I would also like to thank my cats, AO3, coffee, the Reylos, every fictional villain who awoke something in me at a formative time, the sound of rain against the window, colorful socks, wood-wicked candles, weekend estate sales, bubble baths, and cheese （so much cheese）。
And you, of course, dear reader. Thank you for accompanying me on another whimsical journey to Glimmer Falls.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Sarah Hawley’s next novel . . .
A WEREWOLF’S GUIDE TO SEDUCING A VAMPIRE
On werewolf Ben Rosewood’s list of “Things to Avoid if at All Possible,” weddings were near the top.
It wasn’t that he hated seeing other people happy or that he disliked cake or an open bar or dancing—well, all right, dancing was mortifying unless one was very drunk, which the open bar took care of—it was that he felt like a terrible person every time he went to one.
He raised his champagne, swaying slightly. The post-ceremony dinner was wrapping up and it was speech-making time. Another mortifying activity best practiced by drunk people or those who didn’t have an anxiety disorder.
In vino confidence, he thought.
Mariel and Ozroth Spark, the newlyweds in question, looked at him expectantly from the sweetheart’s table. One witch, one demon: both people Ben cared about and didn’t want to disappoint with a terrible speech.
“Mariel,” he said, addressing his longtime friend and employee at his garden shop, Ben’s Plant Emporium, “it has been a privilege to work alongside you and watch you thrive like the plants you care for. You’ve always given your time, love, and support to everyone around you, and you deserve to receive that love back a thousandfold.”
Ben was sweating. He nudged his gold-framed glasses up his nose with his free hand, then peered down at the note card on the table that held his talking points.
“Now that you have Oz by your side,” he continued, “you shine more brightly than ever, and I’m happy to see it.”
It was a clumsy speech, but Mariel didn’t seem to mind. The brunette witch was beaming, looking radiant in a white dress with lacy cap sleeves and a full skirt embroidered with vines and flowers. Next to her and wearing a black suit that matched his usual stark aesthetic was Oz—or as he had once been termed, Ozroth the Ruthless. The soul bargainer had been on Ben’s shit list for a long time before he’d realized the demon was actually considerate, thoughtful, and utterly besotted with Mariel under that gruff exterior. The newlyweds’ meet-cute had involved an inadvertent summoning and bargain in which Oz had tried to take Mariel’s soul, but that issue had been resolved, and the couple had been devoted to each other for nearly two years now.
The normally surly Oz was now grinning widely, with lines of joy stamped beside his eyes. Those marks deepened with every year on Earth now that Oz was mortal, and Ben felt a surge of longing laced with envy. Not because Oz was marrying Mariel in particular—marrying Mariel, Ben’s tipsy brain repeated, delighting in the alliteration—but because they were happy and in love.
This was why Ben didn’t like weddings. He should be unconditionally delighted for his friends rather than sad about his own single status. He shoved down the shameful envy and glanced at the card again.
“Oz,” he continued, addressing the black-haired, black-horned demon, “as you know, I wasn’t sure about you at first. It isn’t every day a demon comes portaling to Earth demanding your friend’s soul.” The crowd chuckled at that, and Ben felt a surge of relief. Thank Lycaon, progenitor of werewolves, he wasn’t messing this up too badly. “But I saw how hard you fought to protect Mariel, and since then your love has grown and deepened. You prove that love with actions, not just words, which is the measure of a good man. It’s an honor to know both of you and to be invited to give this speech.”
He wasn’t sure why they’d asked him to give a speech, but the reception had been speech-heavy so far, with family and friends of the bride and groom spouting impassioned, brilliant toasts that were all far better than Ben’s.
“My skills are in gardening, not public speaking,” he said, wrapping things up, “so I’m going to sit down before I embarrass myself.” Another few chuckles at that. “In lieu of the brilliant oratory you deserve, I present you with a plant.” He nodded toward the side of the room where another of his employees, a naiad named Rani, stood holding an orchid. She strode forward, grinning confidently in the way of well-adjusted people who didn’t want to shrivel up and disappear in front of a crowd, and presented the plant to Mariel.