Page 109 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

We watch in amazement as his pupils dilate in real time and he sways on his platform heels.

“Are you okay?” Targan asks in alarm.

Max hiccups again. “I think maybe this cider has been spiked.” He gets a dreamy look on his face. “But I feeeeel fantastic.”

Before we can stop him, he drains his cup and tosses it in a nearby garbage can.

“Oh dear,” Hal murmurs, twisting his hands in obvious worry. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’m getting flashbacks to Gnome Burning Man,” I say in agreement.

Max waves his baton and announces in an airy voice, “In fact, I have the sudden urge to break out into song and dance.”

“What is happening right now?” Targan asks, trying to take hold of Max, who squirms out of his grip with a giggle.

“I’m starting to think some psychedelic apples got into the cider,” I say.

Hal pales. “I think you’re right.”

Dancing away from us, Max starts belting out a tune like he’s auditioning for a Broadway musical.

“Is he singing… ‘Tale as Old as Time’ from Beauty and the Beast?” I ask.

“So it would seem,” Hal says. “And he’s doing a fantastic job. His voice is quite lovely.”

“That it is,” Targan agrees, smiling besottedly at his man.

“And perfect for the stage,” I add. “Max can project.”

“Hmm. I think Ryder told me Max did musical theater in his teen years, so that would explain how he’s such a natural,” Hal says.

None of us can take our eyes off Max as he starts to dance and sing down the street, managing to draw others into the song with him. Targan follows after his husband, a bewitched look on his face, Princess Peach curled up in one arm.

“We need to find Laurelis. I think she was going to set up her stand by the town fountain,” Hal tells me. “If it’s the cider, we need to stop selling it before more folks can drink it.”

Making our way through the crowd isn’t exactly easy though. Everyone and their brother wants to stop and chat with Hal. And my big sasquatch sweetie naturally has to talk with each and every one of them as we go. I use my Brooklyn bluntness to put that to an end and tell folks we can’t stop to chitchat right now, then drag Hal with me in the direction of the fountain.

When we get to her stand, we hurriedly pull her aside for a private conversation.

“Did Max buy cider from you a minute ago?” Hal asks.

She smiles. “Yes, he did. Said it was even better than the cup he had yesterday.”

I point to the half-full jug of cider she’s still holding in her hand. “And is that the same container you poured his drink from?”

She gives me a puzzled look. “It is, why?”

“It’s very important, Laurelis. How many other people have you sold cider to from this jug?” Hal asks.

“A few,” she says, frowning. “You two are officially making me nervous now. Whatever’s the matter?”

A centaur in the crowd suddenly starts singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Cats. He is not as on-key as Max, unfortunately. And the occasional neighing between verses is quite the trip.

I wince. “Um, so it seems like a few psychedelic apples may have made it into this batch of cider, and… well… it seems to be intoxicating people and making them sing… show tunes… whether or not they can truly sing.”

Maybe they were gay psychedelic apples?

“Oh, my,” Laurelis says, her green face going pale.