Chapter 4

In the morning,I was awake before the dawn, feeding the hearth a tremendous amount of wood because today was going to be a very busy day. As the hearth got to devouring the logs, I went to the woodpile to split some more, bringing it in by the armful again and again.

All three of my Dutch ovens were nestled against the coals, but they weren't baking bread today. Every spare saucepan and soup pot—basically anything that could conduct heat and not shatter or warp—was shoved by the fire. And while my potions bubbled away, I worked at the shelves Arthur had installed, cutting and grinding and juicing another host of ingredients.

When Sawyer drowsily padded into the hearth room, he sat and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his paw. "Misty? What is all this? And do I smell eggs?"

"Oh!" I whirled, lifting the lids on all my Dutch ovens until I found the one he was referencing. "Dutch baby pancake for breakfast. I need extra carbs today."

Hooking the handle with the fireplace poker, I swung that Dutch oven away from the heat of the hearth.

"And what's in the rest of them?"

Pointing down the line, I answered, "Fire cider in that one and cough cordial reducing in that one, then there's a chamomile sleeping aid, concentrated rabbitfoot clover tea, peppermint nasal injection to clear out any congestion, and that cast iron skillet has elderberries in it for—" I bent down to give it a stir and sniff. "Whoops. That's actually the last of the wild blackberries I'm making into a compote for the Dutch baby."

"Rule one of hearth witchery," Sawyer said dryly. "Don't bake where you cast."

"Oh hush, I've got everything under control. Now, I don't suppose you want any pancake?"

Sawyer wrinkled his nose. "I'll try the pancake. Just keep that blackberry goop away from it."

"Compote. Blackberry compote."

"Whatever."

While Sawyer munched at a sedate pace, I devoured my breakfast and got right back to it.

"What are you doing?" the cat asked, my early hustle and bustle clearly upsetting his need for a sedate morning. He'd slept fitfully last night, if the claw marks on my arm where he'd nestled against me were any indication. Normally he'd have his patrols finished already, returning to the farmhouse for breakfast and a drink, but it looked like he needed an entire pot of coffee.

"Arthur said the gypsies of the Carnival Cauchemar sometimes deal in trade. They value a good bargain for things they can't normally get their hands on more than money. Well, I'm a hearth witch. I'm sure one of these concoctions will convince Chalce I'm not just some country bumpkin looking at all the pretty stones, but an informed buyer who wants the good stuff."

I gave everything a good stir, making sure to use separate spoons so I didn't cross-contaminate. "And it's not like these will go to waste. It's getting colder out there, which means coughs and fevers and colds will start their annual plagues. This will keep the hobs healthy."

Sawyer gave the fire cider a sniff and wrinkled his nose. "If you can get them to force it down their throats, that is."

When everything was removed from the heat and set aside to cool, I got to prepping my teas and infusions. The townsfolk of Redbud knew me as a green witch, after all, someone who excelled with all things plant-related. It would maintain my cover if I had a variety of wares to barter with.

By late afternoon, I had everything portioned, packaged, sealed, labeled, and stored away in my foraging bag. Sawyer had come and gone as cats were wont to do, patrolling and stalking and completing his coursework, and at one point had come into the kitchen to ask on Roland's behalf if I was still going to get honey and chicken feed today.

"Ye of little faith," I'd muttered in reply. Yet it'd been a good reminder that even though I was getting better at prioritizing, I couldn't get tunnel-vision on whatever my current project was. I had to take a step back a few times a day to make sure nothing was slipping through the cracks. The cider hex had taught me that.

With my foraging bag secure in the front seat of my sedan, I made sure to leave the farmhouse with plenty of time to get to the feed store before they closed for the evening. As two burlap sacks of mixed grain, each at twenty-five pounds, were loaded into my trunk, I sent a quick text to Arthur: I'm in town. Is now a good time to pick up some honey, Bear Claw?

I bit my lower lip in anticipation, wondering if the flirty remark was one step too far down a road I wasn't ready to travel, or just enough to push me over the edge into forbidden territory.

"Shifters are unpredictable in every way except one," Grandmother had said. "And that one way is why their hearts will never be yours, so I'll not have you or any other woman of my family wasting their time with something that can never be."

"But, Grandmother Iris," I'd asked, my fourteen-year-old heart still convinced that nothing was insurmountable. "What is that one way? Why are they forbidden?"

"Never you mind. And stay away from that forest."

Even with Grandmother's warning ringing in my ears, my heart still leapt when my phone pinged with Arthur's response: We're headed to the fairgrounds now. Can you meet there? Also, rawr.

I actually laughed out loud, replying: Can do. Rawr.

