Page 79 of Fish and Chip

Felicity nods slowly, tears streaming. “Will I go to prison?”

Dexter shakes his head. “Probably not. Self-defense and a clean record can go a long way. But you might need legal representation.”

She takes an unsteady breath. “Okay. I understand.”

Dexter places a gentle hand on her elbow and guides her away from the cemetery.

Felicity looks back at me once. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused, Josie.”

I shake my head at her. “You didn’t cause any trouble. And the one who did isn’t here to apologize for it.”

They disappear into the fog, the White Rabbit and the detective, and I stand there in a fake graveyard wearing a purple cat costume with Henrietta dangling around my neck, feeling as if my heart’s been run through a taffy puller.

Well, Fish says. That was devastating.

I hope somebody saves her that cookie, Chip adds. She’s going to need it.

Sometimes the real monsters don’t hide in the shadows, sugar, Cupcake says. Sometimes they wear sequins and sign autographs and laugh at a mama begging for her baby’s life.

“No arguments here,” I murmur, my gaze snagging on the crystal ball dangling from Cupcake’s collar. For the record, it predicted exactly none of this.

Belladonna took one girl’s darkest chapter and decided it belonged to her. Some stories bite back when you try to steal them.

A scream cuts through the night, sharp and delighted and instantly recognizable.

Georgie.

Only Georgie can produce a scream that sounds gleeful and legally questionable at the same time.

I take off running, sprinting back toward the party as my purple tail bounces behind me, spanking me on the behind every other second, while Henrietta swings wildly, socking me in the nose on the offbeat.

I round the corner and skid to a stop.

What I see next, I absolutely cannot believe.

The scariest thing about Halloween isn’t the murder or the confession or even the cursed doll head around your neck. It’s whatever chaos your best friend just unleashed on an unsuspecting crowd of cozy mystery fans.

CHAPTER 21

Iround the corner back to the party and skid to a stop so fast my purple tail nearly wraps around my legs twice. Even my costume knows this is a moment worth stopping for.

The crowd has parted straight down the middle, and standing in the gap where a dance floor used to be are six shirtless men glistening under the pumpkin lanterns in what I’m pretty sure is an entire bottle of body oil per person.

Werewolves and vampires—all oiled to a shine that violates at least three of the park’s slip-and-fall policies, and every single one of them flexing as if their pecs are being paid by the minute.

The screams I heard weren’t cries of distress.

They were pure, unfiltered joy.

Okay, fine, they were unadulterated lust.

And suddenly, everything makes sense. Well, nothing about my life makes sense, but this specific slice of chaos has an explanation, and her name rhymes with Georgie Conner.

“TOLD YOU!” Georgie’s voice rings out across the crowd. “I KNEW cozy mystery readers were hungry for beefcake! I KNEW IT!”

The women descend like locusts in cat ears. Authors, readers, fans, all of them swarming the shirtless monsters, and at least four of them shouting things I can’t repeat in a family-friendly park.

This is deeply concerning from a hygiene standpoint, Fish observes from somewhere near my feet. Do you have any idea how long it takes to lick body oil out of fur? Asking for the poor soul who has to mop this floor.