Yuletide (Matilda Kavanagh Novels Book 3)

by Shauna Granger

  As belief in him was forgotten, so was he, and his power faded. Sometime in the seventies, he tried to make a great comeback, but a group of hunters caught him before he could do much damage. So diminished was his power that they were able to trap him in a cave deep in the Bavarian mountains. Most people believed he was dead now, his power gone and his body wasted away to nothing. I liked to think so, but the little girl inside me was wary, still a little scared of the creepy devil.

  I turned the postcard over so the picture of the randy Yulelord was facedown.

  Artie came into the kitchen, and his fluffy black tail curled around his empty bowl. He let out a low, “Mrrrr.”

  “I know.” I opened the fridge and pulled out the cream. I filled his bowl, then gave my nearly forgotten dark chocolate cherry mocha a tap with my wand, reheating it. As we both drank our treats, I leaned against the counter, feeling the night catching up with me. I was so tired, I wasn’t even hungry, and I seriously considered going to bed hours earlier than usual.

  There was a knock at my door. I tried not to groan, but I wasn’t successful.

  I checked the peephole, lifting up on my toes to reach it, and saw another man and little boy waiting. The man was dressed in a patched coat that had seen much better days, faded jeans, and a grey flat cap on his head. The little boy looked as though he was seven or eight years old, but his face had that faded pallor of the sick that sometimes made my skin crawl. But he had sweet wide eyes as he leaned against his father’s legs, waiting.

  I let my aura unfurl, pass through the door, and reach for their bodies. Humans again. So many humans in one night. I must be getting some kind of reputation I wasn’t aware of. I turned all the locks and lifted the freezing spell from the knob. I offered them what was probably a very tired smile.

  “Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat, and I tried not to cringe at the word. “I apologize for the late hour. I only just got off work.”

  “Not at all,” I said, stepping back and motioning for them to come in. “Still early for a witch.”

  “Of course.” He came in, took off his cap, and held it in both hands as they rested against the boy’s chest.

  “Matilda Kavanagh,” I said, holding out a hand.

  He took it with warm, dry fingers. “Miles Jenkins, and this is my son, Tobin.”

  Tobin looked too skinny for his height, and his brown hair looked limp, almost thinning. Sickness hung around him like a shroud, stealing the apples from his cheeks and the light in his eyes. This was no mischievous boy who’d gotten his comeuppance like Andrew. Tobin was well and truly sick. But, being human, I couldn’t imagine why Miles had brought him to me instead of a hospital.

  “Nice to meet you, Tobin.” I held my hand out for him, surprising him. His fingers were cool, too cool. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

  Miles looked at me, his mouth opening, but words failing him. His eyes dropped to his son’s head, then came back up to meet mine.

  I dropped into a squat to look the boy in the eye. “Tobin, do you like to draw?”

  Tobin lifted one shoulder in a shrug, then dropped his eyes. I held out a hand. After glancing at his father, he took it and let me lead him into the living room. I pulled a box out from under the coffee table. Inside was construction paper and crayons and coloring pencils. Tobin’s eyes widened for a moment before he caught himself.

  “Can you draw me something?” I asked.

  He bit his lower lip and nodded.

  “Awesome.”

  I walked back to Miles and motioned for him to follow me to the kitchen. I grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it into the kitchen, putting a little distance between us and Tobin, and I gestured for Miles to sit while I fixed him a cup of tea. Glancing sidelong at him, I saw his hands were shaking, though he tried to hide it by gripping his hat. He took his tea straight, the warm cup seeming to help his hands, and he gave me a watery smile.

  I couldn’t imagine what it was like to watch your child wither away from sickness, but I’d known loss. Death and I were close friends, though I wished he wouldn’t visit so often.

  I leaned against the far counter and waited, letting Miles take a few sips of the tea. I watched as the combination of the calming draught and revitalization elixir buoyed him. He blinked and looked into the cup. When he realized I’d slipped him something, his watery smile turned rueful. I shrugged and smiled back.

