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“I don’t know about this,” said Newt, shivering. He’d had to get his Halloween costume suddenly, at Anathema’s insistence, and the only thing the shop had for cheap was a thin pumpkin costume. It was bright orange and kids loved it, but it was dusk in late autumn. “What did you say this was for, again?”
Anathema paused just past the gate of the cemetery and turned to him impatiently. “It’s Samhain. The perfect time for powerful spellwork.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him onward.
The cemetery appeared to be deserted. There was just a small crescent moon that night, which provided just enough light to make you see shadows everywhere, shadows that could possibly have been moving. Newt had seen a lot of things! He wouldn’t put it past shadows in a graveyard to be moving!
And also, he managed to trip on a gravestone.
“It’s just,” he said nervously, scrambling back to his feet, “I thought you said we were going to a Halloween party?”
“We’ll have our own party,” Anathema said with a mysterious smile.
Anathema had apparently had time to plan her costume because she was dressed as a black cat, in warm-looking leather pants, a short wool coat, a pair of ears on a headband, and a tail that was rather distracting, to be quite honest.
In the costume, the effect of her words was… warming. Newt felt rather warm suddenly, regardless of the weather.
But still: they were in a cemetery.
“Anathema, I really don’t know about this—”
“Here we are!”
In between two rows of gravestones, and hemmed in by two large tombs, was a private little nook. It was lit by a dozen candles including a jack o’lantern carved with a friendly-looking ghost. In the middle a quilt was spread out, piled with pillows and blankets and a large picnic basket.
“Now that I gave you a little scare… here’s your treat.”
Anathema kissed Newt on the cheek and tugged him forward to sit. There was an extra-large bag of candy corn alongside two wrapped-up sandwiches and a bottle of champagne.
“This is… amazing,” he stuttered. “You planned all this?”
“I plan everything,” she reminded him.
She laid down on a pile of pillows and handed Newt another thick quilt, which he spread out over them. From the basket she produced plates and glasses, and they began their feast.
They watched the stars and chatted about work and friends and family, and also argued briefly about whose television show was ridiculous and whose was pretentious, and they ended up kissing, the darkness held back by careful planning and candlelight.
Later, Anathema managed to convince Newt that they absolutely weren’t going to get caught, and she had extra blankets, and it was in fact a very good idea to take off their costumes and have a little more fun in the privacy of the cluster of gravestones.
And it was a good idea, in fact, and so it was that a while later Anathema was pulling her jumper and coat back on, and Newt was putting his pumpkin costume back on, when he realized—
“Weren’t you going to do a spell tonight?”
“Three spells, actually,” Anathema replied. She pulled one of her notebooks out of the basket and started scribbling something. “This is part of it.”
Newt sat up in surprise. “Did we just have sex for your spell?”
“Of course not,” she said, eyes still on her page. “One of the spells just requires spending time with someone you love, under the moon.”
“Not much of a moon,” Newt pointed out.
“It’ll do. I will have to sacrifice some of your blood, though,” Anathema said without looking up.
“What?!”
Anathema laughed hard enough she had to put her pen down. Newt dragged her back into his arms and under the covers, where they stayed until Anathema did, actually, have to go sacrifice a small flask of wine she’d brought for that purpose.
It was a perfect night.