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Some people spent the day after Halloween nursing hangovers. The residents of Screaming Woods spent it sweeping dragon scales off The Crooked Mile.

I smiled as I stepped around a black scorch mark baked into the cobblestones. Someone had already hammered a little wooden sign into the flower bed beside it.

CAUTION: Evidence of Terrible Decisions

Considering I'd watched a dragon accidentally ignite the mayor's scarecrow display during last night's Frankenfest fireworks, the sign felt appropriate.

The annual celebration marked one year since Dr. Emmett Karloff had accidentally turned our sleepy little mountain town into the supernatural capital of... well... probably the entire country.

Some people celebrated with pie. Some with music. Some apparently celebrated by breathing fire.

A crisp October breeze tugged at the loose strands escaping my ponytail as I crossed toward the Lucky Bean. The little coffee shop smelled like roasted espresso beans, cinnamon, and fresh pumpkin muffins, making my stomach rumble despite the oatmeal I'd eaten before work.

The bell jingled overhead.

"Morning, Poppy!"

Melinda looked up from the espresso machine with a grin so bright it rivaled the fairy lights still dangling in the front window. Tiny ivory quills peeked through her auburn curls, one stubborn little thing stuck out straight on the side.

I pointed at it. "You missed one."

She sighed dramatically. "I found three in the whipped cream this morning."

I laughed. "Festival casualty?"

"I sneezed."

"...That explains so much." I teased. Suddenly glad I hadn't spurted a tail or anything like that a year ago.

"It really does."

She slid my usual vanilla latte onto the counter before I even ordered it.

"And don't ask. I already started making it."

"You know me too well."

"The entire town knows you too well."

She disappeared behind the pastry case before I could object and returned with two enormous cinnamon scones.

"Melinda..."

"One's for you." She tucked them into a paper bag. "And one's for Mrs. Wilton."

"You're terrible."

"I know."

I accepted the bag anyway, because arguing with Melinda about kindness was like trying to convince rain not to be wet.

"How's she doing?"

"Still coughing."

Melinda frowned. "Tell her we're all thinking about her."

"I will."