  “How can I help?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “He’s sick,” he said slowly, keeping his voice soft. “I can’t afford the treatments. It’s just me. Tobin’s mother left us years ago. I’m already working two jobs. I’m starting a third at a tree lot tomorrow, but it still won’t be enough, and it’s only temporary.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “A tumor.” He almost choked on the word, and even I felt my throat constricting with grief. “Well, tumors.”

  “More than one?”

  “Yes, he has two in his lungs, but it’s the other one…” He looked at the wall, as though he could see Tobin through it. “In his brain. They say it’s inoperable.”

  The word hung in the air between us. I’d never had surgery. It seemed so barbaric, so archaic, I didn’t understand why humans were still doing it. But so many of them were still afraid of magic. They didn’t understand it, and most didn’t want to.

  “Inoperable,” I said, testing the word. I shook my head and pushed away from the counter. I reached for a cookie jar in the corner under the cabinet. “So they want to cut the others out of his chest, but leave that one?”

  “They said they might be able to shrink it with radiation.”

  A chill ran down my back. Radiation? What they hell was wrong with humans? “And pump him full of chemicals and pills, right?”

  “Right,” Miles breathed the word, looking into his cup.

  “Miles, you’ve got to understand I am not a healer, okay?”

  “But they said—”

  “They say a lot of things. I’m a witch, not a healer. They aren’t the same things. But healers are so rare, so secretive, I don’t think you’d ever find one. Not that Tobin isn’t the exact kind of candidate that a healer would accept.”

  “So there’s no hope?”

  “No, there is always hope,” I said as I met and held his gaze. “But I want you to know, I make no promises.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ve never cured cancer or tumors.”

  “But you’ve cured things.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to give him too much hope. But healing potions were more than half my business, so I definitely could try. “I have.”

  “So you’ll help us?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Those two words made him break down, a sob bursting from him before he could cover his mouth. I grabbed the cookie jar and an empty glass, balancing them in one hand before grabbing the milk from the fridge as I passed. I walked into the living room, giving Miles a moment to get himself composed.

  Tobin was drawing something very black. When I came around the couch, I saw Artie sitting on the floor a few feet away, his chin in the air as though he was actually posing for Tobin.

  “Ham,” I said, shaking my head and setting everything on the table. “Tobin, do you like cookies and milk?”

  The smile that lit his face broke something inside me, but I held back the tears. I poured him a glass while he dug a large chocolate chip cookie from the jar.

  It took the rest of the night and all of my energy to read Tobin’s aura, shifting it and pushing out of his system the poison that the medications had left behind. I felt his tumors like hot coals, slowly but surely burning away his health.

  I had to use my mother’s old spell books to find potions and elixirs strong enough for what we needed, but I found them. Not for the first time, I cursed myself for dropping out of college—advanced classes might’ve better prepared me for something like this. It would be a long road and Tobin would have to come
back for more adjustments, but when the first rays of sunshine broke through the windows, Tobin looked a little better than he had when he first came inside.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Miles said as he took the small wooden crate of potions, tucking it under one arm as he held the sleeping Tobin in the other.

  “Just keep to that schedule I gave you, and be very, very careful to keep the potions straight. Make sure you’re back here with him every week. It’s going to take time. If you think you’ve messed up, don’t try to fix it yourself. Just call me, and we’ll figure it out together.”

  “I understand.” He pressed his cheek to the top of Tobin’s head, taking a deep breath. “How much do I owe you?”

  I shook my head and held up my hands. “Please, just have a merry Christmas.”

  “No, no.” He shook his head, moving to put down the box.

  “No, I insist.” I put my hands on his shoulders to turn him toward the door. “Like I said, I don’t know if this will work. I’m just trying my best.”

  Tears filled his eyes again, but there was relief there as well. At the door, he stopped and turned to look at me. “Do you decorate for the holiday?”

