by Devon Monk
Spud had been crouched in front of the dragon, ears up, tail wagging. He now crept forward, belly-crawling toward the pig with a small stuffed frog in his mouth.
The dragon seemed to enjoy watching the ever-cheerful dog cautiously approach.
They’d been going at this since I’d driven the dragon around yesterday and it had finally just trotted into the house and straight to the fireplace, as if it were perfectly happy to live here.
At first Spud had barked. Then, after one deep rumble from the pig, which, yes, it is sort of startling to hear a pig roar, Spud had wagged his tail like it was going to propel him to the moon.
All of Spud’s running around and barking at the amused but unmoved dragon yesterday had turned into Spud sneakily offering to share his stuffed toy hoard with the pig today.
This, it appeared, might be a winning tactic.
The pig had already been gifted with a stuffed hamburger, a flounder, and a one-legged cow. It looked very, very pleased with its growing stash.
Myra nodded. “He’ll love it. When is Ryder supposed to be here?”
I tried not to let my worry show. “A couple hours ago.”
“That’s not too bad.”
“More like five hours ago.”
“Weather?”
“That’s what I’m guessing.”
As if to punctuate the point, the wind and rain battered the west facing windows hard enough I could feel the sturdy little cabin take the hit.
The near-freezing rain had flung onto shore last night with seventy-mile-an-hour gusts.
The storm had already galloped east over the Coast Range and dumped five inches of snow there, iced up the valley, and according to weather reports, was in the process of slapping blizzard warnings across the Cascade Range.
Children from the Coast Range eastward were vibrating in joy over the white Christmas they’d be getting.
Travelers were advised to stay home and stay away from the passes. All the stores were out of milk and bread.
I wondered if Ryder had decided not to chance the trip. He might have turned back or sheltered somewhere along the way.
That would have been the smart move. The forecast called for more ice to follow the snow, enough to shut down the passes and much of I-5.
“Have you called him?” Myra asked.
“It goes to voice mail.”
She didn’t say anything while I hung the rest of the ornaments. Whatever Christmas spirit I’d been feeling was getting railroaded by worry.
“He’ll be okay.” Myra pressed a mug of coffee into my hand, and I realized I’d been standing there for a while, staring at the tree, my mind a million miles away.
Or exactly one hundred and ninety-one miles away.
“I know,” I said. “He’s lived in Oregon and Chicago. He knows how to handle snow. He won’t do anything stupid.”
But my heart was heavy and my pulse was rapping. Why hadn’t he answered his phone? Maybe he’d been stranded, ran out of battery on his phone. Maybe he was stuck in traffic, moving slowly along.
Maybe he was just outside of town and almost home.
“Are you sure it’s a dragon?” She pointed her coffee at the fireplace.
The dragon-pig had acquired several more stuffed things and had stacked them into a pile. Spud must have offered enough of his toy hoard to have gained the dragon’s favor.
The dog was curled up on top of the toys. Dragon was right there with him, sprawled on his mountain of treasure, little piggy head propped on a blissed-out Spud’s back.
That dog and that pig could not look more content.
It was cute. They were cute.
“I’m sure it’s a dragon,” I said.
“Isn’t it too small and soft? I know they can be anything, but I’ve never heard of one that turned itself into something so…adorable. Plus, this is Crow we’re talking about. Crow.”
“You know what?” I said in a loud conversational tone, “you’re right. I should take some of those toys back to Spud’s box. They don’t need that many.”
The pig opened one eye. It glittered with fire, and a little puff of smoke drifted out its snout.
The pig drew the toy hoard in closer, making it clear I touched it at my own peril.
I raised an eyebrow at Myra.
“Okay,” she said. “I see it. It’s a dragon. I thought he was joking.”
“Nope.”
“Any idea why Crow wants you to have it?”
“Something to do with it bothers Bathin. He can’t hide from it? They weren’t very clear.”
We both drank our coffee and stared at the mythical farmyard conundrum.
“Crow called him Black Heart,” I said.
“The pig?”
“The demon.”
“Huh.”
“He also called him Prince.”
Myra sipped her coffee. I knew she was turning those little hints over in her big, beautiful brain, seeing which pieces of her research into all things demon fit with that information.
“Want me to try and figure the dragon out?” she finally offered.
“Gods, yes,” I said on an exhale. “I was hoping you’d volunteer. I’ve asked it a hundred yes/no questions but it just ignores me.”
“I’ll check the books. See if we’ve ever had this dragon out of its cave before and if so, what happened then. See what kind of history it has with demons. And trickster gods.”
“Perfect. I owe you one.”
She handed me her empty coffee cup.
“You owe me so many more than one. I’m going to check in at the station before I head home. I’ll call if there are any emergencies. Otherwise, try not to worry too much about Ryder.”
“I won’t.” Lies.
“He’s okay and he’ll be home soon.”
“I know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t sell your soul while I’m gone.”
“That joke’s getting old.”
“Not a joke. You promised us you’d make no stupid decision without consulting with at least one of us.”
“I promise I will make no deal, do no stupid deed without either you or Jean consulted and on board between now and when I see you next.”
