Christmas Witch: A Jagged Grove Short Story

by Willow Monroe

  “No, I don’t. What kind of reaction?” Maybe the tea stuff isn’t working on him.

  “A headache, usually.”

  “But you already have-.”

  “Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

  “Sorry.” I leave him alone and go upstairs to my bedroom.

  I’ve learned a lot about Angelo by sharing a house with him. Like the fact that he folds his socks perfectly and then places them in a precise order in the drawer. Or the weird habit he has of singing old folk songs at the top of his lungs first thing in the morning. I’ve learned mundane things, too, like how he likes his eggs and how he drinks from the milk carton when he thinks no one is looking.

  This handstand-counting thing is new, though. It would be cute if I knew what the hell he was supposed to be doing. I leave the mystery for later and jump in the shower.

  Afterward I go down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Angelo is nowhere to be found, but I spot a familiar blue box on the table. Uh-oh. “Angelo!”

  “What?” He appears, wearing only his jeans. I bite my lip, take a deep breath and look away. “Did you eat more cookies?”

  “No. You said there was something wrong with them.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  “I’m serious, Angelo.”

  “I didn’t. Even though I’m still not sure how Bilda could have screwed up simple Christmas cookies.” He comes over, takes the cup of tea from my hand, and takes a drink. It is intimate, and annoying.

  “Give me that. And she didn’t screw them up. Rain did, actually.”

  “Oh. Well, then. That’s to be expected. She’s still learning.”

  I eye him. “Glad you feel that way. Now help me figure out the best way to fix it.”

  “Cookies,” he says, reaching for my cup again. I jerk it away.

  “Cookies are what got us into this mess,” I remind him.

  “And it’s the best way to get us out of it. People like cookies, and especially Christmas cookies. Put the new mixture into cookies and hand them out, just like before.” He reaches again, and this time I let him have the cup.

  It really is a good idea. Probably the only idea that has even a sliver of a chance of actually working. “Will you help us?” I ask. Normally I wouldn’t have to ask, because Angelo is a great guy, but right now he’s acting strange.

  “Help, how?”

  “We’re going to need a lot of the chamomile and dill. Plus some cinnamon.” I’m thinking out loud. “Cinnamon will mask any of the dill flavor, I think. Plus, it’s Christmassy.”

  “Christmassy? Is that a word?” A sexy grin quirks the corners of his mouth.

  The grin distracts me for a moment, so I let my gaze drop. Unfortunately, it lands on his chest, which doesn’t help my temperature a bit. I stare at the cup in my hand instead. “Yes, it is. Now - will you help or not?”

  “Yes, I’ll help. I think I can get all of those things down at the Crystal Cup.”

  “Wonderful. We can make cookies tomorrow, hand them out, and everything will be back to normal before Christmas. Right?”

  “Sure,” Angelo says, and wanders back upstairs.

  Six

  I make it back to Bilda’s house by eight the next morning, but all this early rising is killing me. Luckily, she has coffee and cake. I pause before taking a slice, though. “Are these safe?”

  “Yes.” She throws a dishtowel at me.

  “Just checking.” I catch the dishtowel just as Angelo comes through the door.

  He’s carrying a couple of brown paper bags with handles, the kind you get at takeout places. “Is that the stuff?” I ask.

  He laughs, and I smile to see that he seems like his old self. “You make it sound like we’re drug dealers.”

  Rain speaks up. “Well, we sort of are, aren’t we? Lacing cookies and sneaking dill to people?”

  I think about this. She’s right.

  Angelo lifts the bags onto the countertop. “I took the liberty of talking to Raul, the chef down at the Cup. He told me that cinnamon was not a good idea at all.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Cinnamon for what?” Bilda asks, retrieving her dishtowel and pulling biscuits from the oven. Angelo moans when he sees them.

  “I thought we could mask the dill with cinnamon,” I explain, then turn back to Angelo. “Why is that a bad idea?”

