A Slice of Christmas Magic

by A. G. Mayes

I turned to her, trying to hide my disappointment. “Why not?”

  “Violet wants me to strategize with her. There’s been a little chatter that the IMPs are going to try something again soon,” she said. As much as I had been looking forward to this outing today, I couldn’t argue with that. “I ran into Henry when I was at the grocery store, and he offered to go with you,” she added.

  “Great,” I said with a forced smile. I had forgiven Henry, but I’d thought I would have another day to fully cool off before we spent too much time together. Henry entered the shop before I could try and get out of it with a “maybe we can go tomorrow” suggestion.

  “Hi,” Henry greeted us. He smiled at me with a hint of guilt and a bit of hope. I felt some of my frostiness melt away.

  I grabbed my coat and Aunt Erma sent us off with a reminder to get a small tree.

  “There’s not a lot of room here, so make sure you get one that’s yay big or smaller.” She held her hand up to the top of her head.

  We walked the short distance to the tree lot that was set up in the parking lot by the school mostly in silence. Most people had already gotten their trees since it was mid-December. The lot had just a few near the front. The leftovers had wonky branches or crooked tops and no one was manning the booth. There was just a bucket hanging in front of it with a sign that said, “Pay here.”

  “They’re all too big,” I said, looking up at one that was missing half its needles. I’d be in trouble if I brought that one back.

  “I think there’s more in the field back there,” Henry said, disappearing behind the school. I slowly wandered after him. “Help,” I heard him yell suddenly, and I ran towards the sound of his voice. I rounded the corner and saw Henry standing in an awkward position knee deep in snow. “Stop,” he said when I got close.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The snow. I’m stuck.” He moved a little and sank down a few more inches. “It’s sticky. I think there’s a spell on it.”

  “Should I call Violet?” I asked. My heart was racing as Henry went down another inch.

  Henry nodded. His face was pale. He closed his eyes, and I could hear him murmuring something. A spell or a prayer. I wasn’t sure.

  I gave Violet a slightly hysterical account of what was happening.

  “I’ll be there in three minutes,” she said. I wasn’t sure if Henry had three minutes. He was already waist-deep.

  “It’s just so sticky,” he said. He lifted his mittened hand up, and the snow clung to it, stringy, almost like molasses. I had an idea. Last week I had dropped a giant glass jug of maple syrup. The glass had shattered, and syrup had splattered everywhere. The puddle had spread quickly and seemed to cover every surface in the kitchen in no time, including my pants. I had been moaning about how much time it would take me to clean up all the syrup, and Aunt Erma had taught me a spell that had made the syrup not sticky. It had still been a mess to clean up, but it had just been liquid. That had made it so much easier.

  I tried the spell now. I closed my eyes and focused all my energy towards Henry as I spoke the words Aunt Erma had taught me. I snapped my eyes open, not really thinking I had accomplished anything, but there was Henry, waist-deep in a puddle instead of the snow. I yanked him out of the puddle and we lay on the ground. We held each other tightly, both breathing hard.

  I didn’t want to let go, even as Violet and Aunt Erma appeared on the scene.

  Aunt Erma ran over and threw her arms around me and Henry. “Are you two okay?” she asked, squeezing us tightly. We both nodded shakily, and told her and Violet what had happened.

  “I’m going to get some Magic Enforcement Officers out here to inspect the scene,” Violet said. “I think the IMPs were trying to catch Erma because she mentioned she was going tree shopping today in the pie shop.”

  “I’m sorry you got caught in it.” Aunt Erma looked as if she might cry.

  “It’s okay. Susie saved me.” Henry reached over to hold my hand.

  “You should get inside,” Violet told Henry, whose teeth were chattering. “I’ll work on things here.” Aunt Erma ushered us back to the pie shop, and I brought Henry upstairs to find something he could change into. I gave him a pair of fleece pants and an oversized T-shirt that I wore as pajamas sometimes. I had gotten a little wet when I was pulling him out of the puddle, so I changed into a dry pair of fleece leggings and a long blue sweatshirt.

