by Tegan Maher
“That’s not fair and you know it!” Adam protested. “I can’t resist the seasonal rosemary shoestring fries when in human form. You certainly can’t expect my dog to resist that!”
“I rest my case,” I said triumphantly. “Evangeline, store bought is more than fine.”
With a squeal, Evangeline popped up from the oversized armchair adjacent to the couch and hurried, in socked feet, toward the kitchen. “Good, ’cause I already bought some! I have cocoa, too!” she added, shoving through the swinging door.
Adam tickled my side and I lifted the mug of tea up. “Hey! Watch it or we’ll both get scalded.”
“Oops, sorry. But seriously, corrugated cardboard?” he said with an eye roll.
“How you can even think about food right now is beyond me,” I replied, snuggling into his side once the tea stopped sloshing back and forth. “I’m still stuffed from yesterday.”
“That’s probably for the best, because I may have plowed through the majority of the leftovers earlier today.” He placed a hand on his stomach and it grumbled.
Shifters were many things. Generally speaking, satiable wasn’t one of them. Luckily, their metabolisms were set to grind through calories as easily as a garbage disposal could cut through Jell-O. Adam’s beast form was a large, shaggy dog that tended to gravitate toward the dumpsters outside the neighborhood’s restaurant as soon as he finished a run through the woods behind the Beechwood Manor.
I had a firm policy on no post-shift kissing until he brushed his teeth a solid five minutes and gargled half a bottle of Listerine. The full-strength kind.
“I need my energy up for tomorrow,” Adam continued. “I’ll be hauling Christmas trees all over town.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I nodded and then sipped at my peppermint tea. The leaves were freshly cut from my greenhouse out in the backyard and blended with black tea and a pinch of crushed chocolate mint leaves. “Evangeline, Harmony, and I signed up to decorate the gazebo and hang all that garland we made. If there’s time, we’ll probably get roped into hanging the lights for the outdoor market, too.”
“You might get off easy this year,” Adam said, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. “Beechwood High has a volunteer program. They get extra credit for working a shift at the setup or teardown.”
Every year, Beechwood Harbor threw a three-day holiday festival the weekend after Thanksgiving. The entire community came together to celebrate and mingle. Booths of vendors selling handmade items and seasonal treats would take over the parking lot outside the Baptist church and a temporary outdoor skating rink was set up in the large field across the street. The gazebo in the center of town was transformed into Santa’s workshop and Saint Nick would be there all weekend with Mrs. Claus and a horde of elves to hand out candy canes and small trinkets to the town’s children as they came to turn in their wish lists and plead with Santa to give them the presents they’d been dreaming of all year.
Beechwood Harbor was a charming little town along the Washington State coastline, and while it could easily be described as a magical place, there was more truth to that than any human would know. Just under the surface was a thriving population of supernatural beings and creatures, all living and working right under the eye of the normal, everyday folks that also called the tiny town home.
In my opinion, the most magical place of all was the Beechwood Manor. The historic home had been built by the town’s original founders and now served the supernatural community as a refuge for magic-wielders and other beings who needed a safe place to live as their true selves. I’d moved in over two years ago, and while it hadn’t been my first choice at the time, it was now my home and the town around it was forever embedded in my soul.
The holiday season only enhanced the magic of Beechwood Harbor, and when it wore its full festive glory, it was truly a thing to behold. The small tourist town had two busy seasons—summer and the first week of December for the winter market.
“I’m glad the high schoolers will be there to help out. Evangeline is hopeless without the use of her wand and Harmony—” I stopped short when Evangeline shoved back through the swinging kitchen door. She raced into the living room, her socked feet skidding on the gleaming wood floors as she came to a stop.
“Evangeline?” I asked.
She looked up, her eyes wild. “You’re never going to believe this!”
She wasn’t holding a box of cookies or a bowl of kettle corn, and there was no hot cocoa in sight. Instead, she held a thick piece of ivory parchment.
