by Ellen Mint
Trying to act as if she knew what she was doing, as if she had this all under control, Nadire took a step forward. A wind so cold it froze her pores solid wrapped against her cheeks. She felt a scream burning in her throat, her eyes slammed tight as she struggled another step forward. Get to safety, then worry about the pain. Now wasn’t the time.
Warm hands wrapped around her waist, plucking her from the unforgiving snow. Like lifting a bag of rice, Emeric hoisted her into his arms. He snuggled Nadire close to his chest the way one would a pathetic puppy found on the street. “I have you,” he assured her, Nadire staring upward. While his eyes were the same cloudless blue, a pair of horns prodded from between the midnight locks on his forehead.
With more tenacity than Nadire could have ever managed, Emeric took off in the direction of what had to be the workshop. He damn near galloped, picking up to a run as she locked her arms around the back of his neck.
“How are you doing this?” she asked, pressing her face tighter to the fireplace warmth of his chest.
“Honestly, I haven’t a clue,” was his answer which didn’t help allay her fears. If he couldn’t control it, then it may not last. And if she’d guessed wrong then there may be two dead Myras today.
Breath puffed from his exertion, circling in the frozen air like steam out of a train. The cold didn’t bite this far north, it ripped and tore. It shattered your skin and gutted muscle. Even with him carrying her over the hills, Nadire wasn’t going to last long.
And judging by the slowing of his once running gait, he was fading too. God, no. They’d never find their frozen bodies so far north even polar bears wouldn’t pick apart the remains. And she pulled him into this, she brought him to his death because she was selfish and foolish.
“I’m sorry,” Nadire murmured, her mind slipping in the frosty air. The warmth invited her to slumber, to forget all her problems. To finally lay down in the heather, let the vines grow across her body, and succumb to the earth. But not him. He didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve the pain she brought in his life. “I’m so sorry, I—”
“Is that it?” Emeric interrupted. His arms jostled her, yanking her head from the safety of his chest.
Her eyes burned against the unending white of the north, light searing all in its path. Wincing, Nadire pivoted her head until she caught it. The dome! Nicholas’ dome, the first structure they put up at the North Pole to make the desolate cold their home.
“Yes!” she shouted, slipping from his arms. Emeric didn’t seem to want her to go, but Nadire had to get her feet under her. As she stared up at the glass dome that’d guide the sleigh every Christmas, an ache for home and family overwhelmed her. Taking a step forward, the snow enveloped them both.
Nadire almost released his hand, prepared to lash out to catch herself in the fall, when she smelled pine and whiskey. The fog parted from her eyes revealing she windstrode into her father’s office, though not how he left it. Papers were strewn about the walls, trinkets and candles broken where they struck, all the not-nailed down furniture strewn about from a soundless wind whistling off the staff hovering in the direct center.
The crystal she’d always thought as decorative was pulsing, a sickly green light leeching from its core. Every few seconds the pulse kicked outward, shaking what knickknacks and books remained in place. Nadire eyed it up, prepared to take a step closer when a hand suddenly grabbed hers, yanking her back and down. She kept a tight grip to Emeric, both of them falling to their knees. Green light seared clear over the top of them, the wave striking all in its path. It was strong enough to shatter one of the glass bowls, peppermint candies raining down.
“Now!” a voice shouted. Nadire pivoted her head just as Dracul hauled to his feet and broke into a run. Three other elves followed on his tail, hands straining for the staff. The crystal’s pulses resumed, seeming to amplify as the elves drew closer.
“Almost,” Dracul cursed. He slapped a foot to the ripped up rug and launched himself into the air. With his arm flailing out, he aimed to grip onto the misbehaving staff. Mere millimeters from touching it, another green wave lashed out. It struck Dracul fast, the light warping around his corporeal form and dissolving it. Just as she was about to shout for help, his entire body exploded into fading stars causing the rest of the wave to shoot over their heads.
“God! Dracul!” she cried, staring where the others in the security force had been. Now they were nothing more than golden dust splattered to the wall. Nadire cupped a hand to her mouth, her mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of so many dead. She felt someone rubbing her shoulders in comfort when a gasp of pain broke beside them.
