Free Hallowed Circle by Linda Robertson Page B

away from her. He threw a handful at me. It splattered against my collarbone and slid down into my shirt, cold in my cleavage.
    “No, no!” Beverley laughed. “The prince doesn’t turn into the seed-goo-dragon! He just saved the princess from it. Now she has to kiss him as a reward!”
    Johnny quickly turned and offered her a high-five. “That’s a great idea,” he said, setting the bucket down to come to me. “You heard her.”
    “Um … but—”
    “Oh stop.” Johnny leaned in and tapped his unsplattered cheek. “Plant it right there.”
    I made it a quick peck. “It still counts,” I announced quietly, “as one of the hundred.”
    He winked. “Eighty-five to go.”
    “Eighty-one,” I corrected.
    He feigned confusion. “No, I’m sure I have eighty-five left.”
    “Are you trying to steal them or are they just not memorable anymore?”
    “I cherish each one, which is why they’re worth stealing.” He moved in like he might steal another.
    Then goo hit him in the chest. Beverley had reclaimed the bucket.
    Minutes later, saddened by how quickly the innards of three big pumpkins could run out, we heard, “You three are a fright.” Nana stood in the doorway, a spot of seedscentered on her cabbage-rose shirt and a deep scowl on her face.
    “That’s perfect because it’ll be Hallowe’en soon,” Beverley said, giggling.
    “It’s going to be dinner long before it’s Hallowe’en,” she retorted. “And all of you will have to get cleaned up first.”
    “Aw, but we haven’t carved faces yet,” Johnny said.
    “Tomorrow,” Nana said firmly. “Come on, Beverley.”
    “Okay.” She trudged across the garage, but grinned at us from the doorway. “That was wicked awesome!” She darted inside. Nana shut the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Pumpkin seeds hung from my hair, spotted my jeans and shoes. Johnny was no better. “Kid’s got a good arm, good aim,” he said, picking seeds from his hair and trying unsuccessfully to flick them from his fingers into the bucket.
    The goo in my cleavage was uncomfortable, so while he wasn’t watching, I started digging it out in a very un-ladylike manner. “Seeing her laughing just feels so good.” I thought of Lorrie; she would have approved of a pumpkin goo-fight. My eyes got a little moist, but I didn’t have a clean hand to wipe them with.
    “Yeah,” he said, turning to me. Then, “What are you doing?”
    “The goo got in my shirt. I’m just getting it out.”
    “Can I help?”
    “You wish.”
    “Duh.” He waited. “You’re a mess.”
    “You should talk.”
    He brought the bucket over and started picking seeds out of my hair.
    “Ow! You’re pulling!”
    “Sorry.” He tried again. “It might just be easier if we took a shower and then cleaned up the drain.”
    We?
    I stared hard at Johnny’s chest and began picking seeds from his shirt and acted like I hadn’t heard the statement.
    “You’re biting your lip,” he said.
    I was. I stopped. “If we get cleaned up there’ll still be time to do a training evaluation, right?”
    “Oh,” he said in a high, condescending tone. “So you have to start clean if you’re going to fight?”
    “No.”
    He put up his arms, hands lightly fisted, and bent his knees into a ready stance. “C’mon, then.”
    I dropped my hands and shook my head as I said, “Johnny, I can’t just—” I lashed out quickly, knowing he wouldn’t expect it, and kicked him, following with a left-right-left that had him backpedaling across the garage. I dropped into a ready stance. “I protected new wæres from hostile wæreophobes.”
    He grinned. “Yeah. But how often did you fight wæres?” Johnny came at me.
    I kicked, ducked, and stepped past him. He went the opposite direction, grabbed the water hose from its coil hanging on the wall, unreeling it from the bracket, and turned the handle to the faucet it was connected to.
    “No,” I said.
    I heard the rush of water into the hose, but he hadn’t turned the