  “He said that cinnamon has a tendency to make tempers flare, and we don’t need that. I broke up two arguments just getting to the Cup and back, and I’m pretty sure Mrs. Kline was threatening to burn her house down if Mr. Kline didn’t go buy the right kind of flour for her fruitcakes.”

  “He’s right. It’s a bad idea,” Bilda cut in. “Trinket, you need to ask me before you do these things.”

  I sigh. “It was just an idea, and I’m only trying to save Christmas.”

  “A lofty goal, my dear.” She pats my hand and offers Angelo a fluffy biscuit, which he takes. Then he dives for the refrigerator, grabs the butter, and slathers the bread before shoving it in his mouth. Anyone watching would think the man was starving to death.

  I wait until he’s finished chewing, then ask, “Did Raul have any other ideas?”

  “Yep. Peppermint.” Angelo grabs biscuit number two. Bilda lets him, then pulls the plate away.

  “OK, that’ll work fine, I guess.” I look to Bilda, the herbalist among us. “No nasty side effects?”

  “Nope. That works fine,” she says, picking at a biscuit of her own.

  “Ok, then. Let’s get started.” I reach for the bags and start pulling out ingredients. The one at the bottom puzzles me. “Angelo? These are those round peppermint candies.”

  “I know. He said that it would be fine, since we’re only using them for the taste. We have to crush them up ourselves, though. I couldn’t find the already crushed kind.”

  “Really? What about peppermint oil? That would work, too.”

  “It’s Christmas, Trinket. Everything’s sold out. Even the candy canes.”

  Of course it is. I dig through Bilda’s pantry, find the rolling pin, and hand it plus the candy to Rain. “Take this outside and pound on it for a while,” I instruct her.

  She goes without a word, and I wonder if she’s still feeling bad about her goof. Then I set about making the strangest cookies in history while Bilda hovers and Angelo runs off, probably to break up more fights.

  “It was a good idea, though, wasn’t it?” Bilda asks, when we’re into the second batch.

  I stop stirring dough to give her a quick hug and catch Rain listening at the back door. “It was a good idea, and even Rain had a good idea. She just grabbed the wrong ingredient.”

  I don’t want Rain to feel bad anymore. I was telling the truth when I said that anyone could have made the same mistake. I’m a firm believer in letting kids hear you brag about them. They don’t believe it when you say it to them - they tend to think you’re just being nice - but if they overhear a compliment, it makes their day.

  It seems to work - when she comes back in with her third bag of finely crushed candy, she’s smiling again. I give her a hug, too.

  “I want a hug.” Angelo is coming in through the back door, carrying a bag from the Salty Hog.

  I look at the bag and try to hide my blush. “Is that lunch?”

  “Yep. I figured you ladies wouldn’t stop to eat. So I get a hug, too, right?”

  “For lunch?”

  “No - for being your knight in shining sandwiches.” He puts the bag down and comes to get his hug.

  I hesitate for a second, but can’t find a way to refuse, so I wrap my arms around his waist. He’s warm and tall and smells a little like cedar, and my whole body goes into overdrive.

  “Hey,” he says. I instinctively look up at him. He bends his head and kisses me on the lips before I can say or do anything.

  No kissing is one of my rules, and he’s breaking it right here in front of everyone. I sho
uld be mad. I should kick him in the shin or something.

  Instead, I melt into him and kiss him back, my body doing what it wants without asking my opinion. My hands find his chest, my leg wraps around his, and suddenly it feels like a very good Christmas, indeed.

  Behind us, Bilda claps her hands and squeals with delight. Rain giggles, too, and that’s what makes me finally break our kiss. “Angelo - we have an audience...” I whisper.

  He moans and tries for another kiss, but I put my hand over his mouth to stop him. “Angelo. We said no kissing.”

  “Uh-uh. You said that.” He’s not letting me go. I’m still trapped against his chest, and my body is still responding. I push on him, and he lets me go with a small frown. When I turn back to Bilda and Rain, knowing that I’m blushing like crazy, I feel like I’ve just starred in an x-rated movie. “Sorry about that,” I mutter, running for the bathroom. Behind me, I hear laughter.

