The Seam Sorceress

The County Fair, part 2.

When Tilly's vision came into focus, she was staring up at the shiny tin badge of one of Coleville's law enforcement. She swallowed hard and curled up on herself like a flower, knees pressed tight against her chin. "G-good morning, officer."

"Good for me, maybe not so much for you." He pinched the end of the cigarette closest to his lips and pulled it away, breathing smoke. The smell of a King cigarette was unmistakable; skunky with the undertone of burning rubber. "You realize there's a fine for being drunk in public, girl?"

Tilly's mouth dropped. "But, but I ain't even old enough yet—"

He tsked. "Well, that's another fine."

"No." Tilly scrambled to her feet. "I ain't drunk, is what I mean to say."

The officer looked from Tilly to the ditch filled with broken beer bottles, mouth becoming a thin, tight line. "Mmhm."

"Honest, officer." Tilly's voice quaked as she dusted off her denim skirt. "I ain't never even touched the stuff. You gotta believe me. I just spent all night carrying this pumpkin over to town sos my sister can enter it in the fair today."

Once again, the officer's eyes slid from Tilly, this time to Mr. Tubbington sitting beside her. From the slight slack in his expression, it could be surmised that he hadn't even recognized the enormous orange lump beside her as a pumpkin. He worked his jaw. "You think you carried this thing? Now I know you been drinking. You're coming with me—"

He was cut off by a growl. Booger's hackles bristled like porcupine spines.

"You touch her and I'll bite your hand clean off," the dog snarled.

"Booger!" Tilly lunged to hook two fingers under her collar before Booger could make good on her threat. "I'm mighty sorry, officer, she's just—"

"—Part Wolf." At some point, the officer had moved to give the pair a wide berth, fingers clenched around the sliver of belt visible beneath his big belly. "You best get a muzzle on her, girly. There's a law protecting folks against dogs that bite. Half-breeds are considered especially dangerous."

Tilly seemed to look past him. "Don't I know it."

"Let's get a move on." The officer's comb moustache gave a twitch. He took another puff of his cigarette. "There's a nice, clean cot for you in the jail."

"If you insist, officer, but first let me get my pumpkin." Before the officer could protest, Tilly was already shouldering Mr. Tubbington with a grunt. There was a shudder of leaves as the top of the pumpkin brushed the lowest boughs of the maple. She looked up at the officer expectantly from beneath the shadow of the gourd. "Well? We going?"

The cigarette dangled from his slack mouth before dropping to the ground. He gaped, color rapidly leaving his face. "—N-no, miss, I reckon that'll be all. Y'all have a nice day."

"Thank you kindly, sir. You too." Tilly took a gangly step towards the fair before something stopped her. "Oh, and officer?"

"Yes'm?"

Tilly smiled sympathetically, eyes dipping down to the smoke rising from the dry grass beneath his heeled boots. "Your pants leg is on fire."

His eyes widened. "Consarnit—"

They left him, swearing and stamping in the dirt.

It was still too early for many of the carnival workers, sleeping off a night of drinking and revelry inside a smattering of chrome trailers and patchwork tents just outside of the fairgrounds. But there was a flicker of movement from the windows of the concession stands and teams of men worked frantically on getting the rides operational. Puffs of steam from a gleaming brass calliope joined the smell of popcorn and hotdogs in the air.