It was silly and childish and I didn't care that the loading attendant was giving me a funny look as I slipped into the driver's seat. The road took me south towards the Redbud rotary, and I turned onto the western spur to zoom past the town square, the hardware store Hammer Nails, then Emmett's Barn Market. The landscape gave quickly to farmland, plots sectioned by thin lines of trees or meandering creeks. These ones closest to the town center had been growing soybeans, but as the road banked southwest to the 4-H fairgrounds, the fields were populated by corn. Most of it was feed corn for the livestock industry, the sweet corn having being harvested by human or supe or racoon hands months ago.

I'd never gone this far west—never had the need to—but the fairgrounds were easy to find. Partly because of the big sign in green and white, but mostly due to the traffic. It wasn't just Redbud showing up for the Carnival Cauchemar, but the whole of Patoka County. Including the town's archrivals, Tussock.

At least, that's who I assumed Mayor Robert was talking to at the entrance to the fairgrounds, barrel chest puffed out as far as it would go. The gentleman across from him was just as tall and large, though while Mayor Robert could always be seen in a suit, this Mayor Thomas preferred the Midwestern-show-cowboy-at-church approach: dark denims, a white button-down shirt with shiny black buttons and cufflinks, bolo tie with a silver slide almost as garish as his belt buckle, a ten-gallon hat of felt, and cowboy boots polished to outshine the bolo slide and the belt buckle combined.

The two were clearly discussing who was in the wrong of this fender-bender that had yielded nothing more than a hairline fracture of a taillight, much to the chagrin of the present-but-ignored police officer who simply couldn't get a word in edgewise. I saw him visibly give up and just turn to directing traffic around the vehicles, which hadn't been moved from the scene of the "crime," letting the two mayors bluster until they were too exhausted to continue arguing and the officer could finally do his job.

It was easy to find the Cedar Haven truck, which towered over the local boys' vanity pickups. Despite its height and immaculate forest-green paint job, Cody Beecham still thought he needed to flag me down by waving his ball cap. Emmett Trinket was with him too, and the three men quickly approached when I managed to snag a parking spot nearby.

I'd only just turned off the ignition when Cody was tapping his hand against the trunk. "Pop the trunk, Misty Fields, and let's get you loaded. I want a good seat at the rodeo tonight!"

"Oh my," Emmett exclaimed as he helped lift the released trunk door. "You got enough feed back here for an army of chickens, Miss Misty, let alone a flock. Oh, and don't you look nice," he said as I finally emerged from the car. "Pretty as a picture."

I smiled at the old gentleman's compliment. Though I wasn't dressed much differently than what I usually ran around in, just an autumn-orange sundress and my cowgirl boots, I had added some of that apple-red lipstick that matched my purse to my lips and some mascara to my eyelashes. "Thanks, Emmett."

"Cody, you old toad, stop staring and help me move this feed for the boy."

"All this chicken feed and why am I not getting any farm-fresh eggs?" Cody wanted to know.

"Maybe because you cause too much of a racket for them to lay?" I answered, pressing my lips so I wouldn't grin at my sassy reply.

The twiggy old man suddenly straightened from shifting the feed bags, blustering.

"Ha," Emmett crowed. "She's got you there, old boy!"

"Oh hush up. You're older than me!" Cody wagged his finger at me. "Now listen here, Misty Fields—"

Whatever he was going to say got cut off as Arthur stepped forward, jostling him out of the way so he could place a crate of honey containers in my car. He gave me a wink that set my heart fluttering like a flock of butterflies, then asked Cody, "Are you gonna stick around to yell at her for telling the truth or go and get your rodeo tickets?" From the twinkle in his hazel eyes, Arthur was just teasing his employer, but Cody wasn't one to back down.

"You youngsters have no respect nowadays, you know that?"

Emmett grabbed Cody's shirtsleeve and gave it a tug. "Come on, sour puss."

"You're on your own for the rodeo, boy!" Cody hollered as Emmett led him away.

"That's fine," I replied sweetly. "He can sit with me."

Cody froze. "Wait, you're coming? I thought this was just a honey drop off!"

"Me too," Arthur said lowly, hazel eyes searching my face.

I hadn't told him I'd decided to come to the carnival earlier than expected, and frankly I'd planned on getting the honey at Cedar Haven and entering the carnival without any of my friends knowing. Just slip in, visit Chalce's Crystal Emporium, get my crystals, and slip right back on out. But that plan had all gone south when I'd seen Arthur. I was having a harder time resisting that pull to be near him and wondered if it had anything to do with Samhain approaching. Not just witches were affected, but the entire supernatural world. And since he was a shifter, maybe his own powers were expanding, whatever they were, and affecting me, too.