  We are supposed to keep our distance - that’s the agreement. At least, I thought that was the agreement, but Angelo just keeps pushing my buttons. I respond to him way too easily, and that’s my fault. Well, mine and the spell that binds us in the first place.

  I check the mirror with shaking hands, smooth my suddenly frazzled hair, and go back to my cookies, noting with gratitude that Angelo is gone. I take a deep breath.

  “Are you two-?” Bilda asks.

  “No.” I need to stop this conversation before it gets started or I’ll never hear the end of it. “We aren’t. As soon as I find time to do some research and figure out how to break this bond, it’s over. I promise.”

  She looks disappointed, but doesn’t answer.

  Rain does, though. “Why? You two are pretty good together, aren’t you?”

  “We’re good friends, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  She snorts. “Doesn’t look that way from here.”

  “Well, it is that way.”

  I don’t tell them that I’m slipping - that Angelo and I are good together, regardless of how I try to hide it. At the same time, I also can’t tell them that I miss my friend Jones. He’s been avoiding me since the ritual that saved Jagged Grove, and I miss hanging out with him. When I was new here in Jagged Grove, Jones was my first - and best - friend. We even considered letting our relationship go farther, but them the whole Angelo thing happened.

  It’s all really confusing, and I don’t want to think about it. “Don’t you have candy to crush?” I ask Rain.

  “Nope. All done.” She crosses her arms, amusement dancing in her eyes. It feels almost like she can read my thoughts, and that makes me more nervous than fighting in the streets.

  Seven

  The wagon creaks along behind us. Angelo is pulling this time.

  “I’m freezing,” Rain grumbles, yanking her coat up around her neck.

  “Me, too, but we have to get this done.” It’s late afternoon, starting to get dark. I want to be home, reading a book or something, but we have to stop the effects of Bilda’s cookies before someone gets seriously hurt or Christmas in Jagged Grove is ruined.

  I grab a box and go up to the first door on this street, knocking quickly because it hurts my frozen knuckles. The door opens almost at once. “What do you want?” the man asks. I’ve never met him before. He’s dressed in a shirt and loosened tie, as if he’s just come home from work somewhere. “Hi,” I smile so hard it hurts my cheeks. “We’re passing out holiday cookies, just to say merry Christmas!”

  “Christmas? Get away from me.” He slams the door in my face.

  I blink at it for a moment, then try again, knocking louder this time.

  He opens the door again. “Nobody wants your cookies, lady. Now get lost.”

  Slam.

  I turn around and look at Angelo and Rain, at a complete loss. Why wouldn’t he take our cookies?

  “Maybe he’s just having a bad day,” Angelo says. “Come on. We’ll circle back.”

  At the second house, I see movement behind the door’s curtains before I even knock, but no one answers. “I know somebody is here.”

  I knock again, frown, and then use the side of my fist to pound on the door. Then I turn away. This might be harder than I’d thought.

  The rest of the houses on the block are the same story. No one wants cookies, or they simply ignore my knocking completely. One man actually says, “Bah, humbug!” before he shut the door in my face. By the time we get to the corner, I’m ready to cry.

  “It didn’t occur to me that no one would want them,” I say. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “We’ll try something else,” Angelo answers with a smile, taking my hand. “I have an idea.”

  He starts back toward Main Street, and we walk under the streetlights through town.

  Jagged Grove has outdone itself for Christmas. Every store is draped in greenery and lights, and carols play over a loudspeaker near the town square. “At least someone is still in the mood for Christmas,” I mutter, silently thanking whoever is in charge of the music.

  Christmas Eve is in three days, and we’ve got a lot of cookies to deliver.

  When I see where Angelo is leading us, I falter. “Is this a good idea?” I ask, thinking of mall-wide brawls.

  “It’s the only way to get a lot of cookies to a lot of people quickly. Trust me, it’ll work.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “People get hungry when they shop.” He grins and drags me forward, Rain silently pulling the wagon behind us.