  When Henry came out of the bathroom, he came over to me and gently twisted one of my curls around his finger. “Thanks for saving my life,” he said. His breath smelled minty fresh, and I had a feeling he’d just used some of my mouthwash. I was suddenly a little self-conscious of my coffee breath.

  “Any time,” I said out of the corner of my mouth so as not to blow my bad breath into his face. He leaned in and kissed me, long and slow. His lips were still ice cold, but I didn’t mind, and he didn’t seem to mind my coffee breath.

  I traced the edge of his ear with my finger and kissed him again. He grasped the bottom of my sweatshirt and pulled me closer.

  “We should probably get back downstairs,” he said. My mind had wandered in a different direction and it took me a minute to return to reality and process what he was saying. I hated to say it, but he was right.

  I groaned and let my head fall to his chest. “We’re going to be stuck answering questions forever,” I said.

  The whole Morning Pie Crew was at the front of the shop drinking coffee when we went back downstairs. Their questions began the minute they saw us. We were about at the part where Henry was sinking in the snow when Violet showed up.

  “How did you get him out of there?” she asked in her direct way. I was a little miffed that she was ruining the dramatic tension I was building up in my story, but I told her the spell I had used and why. Violet narrowed her eyes at me.

  “The magic in the snow was very powerful,” she said. “That spell shouldn’t have worked on it.”

  I shrugged as everyone stared at me. “Maybe it was the adrenaline? Can that make magic stronger?” I asked.

  “No,” Violet said, still studying me. I shifted uncomfortably. “You just did a whole different level of magic.”

  ***

  I was relieved that night when Holly said she was still free to grab a drink at Sal’s. I could really use a night out. I got there first, which wasn’t unusual. Sal’s was our one bar in town. It was dimly lit with creaky wooden floors. There was a jukebox in the front and a pool table in the back. I ordered a beer from Sal and sat near the pool table. Maybe this would be the night I discovered my super-hidden talent for pool. I hummed along to the country Christmas songs that were playing from the jukebox and stared blankly at the football game that was on TV. I was almost finished with my first beer by the time Holly rushed in.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, patting her windblown blonde hair down. “Cabbage catastrophe.” Holly worked at Basil’s Market, and I’d gotten used to her strange food emergencies.

  She ordered a drink, something pink and fizzy, and we got right into the gossip.

  “I heard you saved Henry’s life,” she said.

  “What can I say? I’m just a regular superhero.” I shrugged.

  “I heard you did some pretty serious magic.”

  I shrugged again. “It was a pretty serious situation.” I tried not to picture Henry disappearing into the sticky snow.

  Holly studied my face for a minute while I studied the bubbles in my beer. She let me off the hook and moved on to lighter conversation for awhile.

  By the time we were working on our second drinks, we were trying to solve the problem of the IMPs.

  “Do you think Stan’s evil?” I asked. I remembered the twinge of sympathy I felt when I saw him at the job site.

  “I don’t think he’s a good person,” she said, biting a cherry off the stem.

  We were silent for a minute.

  “How do we stop them?” I asked. I was ripping my cocktail napkin into tiny pieces.

&
nbsp; “The IMPs?”

  I nodded.

  Holly gently took the napkin away from me and shrugged.

  “How do we stop them?” I was ripping my cocktail napkin into tiny pieces. Holly gently took the napkin away from me and shrugged.

  “We keep them from getting too much magic.”

  After that we moved on to solving more important problems, like whether or not Holly could catch the kernels of popcorn that I threw to her.

  Chapter 7

  Dear Elodie,

  I think my house is haunted. I live alone and several times a week when I come home the remote control is in a different spot or a door is open that I’m sure I left closed. Whenever I buy a box of cookies, it always disappears within a couple days with nothing but a few crumbs on the bottom. It has to be ghosts, right? I tried putting up a camera so I could see them, but the camera always stops recording on the days when the ghost visits.

  The only other person who has a key to my house is my neighbor. He said he’s never seen anyone coming or going when I’m not home.

  What should I do? Try to befriend the ghost in my house, or move?

  Sincerely,

  Victim of a Ghoulish Guest

  Dear Victim of a Ghoulish Guest,

  I would take the key back from your neighbor. If you don’t believe me, hide a camera somewhere and don’t tell your neighbor where it is. You just might see a face you recognize.

