Page 25 of The Witch & the Hound
I didn't want to let go.
She didn't pull away.
"Ready?" I asked.
She took a breath and squeezed my hand once. "Ready."
We walked toward Main Street together, her arm tucked through mine like it belonged there. Like we’d done this a hundred times before instead of never.
The moment we turned onto the crowded sidewalk, I felt it. The shift. The attention.
A family walking past slowed, the father's gaze catching on my horns and dropping to where Maggie's hand rested in the crook of my elbow. The mother pulled their daughter closer, just slightly. Just enough.
I kept my expression neutral. My stride even. This was expected. Normal. I'd learned to carry the weight of other people's fear like it was part of me.
But then the little girl waved.
Just a small flutter of her hand, curious instead of frightened. Her parents didn't see. But I did.
I nodded back, careful, and she grinned.
Something in my chest loosened.
We passed a group of teenagers taking selfies in front of a giant inflatable ghost. One of them, a kid with green hair and too many piercings, called out, "Sick costume, dude!"
Maggie's hand tightened on my arm. I felt her holding back a laugh.
"Not a costume," I said mildly.
The kid's eyes went wide. Then: "Even better!"
His friends murmured agreement, phones already out, snapping pictures of the street, of us, of the Halloween chaos around us. To them, we were part of the magic. Part of the strangeness that made this night special.
I'd never been "part of" anything before. Not like this.
Maggie leaned closer as we walked, her voice low. "You're a hit with the youth."
"Apparently."
"How does it feel?"
I thought about it. About the weight I'd been carrying for a year, the careful distance I kept, the way I'd made myself useful so no one would question whether I belonged. About the quiet of my apartment and the loneliness that I lived in.
"Strange," I said finally. "Good."
She smiled, and it reached her eyes. "Good."
We kept walking. The restaurant was at the far end of Main Street, perched on a rocky outcrop where the land met the sea. I could see it ahead, lit from within, warm light spilling onto the street.
But I wasn't in a hurry to get there.
The street felt alive tonight. Music drifted from somewhere, a fiddle and drums, fast and Celtic. A bonfire burned in the town square, surrounded by people roasting marshmallows and telling stories. Laughter carried on the wind.
And everywhere, everywhere, there were others like me.
A fae woman with iridescent wings folded against her back stood at a taco truck, ordering in accented English. An orc family browsed the pumpkin display outside the market, their youngest perched on his father's shoulders. Two selkies. I recognized the liquid grace, the way they moved like water even on land,walked past holding hands, their seal-dark eyes catching mine in recognition.
A year ago, I'd been the only non-human within miles of Seaview.
