by Zoe Chant
I just need to be less, less…
The urge to do another scout around the building and the tent itched under her skin and Olly sighed.
Less me.
No wonder Meaghan’s worried.
Inside the tent, heat and sound hit Olly like a blanket. She shook her head, recalibrating her senses to take into account dozens of loud voices and music streaming from at least five speakers playing at least three different carols. Her loop around the building hadn’t prepared her for the sheer onslaught of—Christmasness.
“Olly! Meaghan! Caine! And retinue!” Jasper Heartwell bowed extravagantly. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t make it! This makes a full house. Quick, someone tie the door shut before some poor human wanders in and sees Cec in his finery.”
Cecil was one of Hannah’s endless supply of nephews. The last time Olly had seen him, he’d been hiding from his aunt’s latest matchmaking scheme. He must have decided hiding wasn’t worth it, and was currently sprawled out in bear form in the middle of the tent.
Someone had tucked a dog plushie under one of his massive forelegs. Someone else or, possibly, the same someone, had also wrapped a length of tinsel around his head like a crown. Olly surprised herself with a giggle that felt as though it bubbled up all the way from her toes.
“…fire risk. Fire risk! Honestly. How is a Christmas tree park a fire risk?” Jasper’s voice carried above the crowd, loaded with indignation. He hefted his daughter Ruby in the air and pouted at her. “You don’t think filling the town square with Christmas trees is a fire risk, do you, cutey?”
“In the town council’s defense, there were several fires last year,” Meaghan pointed out. The rest of her pack, Caine included, ducked their heads guiltily.
“Only small ones!” one of the hellhounds protested.
“No one blames you for that,” Jasper said, a rare serious look on his face.
“If you want to feel guilty about something, feel guilty about stealing our dogs every other day!” Bob called from across the room. The hellhounds hung their heads as he made his way through the crowd.
“It’s not our fault! They keep picking up on…”
Caine growled something under his breath and Flea’s eyes went wide.
“They just want to hang out!” he finished.
Olly strongly suspected that was not what he was going to say, or the real reason the sled dogs kept breaking out of their kennels and making their way to the Guinnesses’ land. She shot Meaghan a questioning look and hid a grin as Meaghan responded with a don’t-you-dare-say-anything glare.
She couldn’t hide behind her Tupperwares forever. Which was the whole idea, after all. Bringing food gave her the perfect excuse to go and hang out in the kitchen and get her bearings—again—before she joined the party properly.
The tent was connected to the main building by a small canopy. Olly wedged the boxes under her chin again and wove her way past the trestle tables. The small kitchenette in the staff area was barely big enough for one person, but Hannah bustled out as Olly arrived.
“Getting your bearings?” Hannah asked, balancing a platter of sliced meat on each hand. “Or hiding out?”
Olly eyed the containers in answer and Hannah nodded understandingly. “I know how you feel. It’ll be hibernation for me as soon as the vacation rush is over,” she joked with a smile.
Olly’s lips pinched tight. She wasn’t hiding out. She just had to…
A new Christmas carol wove through the air. ‘Last Christmas’.
Olly swallowed as the door swung shut behind the bear shifter. Talk about the most painful song to remind her…
She closed her eyes and focused on every noise except the music. Laughter. Conversation. The clack of cutlery and the clink of glasses as people made toasts. Everything’s fine.
5
Jackson
There it was: the Puppy Express. One main building, so big it made him feel child-sized, and behind it a warren of trails winding through the trees.
Jackson squeezed into a parking space and walked slowly through the crowded cars, his boots crunch-squelching in the icy gravel. A cacophony of Christmas carols filled the air and the fairy lights strung over the building and the billowing tent in front of it looked dangerously overloaded. If Jackson had had any doubts, this would have resolved them: Jasper Heartwell was definitely involved.
And so long as he concentrated on that, he could ignore the fact that Olly had to be somewhere inside.
He shook himself and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Of course she was there. Probably perched in some corner, carefully arranged behind a piece of convenient cover and near enough to steal more than her fair share of canapes without anyone seeing. Enjoying herself making private bets about who would go where and talk to who next, and who would be the first to fall down drunk or fall headlong into a Christmas tree, and being so pleased with herself when she got it right that no amount of blank-mask self-control in the world could keep her from smirking cheerfully.
He pushed through the tent door.
“Jackson?” Abigail Heartwell stared at him. Abigail was small and curvaceous, a wellspring of level-headedness in contrast to her husband’s flighty nature. Not that you’d be able to tell, from her party outfit. She was dressed as a Christmas elf, with stripy leggings and a pointed hat with a bell attached to the tip. Unlike the other Heartwells, she was one hundred percent human.
She had one hand outstretched as though she’d been about to grab the tent door, but when she saw Jackson she turned the gesture into shaking his hand. “It’s been—gosh, a year?”
“Merry Christmas,” Jackson mumbled awkwardly, taking her hand.
“Hah! Well, we’re trying,” Abigail said, wryly and mysteriously. She quirked one eyebrow at Jackson’s confused expression. “Health and safety came down hard on Jasper’s master plans after what happened last year.”