Adam leaned forward, looking past Evangeline at the kitchen door as it swung to a close, as if expecting the snacks he’d requested to come marching out of their own accord.
To be fair, weirder things had happened in this house.
Disappointed, he looked back to Evangeline. “Um, Evie? Did you forget something?”
I smacked him on the arm, careful to not jostle my mug. “What is it?” I asked.
She turned the parchment around, revealing fancy whirls of calligraphy. “This letter is from the North Pole! It’s from Santa!”
“Oh, come on,” I scoffed. “It’s probably junk mail. Where’s it really from? A car dealership? Ya know, one of those ‘come on down to the North Pole for a holly jolly deal on a new car!’ kind of messages?”
Adam lifted a brow. “When did you get a job in the marketing department, Ms. Boldt?”
Laughing, I shook my head. “You know what I’m talking about. They do that kind of thing sometimes, make it look all fancy, but really it’s just an ad. What does the return address say?”
Evangeline flipped over the envelope and nodded, confirming her initial statement. “No, it’s really from the North Pole. Santa Headquarters, to be precise.”
Snorting, I set my mug on the coffee table and pushed off the couch. “Here, let me see. Maybe it’s an invitation to a charity thing. An auction for kids or something.”
“An auction for kids?” Adam laughed. “Do they raffle them off or do you pick names from a hat?”
“Hilarious.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “I mean an auction to benefit kids. What’s with you and the dad jokes lately? If you’re trying to convince me to procreate with you someday, this isn’t the route to take.”
Evangeline handed over the envelope. “I don’t know, Holly. It looks pretty legitimate to me.”
Frowning, I inspected the seal. “This doesn’t even have a stamp on it. It had to have come from—” I cut off and looked up at Adam.
Supernaturals had ways other than the postal service of getting letters and packages to one another. A network of hidden communities dotted the globe, tucked away inside large cities, concealed from humans by powerful protection charms and wards. Within the havens, mail was delivered by magic, and occasionally by bird. The Supernatural Protection Agency had a propensity for sending ravens. They liked to keep things old school.
But this … where had it come from? I hadn’t seen any ravens.
Just then, our landlady floated through the ceiling and shimmered into view beside the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace. “Good afternoon,” she greeted pleasantly.
“Hey, Posy. Listen, do you know anything about this letter?” I asked, holding it up.
“Only that a barn owl dropped it off yesterday morning,” she replied casually. “I thought it was strange, seeing as it was a holiday. Though I suppose the owls don’t need the day off to feast, so perhaps it was silly of me to think they wouldn’t be out delivering things on Thanksgiving. Anyway, Harmony let the poor thing in through the back door and it left the letter on the counter. It flew off after she gave it a small drink of water.”
“Why didn’t she say something?” Evangeline asked.
I shook my head, still staring dumbstruck at the letter. “None of us were awake when she left for the Seattle Haven.” Glancing up at Posy, I added, “She’s spending the long weekend with her sister.”
“What does it say?” Posy asked, gliding
closer so she could read over my shoulder. Hairs stood on end at the base of my neck as the ghost neared and I twisted away, holding it out for her.
Rubbing a hand over my long auburn ponytail, I cleared my throat. “Santa Claus is coming to town. Quite literally.”
Adam scrambled off the couch and peered over my other shoulder. “This is real?”
“It certainly looks official,” Posy replied. Then, after a thoughtful pause, she added, “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen the North Pole’s official letterhead to be sure.”
“I’m calling Agent Bramble,” I said, digging my phone out of my pocket. “If the real Santa is coming here, you can bet the Supernatural Protection Agency knows about it.”
“I doubt she’s in the office today,” Evangeline said as I dialed. “Owls might not take the day off, but the SPA must close down for Thanksgiving. Right?”
“Criminals don’t take holidays off,” Adam replied. “They might be running a skeleton crew, but you can bet the agency is open. But you might want to call the main switchboard and see who’s on deck. Bramble’s got enough seniority that she probably has the day off.”