“Curse it all,” Dracul scowled, his body reforming right at the edge of the staff tidal wave. He massaged a gaping hole in his stomach, the magic taking time to put all the bits back in place. “I nearly had it.”
“How,” Nadire glanced from the dangerous staff back to the elves, “how many times have you tried?”
“Fifty-two. Why?” As the elf turned, Nadire watched his jaw slowly rebuild itself from inside out. Skeletal teeth, the ends visible deep into his cheekbone clacked to form the words while sinew and muscle wrapped around. A suckering noise finished off the flesh leaving Dracul rising up on his haunches for yet another run.
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm before he tried again.
“What is it, mistress?” the elf asked, his fellow men in armor all watching their leader.
“You cannot keep doing this. It’s madness.”
Dracul shrugged as if a little dematerialization was just another day on the job. “Not sure what else to do, my lady. Someone has to stop that thing before it goes nuclear. Magically speaking, we don’t think it’s actually radioactive.”
“Think?” Emeric caught that. In the confusion, Nadire didn’t realize he’d been the one to cup her shoulder and hold her down until he spoke.
The staff. The symbol of Saint Nicholas, forged from his bishop staff, rebuilt into the walking stick of a strange sprite who gifted oranges and nuts for winter. It was as much a part of her family as their dark hair and stubborn streak.
“I’ll do it,” Nadire said.
“What?” Emeric gulped.
“Can’t let you do that, ma’am,” Dracul ordered as if he was the one in charge.
“Are you a Myra?” Nadire snapped, her emotions on a razor edge after the long day. The elf sneered but didn’t talk back. At least he was willing to accept that maybe the family of not-mortals had a better grasp on this magic than the elves. God, did she wish that was true.
Taking a deep breath, Nadire moved to rise to her feet when Emeric grabbed her hand and held her in place. “You can’t be serious, that thing just disintegrated those men.”
“They’re getting better.” She tipped her head to the elves who’d more or less put themselves back together.
“Nadire,” terrified eyes of pure blue pivoted to hers as he brushed his palm to her cheek, “please. I…” He seemed to realize his intimate touch, and wound both hands about her fingers, trying to lock her in place. “If that pulse hits you, if you’re not fast enough…” Emeric gulped, “You can’t rebuild yourself.”
“I know that, but…” She gazed around the destroyed office, Christmas eve on their heels, her father’s very long life’s work about to rupture without her intervention. Tugging him closer, she brushed her forehead to his and breathed in his dark forest scent. “I have to try.”
Emeric’s teeth snapped like he had a hundred reasons to tell her not to. Being ripped into a million pieces was probably number one on the list. But he silenced them all, his gaze honing on their handhold. After wafting their grip back and forth, he sighed, “Of course you do. You’re a Myra.”
Slowly, his fingers unwound from hers, releasing her to her duty. As Emeric’s palms slapped to his thighs, his head heavy, she moved to rise and begin her run. Another pulse burst over her head nearly sawing off her hat if she’d worn one. God, she was really doing this, risking
her life for the family.
This wasn’t about some imaginary Christmas spirit, or holiday cheer that needed saving. There were no meters to measure such a thing, no elves vanishing to the ether if not enough children believed in Santa. Saint Nicholas never cared about or relied upon such a metric. No, this was all about her father risking his life while laying on a cold table, her mother fretting about finding her voice in the myth, her brother setting out on his own but never truly leaving. It was about family. Whether the one you were born with or picked, that was the truth at the heart of it all.
She clenched her fist, eyeing up the fall of the pulse, and readying her legs to run.
“Nadire,” Emeric’s voice echoed through her planning. She swung to him, fearing he might try to hold her back. A hand dug into the nape of her neck, tugging her forward until his lips found sanctuary on hers. She wanted to melt into his embrace, to forget her foolish need to risk her life and be with him. Not just for a night, or a long weekend. To let him into her life.
