The whole mess was unnerving, but somehow, as Alex led her through the crowd, Charlotte couldn’t help but feel it was a distant problem, far from this place. The lively accordion-heavy music, bright and happy, churned over the chatter and laughter. Bottles in every conceivable color of glass hung from the tree branches overhead and she thought she saw tiny lights glowing inside of them. It was difficult to tell, in the golden afternoon light. Cheerful, home-spun floral arrangements practically dripped from every stationery surface. Small round tables placed sporadically around the square groaned under the weight of the guests’ heaped plates. People were happy here, celebrating the union of two of their own–eating and drinking and dancing as if the world outside wasn’t going completely bonkers. And it was a relief to feel like she was a tiny part of it.

“So how dramatic of a population increase are we talking here?” Charlotte asked.

“Well, we’ve had about forty ‘outsiders’ move here since the incident. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s about forty times the normal number of people who choose to move here in an average year. Aside from League employees who have been assigned to the Bayou, that is. There are no rental properties to be had in town. Most of them are living in an ‘impromptu’ RV park on the end of Main Street. We have good reason to believe that’s not going to slow down,” Alex said.

Charlotte hummed in agreement. Since the release of Jillian’s book, humans seemed to think that (Name Redacted) Bayou was a sort of supernatural Disneyland, where they could find answers for all of the universe’s big questions or just live out their lifelong dream of seeing a Sasquatch. And supernatural creatures saw it as a chance to settle into the sort of life they’d always dreamed of, accepted and “normal” and living with people who understood their unique situations. Most of the changes the League made to the “public” version of the book were aimed at protecting the anonymity of the town and its residents, but … well, the internet existed. Frankly, Charlotte was surprised the town wasn’t overrun.

She spotted the bridal couple, posing for a wedding party portrait in front of a carved stone fountain. The fountain featured an assortment of mythical creatures sheltered under the wings of a dragon. Jillian was wearing a long-sleeved white lace dress with an empire waist, that only served to emphasize the curve of her belly, which she was happily stroking. The bridesmaids were wearing white dresses remarkably similar to Jillian’s, though their flower crowns were less ornate. The groom was a tall, lean man, hovering over Jillian with an expression that seemed equal parts joy and anxiety.