All around them, farmers sprang to their feet to give a standing ovation for Peter. Their clapping and cheers of congratulations seemed increasingly far-off as Tilly and Sprout stared at each other in utterly stunned silence.

"Well, I'm plum bumfuzzled," Booger finally spoke up. "Wasn't Sprout's pumpkin supposed to win?"

"There has to be some mistake." Tilly glanced over to GP, but he was just as lost as she was, offering her the most helpless of shrugs. "Maybe they read the notes wrong? Judges do that from time to time."

Sprout didn't answer. Tilly didn't realize what was happening until the first big sniffle shook her sister's small shoulders.

"Aw, honey, no," Booger whined, laying her head in Sprout's lap. "Don't cry none."

"I ain't," Sprout said stubbornly, but her voice trembled with tears. "I ain't crying. It's just a stupid contest."

"It's gonna be okay." Tilly looped an arm around Sprout and squeezed. "Let me go talk with the folks over the competition. I'll find out what's going on."

GP was already off the bench. "Let me go with you."

The group of farmers began to disperse, some loading up their cars and wagons outside the fairgrounds, while others milled out to the surrounding attractions. The pair had to separate to give room for a carny-turned-stagehand hefting a wheeled trunk up the stage steps in preparation for the next performance—a magic act, if the caped and top-hatted man waiting in the wings was any indication. Two of the judges were still on stage, chatting with the microphone off, but one excused himself as he locked eyes with Tilly.

She swore he took the stairs two at a time.

The remaining judge—the man in the overalls—flashed a watered-down smile as they approached. "Evening, miss. What can I do for you?"

"How much did Peter Howden's pumpkin weigh?" Tilly asked.

His cheeks puffed in thought. "Five hundred and two pounds, I think, give or take."

She nodded. "And entry number three?"

"Well..." The judge swayed on his feet. "Truth be told, miss, we couldn't find a scale that could weigh it without breaking. Not even the scale we use for the livestock competitions."

"I see." Tilly's knuckles bit into her hips. "Forgive me, sir, since I ain't never had no schooling, but shouldn't it stand to reason that a pumpkin that can't be weighed 'cause it's so heavy ought to beat one that's only a quarter of a ton?"

"Well, one has to take more factors into consideration than just the weight of the specimen, of course. There's color, shape, the general vitality..." The judge prattled off, but once it was obvious that this explanation wasn't convincing anyone, his shoulders deflated with a sigh. "Look, sweetie, your pumpkin was easily the finest of the bunch but we were alerted by a third party that it, uh, might've had a little supernatural help."

"Magic, that's right," Tilly answered. "The Lafayettes have been entering this contest for years, sir. Near-everybody in Coleville knows we use magic. Not like we can choose not to, it'd be like asking a body not to breathe, or a fish not to swim. Never been a problem before."

"We've never been aware of how—" The judge struggled to find the word. "—Potent it could be until this year."

"So it was fine until we won." There was a dangerous edge in Tilly's voice. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Uh, well." The judge panicked, furiously patting his front down until he found purchase in a coat pocket. A handful of coins were produced. "Here, I'll strike you a deal. You take your entrance fee back, as a courtesy extended from us to you in light of this decision. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, like they say. How about it?"

Tilly worked her jaw. The man beckoned with the money. She snatched it from his palm and he reeled back, holding his wrist as though he had expected her to take the whole thing off.

"Please don't curse me," he whimpered.

As soon as the words left his lips, the judge clamped a hand over his mouth. He murmured a string of apologies, eyes never leaving Tilly's silver mirror hair.

"Let me make one thing abundantly clear," Tilly said. "I don't take kindly to somebody who gladly swindles a little girl out of her pocket money year after year, and I don't think the good Lord would either. Confidentially speaking, sir, I don't think fey curses are your biggest concern."

He only squeaked in response.

GP placed a tentative hand on Tilly's shoulder. "Maybe we should go."

With a slow, thin exhale, Tilly spoke through a gritted smile. "Y'all have a nice evening, now."

They took their leave.

"Sorry I couldn't be much help," GP said as soon as they got out of earshot. "I might've had some influence if it was a fair-sponsored contest like the pie eating competition, but that one was held by the locals."

"It's all right," Tilly said, even though it wasn't. "I'd just sure like to know which 'third party' raised a stink about us using magic."

As if on cue, they passed a ring of well-wishers still celebrating Peter's victory. Hanging on the winner's elbow was a familiar woman in a polkadot dress.

"Evening, Tillomena." Peter's second wife was a smiling viper. "My condolences about the pumpkin contest."

"One has to take more factors into consideration than just the weight of the specimen," Tilly repeated flatly. "Color, shape, the general vitality and such."

"How true, how very true. It's like the old adage says: 'Cheaters never prosper.'" The school teacher beamed under a kiss to the cheek from her husband. "Maybe if Sprout enrolls in my class she could learn a bit of horticulture. Then she wouldn't have to rely on magic, hm?"

Even the other farmers in the conversation noticed Tilly's resulting speechlessness, their own threads of conversation waning as their curious eyes turned to her one-by-one.

She swallowed hard, finally remembering how to speak. "We'll keep it in mind, ma'am."

