Page 39 of Practically Magic

I fumble it in shock, trying not to drop the dirty dishes. “Am I even allowed?”

“Kat, I’m gonna be honest,” Chris says, sounding manic, as he takes back the bin he just handed me barely a minute ago. “Tucker didn’t call out. He walked off. I know Mayor Croft has been trying to get tourists here, but these Halloween enthusiasts are just too much. Some guy in the bathroom is dressed as a winged bat. And that guy at the bar? I know he and his friends are all dressed as skeletons, but I can see his skull. His skull, Kat. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there is a table of women in the back who look like death. They keep asking about the Headless Horseman.”

I still. Could it be the women from yesterday? Something doesn’t sit right with me about all these visitors. Especially the winged bat. That can’t be real, can it? Chris sounds like he’s describing Mothman and that’s impossible. Mom said Mothman hasn’t been seen since the 1960s when a coven in Virginia sent him to the underworld.

I scan the restaurant. Sure, a lot of my classmates are here. Colton, I’m pleased to see, is over in the corner with Tom Callabra and the rest of the jocks. They even brought a football and are tossing it around inside. Normally, that would be enough to earn a speech from Chris, but today he doesn’t even seem to have noticed. And I can see why. That’s definitely Mothman huddled by the bar, clutching onto one of the pendant lights. Those girls in the darkest corner are probably vampires, considering those red drinks are most likely not the Shrieking Shirley Temples. And yep, those are actual skeletons at the bar. No costume could be that good.

The wards are supposed to keep all these things out. Why does it feel like instead they’ve all been drawn here? Like Mystic Hollow has become some sort of . . . supernatural magnet?

“Why don’t you take five and get some air,” I tell Chris. “I’ll handle the tables.”

“Five. Yes. Thanks. Skulls,” he mutters to himself as he walks away, bumping into someone hairy, dirty, and familiar. The guy’s eyes light up when he sees me.

“Girl! Girl with boy! Do you have any treats? Ronald Fred wants a treat! Treat! Treat!”

I freeze. “Did you say Ronald Fred?”

“Heads!” Tom Callabra yells, and that’s my only warning as the football sails over me. I hunch down, trying to protect my face, but the dirty boy is taking off after it, leaping into the air to try to catch it with his mouth.

“Hey, it’s Kat!” Colton calls, waving at me. I walk over, confused. “Scoot over, guys, make some room for her.” When no one moves, he glares, his voice dropping. “I’m serious. Do it.”

“Uh,” I say, “has anyone taken your order?”

“Are you on the menu?” Colton asks, winking.

I stare open-mouthed.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, as his friends guffaw and Tom lets out a low yooooo. “I mean, did you see my texts? Are you coming to my party? It was pretty cool of me to move mine, right?”

Did you find his resting place?

The voice speaks directly into my head, like someone jammed a headphone into my skull. I flinch and turn around only to find one of the strange women with long black hair standing far too close. “How did you get across the room that fast?” I whisper.

Did you find the Headless Horseman’s resting place? she says in my head again, and jerks her lips up in a robotic smile. Baring her fangs.

Right. They’re one hundred percent vampires. Vampires, in Mystic Hollow. Like the wards don’t exist. Vampires in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Haunted House of Hamburgers may be strictly à la carte, but for those three, it’s a bottomless buffet. Who invited them in? I look over at the door and see the hostess holding it open, even though there is no more room inside. Great.

We need the Headless Horseman’s location before Samhain if he is to rise, the vampire says, her eyes trying to hold me hostage.

My magic may not be perfect, but vampires can’t control witches. I stare back at her, flexing fists as my magic tingles faster and faster, and say, “Get out of my head.” The vampire staggers back slightly, moving away. I’m so delighted, and so is my magic, which seems to pound in my hands. Someone touches my arm.

“Hey there, Sunshine.”

I almost fall backward when I see who it is. “Ryan Elliott?”

My seventh-grade crush looks exactly how I remember him. His dark brown hair is slightly longer now, but he’s still got the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen on a boy and brown eyes that suck a girl in. I’ve been avoiding him in school—I even had the aunts cast a spell to make sure we didn’t have any classes together—but seeing him again makes me almost throw up in my mouth. Muscle memory, I suppose.

“Hey.” His lips stretch in a warm smile; his eyes drop to my lips. “I was hoping to find you here. I wanted to know if you’re going to Colton’s party tomorrow night. If you are, maybe I could give you a ride?”

A ride? “I live two blocks from Colton’s. I’m going to walk.”

“What if I walked with you? We could catch up.” He places a hand on my arm again. “I think about you and that night at the Gravitron all the time.”

“Y-you do?” I stammer. “You mean how I bought you a POP wristband and you stood me up?” Clearly, I’m still harboring some resentment about this.

His brow furrows. “No, I bought you the bracelet and you didn’t show up.”

What? No. He’s got this backward. I start to protest, and he holds up his hands.