 
# TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

St. Claws—Alan Nayes

Snow Whisperers—Lizzy Ford

Saving Grace—Julia Crane

O Christmas Cactus, O Christmas Cactus—M. Edward McNally

Fred's Best Christmas—P.J. Jones

Fresh Snow—Talia Jager

Let's Ride—Shéa Macleod

A Very Shero Christmas—Jack Wallen

The Darkest Night—Heather Marie Adkins

About the Indie Eclective

# The Holiday Collection

by

### The Indie Eclective

Copyright © 2011 by The Indie Eclective

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

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The nine authors in this collection retain and hold their individual respective rights to their stories.

Cover Art by Jack Wallen

# St. Claws

Alan Nayes

Matt Haskel glanced at the sheet of paper filled with one line fortunes. Today buy a gift. You will find a lucky wreath. Listen to the reindeer outside your window.

"Where'd Gino find this clown?" he mumbled to himself. Impatiently, he read the remaining fortunes and pushed the sheet aside. For some reason, the last one seemed to crawl under his skin. When the elves come to your home, let them in.

"Suwyn," he called toward the open door. His office was directly upstairs from the plant where FAR WEST FORTUNE COOKIES were manufactured. He waited a moment and shouted louder. "Suwyn." The man had been hired a few weeks ago and was supposed to be only a consultant—at least that's what Gino Pellete, the owner, had told him.

When no one appeared, Matt rose. He took a step toward the plant entrance just as a thin Asian rushed into his office.

The shorter man bowed. "Yes sir?" he said deferentially.

Matt motioned him in. "Suwyn, sit, please." He returned to his desk and waited for the consultant to take a chair. The man remained standing.

"Sit. We have to talk."

"I stand."

"Whatever." Matt slipped the paper in front of him. "Suwyn, what are these?"

"Fortunes."

"Fortunes? 'Buy a gift', 'lucky wreaths', 'reindeer'? Where is the material I've been writing—people want to read about the stock market, winning the lottery, hell, getting laid." Did the Asian just blush? Matt shook his head.

Suwyn grinned. "Mine poplar in China."

"We aren't in China." Matt lifted the paper, wincing. Heck, the man couldn't even speak proper English. "Elves?"

"It Christmas time soon, Mr. Matt."

Matt almost said I don't give a flip about Christmas, but held his tongue. He forced a smile. "Suwyn, FAR WEST ships our product all over the world. We need fortunes that will be relevant well into the new year—not just during the holidays. Our shelf life is nine months. Wreaths, elves?"

The Asian just stood there with that big grin. Momentarily, Matt sensed he was being laughed at. "Just leave, I'll write another batch," he said quickly, before he became angry.

Suwyn bowed and said, "They good, yes, Mr. Matt?"

And this was Mr. Pellete's consultant? Matt nodded weakly. "I'll take care of the one-liners for this shipment."

The Asian bowed and then stepped out.

Matt crumpled up the paper, then tossed the discarded fortunes in the trash can with a nice hook shot just as the interplant phone buzzed. He noted the blinking light. Now what did the boss want?

He punched the button. "Hi, Mr. Pellete."

"Matt, I need to have a word with you."

"Sir, I'm having a little issue with that new consultant—"

"That can wait."

Suddenly, Matt didn't like the boss's tone. "You mean now, Sir?"

"Now."

* * *

Matt sat sullenly in his cramped apartment living room watching the reruns from last weekend's football games. How could December go to shit so fast? One day he's running the design and shipping department of an up and coming southern California confectionary company and the next he's home sulking in front of his computer creating resumes and sending them out by the boatload. He sipped some more of the beer—his fourth of the day and it wasn't even mid-afternoon yet. Things weren't looking good. No job, holiday bills threatening to inundate the Haskel household, and the biggest blow—his and Jenny's loan application had been rejected once the bank discovered he'd joined the ranks of the unemployed. Happy holidays, bro. His eyes glazed over while ESPN broke for a commercial. "No," Matt moaned. Of all things, some teenage X Games star was demonstrating the SuperScooter. That's all Billy, his eight year old, had been talking about for the last year. Price tag—a measly five hundred bills. In frustration, he muted the volume. The silence only brought back the conversation as he called it. Four weeks had done nothing to mitigate the sense of despair and self-loathing.

"Matt," Gino had said. "Suwyn's company has made a bid for FAR WEST FORTUNE COOKIES."

"You got to be kidding, Mr. Pellete."

But Mr. Pellete had been deadly serious. Because it was nearing Christmas, the Chinese company had made a very generous holiday offer—as the Chinese execs had phrased it—and Gino Pellete had accepted. Of all the irony, Suwyn—who couldn't pen an American cookie fortune if his future depended on it—had issued Matt his walking papers. "Merry holidays," he'd wished. Matt gulped the remainder of the beer down. He couldn't resist pondering if he'd spent more time at work and less with his family, maybe they would have thought him more valuable and kept him on. Yeah, Suwyn, thanks a lot. Timing couldn't have been worse. Ever try finding a decent job around the holidays? Winning the lottery offered better odds. Four weeks of rejections could take a toll on a guy's ego, not to mention his bank account. Damn, and Jenny had really loved that new kitchen. At least, she had her part-time waitressing job.

Matt heard a car pull into the drive. Quickly, he shut off the television and tossed the beer can in the waste. He didn't need Jenny seeing him pining away, watching football reruns and inebriating himself. He plunked down in front of his computer just as the front door opened.

"Daddy."

Matt looked up feigning surprise as if he'd been working on selling himself all morning. "Heya, sport. Give Daddy a big-boy hug."

With a burst of energy Matt wished he had, the boy leaped into his lap. "Guess what Mommy and me saw."

"I."

"What?"

"Never mind. What did you and Mommy see?" he asked already visualizing the answer in Billy's face.

"A SuperScooter!"

Matt scrunched up his expression. "A SuperScooter—what's that?"

"Daddy!" And they began to play wrestle.

"Billy," a woman's voice called from the hallway. "Come help Mommy in the kitchen and let Daddy work. Then you need to finish packing."

The boy looked up into Matt's face and asked in child-seriousness, "You didn't really forget, did you, Daddy?"

Matt felt another needle puncture his pride. "No, I didn't. We'll see—now go help Mommy," he finished before being bombarded with any more questions.

"I love Christmas!" Billy screeched and raced into the other room, leaving Matt with a sick feeling in his gut. Five hundred freaking dollars.

He turned back to the computer listing of jobs. A secretary, other clerical positions filled the screen. Let Daddy work. That was a joke. He didn't realize he was no longer alone until he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"How's the hunt going?"

Matt just shook his head. "Jen, it's two days before Christmas. I suppose if I put on fifty pounds I could play Santa somewhere." He heard a long tired sigh indicating his cynicism had not gone over well and swiveled around to face his wife. Even when she looked somber, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever kissed. Not that there'd been much of that lately. Losing your job, letting a home deal fall through, and not being able to afford the one gift your only child wanted did little for a guy's confidence. Just get me to the new year, he pleaded silently.

Jenny removed her hand to push a bang of blonde hair off her forehead. "Something will turn up," she remarked, staring at the monitor. "You all packed? We have a long drive tomorrow."

Matt reached for her. "Jenny, I'm not really in the mood to go."

"Matt, we've been over this too many times. I've already promised my parents we would spend the holidays with them at their condo in Mammoth Lakes. They're expecting us. We're going."

"That's just fantastic."

"Please don't be this way. Billy will love the snow."

"And I get to listen to your father tell me about how much money his investments are making. Do your parents know I lost my—"

"I haven't told them. But I know Daddy would lend us some money for a SuperScooter—all I have to do is ask."

"No." He reached again for her but she'd already turned away.

* * *

Matt was satisfied to let Jenny and Billy do all the talking while he drove. Every so often he sensed his wife watching him. He wanted to look over and say something witty—hell, being witty came with creating amusing sayings for cookies—but he couldn't even bring himself to smile. The mood just wasn't there. Listening to the banter, at least two people in the car were in a festive mood. Jenny laughed at something Billy said and her gleeful response evoked mental images of happier times they'd spent together. Their initial introduction had taken place at a roommate's Christmas party of all places. Matt wasn't even going to attend but at the last moment bought a Scrooge mask and showed up. Jenny came as an elf—wow, she'd looked so good in her short green dress, caplet, elf hat and sexy green boots. That had been one of the best evenings of his life. How had things changed so? Well, they had. Working, bills, trying to get a home of their own, Billy—whoa, kids were expensive—and now he'd lost his job and a chance at a new home. How could Jenny not respect him less? And all this crap at Christmas time, too. What he didn't need was having to listen to the financial success stories of his in-laws. Jenny should have realized this but she didn't seem to care. She was correct about one thing, though—Billy would love seeing some snow. Matt would just have to concentrate on that.

Matt glanced at his cell phone on the console. After a month, he still half-expected Mr. Pellete to call and beg him to come back—with a fat raise to boot. No such luck and he admonished himself for his foolishness. Just get me through the holidays. That had become his mantra.

He passed the sign to Independence—good, over halfway. One bit of luck had been the weather. A brittle blue sky and no snow forecast, though he'd brought chains just in case.

"Matt."

He glanced at his wife.

She looked a little perturbed. "You missed the turnoff to Glacier Lodge. I thought that was where we were going to stop for lunch."

Holy smokes, she was right. "I'll take the next exit and double back. Sorry."

"No, let's keep going. We'll lose too much time."

"It'll be fine, Jen. Look, there's an exit up ahead."

"You sure? I don't want to get lost. I don't recall the next exit being this close."

In the back seat, Billy giggled. "Daddy's going to get lost."

"Hey, whose side you on, pardner?" Matt asked, though come to think of it, he didn't recall an exit being here off the 395 either. Not even marked with a sign.

"You and Mommy's side," Billy chortled.

"What a politician." Matt attempted a grin at Jenny but she was too busy looking around her. He slowed and drove off the interstate. The view was fantastic—snow covered peaks, huge Ponderosa pines, and steep verdant ridges that appeared to be decorated with white frosting.

"We're exploring, Mommy," Billy declared from the back seat.

"Yes, honey."

Matt didn't miss his wife's undertone of doubt, though. What, she didn't have faith he could get them back to Glacier Lodge? This he found both unsettling and irritating. He might not be able to hold a job, but at least he could get his wife and son to Jenny's favorite lunch spot on the drive to Mammoth Lakes. They'd dined at the quaint B&B numerous times before. Simple.

And for about fifteen miles it did seem simple. Though the four-lane condensed to two and the concrete became black top, at least they were moving in the right direction. He noticed Jenny shivering. "Want the heater higher?"

She shook her head. "Maybe we should just go back."

"We'll be fine. Glacier Lodge can't be far."

"But—"

"Relax, will you?" His irritation must have shown through because Billy asked, "Daddy, are you angry?"

"No," he said a little sharper than he'd meant and felt Jenny's cold stare.

The black top led into a series of winding switchbacks and suddenly they were no longer heading toward Glacier Lodge, but away.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Matt," Jenny said.

I know, he thought, no cussing in front of Billy. But dammit, he was angry now.

For just an instant, he lost sight of the road when a bright ray of sunshine broke free from the forest canopy. BAMM.

"Shit," he cursed, feeling the car bounce once roughly.

Alarmed, Jenny grabbed his arm. "What was that?"

"Just a pothole," he guessed, but he knew something more serious had happened when he felt the car dragging to his left.

"What's that sound?" Jenny asked.

Matt didn't answer. GRGRGRGRGR. The rough grating sound continued until he braked. "I'll look and see." He saw Jenny reach for her cell phone. "What are you doing?"

"Letting Daddy know we'll be late."

"Come on, it's no big deal." Matt looked toward his son. Billy was frowning. "You okay, pardner?"

He barely nodded. "I want to see Grandma and Grandpa."

"We will, son," Matt said. He heard Jenny's humph.

She dropped her phone in her lap. "That's great. No cell phone reception."

Matt thought it best not to respond immediately. He opened the door, aware of the chill in the air. He figured they'd had a flat—easy enough to remedy—so he walked around the SUV. No flats. When he squatted down to check underneath the vehicle, his heart sunk to his gut. Not this, he winced. The left rear axle was busted and the loose metal edge lay on the asphalt. He stood up, feeling both Jenny's and his son's gaze.

"What's wrong, Matt?" she asked.

"Daddy?"

Matt chose not to look at either one, instead focusing his ire on the nearest ridge. Busted axle in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve day. How much more wonderful could this holiday season get? Just frickin' great.

* * *

"Daddy, I hear bells."

Matt sat on the hood of the SUV staring at the NO SIGNAL icon on his smart phone. For the last hour both he and Jenny had tried calling, but no luck. Unbelievably, not another vehicle had come by either. Everyone home, and he had his family stuck at five thousand feet in the Sierra Nevadas.

"Stay out of the trees, Billy," he heard Jenny warn. Then "Matt, Billy's talking to you."

Matt shoved the phone down in his jacket. "Yeah, what's that, son?"

Billy stood at the edge of the woods. "I hear bells."

Jenny wandered over by the boy. "I hear them, too. Come over here, Matt. Listen."

Matt slid off the hood, gazing at the line of ridges. Why the hell hadn't he listened to Jenny? They'd be almost at Mammoth Lakes by now. Not that he was so eager to get there. Standing beside his wife, he almost reached out and took her hand but thought better of it. Earlier, she'd been fuming but seemed more calm now. Better just let it be. He listened a moment but heard only the wind moving through the evergreens. He noticed isolated patches of snow in the shade.

Both Jenny and Billy watched him.

Matt shook his head. "Only the wind."

"No, Daddy, I hear them."

Jenny agreed. "It's not the wind. I can hear the donging."

Matt began to argue, but just then the breeze touched his face and he suddenly heard the ding-donging, too. "Weird. Out here in the middle of nowhere. They sound too close for Glacier Lodge."

"Is there a town nearby?" Jenny asked.

"Besides Glacier Lodge, none that I'm familiar with."

"There must be, Daddy," Billy put in his two cents worth. "Sounds like they're ringing right beyond that hill."

Jenny agreed. "Matt, maybe they have a mechanic who can fix the car today."

Matt sensed his exasperation building. "Jenny, it's Christmas Eve. No one is going to fix a busted axle the day before Christmas."

That cured any family optimism fast. Matt noticed he'd become quite adept at that lately.

"Matt, you never used to be such a pessimist. You've changed." And Jenny walked back to the SUV.

"Daddy? Is a broken axle bad?" Billy asked, looking very serious.

"We'll get it fixed. Let's go wait by the car."

"If we don't get to Grandpa's for Christmas, will Santa still know where I'll be? I don't want him leaving my SuperScooter somewhere else."

Matt pretended he hadn't heard the SuperScooter comment. That damn toy was like an energy drain on his psyche. Still, five Ben Franklins were just too much. Yet, no way was he going to tell Billy that. And asking Jenny's parents to buy it, then paying them back when he got another job—not an option. He may be unemployed and lost a deal on a new house, but he still had his pride. Now Matt could see a plume of smoke that wasn't there earlier. Some household had a nice fire going. And probably no SuperScooter issues either.

"Daddy. What about my SuperScooter?"

Matt sensed his jaw muscles tense. "Billy—"

A loud honk cut him off. Matt watched in virtual disbelief as the truck rounded the far curve and drove their way. "Come on, Billy," and he ran over to meet the tow truck.

While Matt, Jenny, and Billy watched, Purvis hooked the SUV up with chains and winched the rear wheels off the road.

"Where will you tow it?" Matt asked imagining the monster tow bill. Glacier Falls had to be at least twenty miles. He would put his AAA to work.

"Not far, less than half a mile to town."

Jenny commented. "We heard the bells."

"Yes ma'am. The town bells chime whenever someone is lost." Seeing Jenny's worried expression, he quickly added with grin. "Not to worry. Just an old custom before Christmas. This is some pretty desolate country and long ago, the bells would chime so folks could find a place to celebrate together. Once everyone was accounted for the bells would stop and the folks would gather in the square and sing. We get some real whiteouts some winters."

Billy gazed up at the old driver. "So no one is really lost, Mister?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sonny." Yet when Purvis said this Matt couldn't help noticing Purvis's eyes settle on him. Strange little dude.

Matt asked, "What town is this?" He'd pulled the road map out and was scanning the tiny print.

"St. Claws," the driver replied. "C-L-A-W-S," he spelled it.

Matt started to argue. "St. Claws? It's not on the map."

Purvis adjusted the collar on his coat. "Well, sir, I know where I live. If you'd prefer to wait for someone else—"

Jenny cut in. "No, Purvis. We just want the car fixed."

Matt exhaled and glanced at the wounded vehicle, shaking his head. St. Claws. Wonderful. Of all the places to be stranded, it had to be some podunk town hidden in the mountains—heck, the town probably didn't even have a decent mechanic. But what could he do? He was proverbially screwed.

He looked up at Purvis and tacitly nodded.

* * *

"Mommy, look at the lights!" Billy squealed.

"Pretty, aren't they," Jenny commented.

She and Billy sat in the back seat of Purvis's truck while Matt rode up front. He was satisfied to sit in silence and let Jenny and Billy ooh and ah about the towns holiday decorations. All he could think about was how much the damn axle was going to cost to repair. At least the Christmas decorations had taken him out of Jenny's sights during the brief ride into St. Claws. And Billy seemed happy. He glanced back at the SUV. Still secure—good. Purvis pointed out some of the town's landmarks—Dancers Bar and Grill, Prancers Inn, and finally the town square, where a living towering Ponderosa pine was decorated with ornaments and tinsel and lights. There was only the one main street leading to the square and as far as Matt could tell no other exit out of town other than the way they came in. The entire town limits couldn't have been over a single square mile. Several narrow side streets lined with small wood and stone homes spread up into the hillsides, and though they appeared old, still looked well-kempt and all were festively decorated. The townsfolk Matt saw, dressed in winter coats and boots and wool mittens and colorful neck scarves, all appeared busy going about their business, yet he noticed how they would wave at Purvis as the truck went by.

"That building there serves as the town's courthouse and church," Purvis explained taking a circular route around the tree.

The grey stone edifice was the only three-story structure in town and on top was constructed a steeple that held the bells.

"They aren't that loud this close," Jenny remarked, though to Matt they sure weren't helping his headache. Ding-dong, ding-dong.

"Nope," Purvis replied. "Most folks don't even notice them."

Yeah, right, Matt thought.

"Gosh, Mister, how tall is that Christmas tree?" Billy asked, sticking his head partway out the window and staring up.

"Over a hundred feet. Grows a couple feet each year."

"Daddy, I can see lights and ornaments way at the top. How did they get up so high?"

"Elves," Matt muttered, and Billy and Purvis laughed, though Matt hadn't tried to be funny. He caught Jenny's cool stare and realized she hadn't missed his thinly veiled cynicism.

Purvis slowed and pointed to a quaint little shop with decorated windows just down from the inn. "That's Vixens. In case you need to do some last minute shopping. Have some nice knick-knacks most folks find interesting."

Matt just shook his head. "You got to be kidding. You have Dancers and Prancers and Vixens. Can you just get us to the mechanic? We're somewhat time constrained."

"Where were you folks going?" Purvis asked.

"To visit my parents in Mammoth Lakes," Jenny replied from the backseat.

"Ah, real nice there. And only 'bout ninety minutes from St. Claws. When I was—"

"The mechanic," Matt interrupted.

Purvis looked over at him. "But we're here."

"Where?" Matt asked, chagrined. The tow truck had parked in front of a small red brick building with an open two car garage, minus any cars. Like every other structure in St. Claws, the windows were frosted in bright colors and a string of blinking lights hung along the eaves. But no hydraulic lift or hoists or any other repair equipment one would expect in a mechanic's shop. "Where's the mechanic?" Matt asked perturbed.

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes sir." Purvis opened the door and climbed out. "Don't you worry too much. It's the day before Christmas so I'm not too busy. I'll see what I can do."

"The SUV's got a busted axle. Where's your tools?"

"No problem. I'll get some help."

"Jesus." Matt shook his head in exasperation. He pulled out his cell and tried dialing again. "Damn, still no signal."

"Yup, with them mountains all around, St. Claws is pretty locked in."

Jenny eyed Matt. "Who were you trying to call? My father?"

"We don't need your father. AAA. See if I can arrange a tow to Glacier Lodge. They'll have someone better equipped to handle this situation."

"Matt, we're already here. Besides, I didn't renew the membership after you lost your job."

He glared at her. "Now you tell me."

"Daddy, it's okay," Billy offered.

"No it's not okay," he snapped, immediately regretting it. But nothing was okay. It was all crap actually—the busted axle, the holidays, having to see Jenny's parents and admitting he'd been laid off. He could hear his father-in-law now. 'Told ya, Matt. No money in fortunes'—then he'd laugh at his own pun. Yeah, real funny.

Purvis stood by the winch. "Look folks, why don't you walk on over to Prancers Inn. Maggie there will give you a room for cheap while I work. Stroll around St. Claws. We have a pretty special little village here. Oh and don't neglect our beautiful tree."

Matt shoved his hands in his pockets. "How much you think?" he asked, motioning impatiently to the SUV.

"For what?"

"How much to repair the axle?" Was this guy slow on the take?

Purvis chewed his lower lip a moment. "That depends."

"On what. It's an axle for Godsakes."

"On what all needs to be done."

Matt exhaled, sensing his frustration mounting. "Just do what you can," then looking at Jenny, "I'll head over to Prancers and see about a room."

Jenny took Billy's hand and started after him. She stopped after a few steps and turned. "Purvis, I'm really sorry about Matt. It's just that, well, this last month has not been real good for him, or us." She shrugged and added, "Thanks for your help. I realize it's a lot to ask of someone—working on Christmas Eve."

The diminutive driver simply nodded and said, "That's why I'm here, ma'am."

* * *

Maggie was frumpy, dumpy, but had a pleasant smile. "It's been awhile since Prancers Inn had guests over the holidays," she commented, showing Matt and Jenny a small room they could keep some of their belongings in while the SUV was worked on. "Plan on staying long?"

"No," they both replied in near unison.

Billy ran past the travel bags to the window. Pulling the drapes aside, he shouted with glee. "Mommy, you can see the giant Christmas tree!"

Maggie smiled and clapped her palms together. "Just holler if you need anything." Then she left them alone.

Matt reclined back on the double bed, locking his palms behind his head. He hadn't done anything all day except drive, yet he felt like he'd just run a marathon. He had no energy. And didn't Jenny and Billy notice how stifling the room felt? He closed his eyes but sat up when he heard Jenny pick up the Inn phone.

"Now who are you calling?" he asked pointedly, only because he knew.

She didn't look at him. "Daddy."

"Figures."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She was letting it ring. Matt watched her sit on the edge of the bed and frown, before she said, "Oh hi, Maggie. I was trying to call Mammoth Lakes." Another pause and a deeper frown. "I see," she said and replaced the receiver.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Billy had taken a seat on Matt's overnight bag.

"No landline service either," Jenny explained in obvious disappointment. "Maggie says a storm knocked down some lines last week but they should be repaired right after Christmas."

Matt groaned. "Last week, and they're still down. I can just imagine how long it's going to be before the SUV is drivable. We'll be stuck here until New Years."

"Well, there are worse places. St. Claws is pretty," Jenny offered. "And try not to be so rude to Purvis. He's doing his best."

"It's not good enough."

"What's your problem, Matt? No one's blaming you for what happened."

"If you hadn't made such a big deal about lunch in Glacier Lodge—"

"Whoa, are you blaming me?"

Matt ignored her and closed his eyes. Those damn bells sounded like they were donging between his ears. "Gawd, those freaking bells are irritating."

Jenny cast a quick glance at Billy and shrugged. "I can barely hear them," she said.

"Me, too, Daddy. I kind of like them," Billy added.

Matt just shook his head. "Wonder what the cost will be for the axle?"

"It's not a big deal. The important thing is we're all safe and together," Jenny said.

Matt sat up suddenly. "The heck 'it's not a big deal'. Our savings are depleted, we're late on rent, I don't even own my own house, and if Purvis doesn't take a credit card—which by the way are maxed out—the Haskels will be in deep—" He caught Billy's gaze and cut himself off.

Jenny rose and walked over to the window. "Daddy will help out."

Matt flung himself back down on the pillow. "No he won't."

"If we ask him."

"We're not going to ask him."

"Matt, what's wrong with you?" She stood watching him, slowly shaking her head. "Is it us—Billy and I? Have we become a burden? All you seem to dwell on lately is money."

"That's because we don't have any."

"Matt, I don't think I like you like this. It's Christmas season. Have you forgotten?"

"Is that supposed to be a joke? You know what Christmas means—spending, that's what. Gifts, travel, donations, more gifts."

"Daddy, is Santa still going to bring me my SuperScooter?" Billy asked.

"Billy, please don't mention that stupid SuperScooter now."

"Matt!" Jenny scolded him sharply.

He laid back with his eyes closed.

"Billy and I are going out to look at all the decorations," Jenny said after a long pause.

"Fine."

"You want to come with us?"

Matt didn't want to meet either's gaze so he stared at the ceiling. "I'll meet you by the big tree later. Think I'll go check on the SUV."

He waited until he heard the door close before rising. What the hell had just happened? A burden. Maybe Jenny had it wrong. Maybe he'd become the burden.

* * *

Matt watched from the room's window as Jenny and Billy walked down the sidewalk. He saw Jenny hold out both palms and laugh and watched Billy clap and jump in the air. What...then he saw the tiny flakes coasting down around them. Clouds had moved in and it was snowing. Great. All their little trip needed was a blizzard. The weather forecast hadn't mentioned any snow.

Jenny spoke briefly to another couple coming the other way, then she and Billy crossed the street toward the huge Christmas tree. Matt grabbed his jacket and exited the inn, trudging in the direction of Purvis's garage. He ignored the light snow mist. If those stupid church bells would just cease, he knew his headache would lessen. Fat chance of that happening.

He spotted the tow truck and the SUV parked in the garage. But any hope of a quick repair vanished when he saw the bent axle tip hanging from under the chassis as before. He glanced at his watch, the one Jenny had given him their second Christmas together. Definitely better times. The SUV had been in Purvis's possession for over an hour and not a damn thing had been done. Not even a winch was visible. He sensed his frustration grow. Not that he wanted to get to Mammoth Lakes so bad but Jenny and Billy did, and for a while earlier he'd entertained the idea if Purvis could get them on the road again in four hours, they could still make it to Jenny's parents for a late Christmas Eve. Crap. Wasn't going to happen except by miracle.

He approached the front door of the house adjacent to the mechanic's garage. Ignoring the holiday wreath, he rapped on the wood a few times and rang the doorbell. Nothing. "Purvis," he called out. No reply. "Shit," he muttered, stomping away.

From the sidewalk, he gazed back toward the decorated tree, but didn't see Jen or Billy. The snow continued to fall lightly. He blinked a few flakes from his eyes and debated returning to the inn. Maybe they'd gone back when the snow hadn't let up.

Their room was vacant. Where the hell were they? His stomach growling reminded him of the reason he had taken the ill-fated detour. Glacier Lodge and a meal. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. What had Purvis said about a restaurant—"Dancers", he suddenly remembered. Bar and Grill. Only an imbecile could forget a name like that in a town called St. Claws. He guessed that's where Jenny and Billy were—eating lunch. Thanks for coming to get me, Jen.

He cut across the square toward the bar, hiking right past the huge Christmas tree. Hell, a good stiff drink couldn't hurt.

DANCER'S BAR AND GRILL was lit up with blinking colored lights.

As soon as Matt opened the door, he heard someone call out, "Matt Haskel."

Matt looked behind the bar. A big burly old dude with a thick white beard and dressed in overalls waved him over. "Come on in."

Matt paused. "Do I know you?" he asked warily.

A grin the size of Texas spread across the bartender's face. "We've been waiting for you, son."