  Ask and I’ll Answer,

  Elodie

  I woke up feeling unsettled. After seeing Brenda’s face in the Christmas ornament a few nights ago, and Henry almost getting eaten by a pile of snow yesterday, I was worried about what today might bring. I kept checking every reflective surface to see if a face other than my own was looking back at me. I got ready quickly so I didn’t have to be alone in the bathroom with the mirror for too long, and I gave the Christmas tree a wide berth.

  Aunt Erma was already down in the kitchen prepping pies. No matter how early I got up, she always seemed to be up earlier. I wondered if she ever actually slept.

  “How did you sleep?” she asked, examining me. I shrugged. “I need your head in the game today.”

  Oh right, it was the day of the snowman-building contest.

  “The snow in the square is all packed down from everyone walking through and kids playing. How are they going to have enough for the contest?” I asked.

  “They have snow-making machines.” Aunt Erma pulled her flour-covered hands out of the bowl to do the air quotes she often used when she meant someone was going to use magic.

  I helped Aunt Erma with the prep. If there was anyone who wasn’t in the Christmas spirit yet, today’s choices would certainly make them feel jolly. We had a peppermint cream pie, a Ho Ho hot chocolate cream, a Rudolph’s nose cherry crumble, and an elf’s apple ribbon pie. We set out all the pies and unlocked the door. Aunt Erma posted a sign at the front door that announced our shortened hours for the day, but of course everyone in town already knew about them. We were going to be closed during the competition, but we would reopen afterwards so everyone could come in for a slice of pie and a nice steaming cup of coffee or hot chocolate. We served the first few early-bird customers, and then the shop emptied.

  “Now sit, eat,” Aunt Erma said, pushing me towards a table with a slice of pie in her hand. “You need your energy for the competition.”

  “To be honest, my heart just isn’t really in it,” I said. I felt as if I was going to be looking over my shoulder at every turn all day. I had already thought I’d seen Dennis and Brenda walk past the pie shop three times this morning. My skin prickled at the thought of being outside in the open surrounded by snow. Spells could just fly from any direction and sticky piles of magic snow could try to suck me in. Between that and wanting to win the competition for Aunt Erma I was a jumbled bundle of nerves.

  “It will be fine,” Aunt Erma assured me. She set a cup of coffee in front of me.

  “I don’t know if I can handle any more coffee,” I said. My leg was already jiggling under the table.

  “Don’t worry, it’s decaf,” she said. She put her hand on my knee and firmly held it down.

  I was halfway through the slice of pie when my nerves began to settle. It felt like a wave of calm that started at the top of my head and slid down until it washed over the very tips of my toes.

  “What’s in this pie?” I asked, a little suspiciously.

  “Oh, you know, a sprinkle of this, a dash of that,” she said with a wink. “Enjoy every bite, and you’ll be ready for the competition.”

  The creamy chocolate flavor was easy to devour. I drank the coffee, and by the time we had to go outside for the competition, I had almost forgotten that we were all in terrible danger.

  I could see the clouds of my breath when we went outside. Mitzy came along dressed in her Erma’s Pie Shop dog coat. The coat was sparkly and red, lined with white fur, and when Mitzy wore it, she lifted her paws high in a proud prance. It had taken a week, but I wasn’t embarrassed to walk with her anymore when she was wearing it. Aunt Erma was in a bright red coat with green polka dots. She wore a large hat shaped like a snowman. It had to be at least two feet high. She also carried red and green pom-poms with her.

  “Pom-poms?” I asked, trying to hide my smile.

  “Yes, I’m not only the sponsor, I’m also the official cheerleader,” she said with a wave of the pom-poms.

  I hoped she wasn’t wearing a cheerleading uniform under that coat. With Aunt Erma, anything was possible.

  The crowd had already begun to gather in the square. Children were throwing snowballs and making snow angels. Adults were talking and laughing with the kind of jolly animation that only seemed to come out at Christmas time. The snow was piled high. There were a couple fires burning in barrels at the edge of the sidewalk, and people huddled around the flames, holding their mittened hands out to warm them. Christmas music played from somewhere in the bundle of evergreen trees at the corner of the square. Somehow the place seemed to be covered in even more Christmas lights. The air practically sparkled with the excited energy that buzzed around. I half expected to see Santa Claus fly in on his sleigh.