For one terrible, stupid moment, Jackson thought she was talking about him and Olly.
Abigail went on. “He’s had to beg and borrow party venues from all his friends, now that he’s not allowed to fill the public spaces with trees and set them on fire. Don’t worry, he’s stopped short of stealing. So far.”
She grinned at him and Jackson, feeling as though his brain was creaking as it caught up, winked at her.
“Don’t worry. I’m on leave. And Pine Valley isn’t my district anymore, anyway.”
“I’ll tell him to break out the moonshine whisky, then! Come on. Everyone’s here—grab yourself a drink—”
“I’m actually just here to see Jasper.”
“Oh.” Abigail gave him a look that made him feel like she was measuring up his insides. “Is this about the house?”
“That’s right.”
“Well I’m not sure he’s brought all the paperwork in his party suit,” Abigail mused. She tipped her head on one side. “Where are you staying in town? I’ll make sure he brings it by tomorrow. He should have a few minutes before…” She shivered dramatically. “They’re doing a Christmas play. On ice, down at the rink. Dress rehearsal’s tomorrow.”
“That sounds…”
“I’m sure it will be superb, especially if Cole remembers the baby Jesus isn’t meant to transform into a dragon and steal all the Wise Men’s presents.” She chuckled. “So, you’re staying at…?”
“I’m not.” He shrugged as she looked at him in surprise. “I just planned to be in and out of town tonight.”
“That’s hardly a visit.” She narrowed her eyes. “So you’re just here to tie up loose ends.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Hmm.” Her gaze slid past him. “Jasper!”
“Yes, my darling?” The dragon shifter swept up. He was wearing a Christmas sweater with a design of dancing dragons, decorated with flickering LEDs. The small girl in his arms was wearing a matching pinafore and squeaked happily when she saw Abigail. “Oh—hello, Gilles,” Jasper said, catching sight of Jackson as he handed baby R
uby to Abigail. “You’re here about the paperwork?”
Jackson ran one hand through his hair, just stopping before he revealed the scar on his forehead. “If you’ve got the time—”
“Not tonight.” Jasper gave him a shining grin. “Sorry! It’s all back at the lodge. Completely slipped my mind that you might be popping in this week. But if you’re here… why not join us?”
Jackson cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good—”
“Jackson Gilles?” Hannah Holborn’s voice boomed into his ear a moment before she clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Come skulking back, eh? What, didn’t they feed you right in… wherever you went off to?”
“There’s nothing there to compete with your pig on a stick, Hannah,” Jackson told her, and she snorted.
“Well it’s beef, tonight.” She gave him a shove. “Speaking of. Why did you run off so quickly? We’ve missed you.”
She doesn’t know? Jackson bit down on the inside of his cheek and gave a noncommittal answer.
“Well don’t just grunt at me. Go and get yourself a drink, then you can tell us what your new town’s got that we don’t.”
It’s more what it doesn’t have, Jackson thought, making his way through the tent. People waved and grinned at him in recognition, and that felt—strange.
He ducked a drunken hug from an alligator shifter he’d once pulled out of a tree and hopped up the stairs to the main entrance to the Puppy Express building.
The air was warmer here: central heating competed with a crackling fire in the huge fireplace that took up pride of place on the opposite wall. Jackson scanned the room automatically, Abigail’s wry complaints about fire hazards still fresh in his mind. The shop furniture was safely pushed against the walls, replaced by long tables that were groaning with food.
There was no sign of Olly. Not tucked behind any of the couches shoved against the walls, not lurking within sneaking distance of the food.
“Hey, Cole.” Jackson waved to a dark-haired boy who was busily piling a plate high with slices of roast beef and layers of crispy roast potatoes. Forget fire hazards: a food avalanche was imminent. “Have you seen Olly?”
“Owl Olly?” Cole asked around a mouthful of gravy-covered potatoes.
“Yeah.”
“No…” Cole started the syllable quickly, then dragged it out slow as though he was reconsidering. “But, um, she hides a lot these days. She was meant to come to dinner at our place a few weeks ago and Uncle Jasper said she was there but I didn’t even see her.”
Jackson frowned. “What are you talking about?” Olly was sneaky, but what Cole was saying sounded… wrong.
Cole perked up. “You should ask the hellhounds!”
“What?!”
“Yeah, because even if Olly can hide, they can find anyone. I’ll ask Manu—”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Hellhounds? Hadn’t they sorted that business out last year? The pack of hellhounds that had harassed the town and used their shifter fear-powers to terrify Olly had been under the control of some prick from out of town. They’d gotten rid of the prick and Jackson hadn’t heard of any more trouble from the hellhounds, so he’d assumed they’d left.
His throat was suddenly dry. He’d assumed. He’d never checked. He’d left—left Olly alone, and if the hellhounds were still here…
“I need a drink,” he croaked. There were no glasses on the table. Cole pointed helpfully.
“There’s more cups in the kitchen!”