* * *

Matt gazed hard at the guy—or sure he'd never seen him before. Was this some kind of joke? He wasn't in the mood unless the dude could pull a brand new shiny SUV axle out from under the counter. He glanced at the juke box where an old Bobby Helms' rendition of Jingle Bell Rock was playing. Other than the bartender, no other locals were present. About what he'd expect on Christmas Eve. The place was empty.

"What's your flavor?" the bartender asked while polishing a glass.

"My flavor?" Matt repeated.

"Yeah, what can I pour you?"

Matt took a step toward the bar, then stopped. "Maybe, later. Gotta find my wife and kid," he said, though he couldn't deny a cold beer and a couple of tequila shooters didn't sound half bad. He needed something to make him forget the last couple of hours—better yet, the last entire month. Where the crap had Jen and Billy run off too anyway?

As if reading his mind, the big bartender gestured toward an open doorway. "Try the Grill in the next room."

"Sure." He began to move, and stopped. For just a moment he experienced the strangest feeling he was standing thigh-deep in heavy snow drifts—his legs turning cold, his toes numbed—then the sensation passed. Whoa, he muttered. Maybe he would take that drink after lunch. He walked to the doorway and paused when he spotted Jenny and Billy seated in a booth. All he could see were the backs of their heads.

"Damn," Matt murmured as he watched Jenny talking on her cell phone. So she had found a signal. He sensed his face flush with anger knowing full well who she was talking to. He could easily imagine the conversation—We need some money, Daddy. Matt busted an axle on the SUV, we failed to qualify for a home, we're stranded in St. Claws, a little shit town in the mountains—well, she probably wouldn't be saying shit town—but for sure the conversation would eventually get around to borrowing some cash for Billy's SuperScooter, and then the clincher. Daddy, can you drive down and pick Billy and I up while Matt waits on the SUV? Bullcrap. No way was he going to let that happen.

For an instant, he pictured himself sauntering across the sawdust hardwood floor and yanking the damn phone out of Jenny's hand. He closed his eyes and counted to five. No, that wasn't going to happen either. Why did all this shit have to happen over the holidays? Come to think of it, maybe he would let her rich daddy drive down and get them. Then Matt wouldn't have to feel so burdened.

He turned and approached the bar, choosing a bar stool where he could keep one eye on the Grill exit.

"A change of heart, eh?" the bartender said. "What'll it be?"

"Something to stop those damn bells."

"My ears must be getting senile, I can barely hear 'em."

"Try sitting on my side of the bar." Matt quipped sarcastically. He couldn't help noticing the small decorated Christmas tree mounted next to the register and his mood sank lower. "Give me a Corona with lemon and a shot of Patrón."

He watched the big man open a refrig and pull out a cold beer and pop the top.

"How'd you know my name?" Matt asked.

"I know everybody that comes to St. Claws. I'm the town's founder."

"Whoopee-do. Everybody?"

"Yup." He poured a double shot from the Patrón bottle.

"My wife and boy?"

"Jenny and Billy."

Matt eyed the man suspiciously. "This is getting weird. Where's my tequila?" As soon as the double shot was in reach, Matt downed it in one swallow, breathed out forcefully, then dropped the shot glass back on the bar. "Man, I needed that."

Matt checked the exit—still no Jenny or Billy—and went back to staring at the old man as he adjusted a big red ornament on the little tree. "I know...it was Purvis," he said.

The bartender replied, "Purvis?"

"Yeah, Purvis told you. If you and him are so close, why don't you suggest he get busy on my SUV."

"We're working on your problem."

"We?" He motioned for another shot. "What's your name—and don't tell me Santa."

The bartender moved the Patrón aside and reached under the counter, removing a dark bottle with no label. He popped the cork and filled the shot glass. "Rudolph," he said. "Rudolph Claws."

Matt grimaced. "Rudolph. That's as bad as Santa." He stared at the bottle. It looked awfully old, if it's scratched surface was any indication. No chips or cracks, though. "What's that you're serving me?"

"You'll like it—much smoother than Patrón."

"Nothing's smoother than Patrón." Matt lifted the glass and sniffed the amber liquid. Well. Maybe this was. He met the burly old man's eyes. "This does smell good. Different. Kind of fruity, but not fruity." He took a taste test. "Strong. What is it?"

"A well fermented liquor—ships in from way up north. Only use it on special occasions."

Matt emptied the glass and shook his head vigorously. "Shit, Rudolph. Umm...that was good. Fill 'er up again."

The bartender recorked the bottle and replaced it under the counter. "One per customer."

"Figures—I get to liking something and then it's taken away." He swigged some of the Corona. "What's with this town anyway? St. Claws, Prancers Inn, Dancers Bar and Grill, Vixens, Rudolph with your nose so bright. Crap."

The big old man crossed his thick arms across his chest. "Mind if I ask you something, Matt?"

"Ask away. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

"What do you have against Christmas?"

Matt's eyes narrowed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll tell you, Rudolph." Matt finished the beer ignoring the buzz in his ears. At least the bells didn't sound as loud. "Five weeks ago I was pulling down over eighty grand a year managing a fortune cookie manufacturer. I wrote fortunes, damn good ones—real witty. Then, because of Christmas, some Chinese corporation decides to dole out some holiday spirit and buy the company. Happy holidays, Matt Haskel, you're out of a job. Ever try going job hunting during the fricking holidays? That's one fortune I never would have written. So with no employment, I lose the option to buy a house. Jenny's angry. No new house, so I get to spend the holidays with my in-laws who'll have no shortage of advice on how to make my life better. Last thing I want to hear. You see, they got what I don't have—money. Not to mention all the gifts, spending, traveling, rude people, Billy wants this five hundred dollar toy because it's Christmas. That's it, I rest my case, counselor—no Christmas, I have my job back, I afford a house, Jenny's no longer angry, Billy gets his SuperScooter, no visiting my in-laws. Life's great." He shook his head slowly. "To tell the truth, Rudolph, right now I can't think of anything good about Christmas time."

Rudolph nodded slowly. "But Matt, haven't you ever thought that Christmas is much more than gifts and spending. It's about giving—love and respect—to those you love. It's about family, friends, spending—but not money—spending time with those you want to be with. Where would you be without Jenny and Billy?"

Matt stared hard at the small ornamented tree. "I know where I wouldn't be. Stuck in a backwoods town called St. Claws with a busted axle." He motioned for another beer. "I'll tell you what—sometimes I wish Christmas never happened."

"You don't mean that, son."

Matt looked into the empty Corona. What a piece of crappola Christmas Eve he was going to have. "Yeah, Rudolph, I do. I wish Christmas never happened."

Just then the big red ornament on the little tree quivered and dropped, shattering on the counter behind the bar.

An odd sensation washed over Matt and he was vaguely aware of a short man beside him. He looked over and tried to say "Purvis", but the dizziness overcame him first. Slipping off the bar stool, he slumped to the floor.

* * *

The first thing Matt was aware of was no bells. He loved it. And his headache was gone! Wow. He gazed up at the face leaning over him. "Purvis?"

"Hey, Matt, you okay?"

Matt moved his arms and legs. Felt good. He sat up and grinned. "Yeah, I believe I am." Standing, he caught Rudolph observing him with a curious expression. "Whoa, Rudolph, what was in that last shot—I feel like a million bucks."

The burly bartender simply nodded and went about cleaning up the busted ornament. Matt didn't see the little Christmas tree.

Now Matt became aware of another sound—not bells—but a loud whistling noise and he heard the door shaking. "Is that the wind?"

Purvis adjusted his wool cap over his ears and brushed some snow from his shoulders. "We got a storm brewing out there."

Matt recalled only the light flurries and Jenny and Billy walking toward the big decorated tree and how Billy clapped and played with the snow flakes. "Not a blizzard, I hope."

The tow driver shrugged. "It is winter."

Matt frowned. What bad timing. He thought of Jenny and Billy. They'd be worried—hell, she'd probably blame him for the storm. He couldn't believe it blew in so quickly. He started for the doorway of the Grill.

"Where you going, Matt?" Purvis asked.

"To check on the wife and kid." He noticed Rudolph and Purvis exchange looks. "It's the SUV, isn't it," he said, glaring at Purvis. "Have you done anything about the damn busted axle?"

Purvis averted his sharp gaze and leaned against the bar, accepting a cup of something steaming hot from Rudolph.

Matt's expression hardened. "I'll take your non-response as a no. Screw this crappy little town." And he stalked for the Grill, calling, "Jenny, Billy."

He stopped in the doorway. The booth where they'd been sitting was empty. A few other booths and tables were occupied and the patrons all looked up at Matt strangely. He approached the empty booth, aware of an odd sensation in his gut.

"Can I seat you, sir?" a waitress asked.

"No, I'm not really hungry." He stared at the vacant seats a moment. Then asking, "Did you happen to see a woman in a blue down jacket with a young boy about this tall..." and he held his palm so high... "they were seated here."

The waitress shook her head. "No one's been seated there since I came on and that was a couple hours ago."

"That's wrong. They were just here. The woman was talking on her cell phone."

"Nope. Sorry."

"What do you mean, nope?" He checked his watch. My watch?—but it was the time that drew his attention. Only a couple minutes had passed since swigging down Rudolph's drink. "They were right here."

The waitress appeared uneasy. "If you change you mind about ordering, let me know." She turned away.

Matt almost reached for her, he was so irritated. Outside he could hear the howling wind gusting so strong, the shutters to the diner vibrated. "Hey, don't just walk away—"

"Matt." It was Purvis in the doorway. "Jenny and Billy weren't there."

Matt shot the waitress one last dirty look and huffed out, brushing the little tow driver out of the way. Inside the bar, Rudolph moved about casually, arranging liquor bottles and glassware. Matt stomped up to the barstool where he'd been seated. "When I was on the floor, did you see Jenny and my son walk out?"

Rudolph touched his beard. "No, I didn't, Matt."

Angry, Matt stared at the empty counter. "Where's your little Christmas tree?"

Rudolph shrugged. "What tree?"

Matt couldn't quell the rising disquiet in his midsection. What the hell was going on? "The pathetic little tree you had there. Where is it?" Then realizing he was sounding foolish, he steamed, "Just forget it. I need to find my wife and son." And he stormed for the exit.

Outside, the wind gusts nearly blew him sideways. Crap, it was a fricking blizzard. Those incompetent weather forecasters—wrong again. This was one Christmas Eve he was never going to forget. The cold and blowing snow dug into his face like tiny splinters of ice. Hell, it was ice. Snow and sleet. The drifts against the curb were already a foot high. God, Jenny must be freaking out.

Purvis caught up with him on the sidewalk. "Where you heading, Matt?"

"Leave me alone." Matt ducked into a strong gust of freezing snow and hail, tugging his jacket tight around his chest. Damn the storm.

"Matt."

"I'm going to Prancers. Jenny and Billy must be back at the inn." He had to shout to be heard over the wind which sounded like a freight train speeding over hard metal rails. He passed the huge tree in the town square. What the hell...Matt rubbed the moisture from his eyes. Had the blizzard blown all the decorations away? No lights, no tinsel, no ornaments—all vanished. The big tree stood as naked as if stranded high on one of the surrounding ridges. Someone yanked the plug, he reasoned. That would explain the lack of lights. He picked up his pace, worry coating his insides.

"Matt, your wife and son won't be there, either," Purvis shouted above the gusts.

Matt ignored the short man. Careful not to slip, he pushed down the sidewalk, realizing something was different about the small homes along the way, but too cold and uncomfortable to give it much thought. How could everything go to shit so fast?

The entrance to the quaint inn materialized out of the impending whiteout and Matt rushed to the door and shoved inside. Ah, finally some warmth. Still, he felt a strange coldness in his chest. He heard Purvis enter behind him, but didn't slow. He ran right through the small lobby, past Maggie, and down a short hall to his room.

"Matt," Purvis called after him.

The key worked and Matt flung open the door. "Jenny, Billy." He stopped in his tracks. Where the hell was their luggage? He saw his overnight bag, but not Jenny's or Billy's. A quick search—the bed, bathroom, closets—turned up nothing. The cold sensation spread to his gut. Tendrils of panic touched his spine. Were they still outside somewhere in the snowstorm? He raced to the window. Outside, he could just barely make out the big tree. No decorations, nothing. The homes, too, quiet and dark, except for a few lights in the barren windows. He whirled, only to find Purvis quietly observing him from the doorway.

"What the hell's going on?" Matt spat.

"They aren't here, Matt."

"Where's my wife and son?" he shouted.

"I'm sorry, Matt."

The SUV. "Did they go to the car?"

Purvis' expression turned solemn. "No one's at the car. It's still parked in my garage." Then with a rueful grin, he added, "I fixed the axle."

"We can drive it?" Finally, some good news.

"Of course, but better let the storm die down."

Matt glanced once more around the room. Jenny and Billy must be at the SUV with their luggage. That was it. They were waiting on him. If he hurried and drove carefully, they might still make Mammoth Lakes for Christmas Eve—storm or no storm. He had chains. He grabbed his bag and dashed out of the room, barely giving Purvis enough time to jump out of the way.

He ducked back outside and felt the full brunt of the wind. Colder than before, it felt like he'd entered an arctic wind tunnel. He could hear his teeth shattering in his ears. Off his shoulder, he sensed more than saw the little tow driver.

Purvis's garage door was batted down tight. "Open it!" Matt shouted.

"They aren't inside."

Matt lunged at him. "I said open it!"

Purvis shrugged under his coat and lifted the double door. Matt leaped inside and waited for Purvis to close out the storm. "Jen, Billy!" he shouted.

The little man turned on the garage lights.

Matt stared at the vehicle in disbelief. "That's not our car."

Purvis rubbed his palms together. "Sure it is."

Matt felt another wave of panic. What was going on? "I don't drive a Porsche."

"You busted the rear axle this afternoon. I towed you in. It's fixed, see for yourself."

"This isn't my car."

"It is."

"Jenny and I drive an SUV!"

"Matt Haskel." Something in Purvis' tone shut him up. "There is no Jenny."

"Are you crazy?"

Purvis shook his head. "Matt, you don't have a wife, you don't have a son."

Matt sensed the wave of panic swell. He rushed the short man. "Where is my wife and boy?" he yelled, lunging for the man, but only grabbing air.

Suddenly, Purvis stood behind him. Calmly, he replied, "They no longer exist in your life, Matt. Look at your watch."

"What the hell does my watch have to do with—" He stared at the gold face, then looked closer. This wasn't his watch!

"It's a Panerai," Purvis commented. "You bought it on sale for $7200 three years ago."

Puzzled and angry, Matt shook his head. "Bullshit, I never heard of a Pan...whatever."

"The Panerai is a luxury line of time pieces."

Confusion clouded Matt's expression. "Where's my Seiko—the one Jenny bought me our second Christmas together?" He ripped the strange watch off his wrist. "Right on the back she had inscribed 'Our love will last for all time, Forever, Jenny'." He turned the watch over. Blank. Nothing, except his crazed reflection in miniature.

Purvis shrugged. "Jenny never gave you a Seiko because Jenny never knew you."

Matt couldn't stifle the pounding disquiet in his chest. "What are saying? You saw us together, you picked us up out on the road. Billy was with us!"

"There's no Billy."

"Damn you, Purvis. What kind of game are you playing?" Genuine fear began to eat at his psyche.

"No game, Matt."

"Screw St. Claws, it is a game. I have a wife, I have a son, we drive an SUV. We plan on spending Christmas with my in-laws."

"You have no in-laws. You aren't married."

Matt sensed himself losing his grip. He reached for the little driver and Purvis was suddenly by the garage door. Matt stared at the shiny sports car and then his expensive watch. "Tell me what's going on, Purvis. It's Rudolph, isn't it, he's responsible."

"You're responsible, Matt."

"Dammit, enough, where is Jenny and Billy?" and he flew at Purvis only to crash into the garage door. He whirled and found the little guy posed by the Porsche. "Tell me!" Matt shouted over the wind buffeting the roof and walls. "Tell me!"

"Matt, your old college roommate never had that party."

"Are you nuts? What party?"

Purvis smiled sadly. "How could there be a Christmas party if there was no Christmas?"

"What?" Matt ran his hands through his damp hair. Nothing's making sense. Even in the cold he could feel the perspiration breaking out on his skin. He gazed at the small man, unable to stem the rising tide of panic. I wish Christmas never happened. "Oh no," he groaned, sliding down against the garage door until he was seated on the cold hard floor.

Purvis squatted to eye level. "You see, Matt, you got what you wanted. Christmas never happened. Your roommate never had that Christmas party, so there was no party for you and Jenny to go to. You two never met that night ten years ago. She never gave you an inscribed Seiko because you didn't spend that second Christmas together. There was no Christmas."

Matt stared at the little man in horror.

Purvis tugged at his beard a moment. "Jenny married someone else—"

"No."

"She had a daughter named Emily—"

"Stop."

"See Matt, there is no Billy, because you and Jenny weren't together to have Billy."

"I said stop!"

Purvis stood. "You have your big house and fast car because you have no family you have to waste Christmas money on. You're single, and because you spent all your free time working at FAR WEST FORTUNE COOKIES, Mr. Pellete made you part owner. Matt, you're rich."

"I said shut up!" Matt stood suddenly. "I don't believe you. This is a dirty little trick you and Rudolph are playing."

"Call her," Purvis offered nonchalantly. "Your phone will work now." The little guy had removed his cap and Matt saw the pointed little ears. Son of a gun, Purvis was an elf!

A new fear stabbed at Matt's gut. What if the elf was right? He dialed Jenny's number, surprised when the signal went through. A woman answered and a sense of relief washed over him. "Jenny," he blurted out. "It's Matt"

A pause. "Who?'

"Matt. Your husband. We have a son named Billy..."

"Creep," and she disconnected.

Matt stared at the number, ensuring he'd dialed correctly. He had. Fear gnawed at his emotions. The voice had not been Jenny's. He took a step toward Purvis. "Tell me where Jenny is."

Purvis shook his head. "I'm sorry, Matt."

"What? Is Jenny all right? Tell me, you have to tell me." When Purvis didn't reply, Matt rushed him again. "Tell me where my wife is!" He fell into the exotic sports car, whirling only to find Purvis back by the garage door. "Please, Purvis, tell me, I have to know she's okay."

Purvis watched him a long moment. "Sometimes, Matt, what we really wanted, we already had."

"Just tell me. Tell me," he pleaded.

"Because there was no Christmas, Matt, you and Jenny never met. She married a man from Nevada. Four years ago, they traveled to the Mediterranean. Jenny wanted to try scuba diving..."

Matt experienced a twist in his gut. "And..."

"There was an accident, Matt. Jenny drowned."

"Drowned?"

"Yes, Matt, Jenny's dead."

"Nooooo!" Matt screamed. He clutched at his chest, then kicked the car violently, experiencing a sharp pain in his right foot. Images of he and Jenny and Billy together—laughing, tossing a football, cooking in their little kitchen—flooded his head until he felt he was going to explode. Hyperventilating, he raced at the garage door and instantly felt a blast of arctic air. Without it even opening, he found himself outside. The wind shrieked past his ears, cold clawed inside his jacket. He tripped in a drift and got back up. Jenny dead. No Billy. God, he was so alone. So lost. He looked for the bells in the church steeple.

Purvis stood calmly at his side. "There is no church, Matt."

In horror, Matt gazed at the small dark houses, the huge barren tree in the square.

Purvis went on. "No decorations. No tinsel. No lights."

Matt felt frozen in a bad dream.

"No Christmas. No family," Purvis continued.

A feeling of emptiness rushed over him so intense Matt had to gasp for breath. NO! NO! NO! He began to run, tripping and stumbling in the snow.

Purvis moved effortlessly with him. "Where are you going, Matt?"

"Rudolph. I need to talk to Rudolph," Matt gasped. He fell and struggled up again. What seemed like miles ahead, he spotted Dancers Bar and Grill. He fell a second time, and a third. "Rudolph!" he screamed. The drifts kept climbing higher. "Help me, Purvis. I need Rudolph!"

"Rudolph can't help you."

Fear and terror ripped at his insides. The snow blinded his eyes and the drifts numbed his legs and toes as he stumbled past the big tree. He fell again, crying. "I was wrong, Purvis," he wept, struggling to his feet, only to fall again. Snow and ice filled his mouth and he choked. "I was so wrong. I don't care about a big house or a fast car. I just want my Jenny and Billy." He attempted to rise but his legs felt encased in ice. He gazed up and saw Purvis and Rudolph looking sadly down upon him. "Please, Rudolph. You have to help me. I want my family back. Please, I beg you." Matt felt himself sinking deeper into the snow. "I beg you!" he screamed. "I want Christmas back! I do! I do! I do..."

Then total blackness descended over him.

* * *

He was warm again. Ah, it felt so good. No wind. No snow. Matt took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was on the floor in Dancers Bar. A face leaned over him, not Purvis, but a beautiful familiar face. "Jenny!" he cried out. He reached up and pulled her close, embracing her tightly. "You're really here," he weeped.

A trace of embarrassment touched her expression. "Of course, I'm here, dear. Billy and I—"

Matt sat up. "Where's Billy?"

"Right here, Daddy."

Matt beamed. "Get over here and give your daddy a big-boy hug." He sighed. "You both feel so good to me."

Jenny glanced at the two men watching by the bar. "My husband gets emotional during the holidays."

Purvis and Rudolph simply smiled and nodded.

Matt stood up and placed both palms on his wife's shoulders. "It's really you. Right here in front of me!"

Jenny ran her hands over Matt's scalp. "Did you hit your head?"

"I don't think so," but he noticed one foot was sore as heck. He'd never kick a Porsche again. He looked at the little Christmas tree on the counter. It was there! And his watch. "My watch!" he exclaimed.

"Of course, it's your watch, Matt. I gave it to you our second Christmas together. You better not lose it." Jenny jumped with excitement. "Oh, I have some great news. Purvis says the SUV is fixed."

"I know."

"You do?"

"I mean—hey, that is great news."

Jenny took his hands. "Something else, too."

Matt didn't care if his in-laws were coming down to meet them. He had in-laws. He was married! Fantastic. "Yeah, honey, what's that."

She couldn't hold back her excitement. "While Billy and I were waiting for you in the diner, guess who got through on my phone. Said he tried your cell, but it wasn't working."

"Your father?"

"No, Matt. I wasn't talking to my father in there." A huge grin spread across her face. "Mr. Pellete from FAR WEST FORTUNE COOKIES!" She jumped up and down. "Matt, he wants you back. He needs you back! Said the new guy decided he wanted fortunes about stock markets and lotteries."

Matt couldn't believe his good luck. He embraced her again. He'd forgotten how wonderful she felt. "Baby, I love you." Then shaking his head sheepishly, he looked to Purvis and Rudolph. "Thank you. I won't forget, ever."

Rudolph sort of saluted him and went back to cleaning up the ornament.

Purvis tugged his wool cap down tight and led them outside.

"No blizzard!" Matt exclaimed.

Jenny and Billy looked over at Purvis, a little puzzled, and the little man just shrugged.

Matt pulled them toward the square. "And take a gander at that beautifully decorated tree—the lights, the tinsel—incredible isn't it!" He could see the townsfolk beginning to gather around the huge ornamented pine.

Billy said, "Well, Daddy, it is Christmas Eve."

"You bet it is, son, one of the best times of the year," Matt boasted.

Jenny and Billy exchanged glances. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Jenny asked.

"Never been better, dear."

With the SUV packed, Matt drove away from Purvis' garage. He'd settled up—it wasn't near as expensive as he would have thought—just a promise to always be thankful for those that loved him.

He slowed near the square.

"Listen, Matt," Jenny said, her face bright and cheerful.

"Yeah, I hear them." But it wasn't bells.

"Daddy, the town is singing!" Billy chimed in. "I guess they found whoever was lost."

Matt listened. "I think they did, son." He reached over and clasped his wife's hand. "Merry Christmas, Jenny."

Billy rolled down his window shouted, "Merry Christmas everyone!"

As Matt drove out of town he heard the lilting voices rising high in the sky.

He couldn't help but smile.

Merry Christmas, St. Claws!

* * *

Alan Nayes enjoys all holidays and one day plans on visiting the North Pole—when it's not too cold!

Read more about Alan Nayes and his books at www.anayes.com

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# Snow Whisperers

Lizzy Ford

Sandy wiped the last of her tears from her eyes lest they freeze on her face in the sub-zero wind chill. Her boyfriend of two years had just given her the "it's not you, it's me ... and my new girlfriend" speech, two days before Christmas. This winter was supposed to be a good one. After all, they planned to hold an engagement party.

It was just another reason to hate winter. First, there were the snowmen that openly taunted her every time she left or returned to the apartment she rented from her parents over their garage. Now, there was Robby leaving her. Every year she hoped for a good holiday season, and every year she was more and more disappointed.

With a sigh, Sandy exited her car and planted her feet carefully on the slick ground. It was dark. Her day at the office sucked, mainly because everyone else had dates or plans with their significant others. It was all anyone talked about all day.

"Heya, Shuga." She looked up at the familiar voice and saw the short, squat snowman across the street.

"Chuy? I didn't see you last year," she said and crossed to the only snowman she'd ever liked. He befriended her when she was young and returned to the neighborhood almost every year.

"Got sent to Brazil for a freak snow. They can't send newbies into an environment like that," Chuy spoke in a rich voice with a heavy southern accent.

"Right," she said. "You sticking around for a few days?"

"Through Christmas."

"At least I'll have one friend," she said. "Robby dumped me for a blonde."

"You'll have that," Chuy said wisely. "We snowpeople understand just how precious our time is. Our relationships are brief but passionate."

"Wouldn't you rather have someone long term that you could grow old ... uh, spend the entire winter with?"

"Sometimes, I think it might be nice, but then I couldn't travel like I do. When one snowman melts, another is reborn, and our souls get recycled all over the world, wherever there's an opening. We see a lot of neat things. Snowpeople as old as I am get first pick of the good spots."

"This is a good spot?"

"Oh, yeah. I love it here," he said. "I think I like my freedom to roam better than I would being chained to one snow-woman for the winter."

"I guess I'm just ready to move into the next stage of life," she said. "Been alone long enough."

"Even so, you don't want to spend it with a snow-gnome like Robby. He'd melt your happiness."

"You're probably right," she agreed. "I'm just disappointed."

"You got two days 'til Christmas. That's a lifetime for a snowman. You can find someone new."

"We'll see," she said. "Well, I'm going inside. See you tomorrow." She turned and walked away. At least her parents had respected her wish not to have a snowman in their yard this year. She entered through the garage and went to the large studio above it. Her mom had left a note on the microwave in the small kitchen area, reminding her dinner was in the fridge.

Depressed, alone, she heated it up and sat down to eat.

The next morning started as usual: Breakfast, shower, and work clothes. She trotted down the stairs to the garage and opened the side door to see a snow-scape of yet another couple feet of snow. The neighborhood kids were already out rolling more of the dreaded snowmen, and the road hadn't been cleared yet. Waiting for her as she did every morning, her mother swung open the door to the kitchen.

"Sweetie, you can call in sick. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve," she called.

"No, Mama, I need to go in. Got some things to do," Sandy said.

"Oh, I didn't even think about needing to prepare for the engagement party! My first daughter married! And to a wonderful- "

"Bye, mom!" Sandy plunged into the snow, grating her teeth and thinking, I hope I get hit by a snowplow. While the cul de sac where she lived was last priority for plowing, the main thorough street two blocks away was always cleared, and she caught the bus on the days she was snowed in.

Two very long blocks. Sandy stepped onto the sidewalk, and the jabbering snowmen lining the street fell silent, like a scene from High Noon. With a deep breath, she started walking the gauntlet.

"Scared girl walking," the nearest called out.

"Meow."

"Nice mittens. Sure could use me some of them."

"You wore that scarf with those pants?"

"What do you get when you cross a human and a blizzard?"

"That's the girl who got iced last night by the man with the potato nose."

"I got a carrot stick with your name on it."

Sandy rolled her eyes. One block down. She slid as she crossed a residential intersection and careened into a stop sign. Righting herself, she wondered how she'd tell her mother about the broken engagement. She should've felt angrier at Robby, but she didn't. Maybe she should've known, like Chuy somehow did.

