Page 110 of The Pumpkin Bride

“Jask,” he said and bowed. “And I would never, Matilda.”

Chapter 32

By the time the sun hung high overhead, Marigold had planned the whole of the Goldenmoon Festival. The activities, space for vendors, beer and cider garden, location for the minstrels, and the dancing—it was all organized. She stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Not only had she mapped out the logistics, but she also drew broadsides.

She had no talent for drawing, it was true. But her penmanship was excellent, and these broadsides clearly listed the date, time, location and entertainments on offer. Some might wonder why a few sported inky paw prints, but there was little time to redo them.

The cottage door swung open, and Bram entered. “You left again without waking me,” she greeted him.

“You seemed peaceful.” He hung his cloak on the peg.

“You know I prefer you wake me before you go. I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

At least he had the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ll reform.” He kissed the back of her neck, causing her to shiver. “What’s all this, then?” He leaned over her shoulder to peer at her work.

“Broadsides for the festival.” She patted his cheek, then stepped away from his embrace to dish out their midday meal. “Wash up, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

She withdrew a flatbread topped with melted cheese and finely diced vegetables from the oven, then plated their portions. He sat farther down the table from his usual place, which was currently occupied by two dozen broadsides.

“Thank you,” he said. “What was it you wanted to discuss over the breakfast I so rudely skipped out on?”

She tangled her fingers together. “One itty-bitty thing I keep forgetting to tell you about. I, uh . . . It seems I have a new magic.”

Bram set down his fork. “What is it?”

She understood his hesitancy. Magic had caused more harm in his life than good. Bram had only warmed to minimancy because she used it to help with chores around Grimroot Farm. For a moment, she’d been tempted to keep this new magic a secret.

But hadn’t she been grumpy with him for keeping secrets?

Best to show the way by example.

“I’m not certain what it does. At first, I thought they were just benign lights.” She showed him her empty palms. “When the Leshy attacked me, in my fright these orange orbs popped off my hands. The same thing when Bastien surprised me while I was foraging, but unlike the Leshy, the boy appeared different—there was a ghost of a crown on his head. So then I thought it was a future-telling magic and tried it on myself, but I appeared the same.”

Bram caught her palm and kissed it. “I doubt it’s nothing. Want to try it on me?”

Not the reaction she expected. “You’d be willing to serve as an experiment?”

“I trust you,” he said. “You tried it on yourself, you said, and again with the Leshy and the boy with no ill effect.”

“If you’re sure.” She flipped her palms toward him, flicking her fingers like she’d flung soap suds at him when they’d done their first batch of laundry together. The orbs flattened and popped against him.

As with Bastien, Bram shimmered.

And underneath the shimmer, retook his human form.

Mostly.

Marigold rucked up her eyebrows.

“What?” Bram asked.

“You’re . . .”

Bram once again possessed his enviable blond curls, blue eyes, strong jaw, and skin the color of a newborn fawn. The vertical dent between his confused eyebrows was new, though. Then the orc face shimmered on top of the human. The same confused wrinkle slashed from his forehead to the bridge of his nose, but this was the emerald face she’d come to love.

She stepped closer and laid her palms on his face, turning him slightly to inspect him. “You’re both Jask and Bram. How . . . What is this magic?”