Chapter 7
Russo's Resilience
As the moon's influence grows, a strange, dark energy begins to affect the village. Russo Baby Bears, however, seems unusually unaffected, displaying a surprising resistance.
The air in Willow Creek had started to feel… thick. Not like humidity thick, more like someone had blown a giant, dusty lungful of gloom right into our faces. Everywhere I looked, people were sighing more, their shoulders slumped like they were carrying invisible sacks of grumpy rocks. Even Mrs. Higgins, who usually greeted everyone with a smile so bright it could power a small village, was scowling at her prize-winning petunias. “It’s the moon,” she’d grumbled, her voice raspy. “It’s sucking the joy right out of everything.”
The Spooky Moon, as I’d started calling it in my head, was definitely getting bigger. It hung in the sky like a bruised peach, casting long, eerie shadows that twisted familiar trees into clawing monsters. The whispers about it getting darker and darker, about it stealing all the light, were getting louder too. And naturally, because I’m Amy, the witch who makes glitter spells, everyone was looking at me. Or rather, they were looking past me, their eyes filled with that familiar mixture of pity and disdain. Glitter spells. Honestly.
Baby Blue Bears, bless his tiny, yappy heart, was doing his usual impression of a furry, four-legged alarm system. He’d spotted a particularly wobbly-looking shadow on the side of the bakery and had launched into a tirade of high-pitched barks that could curdle milk. Russo, on the other hand, was perched on the windowsill, his little nose twitching, his gaze fixed on something beyond the encroaching dusk. He usually joined in the chaos, a tiny, yapping echo of Baby Blue Bears’ indignation. But tonight, he was quiet. Too quiet.
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