6
Olly
Olly kept herself busy in the kitchen. She felt as safe there as if she was wedged into a knot in a tree trunk: there was only one door in and out, and she was very close to the customer service desk, where she could access all the security cameras for the building and grounds. She would know the moment anything unexpected happened. She would—
Her owl jumped suddenly, its eyes wide and every one of its feathers bristling.
Olly froze. What is it? What do you sense?
She could feel that her owl was sensing something, at the very edge of its range. But it wasn’t sharing it with her.
Nothing, it muttered.
“Suit yourself.” Olly’s voice was tight. She glanced over her shoulder, checking the door was still shut, and tried to focus on not freaking out.
There’s nothing to freak out about.
Then why won’t you tell me—
Shh!
The air was heavy with the smell of cooked meat and fruity punch. Despite her unease, Olly’s mouth watered as she opened the first container and the sweet scent of cinnamon pastries joined the other smells.
Her owl clicked its beak. Close that! I can’t concentrate on the—I can’t smell the meat properly now!
Olly rolled her eyes and grabbed a plate out of the cupboard. She arranged the pastries in a spiral pattern.
You didn’t complain when I spent all afternoon baking. What’s changed now?
Nothing! It ruffled its feathers. Hurry up so the bear-lady can give us some meat.
Olly snorted and moved on to the Christmas tree cookies. Outside, the texture of the conversation changed.
She was instantly alert. What’s happening?
Her owl went completely still. Olly froze, too, one hand hovering over the basket of Christmas tree cookies.
People were still talking. She couldn’t make out the words, but there was a general air of… surprise? No one sounded anxious or unhappy, though.
Did someone new arrive? she asked her owl. Who is it?
For a moment, her owl didn’t reply. Then it shook itself. Nobody important.
Olly frowned. She’d thought everyone was already here—all the local shifters, at least. The thought that she’d missed someone on her circuit before was—and Jasper had said—
I said it was nobody important!
“Okay, okay, geez.” Olly was so surprised at her owl’s vehemence that she spoke out loud.
It’s not important, her owl repeated. What’s important is—is—
Olly curled her shoulders in. You sound as confused as I am.
I’m not confused! Her owl bristled. I know exactly what is happening!
Well, just tell me if there’s anything I need to know.
There isn’t!
Olly took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against the countertop.
What’s the matter with you? she asked her owl, and then looked down at her hands. Or with me?
She and her owl had always been so close it was sometimes hard for her to tell if her physical reactions were hers, or the bird’s.
Things had been… weird… for the last twelve months, but some things stayed the same.
Are you worried about missing out on the bloody bits of the roast? You know Hannah always saves some for us.
Her owl didn’t reply. Olly bit back a frustrated sigh. Really. Now of all times, her owl was going to make her do all the work of—
The kitchen door swung open, letting in a wave of noise. Olly would have turned around, but her owl was adamant that it had everything under control and Olly figured that if she let it have this one, maybe later it would explain to her what its problem was. She let her owl sort through the patterns of sound and scent. The buzz of surprise was gone, so whoever—
Nobody!
—had arrived couldn’t have caused that much of a stir.
Another scent mingled with the smells of hot meat and alcohol and sugar. Olly breathed in slowly. A hint of leather and wood smoke, overlaid with…
Mint! her owl squawked. Was she imagining the hint of panic in its voice?
She didn’t have time to think about it. Her owl focused in on the smell of the cookies, and Olly’s eyes watered as the smell of mint and chocolate overwhelmed everything else. She shook her head, blinking, and wished not for the first time that she and her owl could take form at the same time so that she could glare at it properly.
Will you just stop, Olly growl
ed at it, and turned around.
The world stopped.
The kitchen, the cocktail of smells, the noise of the party—everything disappeared. Olly didn’t dare breathe because if she breathed now, without the scent of chocolate to mask it, she’d only breathe in him.
Jackson Gilles.
Nobody important, her owl had said. Oh God.
He was exactly as she remembered him. Or was he? Were his shoulders that broad before? His hair was messier; he always used to keep it trimmed short, and now it was so long it curled down over his forehead. His skin was a deeper brown than it had been last winter.
Not that any of that mattered. She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be in love with him. This couldn’t be—
“Olly.”
Even his voice was the same. Rough. That hint of tenderness. She remembered, even though it hurt, even though her whole body tensed against her owl’s inevitable disgust, that she’d thought kissing him would tease out the tenderness in his voice. Instead it had brought out the gravel, as though every touch of her skin to his had brought something inside him closer to breaking.
And it had.
7
Jackson
Her eyes were wide with horror.
He looked away, hoping his own feelings didn’t show on his face. That one glance was all he needed to confirm everything he should have already known. Twelve months of yearning, of hoping against hope… And just now, outside with Cole, the leaping, ridiculous thought that she might need his help. That she might need him.
Done. Over. And whatever the hell else he was doing here, he had the answer he already knew.
Olly didn’t love him.
And he still loved her.
“What a mess,” he muttered.
“What are you doing here?”
Her voice was thin. He forced himself to look at her again. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, he couldn’t just ignore her.