But what could it hurt? Grandmother had forbidden dating shifters, not going to rodeos with them in full view of the public, plus two nosy old men.

"It's good to hang out with people sometimes," I told Arthur quietly, my answer only for him. Seemingly on its own accord, my hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. "Right?"

His arm tightened, trapping my hand but not crushing it, and his other hand came to meld over my fingers. It was affectionate and warming and at the same time possessive and tinged with fear that I would pull away. Not tonight.

His mouth parted, as if to speak or just suck in a tiny gasp of anticipation, but whatever he was going to say or do was interrupted when Cody swaggered back towards us.

"Well," he said, "a good-lookin' gal like you will guarantee us some good seats! One side, boy. Misty Fields is coming with us!"

"I don't think so," Arthur replied, practically lurching me into a jog beside him. Honestly, I had to half-skip just to keep up with his stride. "You can sit with us. If you can catch up."

With a laugh, Arthur shifted my hand into his and actually started to run. By the Green Mother, he was fast.

"Boy!" Cody shouted, bony arms and legs flapping as he hurried after us—a stork in pursuit of a wily fox who'd stolen his fish dinner.

"Slow down, Cody," Emmett huffed. "You're going to give us both a heart attack!"

While I protested, Arthur still insisted on paying for my ticket into the carnival and for a seat at the Nightmare Rodeo. While the carnival opened just before sundown, it really wouldn't begin until Jakob Tabrass made his announcement at the Nightmare Rodeo. It was tradition, and since the Carnival Cauchemar visited Redbud every October, everyone knew they could go wander the grounds and gawk at the gypsy wagons, but they wouldn't sell anything until Jakob Tabrass had given his blessing.

Chalce's Crystal Emporium would have to wait, but I wasn't as worried has I had been. Nobody would be buying up her good crystals, because everybody was here at the open-air arena. Spotlights outshone the stars and moon with a blinding ferocity, and the noise of conversing people and neighing horses and bellowing steers was almost deafening. The air was absolutely full of competing scents: popcorn and hay, fry oil and saddle leather, cotton candy and the sweat of the hundreds if not thousands of people crammed into the stands.

While I didn't suffer from social anxiety, I still found myself leaning closer to Arthur, as if his presence alone would help dull the sensory overload. He lifted his arm as if to sling across my shoulders, drawing me in close, then hesitated, choosing to seek out my hand instead. I didn't know if he was just being extra polite or if something was holding him back.

But I wasn't going to dwell on it. Couldn't, actually. Not while I was reveling in the sensation of my hand in his, his thumb stroking lightly back and forth over mine.

"Ah!" came a familiar voice. "I see them!"

Arthur lifted his free hand and waved as Emmett and Cody approached, shuffling down the aisle to avoid stepping on any toes. "Saved you some seats, gents."

"On the wrong side of you, it seems," Cody said, frowning. "Ack, I gotta sit next to you instead of the pretty girl? Unfair!"

"Oh hush up and sit down," Emmett scolded. "These are the best seats in the entire stadium! Right in front of the announcer platform."

Indeed, the platform, if it remained empty, would give us a clear view into the arena. No heads or ten-gallon hats would be getting in our way.

"Miss Misty, can you spare one of those napkins you got there?" Emmett asked. "Some idiot spilled his drink."

In addition to buying my tickets, Arthur had also purchased a variety of concessional items, including my very favorite—an enormous soft pretzel, no salt, with a dipper of nacho cheese. It came with a mountain of napkins, half of which I passed down the line to Emmett to wipe off his part of the bleachers.

"Ha, I see the Alder Ranch boys are in the roping competition," Cody said, slapping the flyer with the back of his hand. "Again. I seriously don't know why anybody else competes against them. They always win. Kinda like how the Lancaster boys always won the wassail competition before Misty Fields ruined their record."

It was the hobs who'd won the wassail competition, not me, but Cody never let the truth get in the way of his preferred narrative. I just played along, replying, "Lucky for them, I don't know how to ride a horse, so they can keep their title. For now."

The old carpenter grinned.

"Too bad Arthur doesn't know how to cowboy," Emmett chuckled. "You could've forced him to enter the Nightmare Rodeo like you did the Lumberjack Trials."

"Hey! I didn't force the boy into anything."

"That's not how I heard it," I said, leaning across the lumberjack to put in my two cents.

"Who's side are you on?" Arthur rumbled down at me. "I told you that in confidence."

I just flashed him a mischievous smile.

