Page 21 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

Whiskers suddenly pokes his head up from his spot in the cupholder. "Three o'clock. Woman in the purple hat. She's been following that man for the last two blocks."

I slow the car slightly, following Whiskers' gaze to where a young witch in training nervously trails after her mentor, clearly late for lessons. "That's just Maeve and her apprentice," I explain, but I appreciate his vigilance.

With a murderer targeting supernaturals, we can't be too careful.

The sheriff's office sits at the corner of Main and Drury, a sturdy brick building with windows tinted to accommodate the vampires on the force whose eyes are extremely sensitive to light. I park the car just off the main street, the lot already filling with vendors and festival volunteers unloading their wares. Even here, in the small hours before the crowd descends, the town vibrates with an energy that feels both festive and uneasy,

"Remember,” I say, turning to Jasper, Sheriff Dunmire doesn't know you're…" I trail off, unsure how to phrase it.

"Back from the dead?" Jasper supplies, his voice bitter.

“Yea, that.” I mumble.

"So, what's the plan?" Whiskers pipes up from the cupholder. "Waltz in there and announce, 'Good news, Sheriff! The dead guy's not actually dead anymore'?"

"Just let me do the talking," I take a deep breath and open the car door, a blast of chilly air hitting my face.

The scent of cinnamon and apples wafts from the bakery across the street, mingling with the earthy smell of fallen leaves, as we make our way to the front door of the station.

The moment we walk through the door, Sheriff Dunmire's coffee mug crashes to the floor, black liquid splattering across the worn linoleum like an oil spill. His mouth hangs open, eyes wide as dinner plates as they fix on Jasper.

"Sweet mother of—" He looks between Jasper and me, eyes wide with shock. "Nightshade, you were dead. Stone cold. I carried your body to the morgue myself."

Jasper gives a stiff nod. "Turns out it didn't stick."

Sheriff Dunmire's face pales to the color of moonlight on snow. He backs up, knocking into his desk and sending a cascade of papers to the floor.

He’s in shock.

Can’t say I blame him.

The man whose dead body he personally zipped into a body bag is now standing in his office, looking grumpy but decidedly alive.

The sheriff's deputy peeks out from the back office, her jaw dropping open. "Holy shit," she whispers, "Is that…?" Her voice trails off, unable to finish her question.

"Yes, Margo, it's Jasper Nightshade," the sheriff says, recovering slightly.

"In the flesh," Jasper says dryly, causing Whiskers to snort from his hiding place in my purse.

Margo's eyes narrow, that particular squint one witch gives another when forbidden magic has been worked. Her lips press into a thin line of judgment that says more than words ever could.

Margo's face drains of color. "Delia…" Her voice barely reaches me as her eyes dart between us like a frightened bird. She takes a step back, bumping into her desk. "Tell me you didn't break the Covenant."

I lift my chin, fingers curling into my palms. "What would you have done?" The words come out harder than I intended. "Watch them lower the love of your life into the ground and just…accept it?"

The sheriff's expression shifts, his weathered face softening at the edges. His eyes take on that particular glassy sheen I recognize too well—the look of someone who understands loss intimately. I catch a flicker of what might be envy before he blinks it away. Last year, I'd stood in his kitchen arranging sympathy casseroles in his fridge after the funeral while mourners spoke in hushed tones about his human wife's battle with cancer.

"I would've done the same," he admits quietly, his hand moving to his face to rub his salt and pepper beard. "Besides, what’s done, is done. Fortunately, no one outside this office and the coroner’s office knows about your death, Jasper. We kept it quiet per protocol since your death was ruled a homicide.” He ticks off on his fingers. "Just me, Margo here, and Dr. Ramirez at the morgue know you were on that metal slab. Far as the rest of Pennington Falls is concerned, you've been doing renovations to the farm.”

“Good," Jasper says. "Let's keep it that way."

Margo’s eyes flash with panic, “Are you crazy?” she snaps, “You don’t think the Council won’t sense this? They know everything. We might fool the townspeople, but there is no hiding this from them, and we all know it.”

I glance at Jasper, who runs a thumb along his jaw, eyes flicking to the ceiling as if visualizing whatever arcane surveillance grid the Council has currently deployed over us. “I told her she should have left me dead.” he deadpans.

What an asshole.

My teeth clench so hard I taste metal. “I’ll accept whatever fate the Council has in store for me.” I say, squaring my shoulders despite the flutter in my chest, “I made my choice, and I'd make it again. Now, I didn’t come here to be ridiculed or to apologize for my actions. My only concern is finding out who the hell murdered my husband in the first place.”