"See that you do." Peter's second wife smirked. "Education and proper upbringing are so important."

"Sure is. Just a shame you can't teach human decency." GP offered the most corn-fed smile Tilly had ever seen. "Like another old adage says: 'Those who can't, teach.'"

The teacher nodded in fervent enthusiasm until the meaning of his statement sank in. Her mouth opened, but no reply came—completely gobsmacked. A few of the other farmers chuckled, earning them each a dirty look.

With the last word under their belts, GP shepherded Tilly away from the exchange. Truth be told, she was almost as surprised as Peter's second wife had been.

"Th-thank you," she managed after a moment. "It might not have been the nicest thing to say to Mrs. Howden, but it sure was satisfying."

"Somebody has to stick it to her," he said, thumbs hooked in his pockets. He kicked a stray pop bottle, watching it roll across the uneven field towards a trash can. "I take back what I said earlier. There's at least one witch that's still in need of a melting."

Tilly laughed.

As they reached the back row, Sprout leaped from her spot excitedly, crying spell over just as quickly as it came. "What happened?"

Frowning, Tilly was about to explain when GP interjected.

"They thought your pumpkin was so good, they didn't think it was fair to compare it to the others in the competition," he said, shaking his head in admiration. "Wasn't even in the same league. Here, let me help you count your prize money."

Before Tilly could stop him, GP took the handful of money from her and doled it out coin by coin to her younger sister. To the surprise of both Lafayettes, it totaled a great deal more than the entrance fee—including several gold coins that Tilly did not remember receiving from the judge.

It was almost too much for Sprout to hold in her cupped hands. She stuffed the money into both pockets, and then some in her shoes. "That's surely enough to replace the wagon, ain't it?"

Tilly looked past Sprout to GP. "Enough to do that and get some cotton candy, I think."

"Hey, that sounds like a plan." His smile was enigmatic. "It's getting to be about twilight—why don't we ride the Ferris wheel then stop for some dinner?"

Booger's ear cocked. "Somebody say something about food?"

"Yes, food," Tilly laughed, scratching the dog behind her ears. "Lord, if you don't have selective hearing."

"You forget I'm living in dog years." Booger jumped off the bench and trotted off towards the silhouette of the Ferris wheel against the rising moon, tail upright and matter-of-fact. "Life's too short to listen in on conversations you don't care about."

Sprout laughed. "Dog or not, I think that's a rule to live by. Wait for me!"

The two charged off, leaving Tilly and GP to trail behind. As they walked towards the far side of the fairground, Tilly kept stealing glances his way.

Eventually he noticed. "What's with the side eye?"

She immediately turned her attention to some kids throwing darts at a wall of balloons. "I don't know how you did that, but it was awful nice of you."

"What, the sleight of hand?" he asked, tone entirely too casual to be genuine. "It's just a little parlor trick. Work at the fair long enough, you pick it up."

"The extra money, too," she continued, hands behind her back. "I hope you didn't put yourself out any."

"Hardly," he said with a single note of laughter. His pace slowed, brow tightening with concern. "Is money really that tight here? That's peanuts."

"Peanuts?" she echoed.

He shrugged. "Maybe half a week's wages working for the fair. I'm telling you, Tilly, you really ought to consider it. It wouldn't just be your life that'd improve, if you get what I'm saying."

"Maybe." Tilly watched as Sprout hopped into the back of the line for the Ferris wheel. "You go through a lot of costuming at the fair?"

"Uh, some, sure." The question seemed to have caught him off guard. "Why?"

She shook her head. "Just wondering. It's a lot bigger up close, isn't it?"

"Sure is." GP craned his neck looking up at the slow moving ride in front of them. He cracked a sly smile. "You know, sometimes they'll stop it and just let people dangle for a bit. The view at the top is spectacular."

Tilly's stomach did a flip. She twisted the hem of her dress. "Hope that don't happen to us."

The line inched forward. As people filtered out from the ride and more loaded into the swinging cars, there was a groan of metal. Tilly stiffened.

"That's normal," GP reassured her. "The fluctuating temperature makes the metal contract and expand."

She nodded, but her relief was short-lived. The second creak of metal was loud enough to send a ripple of apprehension through the people waiting.

"Completely normal," he said again.

Then there was a crack. Tilly winced as something struck her on the head then bounced to the ground. She stooped to pick it up.

"Is it normal for bolts to pop out?" she asked, offering the piece to GP.

"No," he said, voice a whole octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat. "That is to say—it's not strictly routine, no."

"Uh oh," Sprout said, almost sing-song.

There was another crack and a rend of metal. The worried undercurrent of the onlookers turned into a few shrill cries as they stood, waiting in terror as two more bolts sheared loose.

Booger pulled at Tilly's hemline. "I think we might oughta skip right to dinner."

"Maintenance!" GP called as he started to wade through the line. He had a mouthed conversation with the ride operator before his voice raised with authority. "Sorry folks, the ride is closed for emergency repairs. Try another attraction, our apologies for the inconvenience—"

Everyone froze as the ride gave a final shudder. More shrapnel rained down over the assembled as the Ferris wheel pulled from its foundation and began to roll through the midway.