I snorted. “Agent Bramble doesn’t know what the word vacation means. Trust me, she’ll be at her desk.”
Sure enough, the agent answered on the third ring. “Bramble speaking.”
“Hello, Agent Bramble, it’s Holly Boldt. Do you have a minute?”
With a soft chuckle, she replied, “I always have time for my favorite ward. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“Nothing,” I said, a hint of defensiveness in my voice. To be fair, I usually called Agent Bramble mid-disaster, so while it wasn’t an entirely unwarranted response, it needled at me all the same. “I was actually calling to see if you knew anything about—and this is going to sound crazy, but—a visit from Santa Claus?”
Without missing a beat, Agent Bramble responded, “I’m not on the committee, but yes, I’d heard he selected Beechwood as one of his stops this year. What about it?”
My mouth opened but I reeled around, searching for a proper reply. The way she spoke made it seem like a visit from Santa Claus was as commonplace as the power company meter reader.
“A word of warning,” Agent Bramble continued, “prepare for a week’s worth of snow around his visit. He’s really hung up on having a white Christmas and usually calls in a favor to Jack Frost if he’s visiting a town where snow isn’t typically on the forecast. I don’t know if you’ve met Jack, but he has a tendency to get carried away. Two years ago, he sent an absolute blizzard to Flagstaff. It was so bad the reindeer didn’t even want to fly into it and they rerouted to Tulsa. The whole thing was a disaster!”
I blinked, still trying to kick my brain back into gear. As a witch, I’d grown up knowing all about Santa Claus, same as every other kid. The only difference was that children in the havens knew that Santa was real. Like, real real, not real until you turn eight and you don’t get the dollhouse you asked for. Santa and the magic of Christmas wasn’t a mythical story to be eventually outgrown. Even still, it felt far away and removed from reality. A nice story in the back of my head. The idea of seeing the real Santa Claus was a little like being told you were going to meet the Queen of England. Sure, it could happen, but the odds weren’t good and if it was put right in front of you, you’d spiral into a circle of anxiety-riddled questions. What to wear? How and when to curtsey? Was eye contact allowed? And if it wasn’t, where were you supposed to look? It was all a little much.
“He does this every year?” I asked, managing to focus on one question and hold the other two dozen at bay for a moment.
“That’s right,” Agent Bramble replied. “And it’s a good thing he does. Without it, Christmas wouldn’t have any magic!”
“Okay, wait. What?”
Adam, Posy, and Evangeline were looking at me with ever-widening eyes. I clicked the call over to speaker so I wouldn’t have to repeat the entire conversation afterward.
“It helps to think of Santa Claus as a magical conduit, rather than a magical practitioner in his own right,” Agent Bramble began. “Everything about him—the workshop, the elves, the reindeer’s ability to fly, the sleigh—all of it requires enormous amounts of magic. Santa gathers the magic of Christmas spirit and uses it to power everything.”
The four of us exchanged a look. Apparently this was new information for all of us.
“Now, for hundreds of years, there was plenty of magic to keep it all moving. It was cyclical,” Agent Bramble continued. “Santa would fly around the world on Christmas Eve and gather all the holiday cheer, the magic and wonder of Christmas itself, and that was enough to carry him through the next year of production and deliveries. The whole thing ran as if a finely tuned clock.”
“But it doesn’t work like that anymore?” I asked.
“Sadly, no. As Christmas became more and more commercialized, the magic of Christmas lost some of its potency. Santa required more and more magic and it became a strain to gather enough for the next year. Children are being told that he’s a fairy tale for little kids and as belief dims, so does the magic. On top of that, everything that used to build the magic is being outsourced, so to speak. Not so long ago, people used to window shop under a blanket of twinkling lights and dream about Christmas presents nestled under the tree, they went to the woods as a family to find the perfect tree, they went caroling door to door. Nowadays, kids see commercials on TV and tell their parents what to buy, people shop online, and the presents arrive at their front door already wrapped. Christmas trees are made of plastic! But really, it’s the time. The less time people spend on Christmas and getting into the spirit, the more the magic diminishes. The consequence of a busy, fast-paced, and technology-drenched world.”