  The question surprised me. “Yes, I just haven’t had a chance yet. Everything is still in boxes.”

  “Come to the tree lot on 7th street,” he said. “That’s where I’ll be working. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “That, I’ll take.”

  “Wonderful,” he repeated, smiling at me.

  I watched him get onto the elevator. The half-asleep Tobin lifted his hand, and I waved back, feeling the swelling in my throat again. I said a silent prayer that what I was trying would work. If only I had my mother. She would know exactly what to do. I closed the door, leaving the thoughts of my long lost mother out in the hall and feeling the long night settling on my shoulders.

  Picking the crayon portrait of Artie off the table, I chuckled when I saw a tiny witch in a pointed hat, flying on a broom across a crescent moon. It was pretty damn good composition for someone so young. I affixed it to my fridge with a magnetic star.

  I retrieved Artie from the kitchen counter and saw the Krampus postcard, somehow turned face up again. Without a thought, I flipped it facedown and headed for the bedroom. I tried to ignore the chill that ran down my back and tell myself it was my exhausted imagination that I heard the echoing laugh of the Yulelord. He was trapped in a mountain, probably nothing more than ash and bone.

  Chapter 3

  I woke with the setting sun and a pounding headache behind my eyes. I wanted to pull the covers over my head and sleep the night away, but a second pressure was building that I couldn’t ignore—especially with a fifteen-pound cat sitting on my stomach.

  A few minutes later, I was in the kitchen, uncorking a bottle of pain elixir. The sharp apple flavor was a little bitter, and I made a mental note to add extra honey to the next batch. Bitter or not, the potion was already working, coursing through my veins and taking the edge off my headache. By the time the coffee pot was full, the worst of it was gone.

  Artie was whisker deep in his tuna when I dug out the ingredients for the goodies I was planning to put in the various gift baskets I had to make. Soon my counters were covered in flour, sugar, and bowls. Somehow I got melted chocolate on my elbow, but the brownies were in the oven and three dozen cookies were cooling on racks when someone knocked at my door.

  Dusting my hands on my candy-cane-striped apron, I walked through the apartment, Artemis hopping from surface to surface to keep pace with me. When we got to the door, Artie twitched his whiskers and sat back to clean one paw. I checked the peephole to see Ronnie and Joey.

  “We smelled chocolate,” Joey said by way of greeting as she dashed inside, just a blur of pink that my eyes couldn’t track.

  “And coffee,” Ronnie said as she stepped inside.

  I closed the door and turned all the locks. “Vultures.”

  “Hungry vultures,” Joey said as she scooped up Artie on her way into the kitchen.

  When their backs were turned, I grabbed my grandmother’s afghan off the couch and threw it over the bags of presents in the corner by the kitchen table.

  Ronnie lifted on her toes to look over my shoulder. “Oooh, what are you hiding?”

  “Noneya.” I took her shoulders and turned her toward the kitchen. “Look,” I added awe to my voice, “coffee!”

  “Mmmm, coffee.” She sounded like a zombie searching for brains.

  “And cookies!” Joey exclaimed. She let Artie drop to the floor as she rushed forward.

  “No!” I ran in after her, slapping at her hands. “Not for you!”

  “C’mon, you’ve got like a hundred here!”

  “Thirty-six, actually,” I said, “but fine. You can have one. Just one.” I held up a finger to emphasize my point.

  “If she gets one, I get one,” Ronnie said as she pulled down three coffee mugs.

  I groaned, looking at the ceiling.

  “Hey, it’ll keep your numbers even.” The smile she flashed at me as she poured the coffee was too much like the look Artie got when I let him eat a whole bowl of chicken salad.

  “I hate you both.” I added sugar and cream to the cups while they picked out the two most perfect cookies. “You’re cutting it close for opening the shop, aren’t you?”

  “We’ve got an hour,” Ronnie said as she broke her cookie in half to dunk into her coffee.