Her thoughts drowned out the snowmen's taunts. She reached the bus stop a few minutes before the bus arrived and climbed aboard. The journey to her job was only a few blocks, but the poorly cleared sidewalks were lined with snowmen. She arrived to find the parking lot nearly empty. She entered her office area and went to her assigned cube. The tap of computer keys alerted her that a few people had made it in.

As her computer started, she went to the break room for bad morning coffee. A man in jeans and a nice sweater stood in front of the coffee maker with his back to her. She focused on him hard, not recognizing the trim physique from among her middle-aged coworkers who were soft everywhere this man was hard. Part of her wanted to order him away from her coffee while the other part of her didn't mind ogling him.

"Are you new?" she asked. He turned at her voice, and she almost dropped her coffee cup. He was definitely not the kind of coworker she was used to!

"Yes, I am new," he said. His voice was rich and deep, his drawl making the word new two syllables instead of one. "Evan."

"Sandy."

"I was just waiting for coffee. Not used to hot liquids in the morning."

"When else would you drink them?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"I wouldn't." He was too beautiful to argue with, and his voice sent shivers down her body. "I'm happy to meet you at last," he said. "I heard about your boyfriend. Awful business."

"Who told you?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Was it Misty?"

"No, it was—"

"She needs to learn to mind her own business. Your first on-the-job lesson: Misty will share all your secrets with everyone."

"All of them?" he repeated. "Even the ones she doesn't know?"

Sandy stared at him then realized the world never made sense before her coffee. Rather than waiting for it to finish dripping, she poured herself a cup, close enough to notice Evan smelled like marshmallows. She poured him coffee, too, then left for her desk, where her stash of creamer and sugar was kept out of range of her grabby coworkers.

Evan must've suspected she had a stash. He followed her.

"You can have some sugar, but I'm not sharing my creamer," she told him and spun when she reached the cube.

"Do I need sugar?" he asked and looked at his coffee cup.

Why are all the pretty ones jerks? She silently willed him away. He stayed, took a drink, and spewed a mouthful of coffee all over her cube. She twirled in her chair, grossed out.

"How do you people drink this stuff?" he asked, a baffled look on his features.

"Get out!" she yelled.

"I said something wrong, didn't I?"

At her heated glare, he backed away and left. She sighed and doctored up her coffee. Her email was slow, and she wasn't surprised to see the first two were from Robby with the subject lines of We need to talk and You forgot to leave the ring.

She deleted both without reading them.

"Since you're single, do you wanna go out tonight?" Evan asked, reappearing five minutes later.

"With you?" she asked, both surprised and irritated. She met his beautiful blue eyes, and he beamed a smile as white as the snow. She wasn't sure what was wrong with this one, but he was ... strange. Handsome men didn't ask her out.

"Just for a drink," he added.

"I guess," she said. "Can you drink anything without spitting it all over me?"

"I can."

"Alright."

He smiled again and left, satisfied. She leaned out of her cube to see where he went. He'd claimed the vacant cube next to Misty, which explained how he'd figured out about her doomed engagement. Misty would be throwing herself all over a man that good looking.

Sandy's spirits sank as she pulled out her day planner. The engagement party was supposed to be a grand affair at a conference room in the nearby Marriott. She wiped her eyes and went down the list, cancelling the room reservation and the catering. And then, she called everyone who was invited and told them there would be no party. By the end of the day, she couldn't cry anymore, and her nose was raw from blowing it. She put away her coffee cup and shut down her computer, ready to leave.

"Heya. How you holding up?" Misty's sugary voice rankled Sandy. She turned to see the woman in a skintight dress wearing a Santa hat.

"Never been better," Sandy said.

"You're better off without someone like that."

"How would you know?"

"Well, you know she works here, too," Misty said. "I saw the way Robby looked at her and the way he looked at you, and well, I just think it never would've worked between you."

"Very insightful," Sandy snapped. "I'm going home now."

"You can come to my Christmas party tomorrow night, since your engagement party is off."

Sandy imagined grabbing a box of staples and beating Misty senseless, but said, "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"I'm sure there's a man out there who would want someone like you."

Sandy snatched her purse and rose, pushing past her annoying coworker. She'd made it halfway down the hall before she heard someone call her name.

"Sandy, we still going for a drink?" Evan asked, trotting down the hall after her.

Misty still stood in the hallway. The shocked look on her face was enough to soothe Sandy's anger. Most newbies to the office made a beeline for the sexy brunette's cube. Sandy took great pride in proclaiming loudly,

"Yes, we're going out together, Evan."

"I'll get my mittens."

Misty managed an insincere smile, and Sandy waited. Evan emerged from his cube after a minute with a scarf around his neck and his hands in mittens. He looked happy, and Sandy wondered again what was wrong with him that he'd choose to go out with her over Misty.

The sun had already set when they emerged from the office, and the cold evening chilled Sandy exposed skin. There were only two cars in the parking lot, and she knew neither was his. Sandy led them through a corner of the parking lot to the sidewalk that ran down the block to the bus stop.

"I love this," Evan breathed deeply. "The world looks so magical covered in snow."

Moonlight and streetlight made the snow coating the yards on either side of the street glow. If not for the snowmen glaring at her from those yards, she might've agreed with him. She waited for them to yell at her. Instead, they watched and whispered to each other in voices too quiet for her to hear.

"Aw, poor little guy's missing his head," Evan said. He trotted away from her into the snow of one yard where one snowman's head had fallen off. Evan picked it up and replaced it.

"You like snowmen?" she asked when he returned.

"Love them."

This isn't going to work out.

"If you're too upset about Robby, we don't have to go out," Evan said.

"I want to go out, keep my mind off of things."

"How long does it take you to get over things? A day? Two?"

She looked up at him, about to bark her response but captured by his blue eyes. The skin around them softened in genuine warmth and concern. He didn't look cold despite not wearing more than a sweater and his scarf, and his chiseled features suddenly reminded her of an ice sculpture: Painstakingly, perfectly symmetrical. Two days seemed too long to keep someone like this at a distance.

"About that," she said.

"That'll be a lifetime for me," his words were troubled.

"You don't have family here or something to do during the holidays?"

"My dad's in town, but not for long. Not sure where my mother is this year."

"Oh, did she like, leave you guys or something?" Sandy asked, starting to feel sorry for him.

"She travels a lot for work."

"Well, you can hang out with me. I have no plans anymore."

"I'd like that," he said. His smile and glowing eyes were genuine, as if she'd given him the best Christmas present ever.

Puzzled by the man, Sandy passed the bus stop for a strip mall with the only cars in the parking lot crowded in front of the small sports bar on the corner. She shook off the cold as she entered. Several people played pool while several more sat at the end of the bar nearest the TV. Sandy chose a seat on the opposite end of the bar. The bar was decorated for Christmas with tinsel lining the counter and snow globes on every table.

Evan picked up a globe as he passed a table and put it on the counter between them. Sandy ignored him, instead meeting the gaze of the bartender.

"Vodka-cranberry," she called. "What do you want, Evan?"

"Spiked eggnog."

The bartender got to work. Sandy picked up the snow globe and shook it. Evan took it before she could watch the snow settle over the sleepy town inside.

"You shouldn't invoke its magic unless you're ready for it," he advised.

"What?"

"If you shake it just right, the snow-fairy will appear and grant you your heart's deepest wish. If you're not ready, you could end up with something weird."

"I've never heard that one," she said. "It's a cute story."

"It's not a story." He seemed more serious than she'd seen him. "One of my friends wanted gingerbread and the snow fairy turned him into a gingerbread man instead. He was outside a school, and as soon as the kids saw him ..." Evan drifted off, regret on his face. "His was a brutal death."

"I'm gonna need another one of these," Sandy said to the bartender as he brought them drinks. "There's something about you that's just not normal, Evan."

He froze with the drink halfway to his mouth and lowered it.

"First, I don't know why you'd even consider having a drink with me. Second, you don't seem like a normal human being," she said. "What's your story?"

"I'm new in town," he hedged. "We can talk about that later."

"Suit yourself." She hadn't eaten all day, and she chugged her first drink. By the time the bartender brought her another, she was already feeling the alcohol's effects. The feeling of a cold breeze made her turn towards the door and groan.

Misty. The desperate woman must've followed them.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" she asked, smiling as she sidled up to Evan. She didn't wait for anyone to respond and sat down on the stool beside Evan. "So, Evan, where are you from?"

Sandy didn't want to listen but found herself interested in his answers. His back was to her now, leaving her to revel in her alcohol and misery.

"Up north," he replied.

"Canada?"

"Uh, farther north."

"Alaska! Oh, I love Alaska!" Misty exclaimed. "You have family there, girlfriend, anything?"

"Not really," Evan answered.

"No girlfriend or wife?"

"Just Sandy."

Sandy choked at his answer and beat her chest with her fist, coughing.

"Oooooooh," Misty said. "That's why Robby broke it off with her."

"He was a snow-gnome," Evan said. "Where I'm from, a few poisoned gumdrops would get rid of someone like that."

The bartender brought Sandy a glass of water. She downed it, her throat burning and eyes watery. She tried to speak but it came out a cough. The two were ignoring her anyway.

"So how long have you two known each other?" Misty asked, eyes lighting up at the prospect of new gossip.

"A day," Sandy croaked.

"Five years," Evan said simultaneously. "Well, I've known Sandy that long. I was just too shy to do anything about it."

"What're you talking about?" Sandy asked.

"What a sweet story," Misty said. "Though I wouldn't have guess she was your ... um, type."

"You're one to talk! Sleeps with—" Sandy sputtered.

"She's the most beautiful person in the world," Evan said. Sandy fell silent, surprised. "Just took me awhile to work up the nerve to ask the snow fairy to grant me a wish."

His words were starting to make less sense. Sandy lowered her drink. She was on the third, and the world was a bit fuzzier than usual.

"You must tell me this story!" Misty said and leaned forward, pushing her cleavage closer to Evan.

"I'm going home," Sandy said and slapped a twenty dollar bill on the counter. "Go ahead and sleep with her, Evan. She won't say no to any guy."

Standing unsteadily, she waited for her balance to right itself and concentrated on weaving her way through the tables to the door. She was too drunk to feel the coldness of the snowy world outside. More fat flakes drifted downward from dark gray clouds. Sandy trudged through the parking lot.

"You need your coat," Evan called, jogging after her.

"I'd rather freeze to death," she snapped. She felt the heaviness of it around her shoulders and shrugged into it without thanking him.

"She's a nice lady," he said.

"Go hang out with her then!"

"I want to be with you."

She looked up. He seemed serious, though she was having trouble focusing. She slipped as she stepped onto the sidewalk, and he caught her. His marshmallow scent was comforting, and his heat reminded her of the last time someone had held her. Then dumped her. She pushed him away.

"Just let me fall. I'm too drunk to get hurt," she told him. "And you can stop with this crap about wanting to be around me. I'm not going to sleep with you just because I'm drunk."

"But I do want to be around you," he insisted and wrapped an arm around her waist as she slid again. "I was serious about asking the snow fairy for a favor. I have until tomorrow night to win you over or I —"

"Eggnog floozy," a snowman smirked.

Anger tore through her, and she glared at the snowman.

"Here, kitty, kitty," another said.

"I've had enough of you!" she shouted and pushed Evan away. "All of you!"

More of the snowmen laughed. Sandy started running. She slid and ran as fast as she could, oblivious to the cold wind sucking the air from her lungs. Evan trailed, his words lost in her drunken anger. She ran home and flung open the garage door then grabbed the first blunt object she could find: Her younger sister's softball bat.

Sandy emerged onto the sidewalk again to the chatter of snowmen.

"Looks like a reindeer turd," one said.

"You are the first who's going to melt in hell," she said and pointed the bat at the snowman that spoke. She charged it and slammed the bat into the side of its head once, twice, thrice. "My whole life you've ... ridiculed me ... made fun of my clothes ... who's laughing now?" As if from a distance, she heard it shouting, but she kept beating the snowman until its head exploded into snow and it fell silent.

Then she moved onto the next one. Drunken fury and sorrow fed her frenzy as she slaughtered snowman after snowman in her neighbors' yards, even taking the head off a snow-dog barking at her, and pounding a snow angel to death. She slaughtered the snow creatures left and right.

Covered in the snow of her victims, she reached the final snowman in a five yard radius and raised her bat one last time.

"Now, Shuga," Chuy's voice was sympathetic. "You don't want to do this."

Too crazed to recognize him at first, Sandy focused before she lowered her bat. Exhausted from her rampage, she felt tears rise. She felt something break inside her and realized she couldn't kill enough snowmen to sate the hurt Robby caused. Some part of her admitted she'd always known Robby wasn't right for her, but she hadn't wanted to face it. Standing before one of her only friends, she felt the reality sink into her like the cold night. She sank to her knees.

"It's not fair, Chuy!" she said, crying. "I just want to be happy and feel loved!"

"You wouldn't have been happy with Robby, shuga, and I think you know that," he said kindly. "And no one loves a mass murderer."

"A what?"

"You slaughtered ten innocent snowmen. It wasn't their time to go, but they'll go back to the North Pole to await new assignments."

"I don't care about them. They're mean to me. I wouldn't hurt you. You've always been good to me," she said.

"And so has my snow-son."

"Oh, did I kill him, too?" she asked, looking around.

"Not yet, though you still may."

His words made no sense to her tired mind. She wiped her face with cold hands. She felt drained and tired.

"Are you ok?" Evan approached. She'd forgotten about him and twisted to see him. He was pale like snow, his gaze taking in the destruction in the neighboring yard.

"She's fine. You should get her inside, though. Humans are too weak to withstand the cold," Chuy replied.

"I will, Pops," Evan said. He knelt and lifted her. His body was warm, and she didn't realize how cold she was until held against him.

"Thanks, Chuy," she murmured. "Sorry about killing everyone."

"You just take care of yourself," he said.

She huddled against Evan. By the time they reached the garage, she was asleep.

Sandy awoke almost too sore to move and with her head pounding. Her apartment was warm and smelled like apple cider. Assuming her mom brought her breakfast, she staggered out of bed. The brightness of the living room blinded her, and she stared at the man at her tiny kitchen table.

Even with a hangover, she'd never seen anyone as handsome as Evan. He had a day's growth of beard around his jaw that made him look even more rugged. Her heart fluttered, and she forgot her headache for a split second, until it began pounding.

"I didn't expect you to be here," she said and looked down self-consciously. She wore her clothes from the day before.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok," he said. "You didn't look so good last night."

"Last night ..." she thought hard then rubbed her temples. She remembered Misty at the bar, walking home and ... killing snowmen. "Oh, yeah. Those jerks had it coming. They've been making fun of me my whole life."

"I'm sorry they treated you that way," he said. "I knew you could hear them, but I didn't know they were always mean to you."

"Well they are, and have been since I was little. You know how hard it is to go outside ... wait, what did you just say? You know I talk to snowmen?" She crossed her arms.

"You shouldn't be ashamed. It's a gift."

"In the real world, when one person can hear voices no one else can, they're called crazies."

"Then we're both crazy."

Another thought wiggled at the edge of Sandy's mind. She crossed to the small kitchen to see a pot of coffee awaiting her next to a covered skillet. She lifted it, and the scent of cinnamon French toast made her stomach roar.

"You made this?" she asked.

"I thought you'd need it."

"Wow." Robby never made me breakfast!

"Do you hate all snowmen?"

"All of them except Chuy. He's been nice to me," she replied and plopped two pieces of warm French toast on a plate. "You don't think I'm weird or crazy?"

"Not for that reason," he said. "I'm glad you like Chuy."

"Why?" She joined him at the table, feeling warm on the inside at the directness of his blue gaze.

"What I said last night was true."

She thought hard, but most of the night was a blur. He frowned at her silence.

"The snow fairy ..." he prodded.

"Oh, right, they live in snow globes."

"They don't live there. They just grant wishes," he explained. "They granted me a wish."

"Which was ..."

"To become human for two days."

"Because you're actually ... a snowman?" she said in disbelief.

"Yes."

"What happens after two days?" she asked.

"My soul turns to snow that melts in the spring."

Sandy ate her French toast in silence, not sure what to say. She'd thought herself crazy for being able to talk to snowmen, and yet, Evan claimed to be one. Any normal person would've kicked him out of the apartment and called the police. She couldn't help thinking what he said made some sense. He was one unusual dude, and he'd understood when Chuy spoke to him.

The more she thought, the more she remembered from the night before.

She's the most beautiful person in the world, he'd told Misty.

"You came here for me," she said, digesting the information. "And Chuy's your dad?"

"Yes," he said with another of his bright smiles.

"So you don't really work at my office."

"No. I do cook, though. Snowmen usually have a back-up skill, in case they're melted — or beaten to death with a bat — before their assignment is up."

"But why did you ask the snow globe to bring you here? You don't have snow-women at home?" she asked, puzzled.

"I've always liked you," he said with a shrug. "Always thought your eyes were the color of pine needles and your smile brighter than the winter sun. You deserved someone who would appreciate your laugh and keep you warm in the winter. Someone better than Robby. He'd been cheating on you for a year, according to Rupert and Matilda."

"Bastard," she said without heat, more interested in everything else he'd said. She'd needed her breakdown the night before and to cry out her anger. Though her head hurt, she felt calmer and couldn't help marveling over a snowman sitting in her kitchen. "You came here for me."

"Yes."

"Wow," she said again. She'd felt lucky when Robby called her back. He'd definitely never said such sweet things! "You're not upset I killed all your friends?"

"I admit, it was hard to watch," he said. "It's a part of our jobs, though, to be created and destroyed by the humans around us."

She rubbed her face, not sure what to think. She felt grimy and tired.

"Would you join me for a Christmas Eve dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, surprised he'd still ask after her behavior towards other snowmen. "I'd like that."

"Good. I'll come back when the sun sets." He offered another smile that warmed her insides like hot cocoa, then rose and left.

Sandy gazed at the door long after it had closed. She roused herself and crossed to the window overlooking the street. Evan was in an animated discussion with the only snowman still standing. She wondered what Chuy was telling him. Run for the hills? Or take her to dinner?

She'd find out in a few hours. The idea Evan might not return disturbed her. He'd been kind to her, kinder than any other guy she'd dated. It'd be a shame if he left her like Robby did.

Her gaze went to her ring finger and the engagement ring still there. She pried it off and dropped it on the table before going back to her bed for a few more hours of sleep.

Whatever Chuy told Evan, he showed up half an hour after sunset. A smile slipped free as she saw his form walk up the pathway from the sidewalk to the garage. Sandy pulled on a long coat over the maroon velvet dress she'd been planning to wear for her engagement party.

Trying not to appear too eager, she pulled open the door before he knocked. She froze.

"Hi Sandy," Robby said.

"Robby," she squawked. "What are you doing here?" Her heart floated then sank then floated and sank again until her stomach hurt. She didn't know what that meant.

"I thought we could talk for a minute, though you look like you're going somewhere," he said, his gaze sweeping over her.

"No, not at all."

"You wanna go for a walk?"

"Sure." She joined him on the landing, and he led her out of the garage into the cold night.

"I thought, if you want, we could go grab a bite to eat," he said, indicating his waiting car with one hand.

"Um, maybe," she said, looked up and down the sidewalks for Evan.

"You have a date or something?" Robby asked in mild annoyance.

"Do you?" she shot back.

"Actually, no. That's why I'm here," he said and faced her.

Her heartbeat slowed, and hope fluttered at his words before turning to wariness.

"I called it off with her. I didn't think it was fair to you, when we had all these plans," he said with a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sandy. I wasn't thinking."

"You're sorry," she repeated. "You left me two days before Christmas and our engagement party for a woman you'd been sleeping with for what, a year?"

"I guess I just didn't think I was ready to settle down."

"And now you do?"

"I know I am, now. We can do all those things you planned, Christmas at your parents, New Years at mine, a honeymoon in the Caribbean," he said.

"His woman left him!" The shout came from one of the snowmen rebuilt that day by the neighbor kids. "He's lying."

"Potato nose!" another said.

"You smell like rotten mistletoe!" a third yelled.

"Meow," said the fourth.

"You want me to take off your head next?" she retorted before she could stop the words. "Or maybe I'll tear that carrot right off your face and shove it up your —"

"Jesus," Robby exclaimed. "Everything ok?"

"Not talking to you," she said. None of the snowmen responded, and she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. "Robby, what you say sounds good. It's what we planned, but I just ... I don't know."

"Great, come with me to dinner, and we'll talk things over." He offered his arm in the first gallant act she'd seen from him. She took his arm and gazed up at him, noticing how his nose really did look like a little potato. His gaze was on his car, and he looked unhappy.

"So, why'd you leave her?" she asked.

"Just wasn't going to work out," he said. "We have all these plans. Will make my life easier to have some sort of stability, and she was crazy as hell."

Her heart sank as she realized the snowmen were right. Robby wasn't here because he wanted her; he was here because he wanted someone.

"Who the hell is that?" Robby asked suddenly.

She twisted to see where he looked and saw Evan stopped beneath a streetlamp, a small bouquet of white lilies and silver tinsel in his hand. He met her gaze, his smile fading. She felt his loss of happiness like the uncomfortable coldness that pooled around her ankles in her drafty apartment.

"That's my date," she said.

"Well, tell him you've got a date with your fiancé," Robby snapped.

Sandy looked up at him, then over at Evan. She stepped away, as if to tell Evan farewell, then paused.

"Robby, can I ask you something?"

"I have reservations at seven, so make it quick," he replied with a glance at his watch.

"If you had one chance to be with me, and you had to turn yourself into, say, a snowman for two days to do it, would you do it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Just answer the question."

"It makes no sense! Turn myself into a snowman? That's ridiculous," he said, irritated.

"So you wouldn't do that, even for me?" she prodded.

"I wouldn't even consider something so stupid." His words stung hard, but they weren't a complete surprise to her.

Evan would. She didn't know much about the snowman-turned-human, but he'd given up an awful lot just for a date.

"Goodbye, Robby. I have a date," she said and turned around. Evan had turned away and was halfway down the block.

"B...but we're engaged!" Robby sputtered.

"Not anymore." She ran before he could say more, tears stinging her eyes as she went after Evan. "Evan, wait!"

He stopped without turning, and she slid to a halt near him. Sandy wiped her eyes, hurting from the closure of her two year relationship with Robby but genuinely happy Evan hadn't been scared off.

"Are those flowers for me?" she asked when he remained quiet.

"They're for my date," he replied.

"Then that's me."

He turned, his blue eyes taking in her face with sadness and concern before looking past her to Robby and his car.

"I'm a bit tore up emotionally," Sandy said. "But I want this date with you. More than anything. If it's not too late ..."

"It's not," Evan said, features softening with his smile. "You'd take a chance on a snowman?"

"It would be my honor to spend the evening with you, even if you turn into snow at the end of it."

He offered the flowers and his arm. She took both.

"Are you really going to turn into snow at midnight?" she asked.

"Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I had two days to win you over. I think I did it," he said with another glowing smile. "At least, I hope the snow fairy agrees I did it. We'll find out at midnight."

Sandy smiled. She heard Robby's Mustang roar away but didn't look. Part of her would hurt for awhile, but the other part of her was excited to be with a man so thrilled to be with her.

"Where are we going?" she asked with a shiver.

"To watch Santa cross the sky."

"You mean there's really a Santa?"

"Of course there is. You don't really think I'm from Alaska, do you?" he asked with a wink that made her heart jump in her chest.

Her smile grew wider.

"Look how beautiful," he said and paused at the end of the block, where an open lot glowed with snow. Pine trees lined the back of the lot, giving it the feeling of a small meadow instead of a vacant lot. She hadn't appreciated the snow-scape before but looked at it now. Snow sparkled, and the pine trees swayed in a cold wind that blew wisps of snow off of branches into the sky.

"It is beautiful," she said, surprised by the subtle magic of a lot she'd passed every winter without noticing. Sandy crept closer to Evan until he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his marshmallow scent. "Evan, I hope the snow fairy lets you stay here."

"Me, too," he whispered.

"If not, I'll take a bat to every snow globe I see for the rest of my life," she swore.
Epilogue

Sandy didn't have to take a bat to even one snow globe. Evan didn't turn into snow at midnight, and he didn't melt like all the other snowmen in Spring. He stuck around and opened a bakery that specialized in Christmas cookies all year round. One year after they met, they got married in the moonlight in a ceremony attended by her family, one snowman-turned-human, and his father, a stocky snowman named Chuy.

* * *

Lizzy Ford is the author of the paranormal romance Damian/War of Gods series and the Rhyn Trilogy. She writes to keep the people in her head from killing her.

Find her online at <http://www.guerrillawordfare.com/>

# Saving Grace

Julia Crane

Grace hated Christmas.

What was it about the holiday that turned people into raving lunatics? Grace's stom-ached churned at the thought of going to work and facing the mobs of shoppers. Decem-ber was not a good month for an empath to be working at one of the largest stores in New York City.

What had she been thinking when she took the job? It was hard enough dealing with her gift on a regular day, but the holidays were peak season. She may as well have been a kid taunting a rabid dog.

Her shoulders slumped as she crossed the room to grab her coat. She would have done anything to avoid going out into the city. If only she could hide away in the woods but, that was not an option. Her father had left and her mom was barely making ends meet. Grace had to go to work.

She wrapped the belt of her full-length, black wool coat around her waist. From the rack by the coat closet, she grabbed her reindeer cap and pulled it snugly down over her ears. The last thing she needed was an earache. It had been months since they'd lost their health insurance. A doctor visit was out of the question.

Grace closed her eyes and took five deep breaths, trying to center herself. It was something she always did before she headed out—made it easier to deal with the ugliness that awaited her beyond her front door.

Don't think about them, she kept repeating in her head. Let them be miserable. Don't let it ruin your day.

Once outside, she managed to smile at the sound of her feet crunching in the snow. She lifted her face to the sky and laughed as the flakes fell on her skin. For just a moment, her heart was light; she was happy. She twirled around and around with the cold wind on her skin, wasting as much time as she could. Once she got to the main streets of the city, she knew the happiness wouldn't last.

Too bad, she thought with a sigh.

As Grace approached the subway station, she could feel the tension in the air. She grabbed ahold of the cold railing and tried not to get pushed into the crowd. She looked around at the commuters, all in such a hurry. Their auras were all muddled; most were grey or brown.

Love, peace, and joy, my ass. When did Christmas become such a stressful chore? She wished she could scream at everyone to relax and enjoy the holidays—they would be over soon enough. Of course, no one would listen to her even if she did.

She tried to block the negativity that was surrounding her, but she couldn't—there was just too much. As it always did, it started seeping into her soul. She could feel the blackness take over; any positive thoughts she tried desperately to grasp onto were out of her reach. Her mother called it her gift. To Grace, it was a curse. She just wanted to be able to hold onto her own feelings and not have to soak up everyone else's.

As she was stepping onto the train, a guy dressed head to toe in black bumped into her. Grace glared at him. "Watch it, buddy."

"What are you going to do about it?" he said, his voice harsh. His eyes drifted up and down her body in that gross, perverted way every woman knows. His aura was so murky it looked like a veil over his face.

Grace turned away, heading for the back of the cab and as far away from him as she could get. She sat in an empty seat and crossed her legs and arms, looking the other way. Nowadays, you couldn't be sure that someone wasn't going to pull a knife or a gun over something so stupid.

Finally, the tram arrived at her stop. She didn't know what was worse—the subway or her job.

She heard the dreaded bells chiming as she walked up to the store. A man's voice called, "Help those in need."

Grace looked up and made eye contact with the man. In that instant, she felt what he felt. He was miserable, cold, and only there because he had to be for community service hours. She reached in her pocket and threw her snack money in the can as she headed into the store.

She was greeted by, "Grace, you're late again. Keep this up and we are going to have to fire you."

Grace glanced over at Marie and could feel the stress radiating off her manager. "I get here as fast as the subway takes me. I'm only three minutes late." She pulled off her hat and stared at her boss. "You know you can't fire me during the holiday season so let's stop with the false threats."

