noise by the only remaining hay bale. As I approach, the creature stills. It’s nearly shrouded in darkness, but I can make out a black nose and a tuft of white as it steals behind a shovel. At least it’s not moving as fast as the others. I jog toward it.

The bunny must spot me because it changes course. I bank to cut off its path, cornering it in the shadows between a metal shelf and the wall.

The creature stalls, then spins.

Even considering how unusual these rabbits are, this one is especially odd. Not only because it has a wide tail, but the way it stomps its feet and lifts onto its front paws…