Page 22 of Howls & Harvest

Before I know it, the containment effort has devolved into a full-blown food fight. Townspeople are lobbing yams at each other, dodging airborne pies, and using serving trays as shields against the onslaught of flying food. I grab a ladle of gravy, flinging it in a wide arc. It splatters across several people, including a fairy whose wings are now coated in the savory sauce.

“Sorry,” I call out, but the fairy just laughs, shaking her wings and sending droplets of gravy flying everywhere.

Ronan grabs my hand, pulling me out from behind the table. “Let’s get to higher ground.”

We make our way to a small hill overlooking the glen, dodging flying food as we go. From our vantage point, we can see the full extent of the chaos below. The once-pristine clearing is now a patchwork of food splatters, with people running, laughing, and flinging edible projectiles in every direction as the animated food still tries to slink off.

I lean against Ronan while we catch our breath. “When I imagined my first Thanksgiving in Evershift Haven, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

He chuckles while wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Welcome to Evershift Haven, where even our holidays are magical—and sometimes a little messy.”

Watching the food fight continue below, I’m filled with warmth that has nothing to do with the exertion of the battle. This quirky, magical town and its inhabitants have welcomed me with open arms—and apparently, open plates.

A glob of mashed sweet potatoes sails past us, missing us by inches. Ronan and I exchange a look, then grab handfuls of the orange mush.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, a playful glint in his eye.

I nod, grinning from ear to ear. “Absolutely. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Hand in hand, we charge back down the hill, armed with our sweet potato ammunition, ready to rejoin the fray. As I fling my handful of mash at an unsuspecting dryad, I realize this might just be the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.

The food fight rages on. A squadron of dinner rolls zooms overhead like tiny, doughy fighter jets, dropping payload of butter pats on unsuspecting revelers below. The giant gelatin mold blob monster oozes its way through the crowd, absorbing smaller food items and growing larger by the minute.

“Watch out for the Jell-O Beast,” yells someone, and people scatter as it approaches, leaving trails of sticky residue in its wake.

I grab Ronan’s arm, pointing at the wobbling monstrosity. “We need to stop that thing before it consumes the whole feast.”

“I’ve got an idea. Follow me.”

He leads me to a table laden with pies—the few that haven’t yet taken flight. “We’ll build a pie barricade,” he says, grabbing an armful of the desserts. “The Jell-O Beast won’t be able to absorb these as easily.”

I catch on quickly, gathering my own stack of pies. We work together, creating a circular wall of pies around the approaching jello monster. As it reaches our dessert fortification, it pauses, quivering, as if confused.

“It’s working.” I say, watching as the Jello Beast tries to absorb a cherry pie, only to find its gelatinous body repelled by the flaky crust.

Our success is short-lived, however, as the turkey—still very much alive and now sporting a gravy-slicked coat—charges through our pie barricade, scattering desserts everywhere. The Jell-O Beast seizes the opportunity, oozing through the gap and continuing its relentless advance.

“That didn’t go as intended,” he says, wiping cherry filling from his fur.

I laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I guess we’ll have to think of something else. Any other bright ideas?”

Before Ronan can respond, Grizelda’s voice booms across the glen, magically amplified to be heard over the chaos. “Attention, everyone. I think I’ve figured out how to end this little...mishap.”

All gazes turn to the town witch, who stands atop a table, her hair now resembling a bird’s nest filled with various food items. She raises her arms, fingers sparkling with magical energy.

“On the count of three,” she calls out, “Everyone grab the nearest enchanted food item so we can share the magic of the town. Ready? One... two... three.”

As she brings her arms down in a sweeping motion, I lunge for a levitating bowl of cranberry sauce. All around me, people are grappling with animated dishes, pies, and various other foodstuffs. The air fills with a tingling energy, and for a moment, everything seems to freeze. Ronan manages to grab the turkey.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the chaos subsides. The bowl of cranberry sauce in my hands stops trying to escape, settling into a normal, inanimate state. All around the glen, people are holding now-ordinary dishes of food, looking both relieved and slightly disappointed that the excitement is over. Ronan is holding the huge turkey, still enlarged but now inanimate, and lets out an “oomph,” as he staggers under the sudden dead weight.

Chapter 8

I STAND TRANSFIXEDas Grizelda keeps her hands raised. The chaotic scene around us falls silent, with everyone holding their breath. Her reputation for magical mishaps might worry some of the others, but there’s a confidence in her stance that gives me hope.

“Don’t worry, darlings.” Grizelda winks. “I’ve got this under control.”

She begins to murmur words too low for me to catch. A soft, shimmering glow emanates from her fingertips, spreading outward to fill the entire square. The light dances all of us as the food returns to the table. Some dishes, like the turkey, remain enlarged, but others have reverted to normal or missed the effects of the haywire spell entirely.

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