"He's defending Cedar Haven's honor, as is his duty," Cody clarified. "If that Bensen hadn't besmirched our good name—"

"He said that salad bowl with the olives carved on it cracked right down the middle the same night he bought it off Cody," Emmett quickly informed me.

"Ooo," I whispered loudly, "you mean the salad bowl that's cursed?"

"It's not cursed!" Cody shrilled. "Bensen's wife's just got Sasquatch hands! Everyone knows it. And since he obviously can't lend any credence to the rumor his wife is half giantess—"

"Truly, it is a wonder why you're still single," Emmett commented dryly.

"—Bensen has to lie that my woodcarvings are faulty and sourced from poor-quality lumber and the whole fiasco is completely unacceptable! Thus, the boy." He gave Arthur his customary swat on the arm. "Once Bensen started bragging that his son would be in the Lumberjack Trials to finally give the Alder boys a run for their money, well, I had to put the kiboshes on that."

"And by ‘I' you mean ‘me,'" Arthur said. "I'm defending the Cedar Haven name, not you."

"And you'll succeed, if you know what's good for you! I don't care if you don't win the Trials. Just make that Bensen boy eat your dust. Or woodchips. Whatever."

The lumberjack shifter just rolled his eyes.

When the old men diverted to complain about something else, I gave Arthur's hand a squeeze. "Kind of hard to eat my pretzel with one hand."

"Can't you, like, grow a vine for a third hand or something?"

He sounded so pitiful that I laughed as I wiggled my fingers free of his. "It's your fault. You bought this monstrosity."

"No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose," he sighed mournfully.

"Oh brighten up, Bear Claw." I inched closer until we touched thigh-to-thigh, nestling the dipper of nacho cheese into his hand. "We'll share."

I'd only taken one massive bite—this girl loved carbs—when the spotlights suddenly snapped off, shrouding the entire fairgrounds in darkness. An instant later, red light ejected from the platform in front of us, illuminating a figure that hadn't been there a second ago.

Tall and lean with pale skin, Jakob Tabrass stood before the masses in exactly the same outfit that was featured on the pamphlet: a tailored black suit with its red pocket square, glossy hair scraped back against his skull to curl at the nape of his neck, sunglasses like those of a steampunk conductor covering not just his eyes, but consuming the whole socket. Black-gloved hands perched on a ruby-capped cane, and the red light emanating from under the platform like the fires of hell glinted on his pointy beard and toothly smile.

"Welcome," he greeted, his raspy voice rolling through the loudspeakers like the roar of tumultuous waves, "to the Carnival Cauchemar. May our frights delight you tonight and every night. Gypsies, welcome your guests!"

What sounded like the shrill of a banshee rose into the air, then there was a clang of metal, and a horse with a rider bearing a torch tore down the chute and into the arena. The rider hurled the torch, which turned out not to be torch at all, but a firecracker, and red sparks shot into the sky, unfurling like an inverted flower.

The sparks gleamed in Jakob Tabrass's sunglasses and in the ruby of the cane he'd thrust high above him, the night erupting as another dozen firecrackers tore off into the sky. The ruby blazed once, like the flare of a matchhead exploding to life. Jagged shadows tore from the ruby and into the sky, illuminated by the firecrackers, and everyone oohed and ahhed and marveled over the special effects. When the sparks dissipated, the spotlights snapped on once more, and I spat out the mouthful of pretzel before I could choke on it.

"Miss?" Arthur asked above the roar of the crazed crowd.

The first act of the rodeo was already underway, black horses charging around the perimeter with fire-baton-wielding acrobats on their backs. We could see it clearly, for Jakob Tabrass had vanished the moment the spotlights had lit the arena.

When I didn't respond, Arthur tentatively swept my hair back over my shoulder and cupped my cheek. "Misty."

I jolted at his touch, his shifter reflexes catching the pretzel I launched into the air.

"Woah, it's okay. Jakob Tabrass is a little intense. Some say he's a vampire since he seems to only come out at night, but I don't think— Hey, you okay?"

NO! "Y-yeah. Sorry."

His hazel eyes narrowed. "Are you sure? You look—"

"I startle easily," I said, forcing a smile. "Can I have my pretzel back?"

"Uh, sure."

I tore a piece of pretzel free and stuffed it into my mouth, linked arms with him like there was nothing wrong in the world, and fixed my gaze not at the show unfolding before me, but at the platform where the leader of the gypsies had stood only a moment before.

The Carnival Cauchemar pamphlet had been right about many things about Jakob Tabrass, but it had left out two important and terrifying facts.

One, he was a warlock.

And two, trapped in the ruby of his cane was a shadow creature with the same aura as the parasite in my family's grimoire.