  Wait, there was Santa Claus – or at least Tanner O’Connell dressed up as Santa Claus. The crowd was eating it up as he walked around and took pictures with people. Several children and a few adults told him what they wanted for Christmas. Then he walked up to the steps of the gazebo. The gazebo was lined with lights that were flashing to the beat of the Christmas music that was playing. When he took the microphone and began to speak, the music died down. I didn’t know if it was the outfit or magic, but his voice sounded two octaves deeper than it did most days.

  “Welcome to the fifty-sixth annual snowman-building contest! This has been a proud tradition for Hocus Hills thanks to our former mayor Barney Wallace, who created this competition one drunken night,” Tanner said. Barney was in his eighties now and sat covered in a blanket on a bench in the gazebo. He waved proudly to the crowd. “Every year the competition gets fiercer, and the prize gets better.” He held up a large green gift bag. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but, trust me, there are some spectacular goodies in here.” I thought he was overselling it a bit since I had helped Aunt Erma put together the grand prize. It was a dozen mini pumpkin pies, a Hocus Hills T-shirt, and a mug that said, “I built the best snowman” on one side and “Hocus Hills 56th Annual Snowman Building Contest proudly sponsored by Erma’s Pie Shop” on the other side. He went on to thank Erma’s Pie Shop and then rambled on for another ten minutes about what a proud tradition this was for our town. I stopped listening and started planning what I wanted for lunch. I was leaning towards a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. As he began to wind down, Aunt Erma grabbed my arm.

  “You have to focus. Get your head in the game. Remember everything we practiced,” she said. “Round balls. Make the first one large, then make the head second, and make the third one the middle so you can make it exactly the righ
t size. You know when you make the middle second then the proportions get all off.”

  “I know. I remember,” I said as I eyed a passer-by’s steaming paper cup of hot chocolate longingly. I was as competitive as the next person. Some people, such as Josh, might say I was even more competitive than the average person. All because of one out-of-hand Pictionary incident in which I’d pulled all the cards out of the box and thrown them at him. It had been a surprisingly satisfying experience and Josh had just stared at me with wide eyes before bursting out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I’d ended up laughing too. But since the prize for the snowman-building competition was a gift bag that I’d helped to make, it didn’t seem as if it was worth all the determination Aunt Erma was pouring into it.

  “Get ready,” Santa Claus yelled into the microphone. It was so loud I cringed and plugged the ear that was closest to the speakers. “Get set.” People shuffled into the places nearest the large snow piles. Then we all froze. The only sound was the wind and the occasional rustle of people’s jackets. “Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o,” he yelled, and everyone sprang into action.

  I wanted to watch the mayhem, but Aunt Erma was yelling at me. “Let’s go let’s go let’s go! Get your head in the game!” I reluctantly gathered some snow in my hands to get the first ball going.

  “Come on. Get rolling. Make the edges smooth,” she commanded from the sidelines. “Susie.” She snapped her fingers at me, and I looked at her. “You have to go faster,” she said. I looked around and saw that everyone else was much further along than I was, but they also seemed to be having a lot more fun than I was.

  “Isn’t there some rule about not harassing the snowman makers?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Aunt Erma replied, not missing a beat.

  “Hey, you’re here.” Henry rushed over to me.

  “Don’t distract her, Henry,” Aunt Erma scolded. Aunt Erma was holding a bag full of our props for the snowman. She even included a pie tin that I was supposed to use positioned in the snowman’s arms. “You have to make sure it’s at a jaunty angle and that it doesn’t fall. That would be horrible, if it fell,” Aunt Erma had told me one day last week when we were practicing. I had broken three glass pie plates before Aunt Erma had decided we should just use an aluminum tin full of whipped cream. “It doesn’t look as pretty as the glass ones, but all of the judges will be looking at the whipped cream anyway. Oh, especially if we add chocolate chips.” She congratulated herself with her great idea. Then she pulled out the notebook and made a note. She had been doing that all along, making notes for me to study later.