  The mall is crowded, but it isn’t the same festive atmosphere as before. People are shopping and buying, but from the looks on their faces, they aren’t happy about it. I see a couple of boys bickering near the food court. Their parents stand nearby, watching and throwing a few insults themselves. “This is ridiculous,” I say to no one in particular. “It’s Christmas.”

  The carolers are nowhere to be seen.

  Angelo leads us to the geometric fountain in the center off the mall, then climbs on top of it. “What are you doing?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he steadies himself, lets out a long, loud whistle, and then yells, “Free Christmas cookies! Come one, come all!”

  I can’t help but grin. He looks more like he’s conquering the world than handing out snacks. “Oh no,” Rain says beside me. Her face turns red. She pulls up the collar of her jacket and turns away fast.

  I glance at Angelo again, then look around at the crowd.

  No one is paying any attention to him, except for the bickering kids. Now, they’re pointing and laughing.

  Angelo repeats his spiel, waving his arms to get people’s attention.

  A few people have gathered at the base of the fountain, but they aren’t biting. Someone throws a hot dog at his head.

  He manages to duck the meaty missile, but he doesn’t look happy anymore. I don’t blame him.

  “Come on, folks!” he yells. “Free cookies for Christmas! Who can resist that?”

  Everyone, apparently.

  The few people watching start to drift away. I grab a couple of boxes - brown this time, because it was a last minute thing - and try to hand them out, but every single shopper ignores me.

  I take a deep breath and approach the kids. “You guys want some cookies?” I bend down and hold out a box.

  The boys laugh and run away, but not before one of them sticks out his tongue and calls me a stinky-face. I stand up and find Angelo behind me.

  “This isn’t working,” I say, as if he didn’t already know that. “Nobody wants Christmas cookies.”

  “Then we’ll have to try something else,” he says, taking the boxes from my hand and carrying them back to the wagon as I follow along.

  “Like what?” I ask. “How do we give Christmas cookies to people who hate Christmas?”

  He heaves a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Let’s go home.”

  Eight

  After dropping a dejected Rain at Bilda’s house, we walk home. Just as we turn onto our street, I hear angry voices and
see two men leaning in toward one another, about to fight.

  Angelo takes my arm to stop me. “Hold on,” he says. “Let me check this out.”

  I hold my breath and watch as he walks toward them. They both look up at the same time. “What do you want, ASS man?” one of the men says.

  I cringe - I’m pretty sure I started that nickname, back when Angelo and I first met.

  “What’s the problem here?” Angelo asks.

  “None of your business,” one of them says, but the other blurts out, “He asked my girlfriend to the pancake dinner. I’m going to kick his-.”

  “Whoa. Hold up, you guys,” Angelo interrupts. “You two are friends. I’ve known you both for years. Mike, why would you do that to your buddy?”

  Mike kicks at something on the sidewalk. “She likes me. I know she does.”

  Angelo puts his hands on his hips. “Then let her decide - peacefully. Quit your fighting and go ask her. Both of you deal with her decision like adults.”

  The men start to walk away, but Angelo says, “Hey - you guys want some cookies?”

  Both of them grumble something and keep walking.

  Angelo jogs back to me. “Well, I tried,” he says, and I can hear in his voice that he’s feeling down, too.

  But I’m suddenly excited. “Angelo, I think those guys just solved our problem.”

  “What? How?”

  “The pancake breakfast. Didn’t you tell me that the whole town would be there?”

  “Uh, yeah. But what does that have to do with cookies? I mean, we aren’t cooks, and we used up our supplies anyway. The WBC won’t let us anywhere near their beloved fundraiser - they wouldn’t even let Bilda cook, remember?”

  He’s right, but I don’t think we need to do any more cooking. “What if we crumbled up the cookies and sprinkled them on the pancakes?”

  “Like a topping?”

  “Exactly. They put all kinds of stuff on pancakes - candy sprinkles, whipped cream, powdered sugar...why not cookies?” I’m practically jumping up and down. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure it will work.

  His eyebrows go up. “OK, but we can’t just go around sprinkling people’s food with mysterious crumbs. That really will start a fight.”