A guilty pang echoed through my chest. I’d already ordered three quarters of my gifts online. I would wrap them myself and we were definitely not going to have a plastic tree, but still … I wouldn’t want Santa to see the contents of my email inbox.
Agent Bramble cleared her throat and then continued. “Now, as you can imagine, this is all quite demoralizing to Santa. He was getting melancholy and depressed and even starting to think that maybe it wasn’t worth it anymore. Luckily for all of us, Mrs. Claus took the reins and came up with a plan to combat Santa’s Christmas blues. Many years ago, she arranged a trip for Santa, a little working vacation, if you will, to send him directly to the people and have more time to gather the magic of Christmas. So in the weeks leading up to Christmas, Santa visits a handful of select cities and towns all over the world. He spends time with the children and hands out gifts and takes their letters. The visits give him a boost and he’s able to fly back to the North Pole and finalize preparations and sail through another year with good tidings of joy and love.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “I had no idea! How come I never learned about any of this in academy?”
Agent Bramble scoffed. “Well, that responsibility lays at the feet of the haven schooling system. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times, there is simply too much emphasis put on useless things like algebra.”
Adam shrugged. “I liked algebra.”
“You’re the only one,” I quipped.
Evangeline poked him in the side. “Big nerd.”
Adam chuckled and lifted a finger to make his next point. “But I’m a hot nerd, so it all worked out for me.”
I rolled my eyes. “And so humble, too.”
Evangeline giggled.
“Agent Bramble, this is Posy,” our ghost landlady interjected, swooping around to hover above the phone. “Can you explain why we received a letter about Santa’s visit? I’m not sure I fully understand what it has to do with us here at the Beechwood Manor. Surely, he’s not expecting room and board for his trip?”
The tone of her voice made it clear that request would be met with a big, fat, bah humbug.
“The North Pole sends out letters to all supernaturals in the area so they ca
n be on guard during the visit,” Agent Bramble replied casually. “Naturally, the SPA provides the boots on the ground for security purposes, but it’s nice if everyone can be a little bit more aware while Santa’s in town. It’s also a chance for supernaturals to introduce their children to the real Santa, rather than one of those imposters you see at malls and such. I suppose that part doesn’t apply to any of you.”
“Not yet,” Adam said, a meaningful glimmer in his eyes as he glanced at me.
“Right.” I coughed. “Well, um, thanks for clearing up that confusion, Agent Bramble. We’ll do our best to make sure Santa’s visit goes as smoothly as possible!”
“Thank you, Holly. I hope you all have a magical and merry Christmas.”
Chapter Two
“A little higher on the left … a little more—there!” I took a step back, making a final assessment of the string of lights and garland. Smiling, I nodded at Evangeline. “That’s perfect.”
“Was that the last of it?” Evangeline asked, climbing down from the short stepladder. Aaron Wilkins, one of the high school football players, raced over to lend a hand. She smiled at him and he looked ready to melt into a puddle right there at her stiletto-clad feet.
Yes, she’d insisted on wearing her Louboutins even in near-freezing temperatures and while climbing a ladder. Apparently, you can take the fashionista witch off the soap opera set, but you can’t make her wear sensible shoes.
Brushing off my hands, I glanced over my shoulder at the trailer bed. A rush of relief spread through me when I realized that the length of garland we’d just hung was indeed the last of it. “Yep, that was it!” I called.
Evangeline wiped her brow, smoothing a few loose strands of her raven hair back into place. “Whew!” She considered the garland strung between the lamp posts. “How many feet do you think we hung today?”
The football player jumped into action. “Well, the streetlamps are ninety-five feet apart, and we’ve hung swags between eighteen posts, so that would mean 856 feet! That’s not even counting the ones we hung up on the pavilion or the outsides of the Old Town Harbor Shoppes.”