“Good.”
I followed her to the door so I could lock it behind her.
“He’s going to love that ugly tree.” She waved one finger up and down at me and smiled. “I like this look on you, Delaney.”
“What look?”
“Love.”
I tried to act annoyed, but couldn’t hold it for very long. She flipped up her coat hood and forged out into the wind and rain.
I stayed there inside the doorway, needing to see her walk down to the cruiser, needing to see her get in it, start it, and drive away safely.
Then I went inside and tried to keep my promises.
Chapter Five
I’d left the porch light on, and the fireplace still warmed the living room. Myra had left hours ago and I was curled up in a blanket on the couch with the stuffed eyeball Spud had offered me for comfort.
It was almost midnight and I couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas eve.
The storm wasn’t letting up.
My phone in my hand was fully charged and utterly, exhaustingly silent.
So silent I’d turned on Ryder’s sound system and queued up a Christmas music playlist to take my mind off my worry.
It wasn’t working.
The song switched to Karen Carpenter’s soulful alto soothing her way through Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. As soon as she reached the troubles being out of sight lyrics, I couldn’t stay still.
My troubles were right here in front of me. Or, really, that was the trouble. Ryder wasn’t here in front of me.
I got up and paced. The glittering, twinkling lights of the tree filled the room with a sense of promise, of miracles, of magic.
Before I could overthink it, I lay on my back and scooted under the tree. I spit a few dead needles off my mouth and wi
ped my face in case of spiders, then looked up through the branches.
Bundles of tiny lights spangled the tree in a fairy field of reds, blues, green, yellows, and purples. White twinklers winked like galaxies stirred by a winter wind.
Fir needles prickled against the light, shadows coyly curled around curved-mirror ornaments that hung joyful and fat.
It was beautiful.
I could see how this would enchant little Ryder. It felt private, hushed, magical.
Here under the tree was a secret moment where all the hopes and wishes of Christmas hung waiting on silvery hooks.
I’d told Jean I wasn’t going to wish for snow. I’d told her I’d use my wishes for more important things.
I’ll Be Home For Christmas started, and Ryder’s promise to be here, with me, echoed through me with every note.
So I made a wish.
Please let him be all right. Please let him be safe. Please let him call me so we can laugh about this. I need to hear his voice. I need to know he’s okay.
I repeated those words, over and over until the song ended.
And then my phone rang.
I scuttled out from under that tree so fast, I nearly tipped it over.
“Are you okay?” The words were out of my mouth almost before I’d swiped the screen to accept the call.
“Hey, beautiful.” Ryder’s words were a little slow, like he’d had one too many drinks. “Merry Christmas.”
“Where are you? Are you okay? Are you drinking? Drinking? You better not be driving.”
I couldn’t hear any noise in the background, which was a little weird.
“So, change in plans.” He cleared his throat, which turned into a hard rattling cough. “There’s been. Change.”
“Where are you?” I jogged over to my laptop, pinging Jean, who was on duty tonight.
Her face appeared in a little box on my screen. “What’s wrong?”
“Ryder’s on the line.”
“Your phone?”
I nodded. “His speech is slurred.”
She was already busy typing. “Keep him talking.”
“In my truck?” Ryder finally answered. “The…I must have blacked out for a minute.”
He coughed again and it didn’t sound good.
“Are you hurt? Honey. Are you hurt?”
I could hear his breathing, wanted him to answer, needed him to answer.
“Delaney?” he said it clearly, like he was trying to get a grip. “Right. I’m outside Sisters. Was…last I…before I blacked out.”
“The GPS on your phone is active.” I had resorted to cop-voice because any other voice would be trembling.
“Jean’s getting a lock on you. Are you on the road? Are you driving?”
“No? No. I got out. A woman and kids. Oh, hell. I need to check. They were stuck and I was pushing, pushed. The ditch.”
He grunted and I heard the creak of what I could only assume was his truck door opening.
“Ryder Bailey, do not exit your vehicle,” I ordered. Images of him on a precarious cliff or stalled in the middle of the highway, or stuck in a snow bank filled my mind.
“They were babies, Laney, just babies.”
“Who? The woman and kids you pushed out of a ditch?”
“Yeah.” He panted, each inhale hitched as if hooking on something sharp. “They were here…”
“Are you on the road? Do you see any markers?”
When he didn’t answer, I shot Jean a look.
“I don’t think he’s outside Sisters,” she said. “Heavy snowfall took out a couple towers. Give me a second.”
“Ryder,” I said. “you need to get back in the truck where it’s warm.”
I heard wind, I heard his breath, then all I heard was a very soft, “Oh,” before his phone cut out.
The Christmas music in the background was sweeping through Carol of the Bells. For some reason, I noticed it, like that one detail was important.
The rest of my brain refused to work, to move past the silence, that final: “Oh.”
I stared down, down, down at my phone as if my hand belonged to someone else. As if I were floating somewhere near the ceiling, operating my body from a distance.
“Answer your phone.” I whispered as I dialed him back.
It went to voice mail. I dialed again.
And again.
And again.