The manger looked at Grace in surprise, and then pursed her lips. "Just don't make a habit of it."

Grace rolled her eyes and walked back to get her cash draw. She passed her fellow employees and absorbed their misery. She always found it interesting that they put on such a display of being cheerful to the customers when inside they were anything but happy. People hid so many emotions. Unfortunately for Grace, she got to feel them all—her own as well as strangers.

Grace put on her own fake smile and opened her register. There were already three girls ringing up customers; Grace was just one more set of hands to work. And once she got started, it would be a while before she could breathe again.

"Hurry up, lady. Don't you know we have places to be?" The man at the front of the line was glaring at Grace. There were mumbles of agreement from the assorted crowd waiting to checkout.

Grace wanted to punch the guy in the face. As if I wouldn't rather be anywhere but here, she thought angrily. She was thankful that one of the other cashiers opened before she could, so Grace didn't have to wait on him.

Grace spent the next two hours ringing out ungrateful customers. Some complained about prices, others about quality, not to mention all the returns she had to deal with. The feelings all built up until she was angry and bitter; and she still had six hours till her shift ended. Mostly, she was mad at her father for leaving them. If he hadn't left, she could be home curled up with a book in front of the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate. She should be out enjoying life like other teens her age. Not dealing with this nonsense for minimum wage.

"Grace, go on break." Cindy, the head cashier, yelled from her position at the other end of the counter.

"You don't have to tell me twice." Grace locked up her drawer and looked at her watch. She only had twenty minutes, and couldn't risk being late again, so she set the alarm on her phone.

Grace decided to go out the back door to get some fresh air. It was freezing outside, but she couldn't stand being cooped up in that building any longer.

The sun had set, and with the glow from the streetlights, the back alley was kind of creepy. The ground was covered in icy patches and the air was so frigid she almost immediately began shivering—but it was preferable to be alone and cold than inside.

She noticed a homeless man at the end of the alley shuffling towards her, and she was surprised to see his aura was yellow. That was usually the color of happiness. Go figure—he had nothing and he was happy. She would never understand human nature.

Grace rubbed her hands together and blew on them, watching curiously as he approached. He appeared to be in his fifties, with long, shaggy grey hair. She took in his tattered clothing, normal for a homeless guy, but what stood out the most was the sparkle in his eyes.

"Merry Christmas," he said brightly as he walked by.

Grace couldn't help herself. She turned to him. "Excuse me, sir. Can I ask you a question?"

He shrugged, turning around. Beneath his bright orange ski cap, his face was covered in a salt-and-pepper beard that nearly concealed his smile. "Sure, what is it?"

"Why are you so cheerful?"

He laughed so loudly it startled her. He gestured around them. "It's like a gold mine out here. All these shoppers are in such a rush they keep throwing out half-eaten meals. I'm living like a king." He patted his flat stomach and grinned.

Grace smiled, seriously affected by his attitude. For a moment, she felt happy again, but then her alarm went off. She glanced at the screen, dismissed the alarm, and grimaced. "Back to work."

"Don't let them get to you." He waved and continued on his way.

Grace smiled as she walked through the back door. Why couldn't there be more men out there like him? She realized how ironic that sounded. Did she really want there to be more homeless people? Of course not—just more people that enjoyed what they had.

She stepped through the door, letting it slam shut behind her, and made her way back to the front of the store. Grace hadn't thought it was possible, but it was even busier than before she left. All the people bustling around looked stressed out. There were a few who looked indifferent.

She figured that was better than being miserable.

Grace rolled her eyes at a little boy throwing a fit in an aisle the poor mother looked like she was going to have a breakdown. In another, a young couple was in an argument over what to buy for someone. People seemed to be just going through the motions: Throwing things in their baskets and hurrying down the next aisle. Faces were lined with stress and fatigue. All their emotions were wearing on her and Grace worried she was going to go crazy.

Two more hours passed. Grace's feet were killing her. All she wanted to do was go home and fall into bed. She wouldn't even have time to complete her homework for the evening. Her grades had started to tank since she took the job, but there was really nothing she could do about it.

The sound of whistling surprised Grace; the tune sounded like "Deck the Halls." She looked around, trying to see where it was coming from.

A boy was walking through the store, surrounded by a brilliant, white light that radiated from him. He looked to be about thirteen. He was completely bald and wearing a white t-shirt that she couldn't quite make out from the distance. Others turned to stare at him as he passed, and he smiled serenely back.

Grace was oddly drawn to the boy, but she lost sight of him after a few minutes. She kept thinking about him as she was ringing purchases, ignoring customers as she looked around in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. She eventually gave up, figuring he had already left the store. She waited on countless people as time slowly ticked by.

The trickle of customers had slowed for the moment, and Grace was walking down the counter, tossing out old receipts and giving the area a general clean-up. She had just stood from picking up a stack of gift wrap tissue from the floor, when someone said, "Hello."

Grace looked up and met the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They were as light and clear as the sky on a cloudless day. She couldn't take her eyes off them.

It was the boy. His peace and happiness radiated from him and into her body. She wished she could grasp hold of him and never let him go. Finally, she realized she was staring and the people behind him were complaining.

"Hi," she told him. "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

"I did." His basked was full of things. He leaned forward, letting some of the items fall onto the counter.

"That's a lot of stuff." Grace smiled at the boy. She looked down and read his shirt. Yes I Have Cancer. Stop Staring.

"Cool shirt." Grace smiled warmly.

"I like it. It gets people to stop staring at my head." He gave her an infectious smile. The light around him seemed to brighten. His aura wrapped around her like a blanket.

"I could see how that could be annoying." Grace continued to ring up his items. "Did your mom send you out with a list?"

The boy chuckled. "No, these are all the things my family had mentioned they would like to have. I've been saving up my birthday money since I was a baby. The doctor told me this would probably be my last Christmas, so I figured I better make good use of the money."

Grace stared at him, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry," she said softly, unable to make eye contact.

"Don't be. My time is up, that's all. Soon, I get to see what else is out there. I'm actually pretty excited about it."

Grace was taken aback. "You're excited?"

"Sure, once you get past the fear. I've been very lucky. I have a great family and friends and have enjoyed my time here. At least I know when mine will be up."

"I guess that's true..."

"I'm grateful I get to have one more Christmas with my family. What more could I ask for?" The boy shrugged and smiled. His eyes were practically glowing and his bright white aura had sparks flying in the air.

Grace had to stop herself from reaching out to touch him. She looked up and gasped. All the people in line behind the boy—those that had been complaining only moments before, telling Grace to hurry up—all had softened faces. Their auras had gone from murky to clear in a matter of minutes. The young boy had impacted all of those around him without even trying.

Grace set his bags on the counter. "May I ask your name?"

"Brian."

"I'm glad I met you, Brian," she told him softly. "You made me realize that I have not been enjoying the holiday season like I should be." Grace thought about how lucky she was to have her mother.

She noticed some of the heads in line nodding in agreement.

"I'm glad I met you too, Grace."

Her mouth dropped open. "How did you know my name?"

Brian gave her an impish grin and pointed to her name tag.

Grace laughed.

He paid, told her "Merry Christmas", and walked out the door, whistling away. Many people turned and watched him leave—some smiling, some wiping away tears.

Happiness could be found in the most unlikely places.

* * *

Julia Crane writes young adult novels of elves, love, and destiny and the struggle between light and dark. She can most often be found at her home in Dubai hunched over her laptop with a two year old clinging upside down to her head.

Find her online at www.juliacraneauthor.com

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# O Christmas Cactus, O Christmas Cactus

M. Edward McNally

Jasper had worn a coat, which he put back on before leaving the plane to keep both hands free for the gifts he'd stowed in the overhead. Luckily the flight was half empty, so there'd been plenty of room in the bin.

The coat was heavy, but not much of an issue in the air conditioned innards of what a sign on the wall identified as Phoenix's Barry M. Goldwater Sky Harbor International Airport. The full name seemed really excessive, and Jasper wondered what the locals called it. He decided they probably called it "the airport," like every other airport, everywhere.

Jasper had not checked any baggage but the signs indicating the exit led him in that direction. The vast terminal was almost deserted at one o'clock in the local afternoon, as this was not a big day for travel. The Christmas decorations derived from a different ecosystem — wreaths, pine boughs — seemed alien and out of place on the smooth walls painted the color of desert adobe. But the giant candy canes and toy soldiers were at home among the plastic chairs and vinyl flooring.

By the time he made his way down the long escalator to baggage claim, Jasper's neck was sweating under his coat collar. He moved around the people waiting at the conveyor belts and trying to decipher the electronic hieroglyphics of flight numbers and city names. Jasper passed through the double set of glass doors that trundled open to expel him outside, into a stone and steel canyon between two terminals, with a one-way street in between. He stopped short and looked up, seeing a strip of clean, blue sky for the first time in what felt like months. No clouds. No snow. It was warm here, more so with a bulky winter coat on, and Jasper's confused body decided to give one shiver.

"Mr. Czarnewzki?" a voice asked nearby, actually pronouncing it correctly, and Jasper turned his head to find a driver waiting attentively at his side. "Driver" was a guess, as the kid wore a suit and one of those short-billed chauffeur hats Jasper would not have thought real chauffeurs actually wore, but there it was. Behind him at the curb was the longest car Jasper had ever seen: A stretch limo of an inky obsidian shade. Just the paint looked expensive.

"Yes, how'd you know?" Jasper asked.

The kid nodded his goateed chin. "The jacket, sir. You flew in from Minneapolis, right?"

He extended his hands to accept the packages Jasper carried, four boxes wrapped rather haphazardly but with enthusiasm in bright paper with Christmas motifs and patterns. In his whole life, Jasper had never correctly folded the corners of wrapping paper, and the bunched excess at each end was concealed beneath stick-on bows. Janet had always wrapped the kids' gifts.

"Trunk, or just in back with you, Mr. Czarnewski?" the driver asked once he had the gifts in his arms. He was probably in his twenties, but a dark tan and the mustache-goatee combo, plus the fact that he was sporting sunglasses even in the shady terminal canyon made Jasper think "student."

"Uh, just in back, I guess. And I'm just Jasper."

"Jasper it is, sir," the driver said. "I'm Mickey."

"Hey Mickey," Jasper said, and as he was of a certain age to remember some things, he had to fight the urge to add, "You're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey." The kid probably wouldn't have got the reference.

Mickey balanced the gifts on one arm to open the rear passenger door, and Jasper shed his coat before climbing aboard. He stared around at the plush seats, the soft track lighting, the wet bar and a blank TV screen, and thought how weird it was that the nicest room he had ever been in was in a car. Mickey circled around the trunk and opened the door on the street side to gently deposit the gifts for Jasper's kids beside him. He gave him a smile and said "By the way, Merry Christmas, sir," before closing the door.

Jasper just nodded.

He didn't know how Mickey got them out of the airport, as the place was a rat maze of sharp turns and ramps, with about ten signs pointing in different directions at each. The kid knew what he was doing though, and the Chrysler 300 slunk around curves like a shark moving through a reef. The car was so long Jasper felt like he should have a separate steering wheel in back, like on an Olde Timey fire engine.

From what looked like a football field away in the driver's seat, Mickey offered Jasper the use of the TV, a drink from the bar, or a bottle of water from the fridge, but Jasper declined and sat on his hands in the middle of the backseat, feeling like an idiot. He'd had no idea if he could get a cab in Phoenix on Christmas Day, so he'd gone online thinking of renting a car, even though he was only going to be in town a few hours. The ad for the limo place had popped up, and Jasper, feeling cranky about the whole trip, had thought "What the hell." He was not, strictly speaking, a limo guy. He had almost been in one twenty-odd years back, on Prom Night in the tiny town of Rake, MN. There had been one limo for rent over in Blue Earth, but four classmates beat Jasper and his pals to it.

Mickey asked a couple of questions from the far end of the submarine, confirming where they were headed and then tentatively testing for conversation. Jasper answered only in monosyllables and the kid stopped trying. Soft Christmas music was playing — The Carpenters — and Jasper wondered if anyone in Arizona knew who Jack Frost was, or had ever had their nose nipped. He looked out the window as Mickey got them onto a highway, passing a big box store with a giant inflatable snowman in the lot, top hat and corncob pipe, surrounded by cacti and thorny green trees. It looked like an invader from another planet.

They were on the highway for twenty minutes or so, gliding along with sparse traffic, passing by a mountain Jasper recognized as he had seen it in on sports broadcasts. Sort of a standard shot whenever the Cardinals were on MNF, or the Twins were in Phoenix to play inter-league with the D-backs. It was supposed to be shaped like a camel or something, but Jasper couldn't really see it from this close. They passed one end of the campus of Arizona State, and a stadium festooned with the biggest banner Jasper had ever seen, advertising the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl. "Tostitos" was written much bigger than "Fiesta."

The highway bent north for a few miles before Mickey took a Scottsdale exit and started navigating cross streets. At a stoplight, a haggard-looking guy in a jeep pulled up by Jasper's window, and for some reason he just glared at the reflective glass like he was six kinds of pissed. Jasper felt like rolling it down and trying to explain that he didn't really belong in this ridiculous, hulking status symbol of an automobile, but the light changed.

They moved onto a residential street, really nice houses festooned with an overabundance of decorations. Mockups of sleighs and sleds pulled by reindeer, sitting on sand and gravel. Mickey stopped in front of a big one, two stories tall and with a blow-up manger on the roof. There was a giant cactus in the front yard, one of those with all the arms. It had a big furry Santa hat on top.

Mickey got out up front, but before he had traversed the length of the stretch Jasper opened his own door and stood beside the car, frowning at the house. Sort of adobe looking, with electric candles in every window and just the top and the star of a Christmas tree visible above the shutters of a big bay window off the entryway. Jasper thought about the dumpy Dinky Town apartment he and Janet had been living in for their first Christmas together, and he did not hear whatever Mickey said.

"What?"

"Shall I get the packages for you, sir?"

"I'm just Jasper," Jasper said again, and he felt like a "just." Not righteous, but barely adequate. A curtain moved in a window upstairs, but he couldn't see who was looking out.

He took the gifts himself and shuffled his feet in work boots on the way to the door.

This was supposed to be Hollings' job, but that twerp had called Mickey at ten this morning to say he was still too drunk to drive from the night before. Eggnog. A-hole. So Mickey took one for the team.

He waited back by the car, standing attentively like a lawn jockey until a really good-looking blonde answered the doorbell, total MILF. Mickey thought he'd probably wind up in hell for having that thought on Christmas Day, and sighed through his nose. Like about half of the residents of Scottsdale, she appeared to have been dipped in something and preserved about ten years before. A couple kids appeared, also blondes though the boy was built thick like his Dad. Assuming Mickey had the family tree figured right, which he thought he probably did as the kids squealed and hugged Jasper. They all went back inside, and the MILF looked as ornery as Botox allowed.

Mickey sat in the driver's seat and made a call, then waited, drumming his fingers on the wheel and checking his watch. He usually brought a book, but he'd left it on the nightstand. It was going on three by the time Jasper emerged, with the kids and their Mom, and Mickey stepped back out. It was five more minutes of hugs, the kids sniffling, while their Mom stood on the stoop with her arms crossed in a cashmere sweater, her face neutral rather than frowning. There was a guy who stayed in the house behind her, only peeking out a couple times. He looked to be wearing a red sweater vest with green trees on it.

When the kids finally let Jasper go he shuffled back toward the car, wide shoulders slumped. The guy's frame made Mickey think he'd probably played some ball in high school, maybe fullback or linebacker. But his paunch made Mickey think the guy had been watching football from the couch ever since. He opened the door and Jasper climbed in without looking at him. The MILF had taken the kids back into the house already.

Mickey got behind the wheel and asked, "Back to the airport, sir?" and Jasper nodded without saying anything. He was small in the largely useless rearview mirror, sunken into the seat despite his size. Mickey headed for the highway, and after a block the guy started to cry.

It was freaking awful. Broad shoulders hunched, face in big, meaty hands, honking like a duck. Mickey's heart started hammering. He wanted to turn up the radio but it was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and that would have seemed jolly to the point of suicide. He wanted a cigarette, though it had been two weeks. Dry run for New Year's. He wanted to pull over and run for it, leaving the door open and the motor running. He wanted to drive toward a cliff and barrel-roll out of the moving car; he was that embarrassed for the guy. People had vomited and pissed themselves back there before at 3 AM on a Sunday morning, and this was infinitely, infinitely worse.

Mickey could have hit the highway and put the hammer down, maybe opened his window and lost the noise in the slipstream. Get to the airport with all due haste and let Jasper Czarnewzki sob his way through security, probably earning himself a full body cavity search. Dump the fare, call it a day, and go home. This wasn't even supposed to be Mickey's shift. It should have been Hollings behind the wheel with his eyes wide open and his palms sweating. But it was Mickey. He pulled over in a shopping center parking lot short of the highway and put it in park. He sat behind the wheel, staring out the windshield for five minutes until the guy got a hold of himself.

"Sorry," came from way far away in the back seat. Mickey looked in the rearview, seeing a distant, pink face, splotchy and jowly. Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear.

"You positive you don't want to open that bar up back there?" he asked. "It's on the house."

The guy shook his head. "No, I forgot to eat this morning."

Mickey nodded, and popped the car into drive.

"Okay, then. Lunch it is."

Even the fast food joints were closed. The driver went to a gas station and bought a couple sub sandwiches wrapped in plastic, then parked under a tree at the edge of the lot. He got in the back and produced a couple bottled waters out of the short fridge. Jasper talked some while they ate. The kid was quiet, but he nodded at the right times.

"You got any kids?" Jasper asked after a while, and Mickey gave a little smile. He'd finally taken the sunglasses off. His eyes were green, and set in a sort of permanent squint Jasper supposed went with living in a desert.

"What's the old joke? None that I know about," Mickey said.

Jasper snorted. "Geeze, that joke was old when I was your age."

"The classics never go out of style." Mickey frowned. "That's probably a cliché, too."

Jasper chuckled. He felt a little better with the food, or at least something approaching food, in his stomach. There was no ring on Mickey's finger, so he didn't ask about a wife.

"Do you want to have kids, someday?" Jasper asked. He wasn't sure why he asked, and couldn't remember if he had ever really asked himself. It had just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Mickey shrugged, half his sub still sitting on a console, swishing around the water in the bottle.

"Haven't thought much about it."

"You should," Jasper said. "Have kids, I mean."

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he said, looking both perplexed and slightly amused, and Jasper chuckled at himself.

"I know, that wasn't exactly domestic bliss half an hour ago. I'm not a billboard for the joys of fatherhood. But seriously. This, this all hurts now. But it's still worth it. Just seeing them every couple of months, even for half an hour. It's still worth it. It's worth everything."

They sat in the back of the stretch for another half hour, still talking but just a little. Jasper's return flight was at five-thirty, and Mickey got him back to the airport around four. Jasper tried to tip him, pretty much all the cash he had on him, but the kid wouldn't take it. He just told him Merry Christmas.

Mickey returned the car to the garage, where of course nobody was on today, so he did the sign-in and what not himself, cleaned out the sandwich wrappers and gave the floor a quick vacuum. He drove his Dodge back home out to Chandler and parked on the street, as the driveway of his own modest house was full of cars with license plates from this state and two others.

The kids rushed him from the back before he was halfway up the driveway, running around in the seventy degree temps of Christmas Day, brandishing new toys Mickey had been here to see them unwrap this morning before he got called in. He picked his own, Mickey Junior, out from among the cousins and gave him a big hug that made the five-year-old squirm and squeal. Mickey put the chauffeur hat on MJ's head and the pack of them raced back into the house as Steph came outside. Mickey stayed on one knee looking after the kids. She sashayed over, smiling, and he grinned up at her.

"You know, you're kind of a MILF," Mickey said, and Steph widened her big brown eyes.

"Geeze, Mick, on Christmas even? You're gonna burn in hell for that kind of talk."

She held out a hand, pinching the circle of his wedding ring between one thumb and finger. He stood up and held out a finger. She raised a brown eyebrow but slid it back where it belonged.

"Left it on top of my book, didn't I?"

"Yup. You trying to pick up chicks behind my back?"

"Never, ever, ever." He kissed her, softly, and squeezed her hand. She gave him a look, and a smile. He put his arm around her shoulder as they headed up the drive.

"What's with you?" she asked. "The guy tip really good or something?"

"Not money, just advice."

"What? Cheap ass bastard. Was it good advice?"

Mickey's mouth took a contemplative turn. At the door, he could smell ham and turkey both wafting from the kitchen. His and Steph's Moms were both intent on putting somebody in the family into a food coma this year.

"Wasn't really about me taking the advice, it was more about the guy saying it out loud. You know, the limo biz. It's about the passenger, not the driver."

Steph turned to him on the stoop and rolled her eyes.

"You're too nice, Mick. The guy gypped you. Jerk."

"Oh, he was all right."

The pack of cousins went tearing through the front hall from one room to another, MJ with Mickey's hat sliding down over his eyes. Steph started to tell them to be careful, but they were gone too fast and she sighed. Mick squeezed her hand again, told her that he loved her, and shut the front door. The cardboard cut-out of a smiling cactus with a Santa hat rocked on the door.

* * *

M. Edward McNally lives in Phoenix, but hails from somewhere much, much colder. He is the author of a Musket & Magic fantasy series beginning with The Sable City, and a number of contemporary short story collections. Info/links on all may be found at <http://sablecity.wordpress.com/>

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# Fred's Best Christmas

P.J. Jones

"Merry Christmas and good morning, Miguel." Fred bounded into the common room of Shady Grove Mental Hospital. He hoped the staff nurse would notice that he'd dressed in his Sunday best. He'd even taken the time to shave his two day stubble and part his slicked back hair down the middle.

"Feliz Navidad, Fred." The heavy set man smiled and handed out Christmas stockings to a few early risers. "I see you combed your hair the way I taught you."

Fred beamed down at him. "I'm spending Christmas at the farm with Ruckus."

"I know you are." Miguel nodded while he helped a patient untie her stocking.

"Ruckus and Apple bought me presents and they got something for Garth. And Mama Louise made cookies. And Apple promised donuts." Fred's eyes widened and he licked his lips. "Donuts with holes. And even some that twist like a rope and some with jelly inside."

"Fred," Miguel shook his head, laughing. "You're making me hungry."

Fred jumped up and down and clapped his hands. "And I get presents."

Fred had been crossing his fingers and toes all week in hopes that Ruckus and his wife Apple would give him his favorite romance books for Christmas.

"Today is a special day for you." Miguel patted Fred on the back.

Fred crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "But first they are making me go to church. There are no donuts at church."

"It won't be so bad."

Fred shook his head. "The kids get to go in a special room and paint. It's not fair that the grown-ups don't get to paint. I have to be quiet while Preacher talks."

"Only for a little while," Miguel chuckled. "But just think of all the food you get after church."

Fred held up his hand and began counting off each finger. "I get turkey and ham and biscuits and pie and donuts and cookies with dead grapes."

Miguel arched a brow. "Dead grapes?"

"Raisins. And then I get presents. I hope I get books. Lots of romance books. I hope Ruckus has a box cutter at the farm, so I can cut off the spines. Spines hurt my fingers."

Actually, spines didn't hurt Fred's fingers so much, but he couldn't throw away the unhappy parts if the books had spines on them.

"Maybe you should let Ruckus cut them off for you," Miguel said.

Garth Vader, Intergalactic Ambassador and Jedi Knight, walked up to them, carrying his tinfoil lightsaber in one hand and a carton of orange juice in the other. Garth's few strands of graying hair were gelled back and he'd even shaved his scraggly beard.

Garth's gaze swept over the room as patients quietly opened stockings and stuffed their faces with candy. "I sense a change in The Force."

"Garth," Fred squealed. "Are you ready to go get presents?"

Garth set his orange juice on a nearby table, and with a regal sweep of his arm, motioned toward his long blue hospital robe. "I have donned a new Jedi robe for the occasion."

"The truck is waiting, men."

Fred turned to see Ruckus standing in the entrance to the common room. It had been nearly two years since Ruckus lived at Shady Grove, but he still stopped by every Sunday to play cards with Fred and visit with the other residents.

Ruckus looked out of place at Shady Grove now, as he stood there in his denim pants and suit jacket. His dark eyes didn't even look so brooding anymore. And though Fred was happy that his friend had finally quit being angry, there were times when Fred missed the old Ruckus, the one who used to piss all over the lunch trays in the cafeteria.

When Ruckus reached out and hugged Fred and whispered 'Merry Christmas' into his ear, Fred decided he wasn't going to feel sad, even if he had to sit thought one of Preacher's boring sermons. Today was supposed to be a happy day. A day of presents and donuts with holes. And Fred wasn't going to let anything spoil his Christmas.

* * *

"Are you tired, Fred?" Preacher asked.

Fred looked at the old preacher through half-open lids. He'd almost fallen asleep in Ruckus's big chair. He couldn't help it. Shady Grove didn't have such nice soft chairs. Besides, the twinkling lights from the pretty tree were so soothing. And he liked the rich pine scent mixed with other smells coming from the kitchen. Everything felt so comforting at Ruckus's house, kinda like a home should be. And after being forced to hold up his head through Preacher's sermon for an hour, Fred couldn't help but feel tired.

Fred stifled a yawn. "Is there any way you can make church less boring next time?"

The lines framing Preacher's eyes pinched his gaunt skin while he laughed out loud.

"Easy, Fred." Ruckus used his warning voice as he leveled Fred with a stern expression.

Ruckus was sitting on the sofa opposite Fred and holding Apple's hand. He held her hand a lot, which sometimes made Fred feel uncomfortable. Fred couldn't blame Ruckus. He supposed Apple was pretty, especially since she'd let her red hair grow out to her shoulders. Her hair no longer looked like a mop and it even had some curls that bounced when she walked. Fred liked Apple's bouncy ringlets. They reminded him of donuts.

"Can we eat now?"

Ruckus shook his head. "My folks aren't here yet. We can't start without them."

Mama Louise stepped into the small sitting room while wiping flour on her apron. "The turkey has about another hour to cook. Papa, would you help me get the potatoes ready?"

Preacher stood and stretched his bony arms. He rubbed his lower back before walking toward the kitchen.

"I can help you, Mama," Apple said.

Apple struggled to stand, but Fred could tell that it was hard for her. Ever since she and Ruckus got married, she'd been getting fatter. Probably because she didn't have to live at Shady Grove anymore and she could eat all the donuts she wanted.

"No, dear, you look tired. Why don't you sit a spell?" Mama Louise smiled warmly at Apple before heading off into the kitchen.

Apple sat back down and rubbed her fat stomach. Ruckus wrapped an arm around her while she leaned against his shoulder.

Fred scowled. He didn't understand why they always had to cuddle. And the more he thought about Apple's fat stomach, the more he thought she looked an awful lot like the pregnant women on the covers of his romance books. He sure hoped Apple was just getting fat. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if she had a baby in her tummy. Then he remembered that he wasn't going to let anything ruin his day. Not on a special day filled with presents and sweets.

"I've got an idea. Let's eat donuts."

"Fred." Ruckus shook his head. "You don't want to spoil your dinner."

"How about we open presents?" Fred asked.

"Wise choice, young Jedi." Garth walked into the room with his saber in one hand, a magazine in the other, and a trail of toilet paper stuck to the sole of his shoe.

Ruckus slipped from the sofa and knelt beside the tree. He handed one long present to Garth and a smaller present to Fred.

Ruckus grinned sheepishly. "Apple and I already exchanged gifts this morning."

"Oh, okay." Fred's shoulders fell. He didn't know why but he'd expected Ruckus and Apple to wait for him before they opened presents.

Fred watched as Garth eagerly stripped away the wrapping paper on his gift.

"Could it be?" Garth gasped. "A real lightsaber of my very own?"

Apple stood beside Garth and helped him open the top of the box. "Do you like it?"

Garth pulled the saber out of the box and turned on the blue glowing light. He held it in front of him and stood at attention. "Master Apple, I vow that I will uphold the noble Jedi code and use my cherished present with justice and honor."

