Page 46 of Too Hexed to Handle

‘Maybe you should ask,’ he counters. ‘They’re kind of preoccupied, and this is your . . . thing, isn’t it?’

‘My thing?’ I sidestep as a couple roll off their blanket towards my feet. I vaguely recognise them from Damian’s party last night. ‘My thing is getting them to admit their feelings for each other. I don’t interrupt them once they get going!’

A hand touches my leg and I shriek, leaping in Astin’s direction.

He pulls me aside before I can get dragged into the throng, guiding us from the jumble of limbs and around the other side of the willow tree, its leaves rippling slightly in the breeze. I catch the scent of strawberries, stronger than ever before, but don’t get a chance to locate its source when instead we find another heap of contestants jostling on the ground, except they don’t look as pleased about it as everybody else. A grunt sounds as an elbow ploughs into someone’s middle.

‘Get off,’ a person towards the bottom of the pile says. ‘It’s mine.’

‘You don’t . . .’ a second person replies through pants, ‘know how . . . to open it.’

I exchange a loaded glance with Astin.

There’s so many of them in the heaving mass it’s hard to tell where one starts and another ends, but between the bodies, I glimpse something grey. Like it’s made of stone. Astin spots it too, and immediately charges into the pack, pulling people off one another, while I hover on the sidelines, anxiety tightening my chest to the point I can’t tell if I’m breathing, as more and more of them crush against Astin, trying to push him away, to take the statue for themselves.

Astin is forced to jab one man in the nose, and the crack of breaking bone is sickening, but the man doesn’t react. Blood stains his bared teeth red. ‘That reward belongs to me,’ he says.

He shifts out of Astin’s way though, and we’re finally given a full view of the statue we’ve been looking for. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be. Wings splay from its back, but it’s too human-shaped to be a bird, its thick legs standing on top of a square pedestal.

A few contestants jostle the statue from side to side until it wrenches free from the ground and topples to one side, landing with a thud at my feet. The ground below vibrates at the impact, but the statue doesn’t break. Not a single crack splits across its surface.

Clutching his bloodied nose, the man trying to pick a fight with Astin drops to his knees and bangs the statue’s base. ‘The item must be in here. It must. It’s the only statue in this whole damn park.’

The pedestal is a thick block of stone, with nothing to indicate any kind of hinge or opening, except when the man thumps it again, it sounds hollow. My heart sinks. I’d been so buoyed up by the idea that I’d be better at finding the items than everybody else, I’d barely paid attention to the reason Damian didn’t retrieve them himself.

They’re protected by Ozias’s enchantments, and I’m as clueless how to get past them as the others.

Wind rustles my hair, before sweeping through the nearby willow tree and sending some of the pink dust coating the leaves into the air. I catch yet another trace of strawberries.

And that’s when I realise where the smell is coming from. What that pink dust is.

Another, stronger gust of wind later and more dust shakes free, particles floating and flying and whirling over the clearing, landing on the hair, shoulders, arms of the group tussling over the statue. I manage to close my mouth in time, but my nose is hit full blast with a puff of powder.

Oh no. No, no, no. Coughing, I wave the remaining particles away, all too aware of a tingling sensation spreading over my skin, a dryness in my throat, a strange sense of want consuming my body, and I remember the sign outside the maze.

Enter, enter, if you dare, come as one and find your pair.

This must be the grand finale of the maze, some gimmick to get people to couple up. The contestants around us pounce on one another, but they’re not tussling over the statue any more. It lies forgotten on the grass, abandoned in favour of more lustful pursuits. This would be my chance to investigate it, but I’m hyper-aware of who is standing behind me.

Once we get out of here, I need to have a serious word with the festival organisers for choosing to build their maze – and set their traps – in the most inconvenient of places.

I force myself to face Astin. Pink dusts his hair, and his pupils are dilated. He’s looking at me with an intensity I’ve never seen before. My chest heaves.

He’s so pretty.

Dark eyelashes highlight the blue in his eyes. Day-old stubble lines his jaw. Black hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and I’d give anything to run my hands through it. His jacket stretches over broad shoulders and muscular arms. I want to see them. I want to see it all.

I pluck at his buttons. ‘You wear too many clothes. Have I ever told you that?’

‘No.’ His voice is deeper than usual, and his hands have found their way to my waist. ‘Daisy, what –’

‘We need to remove them.’ It’s blindingly obvious to me now. Astin should remain shirtless at all times. And we should be on a blanket. Yes. That would be nice.

‘Daisy, I think something’s wrong.’

Right. Yes. This isn’t normal. But all I can think is how I can’t get close enough, like if I peel off his clothes and taste every inch of him, I’d still be in search of more. I want him to consume me, devour me, to strip me bare until he’s tasting me too.

‘Wait.’ He wraps a hand around mine to prevent any more button pulling, but his grip is loose, half-hearted, like he’s dealing with a misbehaving puppy he secretly thinks is too cute to refuse. ‘What’s happening?’