A sigh rolled up her throat and he broke contact. Fingers tousled through the hair piled on the nape of her neck as he whispered, “You come back.” Those ice-blue eyes that’d snagged her attention from a single elbow bump burned his request into hers.
“I’ll try,” she promised. Spinning on her heels, she didn’t look back at Emeric. She couldn’t because she might lose her nerve.
There were three seconds between the pulses. Three seconds for her to run and grab the staff. Okay. She shook out her fingers, her legs perched under her as she squatted while counting. One. Two…
A green wave blew over her head and Nadire shot up like a bolt. Behind, she heard the elves all hold a breath, the air locked in her lungs as she sprinted as fast as possible.
One. Her foot slapped the floorboards she’d helped her father specifically choose for his office.
Two. She landed on the rug that’d been in the family so long she and Aaron learned to crawl on it.
Three. Her fingers reached out, Nadire straining to grab at the staff. Just as she was about to touch it, its polished bark nearly in her grip, green light poured from the top.
She should drop down. Hope it’d pass over her head. But there was no time. In the microsecond she thought of it, the green light struck her.
“Nadire!” echoed through the room, every syllable stretching until it sounded like someone shouting her name down a mountain. Color splintered into a prism and a dozen, no a hundred, flickering images appeared. Each one held a single hue—a red rose, a yellow bear, a blue bowl, a green shoe, and in all of them was a child clutching tight to a gift they never expected to find. Marbles rolled out of shoes, boxes of Barbies hidden under a tree, oranges tumbled out of the stockings by the fire. It was Christmas, the happy one, the home and hearth they were sold.
But there was more. Darkness flickered within the light. Pain lingered amongst the pleasure. Those forgotten and cast off from the world struggled to their meager meals and stared out the stark window to naught but a bleak existence. The agony crushed her spirit, Nadire’s grip on the world crumbling. A burning pricked her skin as if a swarm of ants bit off tiny pieces of her until nothing would be left.
“No,” she cried, a knee striking the floor, “no, no. NO!” Throwing her arms wide, she rose, even as her flesh was stripped away and her muscles chewed off. She forced herself to the staff. “I am the daughter of Saint Nicholas,” she swore, taking another step closer. The images kept flicking to more grief, hate, loss, death, but Nadire couldn’t be stopped now.
“I am Nadire of Myra,” she thundered, her foot managing another inch. The staff hovered both in this reality of unending misery and outside it, her father’s office little more than an echo of things that could be. Her fingers strained to reach through the faces screaming in agony, rictuses erupting as if she was piercing their flesh. Pain walloped her body, each blow trying to knock her back, but she wouldn’t be stopped.
She had to do this. She was the only one who could.
Every weeping mother, forgotten son, abandoned daughter, and dying father all warped to a pinpoint. Nadire was about to take a breath when another vision erupted to take their place. A young woman pleaded at the hems of a wealthy man, his robes spun with gold. She cried for him to have mercy for her father, for her ill sister, but he would hear none of it. His heart was stone as he turned from her, intending to send her into such a debt there was only one way out. It was what he’d planned all along.
Her father, the beloved priest of the tiny church tried to intercede, to plead for the girl, but nothing could stop the snake. The man even refused the church’s money to help the girl, considered it unworthy to pay off the debt. It left Nicholas of Myra only one choice. In the dead of night, with none the wiser, he hid enough coin to save the family in her shoes.
It had to be him. He was the only one who could do it.
“I understand,” she called to the weeping light, “I know what I have to do. I know what I am.”
Certainty boosting her, Nadire reached her hand out through the ether of history and gripped to the staff. A smile curled around her lips as she willed the magic under control when a burst of white light erupted from her center of being. Nadire vanished from sight, every eye in the room blinded by the staff’s explosion.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“NADIRE!” HIS PLEA splintered, every syllable warping back around in on itself until her name became a lone wail. When the green light struck her, Emeric tried to rise to his feet, but the once translucent elven hands suddenly locked tight. They wouldn’t let up even as his blood surged, the inhuman strength of the Krampus trying to shake her off.