“What?” Ryder’s voice. Rough. Faint.
I blew out my breath, anger, fear, panic. Inhaled slowly.
Keep it together, Delaney.
“Ryder, tell me exactly where you are right now.”
He grunted. I could tell he was moving around. “On my back? In snow. You woke me up?”
He moved. “Blood. Someone’s bleeding?”
“Is someone with you?”
“No.”
“Are you bleeding?”
He paused, finally: “Yes.”
“Where?”
“Head. I’m seeing double too. Hell.” He sucked a breath and sort of exhaled a shaky laugh. “I think I got run off the road. I don’t remember getting hit…”
“Where is your truck?”
“Uh. Over there.”
“Get in your truck. Now, Ryder. Right now.”
“So bossy.”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming at him. “I am your boss, Reserve Officer. Now move it.”
He groaned. “My GPS?”
“Yes. We’re narrowing it down.”
There was nothing but short, huffed breaths, and then more groaning, a few curse words, and finally the sound of a door shutting again.
“Try the engine,” I told him.
I could hear the battery clicking and knew that engine wasn’t going to turn over.
“Well, that sucks.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m down a ravine.”
“Can you see anything else?”
“Snow.”
“He’s in a ravine in his truck,” I told Jean.
“Keep that cell on,” she said.
“Do you have emergency supplies?” I asked him.
He shifted a bit. “I think I gave them to the mom.” He exhaled slowly. “Freezing to death was not in my holiday plans.”
“You’re not dying. I won’t let you die.”
“Was joke,” he slurred.
“You stay awake,” I ordered. “Bundle up with everything you have and stay awake.”
More movement. His voice was a little muffled when he spoke. “Talk to me, Delaney. Keep me awake.”
“I put up a Christmas tree.”
“You told me that already.”
Right. Oops.
“I laid down under it and stared at the lights.”
Pause.
“Ryder?”
“Here. Still here. Was it nice?”
“Beautiful. You need to stay awake. Are your eyes open?”
“Mmm.”
“Liar. Open your eyes.”
A sigh. Then, “Tell me something. A thing you liked about Christmas.”
“When I was little?”
“Yeah.”
“Presents.”
“If you want me to stay awake, better tell me a longer story.”
“All right, hang on.” I wracked my brain and glanced at Jean again.
“Somewhere off of Highway 20 near Three Fingered Jack.” Jean’s fingers were flying. “Emergency services are stretched thin. There’s no way a vehicle can get through that. Highway 20 is closed under snow and ice. I’ll see if I can contact Santiam Ski Patrol. But that’s a lot of terrain to cover.”
“Hey,” Ryder’s voice was rough and whispery. “Thought I got a story?”
“Right. Hold on, I’m thinking.”
Jean speared me with a look. “We need to call on something other than emergency services if we want to find him quickly.”
That was one advantage to being a small town full of supernatural beings and vacationing gods. We could call on people with unusual abilities when things got
bad.
Of course, most supernatural beings wanted to be compensated for their effort and time. And some of them, I thought as my soul-losing deal with Bathin sprang to mind, set a pretty high price.
“Get someone,” I told her. “Now.”
I turned all my attention back to Ryder. “Okay, you have to answer every time I say your name. Got that, Ryder?”
“Affirmative. Roger that.”
I started pacing again, envying the dragon and dog who were curled up and comfy in front of the fire as the storm raged outside.
The tree lights caught my eye, and I gazed up at the star. I knew what memory I should share.
“When I was little, my mom read me a book about a Christmas star. It was supposed to be a sweet story about the little star that fell to earth and got lost. Finally, with some help from forest creatures, a snowman, and a couple children, the star was set upon a Christmas tree to shine brightly and bring joy to all. Are you listening, Ryder?”
“Star. Tree. Snowmen. Riveting.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, you wanted me to share. I could just read you the phone book.”
“You don’t own a phone book. Get back to the star. What happened?”
“First, you need to know I hated that story.”
“This is supposed to be a happy memory, Delaney.”
“Shut up. I’m getting there. I hated the story because it always made me sad.”
He grunted. “Why?”
“Dad asked me that one night when he found me staring at the Christmas tree and crying. I tried to lie. I was never very good at lying to him.”
“No,” he agreed, “you weren’t.”
I liked that Ryder knew that about me. That he had been there in my life, known me that long.
“I told him the story made me sad. I was sorry for the star because when it fell, it had to leave behind all its family and friends. Even though it got to shine bright as a Christmas star for a few days, after that it would be all alone, stuck down on earth and looking up at the friends and the place it would never be a part of again.
“Still with me, Ryder?”
“I’m here. Little lonely star far away from home and friends. You know, you could have come up with a less depressing story to take my mind off my situation.”
“There’s more to it. Dad told me distance couldn’t keep us from the ones we love. He said we are all made of stardust, all a part of each other. Even though the little star was stuck here on earth, it carried its friends and family in its heart because it held the memory of the things they had shared, the laughter, the sorrow, the joy. He said we can’t lose those we love, because the sky, the earth, and everything between—including us—is part of the same thing: love.”