  “What’s this?” Joey’s nails caught on the edge of the Krampus Rumpus postcard to pick it up. Before I could answer her, she squealed loudly enough to make Artemis hiss and dash out of the kitchen, disappearing around the corner, probably into the bedroom.

  “For the love of toads,” Ronnie said, having barely missed spilling coffee on herself.

  “Oh, Mattie, can we go? Please, please, please!” Joey ran over and threw her arms around me, jumping in place so that she rattled my whole body. I was just glad the elixir had taken care of my headache.

  “Go where?” Ronnie plucked the postcard out of Joey’s hand. She hissed, much like Artie, when she saw the leering Krampus, and she threw the card away from her. It skidded under my kitchen table, landing facedown.

  “Dude!” Joey dashed from my side so quickly that I spun on the spot. She retrieved the postcard and dusted it off, her lavender eyes wide as she inspected the card for any damage.

  “Why do you have that?” Ronnie asked. “Did someone send it to you as a joke?” She hadn’t seen the other side explaining that it was an invitation to the various Krampus revelries.

  “It’s the most awesome holiday event ever,” Joey said, clutching the card to her chest.

  “What?” Ronnie looked from me to Joey and back.

  “So apparently humans are reviving the Krampus legend, and they think he’s kinda cool and not at all terrifying and creepy.” I sipped my cooling coffee.

  “You’re kidding,” Ronnie said.

  “’Fraid not,” I said. “They have all these events going on. Tonight is some kind of ball, and three girls came in asking for glamours so they’d have the best costumes. I think there’s a contest.”

  Ronnie’s deadpan face reflected my feelings exactly.

  “So you’re not going?” Joey asked, confusion drawing her thin pink brows together.

  “Gods no,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Joey, Krampus is not a funny, loveable scamp like that picture makes him out to be. He’s the harbinger of pain and retribution for bad children.” When she just blinked at me, I said, “You’re half human, so you were brought up to believe in Santa, right?”

  “Sure.” She nodded, making the soft spikes on her head drift.

  “We were brought up to believe in Santa and Krampus. Santa rewards good little children with presents and candy.”

  “And if you were bad, you got coal and no presents,” Joey said, and Ronnie and I shook our heads.

  “No, if you were bad, yo
u not only didn’t get presents,” Ronnie picked up the story, “but Krampus would visit and beat you with switches, or if you were really bad, he’d take you away in his sack to his lair.”

  “What lair?” Now we had Joey’s attention.

  “Some say it’s just a cave,” I said. “But he’s the son of Hel, who reigns over the underworld, Helheim, so some think his lair actually leads to Hell.”

  “His mom?”

  “No, the realm of Hel.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Torture,” I said as Ronnie said, “He eats you.”

  “Oh my god!” Joey’s eyes were so wide they took up her whole face. “What kind of Christmas tradition is that?”

  “An effective one,” I said.

  Ronnie snorted, but not as though she found it at all funny.

  “Okay, but that’s the old world talking,” Joey said as she bounced on her toes. “This is just for fun.” She held out the card. “I couldn’t get a ticket, Mattie. Please! We can go together – it’ll be awesome!”

  I looked at Ronnie, but she just shrugged before draining her coffee. “She hasn’t had a day off in a while. I don’t care.”

  I sighed, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “Fine.”

  I lost my hearing for a minute when Joey screamed in her excitement. She was a pink blur as she darted across the room and barreled into me, almost knocking us to the ground when she hugged me.

  “I’m going to go change!”

  We heard the door slam before our eyes caught up—she was going so damn fast.

  “Have fun,” Ronnie teased, snatching another cookie.

  “Damn it, now they’re uneven!”

  “Guess you’ll have to eat one.”

  “Oh. Right.” I took a cookie.

  “I can’t believe you’re going,” she said.

  “It’s your fault,” I said around the bite of cookie, glancing through the window in the oven to check on the brownies. “You could’ve told her she couldn’t have the night off.”