“You can’t, sir,” the elf shouted in his ear, both staring at their greatest nightmare, but something was wrong. Nadire wasn’t disintegrated, but she hadn’t grabbed the staff either. Her entire body hung as if it was a puppet on an invisible string.
Snarling, Emeric snapped his hands out. Claws burst off his fingers, the furred muscles of the Krampus elongating over his arms as he threw off the grip of the elf. “I have to,” he shouted, rising to a foot.
White light erupted from the crystal stealing away his vision. Hissing, he tried to throw a hand up to protect himself but was too late. The office, the elves, Nadire, and the staff all vanished into nothing.
This was the chance. Even blinded, he could find her, grab and pull her to safety. Raising his head, Emeric sniffed the air. The elves stank of steel and blood, and as usual, a honey and orange smell lingered in the woodwork. But there was something else, the scent he ached to find merged with his own—myrrh and cinnamon twirling from the vortex.
Stumbling for it, Emeric left the elves behind. He reached a clawed hand out, scrabbling to break through the blaring white streams of light. The tips of his fingers nearly crested over it, when the light sucked inward. Darkness quickly filled the void, his eyes screaming from the snapping change.
He kept his ground, not about to give it up now, but he rubbed his left eye. As he did, the colors swirled before him and a form rose from the floor. A hand nestled in a leather glove held the staff under control, a scarlet coat wrapped around the arm. Fur trim, white as a snow hare’s, embellished the cuff and more of it emerged down the middle of the long coat belted with a strip of leather black as coal.
Piles of snowy curls hung over the rounded chest, the beard soft as thistledown as it shook from a rosy laugh rolling out of the man standing before him. It wasn’t just a Santa, it was every child’s vision. Every perfect version of merriment and joy sold in movies and television shows. This was the Father Christmas.
“Nicholas?” he breathed, his mind shattered in confusion even as the bright blue eyes twinkled and a rosy circle of mirth appeared on the pink cheeks. “Where’s…where’s Nadire? What happened to your daughter?”
“Don’t be silly,” the old man laughed. He passed the murderous staff to his other hand as if it were nothing more than a stick of wood. The right hand reached out to
grip Emeric’s, sticky black leather enfolding over his waning palm until it tugged him closer.
Like a snowman melting in the sun, the illusion of Santa Claus dripped off of the smiling face of the woman hidden below. “I’m right here,” she said. Even as he stared directly at her, Emeric’s peripheral could pick up on the beard’s edge, the red coat, all the trappings of Santa waiting to surge back over and hide her away.
Dashing forward, he caught her lips in a kiss. The intoxicating scent of her inflamed his soul, Emeric clinging his hands around the illusion of the jolly fat man and finding Nadire’s lithe body below. Her mouth moved in sync with his, her head tipping to the right to open up the kiss. As her lips softened, a heat wafted off her that struck deep down to his heart.
“That was dangerous,” he muttered, his forehead more than brushing hers. He felt as if he was trying to merge with her to remind himself she was alive and safe…and Santa.
“I know.” Her hand cupped the back of his, both pressing his palm to her cheek. “But it worked.”
“Ahem,” the elf that’d tried to hold Emeric captive coughed loudly, breaking them apart. “What do we do now?”
Nadire snickered, her eyes drifting over to him. In the move, they shifted from her beautiful brown to a foreign blue. Even knowing it was her, even smelling her scent and touching her skin, the illusion of Father Christmas fell into place.
“Tin,” Nadire gripped tight to his hand and hoisted the pair upward, “we’re gonna save Christmas.”
“We are?” Emeric no doubt spoiled the mood while the elves dashed off to begin their prep work.
“I mean, if you had something else planned for Christmas Eve, another party to attend, another person to…”
“Don’t be foolish.” He laughed, knowing that in this world none would compete with Nadire of Myra. “I will happily be at your side.”
The blush this time was real, no glimmer illusion due to fairy book paintings. Her eyes hooded as if she was thrown by his confession, only taking a quick glance out to inspect his sincerity, but she said, “Then, Mr. Krampus, I say we get to the sleigh.”