"Great." She flashed a grin as she sat back down. "Just don't break anything in my house."

Garth found an open space behind the sofa and battled an imaginary Sith overlord.

Fred decided to open his present next. He peeled away the paper revealing a flat box with the word 'e-reader' imprinted on the top. "What is this?"

Ruckus kneeled beside Fred as he slipped a thin black object out of the box. "It's an electronic reading device."

Fred pouted. "I wanted books, Ruckus."

Ruckus flipped a switch on the device and a long list of book titles appeared. "There are twenty books inside."

Fred looked underneath the small device. "How'd they all fit in there?"

"Mr. Otis helped me download them from his computer," Ruckus said. "He even knew how to go in each book and throw away the unhappy parts."

Ruckus held the e-reader in front of him and scrolled through the titles. "See? You just select the book you want to read and open it." Ruckus clicked on a very romantic sounding title about babies and wedding bells.

A beautiful black and white cover with a cowboy embracing a pregnant woman appeared on the screen.

"Whoa!" Fred squealed. "It's like magic."

"I hope you like it, buddy," Ruckus said in a low voice.

"I love it!" Fred hugged it to his chest. "Thanks!"

Fred set down his present and pulled a scroll from his back pocket and handed it to Ruckus. "Sorry I sat on it and wrinkled it, but this is from me to you and Apple."

"Thanks, buddy." Ruckus took the scroll and sat beside Apple on the sofa.

Apple untied the fancy red ribbon and opened the scroll.

"Oh, Fred, how lovely. You painted this yourself?"

Fred walked over to the sofa. He squeezed in between Apple and Ruckus. "Yes, this is our family portrait. I thought you could hang it in a frame." Fred puffed out his chest, trying his best to showcase his mature side. "On a wall. With a nail."

Apple flashed a dazzling smile. "Of course I'll hang it."

Fred pointed to the people in his painting. "That back row is Garth, Preacher and Mama Louise."

Garth stopped playing with his saber long enough to lean over the sofa. "Why does my neck look broken?"

"It's not broken." Fred shook his head. "You're sleeping standing up because Preacher is reading from his Bible. But look, everyone has a donut."

Apple frowned. "I don't have a donut."

"I didn't have room for your donut because me and Ruckus are each holding your hand. But you can pretend you already ate one." Fred pointed to Apple's stomach. "I even gave you a fat tummy, just like it looks now."

Ruckus laughed out loud.

Apple reached around Fred and jabbed Ruckus in the shoulder. "That's not funny, Ruckus."

"Well, your middle is kinda fat, Apple." Fred shrugged. "But don't worry. Garth told me all about how women get fat after they get married."

"Oh, did he?" Apple crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry," Garth said. "I took a Jedi oath that I wouldn't tell a lie. From what I've seen, this is the way of Earth women."

"Yeah." Fred eagerly nodded. "He said after they trap their husbands, they all get fat and sit around the house and nag them."

Ruckus laughed harder.

"Ruckus," Apple snapped. "Maybe since you think this is so funny, you should explain to Fred."

Fred looked at Ruckus. "Explain what?"

Ruckus dabbed the corners of his wet eyes with the back of his sleeve. "We've been waiting for the right time to tell you."

Fred swallowed hard, hoping that whatever they had to tell him had nothing to do with babies. "Tell me what?"

Ruckus flashed a lopsided grin. "Apple's got a bun in the oven."

Fred's shoulder's fell. "But you said it was a turkey."

Apple gently laid her small hand over Fred's large one and squeezed. "Fred, Ruckus and I are having a baby."

Fred's mouth fell open and he stared at her for a long moment. "A baby? Like the kind that poops and cries?"

"Yes." Apple nodded.

"I see." Fred stood and walked into the hallway. He went straight for the coat closet and squeezed inside the compact space before closing the door.

"Fred, please come out," Apple called.

Fred crossed his arms over his chest. "No!"

Though it was dark inside and several hangers were poking his back, Fred had no intention of ever leaving the closet. Not now that his special day had been ruined.

"Get out here, Fred!"

Ruckus was using his angry voice. Fred hated the angry voice.

"Go away, Ruckus." Fred closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands. He didn't want to hear Ruckus scolding him. He didn't want to hear Apple begging for him to come out. And he darned sure didn't want to hear about a pooping and crying baby.

Even though Fred had been trying his hardest to shut out the rest of the world, he could still hear and feel when Ruckus entered the tiny closet. And he heard Ruckus swear when he hit his head on the coat rack.

Fred's eyes shot open.

The door was cracked open, allowing just enough light so Fred could see Ruckus rubbing the back of his skull. "Wanna talk about it, buddy?"

Fred struggled to keep the pain from his voice as he looked into his best friend's dark eyes. "You're going to leave us."

"Why would you say that?"

"Babies poop and cry too much. You won't like it. You'll leave and we'll never see you again. Apple will kill herself when you're gone and the baby won't have a family." Fred choked up with emotion as tears began streaming down his face.

Ruckus reached up and squeezed Fred's shoulder. "Fred, I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm stayin' right here with my family and friends."

Fred wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Do you promise?"

Ruckus leaned closer and wrapped his arm around Fred's shoulder. "I swear it, Fred. I'm not like your daddy. I'm not the leavin' kind."

"What about me, Ruckus? You won't have time to visit me when you have a baby."

Ruckus sighed and even in the dim light, Fred could see the moisture in Ruckus's brooding eyes.

"Remember when I first checked in to Shady Grove?" Ruckus asked.

"Uh, huh." Fred nodded. How could he forget? He'd been reading a book by the window when Ruckus walked straight in and pissed on the sofa. "You made a mess and everyone laughed at you."

"But you didn't laugh, buddy." Ruckus stopped speaking for a moment and cleared his throat. "You walked right up to me and waited for me to finish. Then, you gave me a hug."

"You looked like you needed one."

"I sure did." Ruckus paused and sniffled. "I was real sad when I first came to Shady Grove, but you were there for me, buddy, and I promise I will always be here for you. You will always be my best friend. This baby won't change that. In fact, Apple and I were kinda hopin' you'd be the baby's godfather."

Fred's eyes widened. "Like a fairy godfather? I don't have any magic, Ruckus."

"No," Ruckus chuckled softly. "Kinda like an uncle."

"An uncle?" Fred gasped. "You want me to be an uncle?"

Ruckus patted Fred's shoulder. "What do you say?"

Fred cracked open the closet door and called out to Apple and Garth. "I get to be an uncle!"

"Congratulations, Master Fred. We must partake in merriment!" Garth held out his saber, which was now acting as a server for several hole-filled donuts.

"Wow!" Fred hurried out of the closet and pulled a vanilla glazed donut off the saber. "I knew donuts had holes for a reason."

"I see you've found a way to use your saber with justice and honor," Ruckus said as he closed the closet door behind him.

"Thank you, Master Ruckus."

Garth slowly bowed while Ruckus removed a chocolate glazed treat.

Garth turned to Apple. "Master Apple, would you care to add more weight to your expanding midsection and thighs?"

Apple rolled her eyes while pulling two donuts off the saber. "You could have stopped at midsection, Garth."

"A toast to the new baby and Uncle Fred." Garth held a donut in front of him as one would hold a flute of champagne.

Everyone joined in the toast.

Fred bit into his donut and groaned as the savory sweetness melted on his tongue. "And a toast to my family of friends," he said through a mouthful of pastry before taking another bite. "For making this the best Christmas ever."

* * *

Prior to becoming a full-time chair warmer, PJ Jones not-so-enjoyed a short stint as a journalist and then seven agonizing...eh blissful years as a high school English teacher. Rest assured that none of her sentences will end with prepositions cuz she studied grammers in that there college and she ain't stoopid.

Find her online at <http://pjjoneswrites.com/>

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# Fresh Snow

Talia Jager

The gusty wind hit my face and I hugged my thin jacket closer to my body. It was bitter cold and a few snowflakes were floating to the ground. I heard the screams of bystanders before I saw the car coming right at me. I was frozen in place as I watched the headlights getting closer. The car skidded on the slick, icy road. The adrenaline finally kicked in, but before I could turn to run, the car struck me.

I could hear voices all around, but when I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. My head felt like it had been cracked open like a coconut.

"Oh my goodness! I don't know what happened. The car just started sliding," a woman's voice said. "Is she okay?"

"She's breathing," a male voice answered. "The ambulance is on its way."

I felt someone take my hand. "Oh please be okay," the woman said.

My eyes closed again and I succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

A strong antiseptic smell tickled my nose. I tried to push it away, but then the high-pitched rhythmic beeping sound crept into my head. And my head! Oh the pain! I wanted to go back to the darkness where it didn't hurt and everything was quiet, but something wouldn't let me. Maybe it was the curiosity in me trying to figure out what in the world was going on?

I could hear voices. "Hasn't anyone shown up for her yet?"

"No. Nobody has reported any missing teenagers that fit her description and she didn't have any identification on her, so we don't know where to find her next of kin," a different voice replied.

A moan escaped my lips as I forced my eyes open. After blinking a few times, I was able to focus better. I was lying in a stiff bed in a small room. I noticed that I wasn't cold for the first time in months. I was so used to waking up shivering in an abandoned building, that being warm was quite the opposite.

Suddenly, a panicked voice came from beside me. "Oh! Nurse! She's awake!"

I shifted my gaze to the side and saw an older lady with snow-white hair and blue eyes full of worry sitting beside my bed.

She saw me looking at her and she smiled gently. "How are you feeling?

Who was this woman? Where was I? "My head hurts," I answered, my voice hoarse.

"Hi there." I forced myself to turn my head so I could see who else was in the room. A plump lady wearing blue scrubs was checking on some machines that were next to me. She had a round face and wore her obviously dyed hair back in a ponytail. "My name is Cindy. Can you tell me yours?"

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You're in the hospital. Do you remember the accident?"

I thought back to the last thing I remembered. I was walking to 34th Street. I had wanted to see the Macy's Christmas decorations. But, I hadn't made it. I was on the corner, getting ready to cross the street, when a car had come towards me.

I nodded. "A car hit me."

"That's right."

"I'm so sorry, dear," the older lady said. "I lost control of the car."

"You were driving?"

She nodded. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "Yes. I hope you don't mind that I stayed. I wanted to be with you until your family got here."

"Oh," I said, casting my eyes down. Sadness entered my heart. There was nobody to come for me. My mother had died when I was little and my father ran off even earlier than that. My grandmother raised me and since she had passed away six months ago, I had been living on the streets of New York City.

They were both staring at me and I wasn't sure how to respond. My head was killing me and the rest of my body wasn't doing any better.

"Do you remember your name?" the nurse asked. "You suffered from a concussion."

"Chloe."

"That's a beautiful name," the older lady said. "I'm Violet."

"Do you have a last name, Chloe?" Cindy asked.

Of course, I did. Not that it mattered. There wasn't anybody to call. "Matthews."

The nurse nodded as if to say now she'd get some answers. "I'll make some phone calls." She hurried out of the room.

Violet stroked my hair. "I'm sure someone will be here soon."

I knew nobody would. "Thanks...for staying."

"Of course, dear. What were you doing in the city by yourself?

"Just seeing the Christmas decorations."

"They are beautiful." She had a faraway look in her eyes.

Violet and I stared at the silent television hanging on the wall, lost in our own thoughts.

Cindy walked back in. "I haven't been able to reach anyone. Do you have some numbers I can call?"

"I should go," I started to sit up. The room began spinning.

"Chloe, you can't go anywhere right now. You have a concussion and a broken leg." Cindy gently pushed me back into bed.

Broken leg? I looked down at my legs. Sure enough, one of them was in a cast. "I need to," I told the nurse, raising my voice.

"Why?" Violet asked.

"I...I...can't pay to be here."

"Don't worry about that, dear. I'm paying for your hospital bills. You're here because of me."

A huge sense of gratitude came over me. Tears sprang to my eyes, which made my head hurt even more. "Thanks." I didn't know what else to say. Finally, I closed my eyes and said, "I'm so tired."

"Rest. I'll stay here until your family comes."

I wanted to tell her that nobody was coming, but I didn't want her to leave. She reminded me of my Grandma and I wanted to hang onto that as long as I could. I snuggled up with the blanket enjoying the warmth, and easily surrendered to the sleep.

* * *

Voices woke me again. "I can't believe nobody has come. It's been two days. Someone must be missing her."

"I can't find anyone. There's no address for her anywhere."

"Maybe she's from out of town?" Violet suggested.

"We're checking on that too."

I heard footsteps come further into the room and a chair slide against the floor next to me. I opened my eyes and looked right into Violet's.

"Your food is here. Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Yes."

She wheeled the tray table over. The food didn't look too appetizing, but my stomach was rumbling. I ate everything quickly. Violet watched me, her eyes curious. I slowed my chewing down and swallowed.

"Chloe...we can't get a hold of your family. Are you from the area? Or were you here visiting?" she probed.

I hesitated. "Brooklyn."

"Do you have a phone number?"

I looked down at the last bite of food on my fork. "No."

"How about an address?"

Avoiding her eyes, I shoved the fork in my mouth and started chewing. She was obviously waiting for an answer. I swallowed and said, "I don't have one."

She nodded, almost like she knew that was coming. "Okay. I'll be right back." She stood up and left the room.

I fiddled with the tray table in front of me and realized the drawer pulled out. I opened it and a mirror popped up. I stared at my reflection for a while noting the dark circles around my cinnamon-colored eyes. I had a cut on my lip and a bruise on my right cheek.

"Your hair reminds me of my granddaughter's," Violet said from the doorway.

I ran my hand through my long mahogany hair. It used to be so pretty and wavy, and now it just fell flat. "How old is your granddaughter?"

Violet glanced out the window. "Fourteen."

"She's lucky to have a grandma like you."

Violet smiled sadly. "Thank you. Chloe, can you be straight with me? Where do you live?"

It was my turn to look out the window. "Out there."

"Out there? You mean the city?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Do your parents live out there too?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Where's your mother?"

"Dead."

"Father?"

"Ran off when I was real little. I don't remember him."

She took a few steps closer. "Who raised you?"

I smiled remembering grandma's homemade chocolate chip cookies, her beautiful paintings, and her giant bear hugs. "My grandmother."

"How do we get in touch with her?"

I looked down at my hands. "You don't. She died last summer."

"Oh." Violet sighed. "What happened?"

Looking into her eyes, I felt like I could tell her. "She got sick. It came on fast and before I knew it, she died. I...I'll be eighteen in a few more months and I didn't want to go into foster care, so I left."

"You left? You mean you've been living on the street by yourself?" She sat down in the chair again.

"Yes."

"Oh you poor dear. There's no other family?" she asked.

"No."

Violet took a deep breath. "You'll be okay," she said making the effort to sound reassuring. "Why don't you rest? I'll be back in a little."

After she left, I thought about my grandma. I didn't even have a picture of her, but I could remember her kind eyes and loving smile. She loved me no matter what...even when I got suspended from school for fighting. Grandma believed in me; she knew I'd only hit back to defend myself. And then there was the time a boy was pushing me to go too far. When she found out, she confronted the boy and set him straight.

Tears ran down my cheeks again. I missed her so much. Life wasn't fair. First my parents, then my grandmother, and now this accident. My leg was hot and itchy. I sat up and tried to get my finger down far enough to reach my itch, but I couldn't. "UGH!" I yelled frustrated.

Cindy popped her head in. "Everything okay?"

"It itches!"

She smiled sympathetically. "I know. You have to try to redirect your mind."

I rolled my eyes. Seriously? I'd like to see her try and redirect her mind. "How long will I have to wear it?"

"At least six weeks."

Six weeks? My mind raced with potential problems. "Will I get crutches?"

"Yes."

I thought about that. How was I going to get around New York City in crutches? Crutches wouldn't do well on the ice out there or in the building where I had been staying. What was I going to do? I wouldn't be able to fight off someone if I was attacked. Six weeks...what was I going to do for six weeks?

"Do you have any other questions?" Cindy asked, still hanging out in the doorway.

"Uh...how long do I have to stay here for?"

"Another day or two."

"Okay."

"Yell if you need anything." She turned and left.

One to two days of warmth and food, then I'd be back out on the street. Maybe I could hide some food to take with me. They had packages of crackers and those silly juice cups. It would help for a couple days.

* * *

Later that day, the hospital had me stand up and start using the crutches. It took me a while to get the hang of it. It confirmed my suspicions that getting around the city would not be easy.

Just as I got back to my room, a neurologist and orthopedist came to check on me. The neurologist, Dr. Vaughn, examined my head and asked me if I had any dizziness or vision problems. The orthopedist, Dr. Grim, took a look at my leg and repeated what the nurse had said about it taking six weeks to heal.

As they went to leave, Dr. Grim said, "Merry Christmas, Chloe."

Christmas...I had been headed to see the beautiful Christmas decorations Macy's puts up every year when Violet had hit me with her car. Looking at the white board hanging on the wall, I noticed the date. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

Cindy came in to check on me a while later. "The doctors are releasing you tomorrow. Are you sure there isn't anyone we can call?"

"No."

"I have a call into child services."

I opened my mouth to protest, but decided against it. I could sneak out tomorrow morning after another meal and a warm night. Violet didn't come back that evening. Guess knowing she had stayed around for nothing was enough for her. I didn't blame her. I wouldn't want to get involved with anyone like me either.

I slept peacefully that night and at the first sign of daylight, I stood up and looked around the room. In one of the drawers there was a plastic bag to put personal belongings in. Taking it out, I started filling it up. I put a towel, a washcloth, and as much food as I could in it.

I had to rip one leg of my pants to get them on. I wasn't sure what I'd do for clothes when I was able to get the cast off.

Right after breakfast, I fumbled around with the bag and crutches. Carrying something while using crutches was ridiculous. I made it to the elevator and I went downstairs to the main floor. A huge, completely decorated Christmas tree stood in the center of the front window. At least I got to see one tree this season. There was no way I was going to make it to Rockefeller Center with these crutches.

I was almost out the door when Violet walked in. "Chloe! Did they release you already?"

"Um...no."

"No? Then why are you..." she paused. "Where are you going?"

I bit my lip. "They were calling child services..."

"Did the doctors release you?"

"They said today."

She looked at the bag I was carrying. "What's in there?"

"Food," I admitted.

She was silent for a minute and a crease appeared across her forehead. "Come sit with me." She led me over to the Christmas tree. Holiday music was playing over the loudspeakers. "Two years ago, my daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter died."

I met her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. It's been a very lonely couple of years. I used to take my granddaughter to see the sites in the city every year at Christmastime. The past two years, I've been going alone." She choked on her words and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mustering a smile, she asked, "Why don't you come with me this time?"

Surprised, I answered, "Right now?"

"Yes. It's Christmas Eve. Best time to do it." She paused, waiting on my answer.

"Okay," I said slowly.

Her face lit up like the Christmas tree next to us and she clapped her hands together. "Wonderful!"

Violet helped me up and we walked right out the front doors. When we were at the edge of the street, she waved her hand and a taxi pulled over. She helped me get in and then got in herself, giving the driver an address.

I watched out the window. The decorations we passed were beautiful. The taxi stopped in front of a restaurant with a brick façade and red awnings. It had a big sign that read 'Owen's'.

"Let's have brunch," Violet suggested.

Once we ordered our food, she said, "Tell me about your grandmother."

I smiled as memories flooded back. "She didn't have a mean bone in her body. She loved everyone and always saw the good in them. Even when my dad left, she'd tell me good things she remembered about him. She was an artist. Often painting or sculpting. And she loved to bake," I said, my eyes moist.

"She sounds lovely. What do you like to do?"

The question threw me off. I hadn't done anything I enjoyed in a long time. "I like to read and paint."

"Did you play any sports or instruments?"

I shook my head. "No. I took art electives."

"How did you do in school?"

School seemed like it was years ago. "Mostly Bs."

"That's good!"

"This would be my senior year," I said sadly.

Violet sensed my sadness and changed the subject. "Did you have any pets?"

"No. The apartment we lived in didn't allow pets." I brushed a strand of hair back behind my ear. "Can I ask you some questions?" I asked skeptically.

"Of course."

"You don't have any family left either?"

"No."

"What happened to your husband?"

Violet played with her ring for a minute before answering. "He was killed on 9/11."

I looked down and muttered, "Sorry."

"It's okay. He was a good man and I loved him very much."

"Where do you live?" I changed the subject.

"Near Freeport," she answered. "I've always lived in that area. I love it there."

Our food came then and I dived in. The French toast was mouth-watering good. I poured the syrup on top until the plate was flooded. The bacon was perfect, crisp and tasty. We didn't talk again until we were finished eating.

Violet dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Have you ever been to Radio City Music Hall for their Christmas show?"

"No."

"Well then, you're in for a treat."

I raised my eyebrows. "You're taking me to Radio City Music Hall?"

"I am." She smiled and her eyes lit up.

Violet paid for the meal and we walked out to hail a cab to go to the show. I took in the scenery as the cab pulled up to the hall. There was a large Christmas tree made of lights surrounded by soldiers, all lining up on the outside of the building over the Radio City Music Hall sign. There were lights and wreaths hanging from the signs. It was spectacular, even in the daytime.

The show was amazing with the Rockettes and apparently some new special effects. I had never seen anything like it. It was like being in a different world. It was hard to remember that I lived on the streets when I was there.

Since we had eaten brunch, Violet suggested an early dinner. "Then we can see the tree at Rockefeller Center and Macy's. It's so much more when it's all lit up at night."

"Thank you. This has been amazing." I rubbed the top part of my leg. It was achy and itchy under the cast.

"Is your leg bothering you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I have some Tylenol." She dug a small bottle out of her purse and handed me a couple pills.

"Thanks," I said and swallowed them.

"You're a very pretty girl, did you have a boyfriend before you...moved?"

I scoffed at her wording. "Nobody serious. I dated here and there."

"What about a best friend?"

I shrugged. "I guess I had some friends, but nobody especially close."

"Nobody who you could call and let know you were okay?"

"Not really." I thought of some of my friends. I had considered them good friends, but when they didn't seem to care about my situation, I had written them off.

The steak and potatoes I had for dinner were incredible. I was enjoying my food, but worried about how it would be going back to being hungry all the time. Violet was certainly spoiling me. Maybe she felt guilty about the accident and maybe I was letting her, but it felt so nice to be cared about again.

It was dark when we left the restaurant. We went to Rockefeller Center first where the biggest, most gorgeous Christmas tree stood. I gawked at it for what seemed like a long time. I yearned to go down to the rink and ice skate, but that was impossible with a broken leg. We got a cup of the best hot cocoa I had ever tasted in my life and watched the people skate a little longer.

"Ready to go to Macy's?" she asked.

I was. But, I also wasn't looking forward to the night ending. We stood in front of Macy's staring at the huge word Believe, which was written in lights across the building.

"Do you believe in miracles?" Violet asked me.

"Not anymore," I responded with a sigh.

We walked around the outside of the store. Each window had a different display. Some were scenes from the movie, "Miracle on 34th Street". Some were of Santa. It brought tears to my eyes as I remembered the many times I had watched the movie with Grandma.

After a few minutes of looking, I said, "Thank you for a wonderful Christmas Eve. I will remember it always." I began to hobble away.

Violet grabbed my arm. "Chloe, it's Christmas Eve. You can't go back to an abandoned building. Why don't you come home with me?"

I wasn't sure what to say. I wanted to jump up and down and scream "Yes!", but I was afraid to get attached. She reminded me so much of my grandmother and I didn't want to lose another person.

Seeing my hesitation, she said, "You'd be doing me a favor. Keeping me company for Christmas. It's been a long time since I've had that."

I nodded. "Okay."

The sides of her mouth curled up in a big grin. "Thank you." She flagged down a taxi and we got in.

A while later, the taxi pulled into a driveway of a stucco, Tudor house. It was mostly white with black trim, with a chimney that ran up one side. She led the way inside. It was huge and open. The entire first floor of the house had hardwood floors.

"Please make yourself at home."

Violet's house was decorated for Christmas, tree and all. It smelled of apple pie. The atmosphere was cozy and warm.

Looking at the clock, she said, "I'm sure you are tired." Violet led me down the hall that was lined with pictures of her family. She opened the bedroom door and said, "You can sleep here."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Chloe."

"G'nite."

After taking off my shoe, I leaned the crutches against the wall, next to the bed. Then I carefully climbed in the four poster bed and fell fast asleep under the warm comforter that reminded me of one I used to have. Morning came too quickly.

I lay awake in the bed for quite a while, before getting up. I savored every moment of being warm. When I emerged from the room, Violet was sitting in front of a fire in the fireplace. "Merry Christmas, Chloe." She handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

"Merry Christmas to you too."

"How did you sleep?"

"Great! The bed was really comfortable and that comforter...reminded me of home." I blinked a few times to keep the tears away. "Thank you for your generosity."

"Chloe, you have made me feel alive again. I've wanted to ask you...would you like to stay here with me?" She wrung her hands.

I almost dropped the mug I was holding. "What about child services?"

"I've already made some phone calls. We'll deal with them. Living on the streets with a broken leg isn't going to be easy," she paused. "I believe our paths crossing was fate. Someone wanted us to meet. My house...my heart...have been empty for so long. Would you please stay here with me?"

Something hanging on her tree sparkled, catching my attention. I put down the mug and hobbled over to inspect it closer. It was a glass angel, identical to the one my grandma used to hang on her tree. A sign. Maybe it was fate? Maybe Grandma was watching over me? This was an answer.

"Yes. I would like that very much," I said, sitting down next to Violet on the couch. She grinned and her eyes lit up. It was like something had come alive again in both of us.

Outside the window, something peaked my attention. I shifted my gaze and noticed it was snowing. A fresh snow...a new beginning.

* * *

Talia Jager spends most of her time writing in the bathroom with a steady supply of chocolate, counting the days until her hormonal teenage daughter leaves for college...

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# Let's Ride

Shéa MacLeod

"Approaching Omicron 5, Captain."

"The Chancellor knows we're here?"

"He has been notified and sends his greetings for a Happy Solstice. We are allowed free rein as long as we ..." Audley shot a hesitant glance at the Captain.

The Captain's eyebrow inched toward her hairline. Her expression spoke volumes. None of them good. "As long as we what?"

Audley swallowed back a laugh, hiding his smile behind a fall of dreadlocks. Somebody was about to get his, or her, ass handed to them. "As long as we're subtle, sir."

A slow grin spread across the Captain's face. "Oh, I'm always subtle, Audley."

* * *

The spaceport on O5 was pretty much like any other planet-side spaceport outside the home galaxy. A couple of landing pads sat in the middle of a dust-bowl of a plain, a shanty town sprung up around them.

Captain Zala Lei had spent more than her fair share of time in such places over the last few years. Figured she'd been spending this year's Solstice in another.

A hawker with half-rotted teeth shoved some kind of dead carcass at her. "Turk-bird for the lady's Solstice table?"

Her nose wrinkled. "Get that thing out of my face." She kept her voice calm, but with a thread of steel underneath. Starship Captains didn't snarl like hawkers' wives. They glowered and made idiots mess their pants with the sheer power of their voices.

Obviously the hawker hadn't gotten the memo. The stench of his breath wafted straight up Zala's nose as he leaned in just a little too friendly-like. "I'm sure the lady's husband would be pleased if she brought home such a feast for his pleasure."

That tore it.

In one move she slammed the hawker against the side of the nearest building, her forearm against his throat. He gasped for air, struggling against her powerful hold, but the scrawny hawker was no match for the brain implants of a Syndicate Captain.

"Listen you piece of trash," she snarled. "The last thing I'm interested in is cooking for some pathetic man. I'm here to do a job and you are in my way. If you know what's good for you, you'll find yourself half-way across the planet and real quick-like. Feel me?"

The hawker nodded so hard his dented bowler hat tumbled off his head, leaving the long, greasy strands of his hair to whip about in the wind. Zala snarled. Planet dwellers could just be so ...unhygienic.

She let the man sink to the ground. "And by the way, you can call me Captain."

