Inside, a tunnel of fabric and fake webbing had been erected, and eerie music was softly playing, an underlying reminder of the holiday's inherent scariness. Mandy and another girl sat in witch costumes at the ticket-table, chatting. Mandy's hair was smooth and healthier looking, a shade or three darker. She looked great.

I offered her my ticket. She accepted it, and stamped my hand with a black pumpkin. "When you pass this doorway," she said mysteriously, "you are entering another world."

The other girl added, "The world between."

"Do you understand?" Mandy asked, seriously.

They were surely hinting at the decor, theme, and tone of the party. Along with the soft music, they set the mood. "I do. Thank you, Mandy."

She squinted at me. "Who are you?"

"Persephone."

"Oh! I wouldn't have known! Wow, you look awesome!"

"Thanks. You too. You doing all right?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Hunter's not been a bitch like I expected at all. She's been… fantastic, actually."

"I really like your hair; it looks great."

"Hunter. She took me to a salon and had them do something, and it's like hair again. Not straw."

"It suits you."

"Have a Ball."

At the end of the tunnel, the doorway was covered with layers of dark gray cheesecloth. Fake fog curled underneath. I brushed the strips aside with my hand to enter. They felt like a mummy's wrappings would feel, dry and brittle, despite the cold dankness the fog machines created.

Immediately past the entry, wrought-iron fencing had been erected. Glowing jack-o'-lanterns peered eerie faces through the fog. The din of voices seemed far away. The walkway ended in tall iron pillars adorned with fodder-shocks and more pumpkins.

I emerged into the Covenstead's Great Hall and was awestruck. Before me was the pentagram on the floor, with the five pinpoints of light shining down from the ceiling to highlight each point on the star. Beyond it was more iron fencing, shorter, maybe two feet high, with eight-foot-tall candelabra spaced along it. Each held three pillar candles: one white, one red, one black. There were more carved pumpkins glowing along the fence, bright-colored leaves scattered around, and baskets of red and yellow mums. The center section had a double gate thoroughly covered in creepy webbing, but there were arches along the way to allow people to wander through.

Beyond the fencing was a stage, set for a band. Cauldrons sat to the far right and far left, and each had rows of large pumpkins encircling its base, cut to look like licking flames. Smaller pumpkins, also cut to resemble fire, sat inside the larger shells, completing the look of brewing cauldrons. Fog billowed up and over the cauldron edges, rolling across the stage and spilling down on the floor. To either side of the drum riser, someone had stacked pumpkins with wolf faces carved into them.

"Persephone! I'm so glad to see you!" I turned to see Hunter approaching dressed as Isis, but without the enormous horned-disc headdress the Egyptian goddess was usually portrayed wearing. Her gold-accented white gown was flowing and feminine. In the darkened room—which I realized then had some black lights added in the domed ceiling—the white gown glowed slightly, ethereal and ghostly. A golden mask was tucked into a jeweled belt.

"How'd you know it was me?" I asked. "Mandy didn't recognize me."

"Mandy doesn't know about your scraped knuckles."

I glanced down. The bell sleeves stopped just above the scrapes. Under the strange lights, the scabs seemed more prominent. "True. You did an incredible job decorating the Covenstead."

"I love that choker."

"Thanks." Glancing around, I asked, "Who carved all the pumpkins?"

"We had a community-welcome pumpkin carving last night. One of the coven members bought hundreds of pumpkins. Another donated carving kits. We had people come in with their kids. They carved two pumpkins each, took one, left one, and poof, we have decor. Plus we had a fun event for families. Tonight's for the grownups only, of course. Come with me to the photo op?"

"The what?"

"I want a picture." She took my arm and led me toward the east-side doors where a backdrop was set with hay bales and more pumpkins and corn and fake crows, more flowers, webs, and glistening lights under more fog. There were people waiting in line for the photographer to take their photos.

"Wow, you've had some great ideas here. A band, even."

"Yeah. I'm so excited. I've been lucking out. One of the coven members donated two hundred caramel apples. Even the liquor in the cash bar was donated. I came up with the idea for the table arrangements, but volunteers just kept showing up to put them together. I know these wealthier members making donations aren't sure where they stand with Vivian missing, but, hey, it's still help. I appreciate it. Some of the locals who drifted away to be solitaries have offered up some interesting details about my predecessor."

"Where'd you get the band?"

"Even that was a lucky fluke. When I called the radio station to tell them about the Ball and ask them to mention it, I asked if they knew of a good band that might be available. The DJ told me about this local group who were just showcased at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland. I called the contact number he gave me and they didn't have a Hallowe'en gig."

I stared at her open mouthed. "Lycanthropia?"

"How'd you know?"

I pulled Hunter aside. "The name's not just a gimmick, you know. They're waerewolves. The ritual—"

"Relax. I know. They're playing a set at ten, and another, shorter set at eleven. They'll be gone before the ritual even begins. We planned time for them to vacate the premises." She stepped back into line. "You've seen them?"

"Yeah," I said. "I went to the Rock Hall showcase." Johnny must have settled things with Erik. Or maybe not. Weren't bands notorious for playing gigs while hating each other?

"I never would have guessed you'd be into that kind of thing."

We moved up as the line progressed. I shrugged. Opening my mouth would have revealed more than was necessary.

"If you've seen them, then you know the singer is hot." She overemphasized the T. "They were here setting up and doing sound check earlier and, wow." Hunter leaned closer. "Lydia insisted they were loud and filthy, but after the radio stations started announcing the band was playing here tonight, the online ticket sales zoomed. We're going to be packed!" She studied the area behind us. "I should've had more tables."

To either side of the long entry were tables, each with black cloth, a wisp of webbing glowing under the blacklights, and a raised circle with black candles and gourds over purple, red, and orange mums.

The tables were mostly filled already. Costumed people—young and old—laughed and talked over their beverages. There was free punch and a cash bar had been stationed in front of the west-side doors.

The media crews were set up on the catwalk over the north entry, cameras aimed at the stage. "Media coverage, radio, online ticket sales. You're going to make this work, Hunter. Congratulations." I couldn't have come up with all these ideas.

"My predecessor had a fabulous list of contacts," she said as the line moved again. "She may have flaked out and disappeared, but she was organized."

I could see how that would be like a roadmap to success for someone with Hunter's skills. All I knew about her test for dealing with a threat from the vampires was that, as the voting went afterward, I'd won that round. Eventually she would face real adversity—something more than scheduling a band or a last-minute caterer. Then we—the coven members and solitaries—would see what Hunter was really made of. When the time came, I felt certain we'd all be proud of her. "I'm glad the locals are coming back. That's very encouraging."