She took certain satisfaction in watching the blood drain from the man's face. Insulting a Syndicate Captain meant Instant Erasure, if the Captain so desired. Some called Zala soft, but frankly she'd never seen the point in killing someone simply because they pissed her off. A lot more fun to toy with them. Sometimes watching a grown man wet his pants was the highlight of her day. Especially chauvinist dogs like the hawker.

Without a second glance, she strode down the street toward the designated meeting place. It was time to focus. She had a job to do.

* * *

Zala sank into the chair opposite her contact. He was a middle-aged man. Weathered and ragged. He could easily pass for a local. A farmer, maybe. In fact, he was something far more deadly: A Syndicate spy.

She tugged her own battered cloak around her self-consciously. She was glad Audley had made her wear it, otherwise she'd have stuck out like a sore thumb. The last thing she needed was to get demoted for exposing one of the Syndicate's golden boys.

"Where's your Rider?" the man asked.

She gave him a weak smile. "I'm it."

He looked her up and down. "You're not a Rider. You're a Captain."

Rider's were like the circuit judges of the old-Earth West, travelling from planet to planet administering justice and sometimes punishment.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive."

He snorted. "Maybe on a small ship, but you're a Lei." He nodded to the tattoo half hidden by her sleek, midnight-blue hair. "I recognize the sigil."

Zala barely resisted touching her right temple. Each highborn family had a specific sigil which was tattooed on their children at birth. As the child grew it was added to and embellished until he or she reached majority. Zala's began at her right temple and curled up and over her right eye. It was subtle and beautiful, but she still kept her bangs long to hide the mark.

"Well, I run a small ship."

He whistled. "Who'd you piss off?"

She gritted her teeth. How dare he question her? Still, she swallowed her pride. Men like him were outside Syndicate hierarchy.

"Did you find what I came for?" she changed the subject.

He nodded. "Yep. Got it all ready for you."

"Great. I'd like to get it on my ship as soon as possible."

"You know," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Finding and delivering such... parcels is usually a Rider's job, not mine."

"And I appreciate the favor."

The smile that quirked his thin lips was not a pleasant one. "I don't do favors free. I think the House Lei is going to owe me one."

That did it. In a flash she was around the table, her hand against the side of his throat. To anyone looking it would appear as though she were flirting with him, caressing him. In actuality, she knew very well he could feel the prick of the hypo against his neck. Not that she needed it. She could have snapped his neck like a twig, but that would bring questions.

"One wrong move and I flood your system with ventris. You'll be dead in seconds, but those seconds will be filled with so much agony, you'll be glad to die."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would. You may be outside the Laws of Hierarchy, but I am a Lei. We created those laws." She smiled a little at the smell of his fear. She wondered when such a man as he was had last been afraid. "Besides, ventris is completely untraceable. They would assume you'd died of a heart attack."

He swallowed. "Fine. The package is yours. No favor owed."

"Good. Now where do I find the package?"

"Out back. A crate in the shed. It's marked." Sweat glistened on his brow. "Now would you get that thing away from me?"

She leaned down, her breath a whisper in his ear. "The Syndicate thanks you for your service, Thomas Jaquinus."

"How did you know my name? Oh, shi... "

But he had no time to finish the word as the needle plunged into the side of his neck, sending the poison shooting into his veins. He was dead in seconds.

* * *

"Dang, that's one heavy-ass box. What's in that thing?" Audley collapsed on top of said box and fanned himself with a bright red handkerchief.

Zala smiled. "Something important to our future."

Audley quirked a brow at that. "Care to explain, sir?"

"Soon. For now, get this crate airborn. I want to be as far away from Omicron 5 as possible. And fast."

"Oh, crap. Who'd you piss off now?"

Zala crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Not a very Captainly move, but she and Audley went back a long way. He didn't respect her even when she was in full captain mode, so there was no point worrying about her image being tarnished.

"Fine," he raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh teasing the corners of his mouth. "I'll get this rust bucket in the air. You think we're going to have any problems?"

"I hope not." If they did, there'd be hell to pay. She might be a scion of House Lei, but that wouldn't save her from a court martial.

Audley wandered off to the bridge mumbling about cluster-fraks. Zala couldn't exactly disagree with that one. She was taking a huge chance, but as far as she was concerned the ends justified the means.

And those means were in the box sitting in her cargo bay. "You better be worth it," she said softly to the box before following Audley to the bridge.

* * *

Fortunately the Chancellor of Omicron 5 had sent them on their way with a cheery, "Merry Solstice." Zala got the feeling he was glad to be rid of them. Not every world welcomed the Syndicate Riders with open arms.

"You know today is supposed to be a holiday, right, Captain? I'm pretty sure my contract states I get today off." Audley had pulled out a peppermint stick from goddess knew where and was sucking away at the thing totally against regulations.

"Aud, you don't have a contract."

"Oh, right. " He turned back to the viewscreen for a moment before whirling around to face her again. "Still, we should do something special. You know, to celebrate the day."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Cook something?"

"It's not like I have a Solstice goose in the galley. We're on flight rations."

The Syndicate didn't waste money on good food for a lowly bit of space junk like them. Not even for Solstice. Not even if one of them was a Lei.

"I'll tell you what we'll do for Solstice. You fly the damn ship and I'll go open that box in the cargo bay."

"You are no fun." Audley pulled a Santa hat out of one of the many pockets on his flight pants and yanked it down over his dreads. "I, for one, am getting into the Solstice spirit." He punched a button and old-Earth Christmas music spilled from the ship-wide intercom.

Zala barely restrained a groan. If this kept up she was going to need earplugs. "You know. With my implants I could kill you with my brain."

Audley didn't turn around. Instead, he stuck up his middle finger and waved it around.

On any other ship it would have gotten him shot. Zala just laughed and headed for the cargo bay.

* * *

The box wasn't as easy to open as she'd first thought. The outside was a simple wooden construction easily demolished. Inside? Not so much.

It was some kind of stasis box. She'd seen the Syndicate use similar boxes to transport high-risk clients between planets. Those boxes were big and luxurious in comparison.

Her fingers danced over the compu-pad on the side of the stasis box. She hadn't had time to get the security code from Jaquinus, but House Lei had its own codes. Codes that opened pretty much anything.

She punched in her code. Nothing.

A frown creased Zala's brow. There was one person whose code could open the box. A smile replaced the frown. Her mother would have a fit if she knew Zala not only had the precious master code of House Lei, but was about to use it for something very underhanded. She dredged up the memory of her mother's delicate fingers flying over a code pad and punched in the new code. There was a pause, then the light on the box turned green.

Zala took a step back as the lid on the stasis box swung open. She waited patiently for the person inside to wake up.

"What the hell are you wearing?" She couldn't help it. Despite her training, Zala had led a fairly insular life before joining the Riders. And since the Riders, most of the worlds she'd been assigned to had been surprisingly conservative for the twenty-second century. She'd never seen anything like the person stepping out of that stasis box.

The man, it was definitely a man, smoothed his hands down the sides of his outfit before giving her a baffled look. "Who are you?"

"Is that a dress?"

"Uh, yeah." His voice was a smooth, throaty baritone. "Obviously. I was at a party." As if that explained everything. "Now, who are you?"

Zala just gaped at him. The men of Hiberon were known for their fondness for kilts. The Islamites of New Mecca, both men and women, wore long, white robes. Trousers of any kind were forbidden on world. But what the man before her was wearing was nothing like that.

"You're wearing a dress." Not just any dress, but a shimmering red satin sheath dress. The kind she'd have killed for, but would have never had the courage to wear.

He narrowed his eyes and stepped out of the box. Zala's eyes went straight to his feet. He was wearing a pair of high-heeled Mary Janes covered in sparkling crystals and sapphires. She'd never seen anything like them outside an old-Earth museum.

He glanced down at his shoes, then back up at Zala. "I had them specially designed. Gorgeous aren't they? Now, who the hell are you and where the hell am I?" He propped his fists on hips and all but tapped his foot.

That did it. Zala drew back her shoulders, body slamming to attention. "I am Captain Zala Lei of the starship Justice."

One perfectly groomed eyebrow went up. "This is a Rider ship?"

"Yes."

His jaw hardened. "On what charge?"

"What?"

"On what charge are you arresting me?"

Zala blinked. "Um. No charge."

"Excuse me?" He strode across the room, his heels making a sharp click against the steel plates of the cargo bay. He paused inches away from her.

Zala licked her lips and desperately resisted the blush that threatened to flood her fair skin. His nearness unnerved her. She was used to being surrounded by slight men with soft voices, groomed from birth as the ultimate gentleman. Despite wearing a dress and fraking glittery high heels, the man in front of her was probably one of the most masculine men she'd ever seen in her life.

She swallowed hard. "I said, you're not under arrest."

"Then why did one of your spy goons inject me and stick me in that box? You know as well as I do the Syndicate would like nothing more than to put me away for good."

He was right about that. Luckily for him, the Syndicate didn't know that the most wanted "terrorist" in the galaxy was the man standing before her in a sexy cocktail dress and glittery heels. Holy hell.

"Because I needed to get to you before the Syndicate did. I need your help."

That got him. "My help?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it in my quarters. By the way, do you have a name?" She knew who he was, or rather, what he was, but no one knew his name. Even the Syndicate spy hadn't figured out that one.

"You can call me Xander."

"Xander." She rolled the name around on her tongue. Double sexy. Then she felt like smacking herself upside the head. One job. She needed him for one job. That was it. "Do you want to change first? Audley's bigger than you, but I'm sure something of his will work."

"Why would I want to change? I'm perfectly comfortable."

"In a cocktail dress?"

He shrugged. "You're wearing pants."

He had her there. She suddenly realized how ridiculous it all was. Who cared what he was wearing? "What about the heels? Don't your feet hurt?"

Her mother was constantly roping her into stupid balls and such. Even a lowly scion of House Lei had to doll up on such occasions which meant cramming her feet into heels so high she was nearly crippled.

"Honey," he said with a grin, "I brought down House Lodai in a pair of four-inch heels. I think I'll be fine."

* * *

"You seriously want me to murder Santa Claus?"

Zala could understand the incredulity in Xander's voice. Only a few worlds still celebrated Christmas. Most of them had switched to a sort of Christmas/Yule/Hanukkah mash-up they collectively called Solstice. Still, Santa Claus was universally loved. He just flew a spaceship now instead of a sleigh with reindeer.

"He's not a real Santa Claus," she reminded him, an edge of impatience creeping into her voice. "His name is Tannen. He's a serial rapist posing as Santa Claus to avoid detection."

"And you want me to murder him."

Zala barely refrained from an eye roll. "Execute him. It's a Rider's job. Serial rapists get two choices: Castration or death. Since this guy uses knives on his victims, let's just say option number one is out."

"One problem." Xander leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

His satin dress rode up his thighs ever so slightly revealing a seriously gorgeous pair of legs. Zala could have killed him just for that. How dare he look better in a dress than she did? Stupid man.

"And that problem is?" she scowled.

"I am not a Rider. You are. You kill him, it's execution. I kill him, it's murder."

"What do you care?" She snapped. "You're a wanted terrorist."

He laughed at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I brought down one of the most vile, corrupt Houses the Syndicate has ever spawned. I'd say "terrorist" is a matter of perspective."

"And you don't think bringing down a serial rapist who brutalizes his victims isn't equally important?"

Xander leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers. "Of course it is. But it's your job. Why do you want me to do it?"

Zala swallowed. "A ship usually has both Captain and Rider. Mine is deemed too small, so while I'm Captain in truth, I am only Rider by default."

"Surely they trained you in the law so you could administer justice properly."

She nodded. "They did. But this is different."

"Why?"

She glanced down at her hands, then back at Xander. "Tannen, he has a very specific type."

"Okay, what? Blondes? Brunettes?"

She shook her head, silken hair sliding across her shoulders. "Enhanced."

He stared pointedly at her chest. "You're not enhanced."

That got a laugh out of her. "I mean implant enhanced. The kind of implants that come with being a starship Captain and a scion of a major Syndicate House. The kind that make you stronger, let you tap into the web, speak mind to mind. He's got similar implants. Implants only you can hack."

He frowned. "Hacking skills aside, I'm still not sure I understand why you need me. What are you going to do while I'm down there playing at executioner?"

"I'm the bait."

* * *

"Remember, if you don't hack him before he hacks me, I'm screwed." Zala glanced over at Xander. "Please don't let him hack me."

He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze. "I promise."

The fear of being hacked was a very real one. There were few entities in the known universe that could hack implants like hers. The Syndicate itself, of course, though technically she supposed that wouldn't be hacking.

For the most part, her own implants would allow her to stop a hacking attempt, but hackers like Xander could get around that. It was how he'd brought down the house of Lodai. He'd shut down the brains of their entire fleet as well as their top scions. In one fell swoop, the House collapsed.

Hackers like Tannen used their skills for far more evil purposes. The Lodaians had eventually recovered, though too late to prevent expulsion from the Syndicate. The rapist's victims had not recovered. Their minds now lay trapped within bodies scarred for life by his body and his blade.

She'd rather be dead.

Her fingers tightened around his. "Promise me something, Xander."

He glanced at her. It was almost like he read her mind. "If the worst happens, I'll end it. I promise."

She nodded and released his hand. "There he is."

Tannen stood in the center of the town square across from where they lurked in the alleyway. He was dressed in full-on Santa gear and was passing out sweets to the village kids.

Despite its regal name, Regis was hardly more than a village tucked back into the rugged hills of Vega. Zala found it odd that a rapist fleeing the justice of a Rider would choose a remote farming world to hide. It wasn't like he'd have much of a pool of victims to choose from.

Then again, Vega had a major spaceport for food exportation. Lot of captains coming through there. Lot of scions, too.

It was time to stop this bastard from hurting anyone else. She threw off the cloak that had been hiding her Syndicate uniform and swept her hair up off her face, exposing her House sigil.

Xander grabbed her arm. "Are you sure you want to do this? I can maybe hack him from here."

Zala shook her head. "Maybe isn't good enough. We have to take this bastard down. Now."

He nodded and removed his own cloak revealing a plain black body shirt he'd borrowed from her, and a pair of olive flight pants. The pants were Audley's and he'd been pissed as hell when Xander chopped several inches off the bottom of the legs. Zala had to promise Audley a new pair in order to avoid bloodshed. He was very proprietary about his clothes.

She had to admit her shirt looked darn good on Xander. It was skintight and showed off all his muscles.

She dragged her focus reluctantly to the wide wristband on his arm. A tiny green light flashed. "Ready?"

"All I've got to do is touch a button and we're golden. Good luck out there." And with that he slipped into the crowd, fading away like a ghost. Damn he was good.

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the alleyway. She was immediately flocked by villagers begging her to taste their fruits or buy one of their crafted goods.

She smiled and played along, sampling a sweet here and fingering a beaded necklace there. Normally she'd have enjoyed such an adventure. It wasn't often she got to go planet-side for purely pleasure.

Keeping a subtle eye on their target, she continued through the throng of vendors. One had a basket of hand-sewn silk handkerchiefs in ridiculously bright hues. Audley wanted to celebrate Solstice, fine. She'd give him some Solstice.

She bought one of the brighter squares of silk and tucked it away in the pocket of her flight pants. The vendor grinned and bobbed her head as though Zala had done a great service. Probably she had. A starship Captain and scion of the greatest House buying your wares could pretty much set you up for life. Everyone in Regis would be wanting those stupid handkerchiefs now.

She knew the minute she caught Tannen's attention. Her implants shot a flash of amber through her vision. It was like a danger signal on a starship. Not only had Tannen spotted her, but he'd already caught her implant signal. She could only pray Xander was in position. And that he was faster.

Subtly she edged herself closer to Tannen. She wanted to keep his attention as long as possible to give Xander a chance to hack him.

Her vision flashed red. Shit, he was attempting the hack. Her thoughts snarled around, collapsing in on each other and she felt her body crash to the ground.

She was frozen, helpless. She heard women screaming, men shouting. Running feet flashed across her field of vision as she lay motionless on the ground. Xander had been too late.

* * *

Xander watched in horror as Zala crashed to the ground. Tannen was better than he'd realized. Much better.

But there was one thing Xander had that Tannen didn't. It was his own secret weapon and there was no one alive who knew about it.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Inside his mind he saw Tannen's implants laid out, ready to be hacked. They were cheap implants and half of them were nearly burnt out. Beautiful.

Xander cracked his knuckles, metaphorically speaking, and dove in. His fingers flew over the mental images of Tannen's implants, manipulating them on a molecular level. There was no finesse, just pretty much smashing them to hell.

A scream grated against Xander's ears. He opened his eyes, his mind half focused on the mental images of the implants and half on the true image in front of him. Tannen was on the ground next to Zala, holding his head in his hands and screaming. Blood poured from his eye sockets, his ears. Not long now.

Xander continued with his work until every last implant was destroyed and the screaming had stopped. The image of Tannen's mind faded and Xander slowly opened his eyes.

It was pretty obvious Tannen was dead, his head twisted in a horrible angle. He'd clawed at his face, leaving bloody furrows carved in his cheeks with his own hands. His death had been ugly and painful. Fitting.

Around him, villagers stared in horror. He wasn't sure if they were scared of him, or simply horrified by what they'd just witnessed. He supposed he should probably make sure they didn't try lynching him or something.

"Good People of Regis. My name is Xander and I am Rider."

There was an excited murmur as the villagers passed this information back and forth. Apparently Regis didn't get many Riders.

"This man, Tannen, has been found guilty of hideous crimes of violence against women. As such, he has been duly executed."

Somebody started clapping and pretty soon the entire village was carrying on like he was a bloody hero. Frankly he didn't give a damn. He scooped up Zala in his arms and headed back to the ship, leaving the villagers to deal with Tannen's corpse. With any luck they'd burn it so there wasn't a scrap of the monster left.

* * *

Xander leaned back, exhausted. He'd spent hours inside Zala's mind, repairing the damage Tannen had caused by his hack.

"Is she going to be okay?" Audley hovered over the bed, concern etched across his dark face. His usually bubbly nature lost under a cloud of fear.

"I think so. All we can do now is wait."

And so they did. For three long, excruciating days.

On the fourth day, Xander was sitting alone by her bedside, having sent Audley off for a nap. He himself was half drowsing, so at first he thought he was imagining things.

"Xander?" Her voice was scratchy, but strong.

He leaned forward to check her pulse. Also strong. Damn she was a fighter. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've got the mother of all headaches."

Guilt crashed over him. "I'm so sorry, Zala. I wasn't expecting him to use sheer, brute force. I should have been faster."

She waved it aside. "Neither of us expected it. It's done and everything's okay. He's dead, right?"

"As a doornail."

"What does that even mean?"

He laughed. "I have no idea."

"My implants?" Worry colored her tone.

"I fixed them."

Zala frowned. "How? We don't have the facilities."

He didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer without giving away everything. Fortunately she drifted back to sleep, so he could keep his secrets. For now.

* * *

Zala woke to stars streaking by her window. Audley was really gunning the engines.

Her headache had finally gone, though she still felt drained. She turned her head to find the man himself sitting in a chair, glaring at her.

"You totally freaked me out, you know."

She smiled. "I'm sorry, Aud. Hey, where are the pants I was wearing?"

He waved to a pile of clothes on the floor. Just like a couple of men to throw her stuff in a pile instead of hanging it up properly.

"Get them for me? Please."

He hauled his large frame out of the chair and brought her the wadded up ball that was her flight pants. She dug through her pockets and brought out a square of brilliant blue silk. "Here you go. Happy Solstice."

He took it from her, a look of wonder on his face. "It's beautiful. Where?"

She grinned. "My secret. Now go find Xander and tell him I need to speak to him."

"Aye, aye Captain."

Minutes later Xander was standing by her bed looking solemn. This time he was wearing a black kilt and a green shirt that looked suspiciously like they belonged in her closet.

"I know who you are."

He went from solemn to blank in half a second flat. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do you honestly think you could rummage around in my brain like that and not leave something of yourself behind, Xander Lodai?"

He froze. The blood drained from his face. "Xander Lodai is dead."

She snorted. "So said House Lodai when they tried to pin their crimes on him. The Syndicate, all the Houses, know better. There's no point lying about it, Xander. Not to me."

"Are you going to turn me in?"

"Nope. The only other person that knew the truth is dead." She smiled at his look of surprise. "There's no point in anyone knowing but us. Thought I'd offer you a job."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"I need a Rider. A real Rider to help me track down these criminals, execute justice."

"And you want me?"

"The man that brought House Lodai to its knees? In four-inch heels? Hells yes."

He grinned at that. "Could be fun."

"So, it's a deal?" She held her hand out toward him. Xander took it, fingers tangling with hers.

"It's a deal."

"Good," Zala smiled. "Let's ride."

* * *

Shéa MacLeod writes urban fantasy post-apocalyptic sci-fi paranormal romances with a twist of steampunk. Mostly because she can't make up her mind which genre she likes best.

After living in Portland, Oregon most of her life, she now makes her home in an Edwardian town house in London just a stone's throw from the local cemetery. Which probably explains a lot. Fortunately, the neighbors are quiet.

Find more information on Shéa and her books at www.sheamacleod.wordpress.com, or follow her on  Facebook and Twitter

# A Very Shero Christmas

Jack Wallen

God bless us, every one!

The famous line squeaked out of the 61" Plasma TV, followed by the sniffling and snorting of tears and snot. Always the sucker for Tiny Tim, Shero was immediately thrown into fits of weeping. It helped not a bit that the satin nightie-clad superhero was spending Christmas alone.

Alone.

Poor, poor superhero. Celebrities are always pissing and moaning.

A Christmas Carol was Shero's favorite. It reminded him of cold nights with a fire, popcorn, and the warm, caring hands of his mother, holding him tight — promising the young boy that delights beyond his wildest imagination waited for him in his dreams.

Deep within the heat of his heart, the young boy who would become the protector of the innocent knew his imagination was all he really had.

Well, that and some kick-ass skills with a sword, and the ability to run in three inch heels. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm allowed to. I'm sexy.

And I'm the one telling the story.

So, where was I? Oh yes. The maudlin man-in-drag — er — en-femme continued watching the too familiar melodrama unfold before his running mascara.

This was the first time in a long time Shero had actually spent a Christmas Eve alone. His usual ritual called for flashing a sexy thigh here (BAM!), and a little cleavage there (POW!) in the fight against crime. Although the bitter cold mocked and guffawed at the expanse of skin left bare by the little black dress, Shero forged on, proving nothing could stop the hottest super hero to don the Blahniks — not even rock hard nipples. But this Christmas was different. All was quiet on chaos front, so Shero had the pleasure of a much deserved night off.

There was little pleasure to be had. All our superhero could feel was a dark, depressing, loneliness: As if all love had been stripped from his life. That feeling was accompanied by the less-than-subtle sensation that no one cared.

The scene on the television spilled out over the carpet. Shero's raccoon eyes blinked once and Ebenezer Scrooge disappeared from sight. A second blink brought the ghost of Jacob Marley front and center, causing Shero's heart to pound against his bright red satin nightgown.

"You go, girl! Right ... to ... bed," Shero barely managed to get out before the remote slipped from his polished nails and landed with a dull thunk on the floor. The battery door flew off and bounced up higher than it should.

Time. Stopped.

The battery door was held aloft as if the fabric of the space-time continuum had been folded and halted.

Did I neglect to mention this was about superheroes? Well, shame on me.

A drip of drool fell from our Superhero's lips. The sounds coming from the TV grew slow, low, and ominous. And then, as C-cup sized snowflakes began pummeling the ground outside, the sounds of rattling chains could be heard. It was a veritable holiday mash-up. Halloween, meet my good friend Christmas.

Or something like that.

Shero.

The spooky whisper came from everywhere...and nowhere (of course it did, how cliché).

Shero.

After getting no reaction, the disembodied voice sounded off once again. The chains rattled with more ferocity. Still, the sleeping hero remained frozen in time.

Girlfriend, if you don't get yo lazy ass up outta that couch, I'm gonna go off on you like a bitch at a Macy's two-for-one! the disembodied voice demanded.

Shero shivered out of his funky slumber.

"Sale? Where? Let me get my ... what the fuuuuuu —"

Don't say it, Shero! Keep it clean, this is a family show.

" — uuuuuunel cakes?"

Dodged a rating bullet there.

When the satin-clad hero finally managed to sit up and open his eyes, what he saw was, well, shocking. And that, coming from a cross-dressing superhero, was saying something. Like whoa. Standing, or rather, floating, between the chaise lounge (What, you think a man with Shero's taste would have a couch? How gauche.) and the television was a ghost. But this was not just any ghost. Before the sleep-deprived hero was the most elegant, sensual, smexy, translucent drag queen. And honey, she was pissed.

Girl, you don't make a queen wait, else we gonna thrown down, the ghost hissed.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Shero asked as he looked around the room and out the window. The snow had stopped — literally. Flakes the size of balled up panties were hanging in the air.

Who am I? Bitch, I is the Ghost of Christmas Fabulous! The specter squee'd and snapped its fingers in the strangest of gestures. And honey, you and I has a date, so won't you just be grabbin' hold of my dress and let's get up out this bitch. Again with the gesture.

Snip snap girlfriend!

What is it with drag queens and snapping fingers?

Shero slowly stood, his unsteady legs reminiscent of their first time in stilettos (Ah, youth!), and approached the Ghost of Christmas Fabulous.

You wrinkle this dress and we'll have words. M'kay? The spirit warned.

With a delicate touch, Shero clasped his fingers to the gossamer material and, in the bat of a false eyelash, all swell broke loose. The room around them started to swirl, colors faded into gray tones, lace window treatments dripped off their hangers as if melting, the finest of silk stockings flew about the room. Any moment a house would fall. A witch would die.

Wrong queen's dream. Sorry.

Finally, all vanished.

Here we are! Fabulous announced.

"What the?" Shero's legs wobbled as the duo appeared inside the hallowed halls of the Society for Super Heroes (SSH for short. Remember that for later, I don't want to have to spell it out for you again and again.) "How did we?"

Oh honey, you're a superhero, you'll figure it out. Anyway, that's not the raison d'etre of this little trip. I gots sights to show you. Now, walk this way. Scrap that, you're not in heels ... just follow me. The Ghost of Christmas Fabulous giggled at his little jab and marched on, hips swinging like a three dollar hook —.

Eh hem.

When Shero and Fabulous entered into the Majestic Hall, the heart of SSH, Shero was startled to see what looked like a massive party in full swing. Holiday music danced out of the bass-heavy speakers, women twirled around in the most beautiful of satin and tulle skirts, and lilting laughter added to the beauty of the music.

Christ, that dress is divine! Fabulous pointed at Bella Donna, who was wearing a black, full-length gown trimmed in red and white. She was such a gift of pure lovely to the world. Come this way, Shero. Fab marched on.

The duo arrived at the center of the room, where, to his surprise, Shero found himself standing front and center, surrounded by his dearest of friends. Shero was wearing the sexiest Santa costume. His top was red silk, tight-fitting number with capped sleeves. His arms were covered by elbow-length satin gloves. His skirt was mini, edged with fluffy white faux fur, and would reveal just enough hey now should Shero bend over. Finally his legs were glistening with the sexiest patent thigh high boots a cross-dresser could ever imagine.

Ho, ho, whoa!

"I just want to thank all of you for being so amazing." The Santa-Shero started to speak, but was interrupted by an uproar of cheers and wolf whistles. "The Society of Super Heroes would not be what it is without you — the city, not as safe." Someone from the crowd shouted We love you Shero! "I cannot begin to tell you how honored I am to be a part of this organization, this family." Another voice shouted out We couldn't be fabulous without you!

Everyone laughed. Shero teared up.

Such a touching moment.

Out of nowhere, one of the newest members of SSH stood up and addressed their leader. AniMe was a witch of Japanese origin. She was as stunning in looks as she was in spell. Nary a foe could look into the young hero's eyes without melting into a big puddle of yum.

"We have a gift for you!" AniMe squealed in delight and clapped her hands.

"Why are you showing me this oh specter — ." The real Shero started.

Oh can the Dickensian, girl. I get so damned tired of the 'Oh spirit' this and the 'Ye ghost of blah blah bitty blah...' I'm showing you this because you were crying and whining about being alone on Christmas. Next you know you're pissing and moaning that you have no friends and that no one loves you. Well dear, behold!

A hiss of steam poured out from around the Christmas tree serving as a backdrop for the event. When the steam cleared BuXom appeared. Yet another new entry in the SSH lineup, BuXom was a teleporter of particular, and eclectic, tastes. Part Victorian corsetry and part clockwork robotics, BuXom could not only fill out a corset to stop a man's heart, she could teleport from anywhere to anywhere with nothing more than a blink of her left eye. BuXom was a coquette and a seductress wrapped up in a curvaceous package to send the mind into erotic apoplectic fits of joy.

Dare I say hubba hubba? I dare, oh yes, I dare.

In BuXom's hands was a gift. The gift was wrapped in the pinkest of pink paper with the most delicate black velvet polka dots. When the clockwork diva offered the gift, the crowd of heroes once again was given to near-spasms of joy.

The dream Shero blushed and bowed his head, overcome with honor and love.

"You go girl!" One of the crowd shouted out Shero's catchphrase.

Cliché, I know. But this isn't your story, so get over it.

With nervous, satin-clad fingers, dream Shero carefully popped open the gift. Underneath the precious pink paper was a framed print of each and every member of the Society of Super Heroes. At the bottom of the print was a delicately engraved plate that read:

'You are the superhero's hero. We love you!'

Well, now what do you have to say for yourself? Embarrassed much? Don't ya wanna just go back home and bite your pillows, big boy? the barely-there spirit sassed Shero.

Shero shook his head. What he saw was a thing so touching, but the rest of his life was far different. Those people knew and loved him. Shero's biggest nemesis was the public at large constantly frowning upon the man who saved their lives. Their scorn cut deep. Their mockery ultimately made Shero live a life alone, afraid of the court of public opinion.

"No. I'm not convinced. I need to see more."

The spirit huffed and placed her hand on her hip. Hooker, it's late and I have a drag queen ball to attend. You do not want to make this bitch late to her balls.

I know what you're thinking. Trashy, just trashy. I bet you're reading this book on a couch on your porch.

Okay, I can arrange for another one of my kind to give you a little visit before the night's over. But I'ma gonna warn you Miss Thing; When The Ghost of Christmas You Go Girl comes a knockin', you bes' behave or that queen will tuck your bits so far up your business you'll never see 'em again.

Warning taken, Shero gently grasped the heavenly material of the Ghost of Christmas Fabulous' dress between his fingers and ...

Pow! Like a lightning bolt to the heart, Shero found himself once again alone on his chaise lounge. Without his knowing, the back to the remote resumed its trajectory to the ground and the falling powder puffs returned to drifting delicately to the ground.

On the TV Ebenezer Scrooge was recovering from the first of his nightly visitors. Shero gave a gentle laugh, realizing The Ghost of Christmas Fabulous was nothing but a dream. "Shoo. I ain't 'fraid of no ghost."

The soft pillow cradled Shero's head once again. His heavy (but tastefully done) eyelids became heavy curtains over his eyes.

Once. Twice.

Three times a lady. There, are you happy now?

Good God!

The pendulum of the clock stopped its swinging and the dust in the air ceased its dusting. The sounds of what could only be a Katy Perry song unfolded into reality. In a flash of silver and red light a new ghostly figure appeared in front of the color-rich plasma screen.

You're so hypnotizing. Could you be an angel? The spirit sang loudly, waking the slumbering superhero.

Shero sat up and shook his head. "You must be the, what was it, Ghost of Christmas You Go Girl?"

That's right. Gaze upon me. Allow my cleavage to hypnotize your soul. I am your girlfriend, your best friend, your firecracker. The sex-pot spirit ran his hands up and down the curves of his cinched waist and hips.

"Yeah, I know... I've seen the film a thousand times, you're here to take me away and — ."

The ghost crossed his arms and drummed his fingers on his biceps. You're stealing my schtick? Seriously? I get to do this like once, maybe twice, a century and you're STEALING MY THING! The voice erupted from the painted mouth like a volcano of unfettered, hormone-powered rage.

Shero held up his hands in surrender. Smart, smart hero.

Thank you. Now, where was I? The queen hissed the question out like he was about ready to strike down the superhero. Oh yes ... I am here to help you bear witness to the truth, to the voice of humanity, to the reality you are unable to perceive. Grab my vestments and I shall fly you off to a magical moment in time you will remember well. You Go Girl held out his arm for the mortal.

When Shero grabbed the poplin sleeve of 'Girl's top, the wind was sucked from his lungs and the tastefully appointed living room disappeared like a roll of duct tape in a drag queen's dressing room.

Now there's an image.

A new scene erupted around them. A fierce battle was being waged. The fight, and some of its wounds, were still fresh in the mind and body of Shero. The villain was Bash, and he was making mush of his foes.

"Bash crash!" The lame catchphrase rattled the entire city block. Bash swung out and connected with Bella Donna, sending her flying into a brick wall. The wall crumbled along with the hero.

"Okay bitch, that's the last straw!" Dream Shero (that should SO be a new Barbie) cried out and drew his trusty katana, the music of the steel briefly turning the entire area into a scene from any given Japanese anime. All living creatures froze. Cherry blossom petals gently floated across the scene.

It was about to get real.

"Why are you showing me this? I won. I sliced and diced Bash, took him into custody, and called it a day. Oh, yeah ... I remember. The son of a bitch broke the heel off my right shoe. Those were one of a kind Carlos Santanas. Who knew the man had a thing for cross-dressing super heroes? I could have —" Shero stopped when he noticed You Go Girl shaking his head.

It's not the fighters you need to watch. Take a listen to the innocent bystanders. Listen and learn.

With a Samantha-like nod of his head, 'Girl twitched the scene back into action. This time Shero moved over to listen to the crowed. What he heard, made his heart grow three sizes that day.

Oh, wrong parable. Sorry.

"Look at him go!" One civilian whispered.

"How does he do it in those heels?" Another question.

"And that dress?" Yet another.

"I don't care what he wears, so long as he's protecting us." An elderly woman spoke up.

"I think he kinda looks hawt!" A green-eyed, red-head gave a wicked grin ... her brain was drifting off to the boudoir and sexier scenes than a fight.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but you're right!" A younger, dark-haired beauty with eyes the size of pies chimed in.

"You go girl!" The small crowed started chanting Shero's catch phrase.

You see girlfriend, your public adores you. These are the people you save on a daily basis. Those asshats spitting out their venom about you being a freak? To hell with them! They are a loud-mouthed minority who'd bitch about anything that didn't fall in line with the TV Evangelist du jour spouting off the dogma o' the day. Bitch, those people don't matter in the grand scheme of things.

"You go girl! You go girl!" The crowd continued yelling.

With a mighty slash of his sword dream-Shero took down Bash, saving the day. He picked up the heel of his Santana in one hand and with the other hauled Bash to the Lightning Bug for the return trip to Headquarters.

"I gotta get that man's phone number! I want to do naughty things to him," the green-eyed girl whispered under her breath as she walked away.

Bra still in a bind there, superhero? The ghost of some-Christmas-or-other sassed.

"But ... but that was just a small crowd and we're in one of the more open-minded neighborhoods in the city. You've gotta give me something more than that." Shero dared demand.

Step back everyone, I smell girl fight!

Sister, I have Christmas to celebrate and you are seriously taking up my disco nap time. Look, I'll arrange for one more visitor. You won't like him. You won't like him one damn bit.

"Who? Who won't I like?" Shero pleaded.

The Ghost of Christmas Drab. The Ghost of Christmas You Go Girl spoke the name as if it were a pox or a curse — or a pleated pantsuit purchased at a Sears sidewalk sale.

Shudder.

Don't say I didn't warn you. The ghost that will visit you last is a nightmare of an epic scale. I can't even promise you'll make it through the night. But you asked, girl and I am here to please. Now, if you please, grab my ass so I can get you home and my evening can finally begin. The specter offered up his arm.

What? You thought you were gonna get to see a little grabby-grabby? Not on my watch, honey!

The instant that skin met poplin, the outdoor scene faded into memory and Shero once again woke drooling on his chaise.

Yeah, yeah ... the pendulum started swinging and the dust returned to falling. Blah, blah, blah. Let's get to the moral of this bitch.

Without even getting the chance to lay his rat's nest of a coiffure back onto the pillow, the sound of chains rang through the house. The sound grew louder and the air around Shero grew colder. With each consecutive breath, the moist air from Shero's lungs became more and more visible.

And then it all stopped. A puff of white steam hung in midair just outside of the hero's nose. On the television, the Grim Reaper stood over Ebenezer Scrooge's grave, forever pointing a bony finger.

And then ...

And then ...

And then ...

For the love of Grilled Cheesus, how much tension do you need built up?

He appeared. A tribute to all things androgynous and business. A fraternal member of the shirt-tucking blue and khaki army. Donning a poly-blend of cotton and middle management, The Ghost of Christmas Drab stood between Shero and the television, arms crossed and beady eyes staring.

Wake up, you lazy, good-for-nothing, slouch! I have to keep you on task. We have to actualize your potential and maximize our time. The androgyny of the ghost's voice was as thick as the material covering his pants and, gasp, shirt.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Shero sat up. "As if I even got a chance to fall back to sleep. I've been waiting for you." Shero's eyes landed on the beast in front of him. "Oh my."

Oh my what? Do you fear me? You should, for I am the one spirit to visit you that will show you things that may or may not be. The spirit pointed a long, unpolished finger toward Shero. The gesture perfectly matched the frozen scene on the television.

"I don't understand," Shero said, his eyes begging to close and return to sleep.

Grab my shirt cuff and I will show you.

Shero stood and pinched his fingers on the rough, cottony cuff on Drab's sleeve. Without so much as a holy shit the two were whisked away in a flood of time and wonder. This trip, however, was no painless, instant whoosh. Pain, anguish, and suffering accompanied the flight. The sounds of Weeping and Moaning could be heard from every angle. The air was cold and lonely.

The Ghost of Christmas Drab pulled Shero down onto a sidewalk in the heart of the city. The sight around them was bleak. And ugly. All was gray, dark, and covered with an impossible blanket of despair. And more importantly (or hideously) —

Everyone. Was. Dressed. Alike.

Khakis, blue button downs, and sock-less loafers were everywhere. Heads were hung. No one chatted, no laughter nor joy filled the air. Shero's heart wanted to break.

"What is this you are showing me, Ghost of Christmas Drab?" Shero held back tears of loss.

This is the world without you. This is what happens when one as fabulous as yourself doesn't exist. This— The specter pointed that same unpolished finger outward — is a Shero-less existence.

The superhero dropped to his knees, knowing full well his Christian Dior satin nightgown would remind him of his transgression later. "Please Ghost of Christmas Drab, show me no more. I have changed, I swear it."

I have one more sight to show you young hero and then I have to get to an important managerial meeting on market share and profit marginalization. 'Drab held out his hand.

The next sight was almost too hard to take. The second Shero laid his big brown eyes on the vision, tears immediately poured in rivers of pain down his ruddy cheeks.

"Oh no. Please spirit, say this isn't real. Tell me what I see can be undone." Shero cried.

Before his eyes was his dearest friend Fiend. Only this Fiend wasn't Fiend. Shero was standing outside of an East-End ranch-style house, watching she-who-would-be-Fiend handing out dinner plates to a family. An average family. Uneventful husband, two and a half children, a dog, a cat. When Fiend came back into the kitchen to grab another plate, she gazed out the window. The look in her eyes was hollow, lost. Fiend looked out the window, as if searching for something forgotten. The corners of her lips were drawn. Her face was filled with lines and wrinkles.

"Oh Fiend, what have I done?" Shero turned to The Ghost of Christmas Drab. "Please spirit, take me back. I am a changed man. I will never again take for granted the love the world has for me. I will never doubt who I am or that the people need me. Just take me back so I can make this all right."

Thank Cher! I was so getting tired of this cotton blend. And do you know what it's like wearing loafers without socks? Girlfriend, you ever go this route again and you're on your own. Drab held out an arm and Shero placed the scratchy fabric between his thumb and forefinger. In a heartbeat the sorrow, loss, and suffering was sucked from his lungs, to be replaced by warmth, joy, and love.

Time and motion restored itself. Shero's weary eyes opened slowly and as he sat up he was greeted with visitors of a different nature.

"Merry Christmas, lover!" Fiend squee'd and wrapped her arms around Shero's neck.

"What's going on?" Shero spoke through the fog of waking.

"Girl, what's going on is a Christmas!" Bella Donna chimed in.

"We couldn't stand the idea of our darling leader, the love of our lives, being alone on Christmas Morning," Fiend answered.

"If there's one person on this planet that deserves to be surrounded by love and friendship on this day, it's you." BuXom gave Shero a kiss on the forehead.

"Oh my gawd! Your house is exactly as I pictured it! The pink Christmas tree. I love!" AniMe squealed with delight.

Okay, we get it. Shero is loved. Just don't break out into —

"Oh holy night ..." Bella Donna began to sing.

Go figure.

Shero stood, and with tears of joy spotting his Christian Dior, hugged each and every one of his friends. With only an inkling dream remaining of an unknown past and an unwanted future, the hero pulled everyone around to the shiny, pink Christmas tree and insisted everyone hold hands. Once hands were clasped the truth of joy and love was permanently bound into Shero's heart. His soul reached out and wrapped itself around his loves, his family.

Outside, the perfectly formed snowflakes fell. Inside the smells of the holiday permeated the air. Inside the hearts of the superheroes, life and love was perfect.

"God bless us, everyone." Shero nearly giggled.

But then ... is everything really perfect? Au contraire, mon ami. Outside there is evil — pure, black, sexy evil dressed up in its finest vinyl and thick, black eyeliner.

Cue sexy evil laugh.

Cue close-up shot of Sex Kitten.

Who is Sex Kitten? You're just going to have to wait for the next installment of ...

Bam!

Pow!

Shero.

Meow.

* * *

Jack Wallen wants to wish all of his lovely fans a "Mary" Christmas by way of everyone's favorite transgendered super hero — Shero. May your holiday celebrations be filled with love, joy, and wonder.

Find more information on Jack and his books at www.monkeypantz.net

Follow him on Facebook and Twitter

# The Darkest Night

Heather Marie Adkins

A core belief of my spirituality is that what we put out into the world comes back to us threefold—good or bad. One random act of kindness could return a hailstorm of good juju; mugging a person at gunpoint could make you a toad in the next life.

I don't know what I did to earn the past three years, but it must have been bad. Stabbing-someone-with-a-knife bad. Ripping-fingers-off-to-feed-to-small-animals bad. Something so naughty that I was running full tilt from the negative energy I must have earned because of it.

So there I was, urging my tiny Ford hatchback through the driving snow and trying to see beyond the blanket of white that obscured the street. It wasn't even the Solstice yet and already winter was brutal. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and wondered what in the name of Freya had brought me to Maine in December.

Besides the obvious.

Being a tree-hugging, dirt-worshipping, nature-loving Witch doesn't necessarily keep one from making bad decisions. On the contrary, we're prone to error as much as the next guy. Maybe even more so, because unlike most of the "Muggles", we worry about our actions.

That train of thought was not helpful. A shiver snaked up my spine despite the overwhelming heat inside the car. I fiddled with the heater, turning it down a bit, and then glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing here but us snowflakes. I silently berated myself for being stupid.

I hadn't been followed.

I needed to get my mind in a better place before I veered down the wrong path. With my eyes glued to the invisible road before me, I searched for the radio controls with one hand. I pressed what I thought felt like the "on" button and was startled by a loud blast of punk rock. My gloved fingers fumbled to turn it down to a trickle. I laughed at myself; at the way my heart was pounding.

I had no idea where I was headed. Just...away. Somewhere northern. I was worried about where I would sleep—where I would live—but I wasn't worried about money.

There's something to be said for being frugal while your life is falling down around you.

The warm glow of an establishment was approaching on my right, creeping towards me at a snail's pace. A large, pulsing red arrow advertised "Diner." The front of the small building spilled light into the night and the lack of cars in the lot promised obscurity. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, pausing in the icy street while I considered my options. Shrugging, I turned in.

The car slid smoothly into a parking spot near the door. I cut the engine and let the keys fall to my lap, before resting my head wearily on the headrest. The wind howled outside, shaking my little car like a toddler with a Tonka. I shivered, reaching for my long, emerald scarf and wrapping it around my neck.

I popped on the dim overhead light and adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see my face. The bruise had only gotten worse in a day's time. I probed the dark purple spot, wincing as pain shot through my jaw. No amount of concealer could cover up that bad boy.

There was still a yellow tint to the skin under my other eye. It would probably be gone in a day or two, but beneath the dark blue of my eyes it looked green and dirty. I sighed, pushing the mirror back into position a little too forcefully.

Here's hoping no one's nosy, I thought, turning the light off. I pulled my funky, sage-colored ski cap with the ear flaps over my wild, dark curls and braced myself.

The walk to the door took an inordinately long time. My knee was killing me: A side-effect of the bone-chilling cold. The doc had told me it would probably never feel right again. Lovely. I pushed against the wind, limping and cursing under my breath as my thick ankle-length skirt wrapped itself in knots around my legs.

When I stepped through the glass door, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was warm and cozy inside. The tinkle of a bell over the door alerted the staff to my presence. The door slamming behind me effectively cut off the moan of the wind.

"Welcome!" A woman with too much make-up and just enough smile bustled around the counter. Her eyes found the bruise but flitted away just as fast. "Are you by yourself, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Thank Goddess.

"Just have a seat anywhere, hon. You want some coffee? You look like you've traveled a long way." She started pouring a mug before she had finished her sentence.

A long way, I thought, briefly closing my eyes as I settled into the seat. I wasn't sure if her statement meant I simply looked tired...or I looked like I felt.

"Here we go!" she said brightly, setting the steaming mug on the table. She had the most platinum blonde hair I'd ever seen, plastered by enough hairspray and spit to withstand nuclear holocaust. Her name tag said Rita. "There's cream and sweetener back there against the wall. Are you hungry, hon?"

"Famished," I answered, realizing it was true. I started peeling off my gloves. "May I have a menu?"

"Of course!"

By the time she came back with one, I'd managed to rid myself of hat, scarf, gloves, and coat. I tucked my fingers into the sleeves of my black sweater, waiting for feeling to return.

"I recommend the meatloaf," Rita announced, sidling back to the counter. She picked up a rag and started wiping it down; I wasn't sure if she was just bored or crazy, because the formica was already glistening.

I opened the large tri-fold menu and scanned it. The usual diner offerings: Chicken tenders, BLT, garden salad, and various brunch items. I had a hankering for waffles.

"You ready to order?" Rita was back at my side. I hadn't even heard her come up. For a woman of her size, she was stealthy.

"Waffles, please. And a side of eggs, over-medium." I ripped open a pack of cane sugar and tipped it over my coffee.

"You want cheese in the eggs?"

"No, ma'am."

Rita cocked her head and grinned. "Aren't you polite? You don't sound like you're from around town."

I recognized a prod when it came. I shrugged. "A little further south."

She just nodded, shoving her pad and pen in the pocket of her dirty apron. "Alright, dear. I'll get your food in. It should be out shortly."

"Thanks, Rita."

I was rewarded with another big—if baffled—grin and she headed for the kitchen.

Outside the window, it seemed like the snow was letting up. I reached into the pocket of my coat, extracting my old, brassy pocket watch. Just past seven p.m. I didn't feel like I'd driven for twenty hours.

That feeling did come, though, after I inhaled my food. Even the three cups of coffee couldn't wake me up. By the time I was full, lethargic and resting my head on the back of the booth, someone else had arrived at the diner.

She was the kind of beauty you rarely see in real life—the kind that requires a daily stylist and make-up artist to achieve the right effect. Her ash-blonde hair peeked from beneath her pale pink taboggan—corkscrew curls that hugged a heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were much paler than mine; like the deepest part of an iceberg. The red of her lipstick was vivid against her pale skin. Her puffy ski coat made me think of those gargantuan, pastel marshmallows you can buy in bulk at the grocery.

I looked away, pretending the fall of baby flakes outside the window was wondrous, as her eyes settled on me. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I didn't want to see anybody... I just wanted to make it to Canada.

What we want isn't always what we get.

"Are you here alone?" Her voice was as sweet as her child-like face. It sounded like bells ringing.

I looked up, unable to stop the rise of one eyebrow as I nodded.

"Sorry to intrude. I just don't recognize you and thought I'd introduce myself." She slid into the seat across from me.

I barely stopped myself from gaping at her. It's not that I don't like company, I was just...not in the mood.

"I'm Sarah Koenig." Her small hand reached across my empty plate, and I reluctantly took it. Her skin was cold. My bitten nails looked like a train wreck next to her perfect, red tips. "My husband is Larson Koenig the Third. Mayor of Waterford."

"Waterford," I murmured, pulling my hand back inside the sleeve of my long-sleeved t-shirt where it belonged.

She eyed me quizzically. "Yes, Waterford. The town in which we are currently seated in the only diner..."

"Sorry," I said. I pushed my plate away, sighing. "It's been a long day. I couldn't tell you the last time I actually looked at the highway signs."

Sarah's eyes widened. "How could you drive and not pay attention to where you're going?"

Because I don't know where I'm going, I thought, averting my eyes. "I was headed in the right general direction."

"What brings you to Waterford?"

When her icy-blue eyes rested on the monster covering my cheek, I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter. "I'm headed for Canada."

"Oh?" She leaned her elbows on the table. "Where are you from?"

Dear Goddess, she was planning on staying in that seat until she sucked every last bit of information out of me.

"Kentucky."

"Huh. Long way to go, isn't it?"

Rita came to the table, setting a bag of food in front of Sarah. "Mrs. Koenig, I've made sure to put in some of the Mayor's favorite sauce for the meatloaf. He didn't ask for it when he called, but I know he loves it. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, Rita, thank you so much." Sarah's smile was dazzling; the poor waitress looked star-struck. "Just charge it to Larson's card, as usual."

"Absolutely, Mrs. Koenig, thanks so much for coming in."

Sarah's eyes flicked back to my face... and the bruise.

"Oh, Rita? Will you put..." She turned to me, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry! I don't think I caught your name."

"Mena."

Sarah nodded. "Rita, will you put Mena's meal on our account, please?"

"Of course, Mrs. Koenig." Rita made for the cash register.

"No, no, Rita, don't do that!" I called, maybe a little too sharply. Turning my eyes to Sarah, I shook my head. "It's not necessary."

"Consider it my welcome gift," Sarah responded, pulling her take-out bag closer so she could dig through it. "So, Mena, please tell me you didn't drive all the way here from Kentucky without stopping. That's some drive."

I shrugged, grabbing my ski cap and mashing it down over my long hair. I didn't know how to answer her. Telling a complete stranger I was on the run wasn't on my must-do list.

I had managed to finagle into my jacket and scarf, and was working on the gloves, when Sarah finished checking the contents of her to-go order. She looked at me, pursing her lips. "You aren't planning on continuing to the border tonight."

I wasn't sure if it was a question or not, so I just answered simply: "Yes."

Sarah sighed, shaking her head and tsking at me. "Well, the town motel is an absolute dump, so why don't you stay at my house for the night?"

She caught me in the act of sliding from the booth, with the intention of escaping into the cold night. I paused, one hand still pressed to the table. There were crumbs under my palm. "Excuse me?"

Standing gracefully from the booth, she picked up her food. "You can't keep driving tonight. It may look like that snow is letting up, but unfortunately, we have more coming. So, why don't you follow me home and I'll put you up for the night?"

"You don't even know me," I murmured, my heart beating fast. When was the last time someone had truly exhibited kindness to me? The last time I saw my mom, probably. Before she ran off to Ireland.

Sarah reached across the empty space between us and touched my bruised cheek. Her fingers were so soft and fleeting, I barely felt them.

"I don't need to know you, Mena. All I need to know is that you need somewhere to go."

Trusting one's intuition is not only a witchy thing—it's a woman thing. And where Sarah Koenig was concerned, my radar gave me two thumbs-up.

* * *

I followed the Mayor's wife out of town. The icy road curved steeply upwards for what felt like miles as I slowly tailed her little sports car.

It wasn't snowing again—yet. But in between the Christmas songs on the radio, the deejay was giving up to the minute reports on the storm that was blowing in. From the way he was going on, Sarah was a hero for making me get off the road.

The clouds opened to my right, and a full moon peeked through. My heart stuttered as I realized the road we were on hugged a cliff—there was nothing between my car and a sudden drop except a flimsy metal fence.

I slowed, awed by the sight beyond that fence.

The ocean spread into a murky horizon, lit by the light of the moon. The water was choppy and black—a frothing sea of white-caps. How easy would it be to jerk the wheel and let the ocean swallow me? My next life had to be better than this one.

In an instant, the moon was swallowed by the sky and the ocean was gone, taking with it my feeling of helplessness.

Sarah turned down a nearly hidden driveway. A few yards into the trees, she pulled up to a small metal box and her gloved hand extended from her car window. She tapped on the box a few times, her brake lights bright on my windshield, then the lights dimmed and she moved forward.

The trees formed a tunnel over the small driveway. We crept forward, and I punched the radio off so I could listen to the blanket of snow crunch beneath the tires. It was the sound I made when I ate ice cubes. It made me smile.

Sarah's house appeared at the end of the tunnel, the trees giving way to a vast, open space nestled firmly against the edge of the cliff. Strategic spotlights illuminated the three-story brick home, highlighting the golden shutters and the foot-long icicles hanging from the gabled eves.

I parked behind Sarah's car and shut off the engine, focusing on a couple of deep breaths in the silence. Grounding and centering during ritual is not nearly as important as doing so when one is on the verge of fainting from overload.

Only when my hostess and her three-inch heeled boots were standing in the snowy driveway did I grab my satchel and step from the car.

She led me up the snow-covered steps, my boots sinking in over my ankles. We were met at the door by a ridiculously handsome, smiling man.

"Who'd you bring home this time, Sare?" he chuckled, stepping back to allow us into the foyer. He winked at me, patting me on the shoulder as he ushered me inside and shut the door. "My wife is good at bringing home not only stray pets, but stray people too." His chuckle, and the affectionate peck he placed on Sarah's cheek, showed it was in good humor.

"Larson, this is Mena," Sarah said, handing over the food bag. She unbuttoned her puffy coat as she told him, "I found her finishing up dinner at the Diner."

Larson was a big guy—nearly a foot taller than my 5'6" with broad shoulders and a wide smile. He hooked the bag over one flannel-covered arm and shook my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mena. Welcome to our home."

"Mena has just driven in. From Kentucky," Sarah said, bending down to greet a small white terrier that came streaking into the hallway.

Larson was better than his wife at ignoring the giant blemish on my face. "Oh, yeah? Long drive, that. We were going to sit and eat dinner in front of some bad reality TV, but I bet you'd like a shower and a bed, huh Mena?"

It was only at the thought of a hot bath and a warm bed that exhaustion finally settled over my bones. I was weary. I let my shoulders sag. "That would actually be wonderful."

Sarah's eyes were concerned as she placed a small hand on my arm. "Follow me, Mena. I'll show you to your room."

* * *

Nothing awoke me. Not the heavy, wailing wind that nearly shook the place from its foundation, nor the banging of the loose shutter from the back of the house—both things were my lullaby as I drifted to sleep. I sank into the cocoon of the featherbed in the Mayor's guest bedroom and I slept the best sleep I'd had in years.

I awoke to a world of white outside the window. The snow had stopped, but what was left behind was a wonderland. What should have been bushes were mounds of gleaming white; what was a lamp post by the front door was a snowy arm reaching from the depths of the ground. It was beautiful.

I shed Sarah's soft cotton nightgown and dressed in a clean pair of cargo khakis and a dark blue thermal shirt. I didn't bother with shoes—where was I going to go? My car had been eaten by the weather.

Sarah and Larson were both seated at the kitchen table with identical mugs of steaming coffee. The latter had one hand on his coffee and the other holding the drooping edge of what must have been yesterday's newspaper up to the light. Sarah was nestled on the cushions of the bay window surrounding the table, one knee tucked under her chin as she read from a hardback book. She looked like an angel, haloed by the brilliant white that only snow can create.

Both of them glanced up with broad smiles as I walked in. Sarah hopped to her feet, but I waved her off.

"Sit," I told her. "Just point me in the direction of the mugs and the coffee."

She chuckled, curling back into her seat. "Over on the island. I've already set out a mug for you. There's cream and sweetener in the two ceramic containers."

"Did you sleep well, Mena?" Larson asked, returning to his paper.

I pulled the pot from the coffee maker and poured a generous cup. "Yes, I did. Thank you very much."

They were silent behind me as I stirred in a spoonful of sugar—the real stuff, not the induces-cancer-in-lab-rats stuff—and added a dollop of cream. I carried my mug to the table, taking the end seat across from Larson.

Sarah gestured to the basket in the center of the table. All manner of sweet morning pastries were piled inside. "Help yourself. There are so many flavors in there, you're bound to like something."

"Thank you," I said, encompassing everything in general as I swiped a jellyroll from the top. I gave Sarah a wry grin. "For making me stay here."

She laughed. "Of course. I couldn't let you keep going."

"Where are you headed?" Larson asked, a disembodied voice behind the newspaper.

I stared into the flat surface of my coffee where a tiny, dark Mena stared back. Her eyes looked haunted, her cheeks too thin... Gods, I could even see the bruise in my coffee reflection. That miniature Mena dared me to spill my guts, tell the world—but I just wasn't sure I was that strong.

"Canada," I finally answered. When I looked up, Larson had appeared, his face concerned, and Sarah was eyeing me.

"Where in Canada?" she asked. The corner of Larson's lip quirked.

I crossed my arms over my chest. I hadn't thought beyond crossing the border. When I was in middle school, I had loved the name of one of the provinces. It was pretty much the only one I knew, so I pulled it out and said, "Saskatchewan."

Sarah and Larson exchanged amused looks. "That's on the other side of the continent."

My shrug was insolent. "Yeah."

They didn't dig any farther, thankfully.

* * *

"I was going to take a walk in about an hour," Sarah told me as we were cleaning up.

I rinsed my mug and placed it on the top rack of the dishwasher. "Oh?"

"Would you care to join me? I wanted to run out and check on Barbary, my horse."

"I'm not big on horses," I answered truthfully. When I was eight, I was thrown from a horse at my cousin Mickey's 14th birthday party. It was one of those milestones that managed to scar me for life.

"You sure you don't want some fresh air? You can stay outside the barn while I just run in and out..."

Her pout convinced me that a walk was essential to my very existence. The woman could pull a mean pout.

* * *

"How did I let you talk me into this?" I asked, shivering under my long wool coat. My snow boots were sinking into two feet of snow. It felt like I was wading through water, especially since we were moving steadily uphill.

Sarah giggled. Her nose and cheeks had turned pink in the frigid breeze. She looked like a tiny Nordic elf. I had to be a good 6 inches taller than her. "A walk is good for you."

"Until it gives you pneumonia." I chuckled.

There was supposedly a path beneath our feet, but if it was there, it was cleverly disguised as an expanse of unbroken snow beneath a canopy of trees. We had only been walking for about five minutes after leaving the barn—where Barbary was snorting peacefully—and I was already cold enough to wish myself back into the guest bedroom.

I was trying not to think of what I was going to do when the roads were cleared and I had to leave.

Sarah chatted about how nice it was to have someone to talk to as we took a sharp corner through the trees. I hummed noncommittally, and drew short as we found ourselves in a small clearing.

Rising from the center was a small stone cottage.

I couldn't stop the sudden intake of breath, and my heart skipped a few beats.

The structure was perfectly symmetrical: a small blue door, flanked by two windows with matching, closed shutters. The roof was metal and rose in an A-shape above the house. The only thing it was missing was a garden.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked, putting a gloved hand on my shoulder. "Mena?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. It's just..."

"What?"

I grinned. "It looks like it fell straight from my dreams."

"The cottage?" She smiled, dropping her hand to grasp mine. "Come on, I'll show you the inside."

The door opened right up—not locked. She led me inside a small, dark foyer. The hall walls pressed close on both sides, marking a straight line to a door at the end. I could vaguely make out an open archway in either wall, presumably leading into rooms of the cottage.

"This is the old caretaker's cottage from the previous house," Sarah told me, gesturing for me to follow. "The Koenig family has owned this land for eons, but the house we live in now isn't the original, obviously. It was built about twenty years ago when the first house burned down."

"What a terrible loss for your family."

"Oh no," Sarah said, shaking her head. She pushed through the door at the end of the hallway; it swung on squeaky hinges. "No one was living there at the time. Larson's dad had passed away and his mom just couldn't stand the thought of staying in their home alone. She bought a condo down in town. That's where Larson and his brother grew up. His uncle built the current house in hopes Larson would move in when he was old enough. The two lived together for a long time."

We entered a small kitchen that was just as dim as the hallway. Sarah walked to the sink and reached above it, shoving at the window.

"Where is he now? Larson's uncle?"

The window finally gave beneath her hands and slid up. She pushed a palm against the shutters and they flew open, illuminating the kitchen. Sarah shot me a sad smile. "He died the year Larson and I met. I only got to know him for a short time. A wonderful man. He really loved Larson and Aaron."

"Aaron?"

"Larson's brother."

The kitchen was quaint and perfect. The floors were stone and the cabinets made of pale ash wood. The basin sink had an old-fashioned pump handle, and the stove was an old wood-burner.

The silence dragged on as Sarah leaned against the counter and stared at me. She finally spoke. "What are you running from, Mena?"

I had to think about it. What was I running from? And did I really want to tell her?

I liked her. I liked Sarah. She was kind and good and she deserved to know what kind of person she had taken into her home.

"A past," I murmured, pulling one of the saggy-bottomed chairs away from the table. I sank into it, clasping my hands on the tabletop and staring at them as if my life depended on how hard I could hold on.

"We all have pasts. Not everyone runs." She eyed me. "Mena, this cabin is sitting here empty. I usually forget it's even here, most of the time. I will let you stay here, live here, for as long as you need to get back on your feet. On one condition."

I nodded for her to go on, my heart dancing.

"Tell me your story, Mena. You have bruises on your face. Plural. And you limp. I can already take a wild guess, but I'd rather you share."

I rested my chin in my hand, my elbow planted on the dirty tabletop. Outside the kitchen window, small, delicate flakes were beginning to fall, nearly invisible against a backdrop of white, wintry sky.

"I met Tyler three years ago," I told her, my voice barely loud enough to be heard over the howling of the wind as it picked up. "He was a regular in the coffee shop where I worked. He was the perfect gentleman—yes ma'am, no ma'am. He held doors, took out my trash..." I trailed off, remembering that Tyler—the Tyler with whom I had fallen in love. "It started verbally. Yelling at me for taking too long to get home from work. Screaming when I wanted to go out with my girlfriends. He even stopped telling me when my mom would call."

Sarah nodded, finally taking the seat beside me. When her soft, warm palm fell over mine, I let it remain there.

"He didn't start hitting me until he started drinking. He'd go out after work and drink until supper. If things weren't just right—supper on the table, a willing wife waiting—he'd...get mad."

I averted my eyes from her, touching my face with the tips of my fingers. "This isn't even the worse he's ever done."

"The limp?"

I nodded. "He was on top of me, hitting me. When he stood, he stomped on my knee with his boot. It tore some tendons. Cracked my kneecap."

Sarah cringed, her fingers tightening around mine. "Sounds like a real butthole."

"Yeah."

"So, what made you finally get up the courage to leave?"

I laughed bitterly. "I don't know that it was courage, Sarah."

"Of course it was."

Her sharp tone took me aback. I continued talking without even thinking about it. "He hit me. And I don't know why," I said, pulling my ski cap from my head and running a hand back through my curls. "But it just made me so angry. Instead of being scared, like usual, I just got...pissed.

"I was making dinner. Frying bacon. It was almost done. I hate bacon—I don't eat meat. But I always had to make it for his stupid ass. And when he hit me, it threw me into the counter next to the stove. Next to where my cast-iron skillet was sizzling."

Sarah's eyes were wide, prodding me to go on.

I took a shaky breath. "So, I grabbed the skillet. And I swung."

She made a little eep sound and one tiny hand fluttered to cover her mouth. "Oh my God, you didn't, Mena."

I turned my eyes to the open window. The cold breeze was beginning to overpower the room. What I wouldn't give for this to be my home; for that wood-burning stove to be mine. I'd pile it full and light it up. The kitchen would be warm in no time. I could use that gorgeous stove in ritual, tossing handfuls of dried herbs into the flames until the entire kitchen smelled divine... It would be my safe-haven.

"So, did it knock him out?" she asked after a minute. Her hand was still on mine. Her fingers were gripping so tight I was losing feeling in my own.

"It did." I cleared my throat, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. "He was bleeding. While I packed my things."

"Oh, God. Mena."

Sliding my hand away from hers, I sat back in my seat. "I know."

"Do you think...?"

"I don't know. If he's..." I couldn't bring myself to say it. "If he's alive, he doesn't have any way of knowing where I am. If he's..."

Sarah took a deep breath and drummed her fingers on the table. Dust arose from around her hands.

My heart pounded. I was waiting for her to tell me off. To yell at me to get off her property, to get out of her life.

I had maybe killed my husband.

Sarah smiled wanly. "Well. You're here now. And I don't care about him, I care about you. You'll be safe here; Larson and I will take care of you. So, let's take a walk around this old cottage and open some windows. Air it out. It's got a new inhabitant."

I burst into tears.

* * *

Sarah helped me clean the cottage over the course of a couple days. A bit of scrubbing here, sweeping there... For a house that had sat empty for who-knows-how-long, it sure shaped up nicely.

"Do you need anything right now?" Sarah stood beside the back door, buttoning her jacket. The crackle of the fire in the woodstove filled the room, dancing light across her face.

"You've already given me enough," I told her, thinking of my closet full of clothes. I didn't even want to think about how long it would take me to pay her back. My kitchen was filled with all the extra implements the Koenig's didn't need at the big house; my bathroom was stocked from the same. I couldn't possibly imagine taking anything else from them.

"Alright." She paused, eyeing me. "Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

I laughed, giving her a gentle shove towards the door. "I'm going to have to get used to being by myself here, Sarah. Go home. There's more snow coming, remember?"

She sighed, planting her heels in to the floor. She gazed longingly into the open door of the stove. The fire crackled merrily, as if it sensed her watching. "I'm already sick of snow."

"It's only the 20th of December."

"Don't remind me!" She swatted my hand away and leaned forward, wrapping me in a hug.

"Thank you. So much," I said, a lump in my throat so big I could barely speak as I squeezed her tightly.

"I don't like you being up here without some way to call me," Sarah murmured into my hair.

"I'll be fine. Go."

I watched her disappear into the growing darkness, heading down the bare, back path towards the woods, and the tunnel through the forest that would lead her home.

There were still a couple hours until my usual bedtime, and I was full of energy, despite the long day of manual labor. Blame it on the fact that I was suddenly living in my dream house. I grabbed a book of matches from the silverware drawer and lit my oil lantern. It worked beautifully, lighting up the kitchen like an electric lamp.

I grasped the handle and drug it from the table, carrying it through the swinging door and into the den.

Not a lot had made the drive with me from Kentucky. Then again, I hadn't really owned much to begin with. Anything that was my husband's—or bought with my husband's money—I wanted none of it.

What I did have were important things. A couple duffel bags of clothes now hanging in my closet. A few knick-knacks and stuffed animals from my mom. And a big box of ritual tools.

For three years, I had hidden my faith from Tyler. Why? Fear, maybe, of his reaction if he had ever known. Worry that he would destroy my magickal tools, yes. So my box of ritual items had sat beneath a stack of musty, dirty old blankets in our coat closet until I had packed it in my car and left.

I opened the box in the middle of my living room and breathed a deep sigh of relief when the oil lamp splashed light over items that were dusty but intact. I pulled out my small, black iron cauldron and set it gently on the coffee table. Then came my clay censer, still full of sand and with a holey lid that needed a good cleaning. My athame—a black-handled knife used to cast the circle and call the quarters. A box of wooden matches, a paper bag of small votive candles, and an assortment of glass and clay holders for said candles.

The last thing I pulled from the box was a small baggie that held the last sage bundle I'd made before moving in with my husband.

The herbs were old, but when I opened the bag the scent of sage assailed me. It reminded me of better times; of life before Tyler. I knew now why I never used that last bundle of sage.

It was meant for my cottage.

I struck a match and put it to the tip of the bundle. The leaves crackled to life and heady smoke filled the air. I grabbed the oil lamp—a great stand-in for a candle—and headed for the front door.

Holding the sage between my fingers, I traced the shape of pentacle before the heavy Dutch door. Into the silence of my new home, I murmured, "Goddess bless and protect this home from all negativity."

Short, sweet, and to the point.

I slowly made my way through the house, using the sage to draw pentacles over every window and doorway, repeating my chant.

The atmosphere had shifted by the time I finished. The heavy emptiness that had suffused the house had been replaced by the smell of sage and an immense feeling of home.

I returned to the living room and smiled at my tools spread across the table. I felt accomplished.

A large window looked out over my snow-covered front yard. I set the lamp down and went to close the curtains: a set of lavender satin panels that Sarah had pulled from a dusty linen closet. That done, I turned and eyed the trunk.

It was the one item of furniture in the house that still held stuff. I didn't know yet what all stuff was in there, but now was a great time to find out.

Larson's wire cutters were waiting for me on the small coffee table. I snatched them up and went to kneel before the trunk. It reminded me of a pirate's treasure chest: wooden sides and golden, metal hinges. Running my hands over the rough surface, I wondered who it had belonged to and what I was going to find inside.

The lock cracked beneath the cutters a lot easier than I was expecting. It only took most of my body weight and a little bit of grunting.

Sliding the padlock from the clasp, I tossed it aside. I moved the lamp closer and opened the lid.

I don't know what I had been expecting. Maybe a trunk full of clothes or old magazines...

It was a book.

I frowned, reaching in with both hands to pull it out. It wasn't a book; it was a photo album. And it was heavy.

I sat it beneath the fall of the lamp's light. The cover cracked beneath my fingers as I opened it, revealing an album full-to-bursting. It was the kind I grew up with—single, stiff pages with a sticky layer for the pictures, covered by a sheet of plastic.

I flipped through slowly. The pictures were old—small, black and white or sepia. As I progressed, they became Polaroids, and then larger color photos.

What I was seeing was a family history from start to finish. The very first photo was a blurry, sepia image of a bride and her groom. She was young and beautiful; he was in military dress with his eyes firmly on her. From there, their life stretched before me. Pregnancy, babies, kids, parties, portraits, everything that the average American family documents over time.

At the end of the album was my cottage. The same bride and groom, though much, much older, stood before a younger, livelier version of my new home.

But after that... Nothing.

* * *

"I have no idea," Sarah told me, flipping through the pages of the album. "I mean, this guy—" she paused, planting a finger to a handsome man with wavy blonde hair— "He kinda looks familiar. But I don't know these people."

"Hmm." I leaned forward to get a better look at the man. He must have been a son of the couple, because he looked like his daddy.

Sarah shrugged, closing the album gently. "No one has lived in that cottage for like twenty years. Since the fire."

"Is there a way to find out who did live there?"

Sarah tapped a finger to her chin, thoughtful. "The library?"

* * *

The roads were still bad, but I pushed on anyway, taking my time as I navigated down the cliffside asphalt and back into Waterford. Sarah was certainly organized—her driving directions, in neat block letters on notebook paper in my passenger seat, got me from her front door to the library in less than twenty minutes.

The library was housed in an old, converted chapel on Main Street. It was white and small, with a tall steeple. As I pulled into a parking space on the street, the bells housed beneath the shutters of the steeple were ringing three o'clock.

I was met at the door by a smiling teen with the wildest head of red curls I had ever seen. She chirped, "Good afternoon! How may I help you?"

"I was interested in property records. Does the library keep any such thing?"

"Sure," she answered, popping her chewing gum. She pointed to my left. "Go visit the help desk back in the corner. Nolia can help you."

I thanked the girl and squeaked in my wet boots in the direction she pointed.

Like most good libraries, this one was silent as a tomb. And very empty. I passed a couple of teen girls hunched over books at a table in the corner, and an older gentleman in a business suit perusing the "Law" aisle. Other than that, no one else until I reached the help desk.

Nolia was an older woman with a long gray braid tossed over one shoulder and thick Harry Potter-type glasses. She was waif-like and tall with pale skin and a vaguely British accent. "Hello, dear. How may I help?"

"Property records. I'm trying to find out who lived in my house before me."

"Ah." She stood, gesturing for me to follow with her long fingers. "Just moved to town, did you? I've not seen you before."

"Yes, I'm new here." I sincerely hoped she wasn't about to try and draw my life story from me. I'd had plenty of that lately, thank you.

"Wonderful. I hope you enjoy Waterford. It's a great little town." She led me to a computer at the end of a dim tunnel of books, where she sat and clicked the mouse. A search screen appeared.

"What is the address?"

Shit. "I have no idea, I'm sorry. I didn't even think to ask."

One of her thin eyebrows arched. "You don't know your own address?"

I laughed, wrapping my hands around the ends of my scarf. "That does sound weird. I've just moved into the old caretaker's cottage on the grounds of Mayor Koenig's home."

"I didn't know there was a cottage near their home," Nolia said, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard. "I'll run a search for their physical address and see what we come up with."

In the ensuing silence, I figured I should try for polite. "I'm Mena, by the way."

She glanced up with a brief smile before going back to the computer. The screen reflected on her glasses. "It's nice to meet you, Mena. I'm Nolia, if you hadn't already seen." She chuckled, tapping her nametag.

More silence. I should really learn how to do small talk.

"Oh! Look, I found it," Nolia said, sounding surprised. "It was built in 1852 by an Edward Koenig. It says it was leased to a Melvin Coomer."

"Who was the most recent inhabitant?"

Nolia scanned the computer screen, the mouse clicking as she scrolled down. Her eyes widened. "Well, I'll be darned. Margaret Hopper."

I wrinkled my nose. "Who?"

She turned in her seat, chuckling. "She opened the Diner about thirty years ago. That place has withstood the test of time."

I thought of the photo album, sitting innocuously on my backseat, and the night I stopped at that very same Diner—and met Sarah. Who gave me my home...and Margaret's photo album.

"Thank you, Nolia. Where does Margaret live now, do you know?"

"Oh, dear." Nolia frowned, touching my hand where it rested on the back of her seat. "Margaret has been living in Waterford Plums for several years now."

"Waterford Plums?"

"It's a nursing home. Margaret has Alzheimer's."

* * *

On the drive over, I couldn't help but marvel at the serendipity.

As a witch, I worship balance in the universe. For every light, there is dark; for every opposite, there is a reaction. There is no such thing as a coincidence in my world, and I was certain that Margaret Hopper and I had been joined for a reason.

Waterford Plums was much nicer than the nursing home where my Granny had lived out the last of her years—before Alzheimer's took her. I was buzzed into a bright, clean lobby where patrons of all shapes and sizes were crowded on soft, poofy couches watching Oprah reruns with wide eyes.

I walked to the reception desk and gave the nurse my best smile. "Hi. I'm here to see Margaret Hopper?"

"Name?" Her bored tone bothered me. She didn't even look up from the book she was reading—something with a suspiciously Fabio-looking character and a blonde with her ta-tas half hanging out on the cover.

"Mena McGinty. I'm not actually family. I think I may have something of hers." I lifted the top of my satchel and extracted the bulky album, dropping it to the gray counter. Dust arose from it, and the nurse raised an eyebrow.

"Sign in," she said, sliding a clipboard over to me. The pen was connected with a piece of yarn and duct tape.

Really? Brand new furniture and crystal chandeliers, and they use duct tape?

I signed my name as the nurse wrote me up a nametag. I took off my coat, and obediently slapped the sticker on my red-plaid flannel shirt.

"Just so you know, Margaret may not comprehend anything you say, Miss McGinty."

I nodded, hefting the album into my arms and tucking it against my chest. "I understand."

"Room 215. Take the elevator around the corner." And she went back to her steamy romance novel.

I found Margaret snoozing in front of her television. An incredibly loud and obnoxious episode of Friends was playing. It was one of those cult sitcoms that I never could get into. The only TV I ever watched was because of my husband, so I didn't have that great of a relationship with it to begin with.

I hit the volume control and turned the show down, then sat in a chair beside Margaret's snazzy pink wheelchair, wondering what the Hades I was supposed to do. I would feel like a total ass if I woke her up.

Margaret was much older than I expected. She was small and round, with pure white hair and a wrinkled face reminiscent of a bulldog. I couldn't tell if she was the woman in the pictures or not. It's funny how age can change a person.

Her head dipped continually down, her chin coming to rest on her chest. She would snore once, and jerk her head up. The cycle continued a good five minutes. I had finally leaned down to shove the album in my bag and leave, when she opened her eyes.

We caught each other's gaze. She looked vacant... Nobody home. But then, something happened. Like a completely different person took over. Her face smoothed and her eyes lit up. "Hello! Should I know you?"

I shook my head, putting the album back on my knees. "No ma'am, you shouldn't. But I think I have something of yours."

Her eyes flicked to the album and back to my face. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Hopper, did you ever live in a small cottage on the Koenig family's land?" I kept eye contact with her, willing her mind to focus. To remember.

"Well, of course! My Walter and I moved into that quaint little house after our youngest married. We rented."

I smiled. I was looking at the woman in the pictures. It was kind of neat. "I'm living there now. I found this album in an old trunk and tracked you down."

She lifted her hands from her lap as I passed the book over to her. I hoped it wasn't too heavy for her knees.

Her gnarled hands brushed across the black leather, then opened the cover. When the tears began to roll down the crevices of her face, I felt a little choked myself.

"It's been so long," she murmured, touching the wedding photo. "That's my Walter. He died in '85, not too long after the Koenig's property burnt and we had to move."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hopper."

The old lady laughed as she turned another page. "My Jason. He's a soldier, stationed in Germany right now. Him and his wife have given me five grandkids. He's my youngest."

"You have a beautiful family," I said softly, touching the back of her hand. Her skin felt so thin and soft.

"Thank you, dear. What was your name again?"

"Mena."

"Mena. So pretty." She closed the album and lifted her teary eyes to mine. "Tell me, Mena, why you have that bruise on your face."

My heart pounded. What was it with these people? I was in the north. I left the south to get away from the busybodies.

"Was it a man, Mena?"

I looked away, pretending fascination with the fake palm plant in the corner. "Yes."

Margaret leaned forward in her chair, one hand resting on a lifetime's worth of memories and the other landing on my knee. "Mena, life is sometimes truly, truly unfair. Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people."

Her fingers moved from my hand to my cheek, touching the bruise gently. "There is no rhyme or reason to why things happen, but always remember—She loves you. She only wants the best for you. And if she brought you to Waterford from whatever southern state that cute accent hails from..." She paused, patting my cheek. "Then, darling girl, it was for a reason. And she brought you to me for a reason."

I wiped the tears from my face, the tension so tight in my chest I wanted to throw something. Instead, I clutched my satchel and tried not to sob.

"You've made this old woman happy, girl," she went on. She spread her hands over the album. "I may not have much time left in this world, Mena, but now, well, that's alright. You've given me something to hold on to."

Then I was really crying. Messy, loud crying that was probably scaring the other patients of the home. Margaret was rubbing my back soothingly, whispering nonsensical words. She let me sob... and sob. I kept it up until there just wasn't anything left.

Silence stretched in the room.

"Mena, you are home," Margaret said, her eyes faraway as I sat up, wiping my face on my sleeves. "She told me so."

"Margaret, when you say She ..."

The old lady winked at me. "Blessed be, Sister."

* * *

As I parked the car in the Koenig's driveway, Sarah appeared at the front door and waved at me.

I opened the door, waving back as I stepped from the car. "Hey!'

"Mena! You have a phone call."

The only person who knew where I was staying was my mother, so I assumed it was her. I followed Sarah into the house.

"Did you find the album's owner?" she asked me, leading me into the den.

I smiled. "Yeah. I'll tell you about it after I talk to my mom."

"I don't think it's your mom," Sarah said, surprised. "She sounds really young."

Frowning, I lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Mena? This is Officer Melissa Thomas."

My heart dropped. It was my husband's parole officer.

"Mena? I got this number from your mother, I hope that's alright."

I took a shaky breath and braced myself for the worst. My voice came out stronger than I felt. "Am I in trouble?"

Her laugh tinkled across the line. "No, Mena, you're not in trouble. You hit him pretty good though, huh?"

I couldn't help the smile. "Yeah. I did."

"He spent a couple days in the hospital being observed. A concussion." She chuckled. "A cast-iron skillet?"

"He's lucky I didn't kill him."

"I know." All laughter was gone as the officer sobered. "That is a great segue into why I'm calling, Mena."

I didn't respond.

"Tyler was recently arrested on murder charges."

"Oh." My skin broke out in goosebumps. "Anyone I know?"

"I don't think so. It looks like a drug deal gone bad. There was a busload of witnesses—literally. Broad daylight. And of course, he can't afford a lawyer so the state is providing him one that isn't quite so great. The chances don't look good for him."

"Good for me?"

"Yes, Mena. Good for you. Not to jump the gun, but he is probably going away for a long, long time."

The weight that had rested on my shoulders for the last month—no, the last three years—was magically gone. No transition. Just...gone.

Officer Thomas went on. "I would suggest you hire yourself a lawyer and get those divorce papers drawn up."

It took me a couple seconds to realize she had spoken again, but when I did, I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'll do that. Thank you for calling."

"Believe me, Mena, it was my pleasure." She paused. "You take care now, you hear?"

"I will."

Sarah was still standing in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. "Was that about your husband?"

I nodded, replacing the receiver. "He's been arrested for murder."

"Oh my God, Mena!" Sarah rushed to me and wrapped her long arms around me. "Are you okay? So, he's going away?"

I nodded, pressing my face into her hair. "He's going away."

For the second time that day, I burst into tears.

I was making up for lost time.

* * *

There was a cat waiting at my back door when I got home.

He was a mess. His long fur was matted to his skinny body; I was positive he was supposed to be white but he was so covered in dirt it was impossible to tell. As I walked up the pathway in the dim evening light, he meowed pitifully.

"Well, hello," I said softly, pausing several feet from the door as our eyes met. I didn't want to scare him away.

He meowed again, sauntering down the path as if he owned the place, and started rubbing his little body on my boots.

I laughed, walking forward, and ignored him. If he wanted me, he'd follow me.

And he did. He let me shave him after I walked to the main house and borrowed an electric razor from Larson. We then had a very ugly bath in the kitchen sink, accompanied by yowling so horrendous you'd think I was killing him.

But the end product was...well, sad but, for the moment, clean.

As I had this thought, sitting on my couch with the oil lamp lit and a cat I had named Solstice purring on my lap, I realized that was me, too.

Sad. But clean. The negativity that had rested on me for so long had been scrubbed away—first, by my encounter with Margaret Hopper, fellow Goddess-worshipping witch, and then by the phone call from Officer Thomas.

Solstice turned sleepy yellow eyes to me, his purr reverberating through my body.

The old grandfather clock in the corner chimed 7:30 p.m. It was sundown on December 21st... the Winter Solstice had begun.

I ran my hand over my new pet's shaved body. The longest night of the year stretched before us...

But the darkest night of my life was behind me.

* * *

Heather Marie Adkins is a Witch living in the wilds of Kentucky. The Winter Solstice is one of her favorite holidays. Always remember—there is light on the way after the longest night.

Find more information on Heather and her books at www.heather.bishoffs.com

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