by Sam Cheever
“Of course.” He held my gaze for a long moment, his stare a question I wasn’t ready to answer.
He wanted to know if I’d forgiven him, and I just wasn’t sure.
After Grym left, I glanced toward the broken table and the food mess. “I guess we need to clean that up.”
“I’ll help,” Sebille offered.
Theo was eyeing the ceiling. “I think I can bend those tiles back into shape.” Bathed in a soft, yellow glow, he grew until he was tall enough to reach the thirty-foot-high ceiling.
Birte looked at me. “What do you want me to do?”
I glanced around. “Can you grab the vacuum? It’s in the closet by the tea stuff.”
Birte headed that way.
Sebille walked over and stood next to me. Together we eyed the wrecked tree with its shattered bulbs and tangled strands of lights.
I sighed. “Well, we tried.”
Hobs appeared between us, giving each of us a hand. “Merry Christmas, Miss N and Miss S.”
“Merry Christmas, Hobs,” we said in unison.
Merry Christmas, a small voice said behind us. I turned and found Slimy staring blankly at the tree. I stared at him a moment, wondering. Had he? I shook it off. Nah. It couldn’t have been. I was hearing things.
Hobs sighed wistfully.
Sebille and I shared a glance over the hobgoblin’s head.
We eyed the busted table a few feet away, and a slow grin spread across Sebille’s face.
With a joyful whoop, we lifted the little guy high in the air and threw him onto the table. We each grabbed a section of the sides and began pushing the table across the carpet, swinging it this way and that to fling Hobs from side to side. Hobs held on, shrieking with laughter as his scrawny body slipped wildly across its slippery surface.
We reached the end of the room and whipped it around, Hobs squealing with delight as he barely managed to keep hold of the table’s edge. His skinny legs swung sideways, and Sebille and I whipped it back the other way, giggling breathlessly. Hobs was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Without warning, the table smacked into the bookshelves on either side, not quite wide enough for the table to fit down the aisle. The impact sent Hobs’ small form flying off the table and tumbling through the air. He smacked into the back of the upholstered chair in the central reading area, disappearing from view as the chair fell backward with a thump.
There was a moment of expectant silence as we waited for him to show back up.
A spidery finger appeared on the edge of the chair seat. And another, and another, then a pair of large pointed ears, a shock of light-brown hair, and a pale, red-cheeked face.
Hobs’ eyes were wide, sparkling with delight as he clapped his hands and screamed.
“Again!”
The End
Author’s Note
The holidays are a time to celebrate life, laughter, and love. A time for family, friends, good food, and fun activities. But they can also be a difficult time of year for people who don’t feel the joy. My greatest hope, with this holiday story, is to give someone a sliver of happiness and wonder. Making someone smile is the stuff of true joy. I write my books in the hopes that they’ll provide smiles and good feelings. I write because I want to make a difference in someone’s life. I don’t always achieve that goal. But I’m okay with that. If I make a few of you smile, or gasp, or even cry happy tears, I’ll feel like I’ve done my job.
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and may you forever be blessed with the gift of laughter and love.
xx
Sam
Read More Enchanting Inquiries
Did you enjoy Frosted Croakies? If so, you might want to check out Book 6 of the Enchanting Inquiries Paranormal Mystery series.
Please enjoy Chapter One of Milk & Croakies, my gift to you!
* * *
Farmer Blue has lost his cows and doesn’t know where to find them. But Farmer blue has found guess who, to wrangle the magic that binds them.
* * *
I’m really not much of a country mouse. Up until recently, my idea of the great outdoors has been Enchanted Park in the center of the city. But my job is to wrangle magical artifacts. So, when a local farmer calls to tell me his dairy cows are disappearing and he thinks it’s the work of a rogue artifact…sigh…it appears I’m about to get a crash course in becoming a farm girl.
These cows haven’t just meandered away chewing their cuds. They’ve actually disappeared.
Poof!
As in here one minute, gone the next. Which means it’s up to me to don tall rubber boots and traverse the cow bumps…slog through the cow patties…and reach into the abyss to try to drag them back.
I’m not sure how the frog and the cat are going to help with this one. I really didn’t want to bring them along at all. But you know how insistent they can be…
Wait…where’s the frog? Has anybody seen my cat?
Slimy! Wicked! Where on earth have you gotten off to?
Poof?
Milk & Croakies
“Inside the tank of the Magic Muffin Maker,” I told the little hobgoblin standing happily before me. With that pronouncement, Hobs’ oversized ears drooped and took his smile with it.
“Horse halitosis,” Hobs murmured.
I took up the smile he’d lost. “You can’t beat me at this game, Hobs. I’m the queen of my domain.”
Okay, maybe I was being a little cocky, but ever since I’d formally bonded with Croakies and the artifact library, I was a walking treasure map for everything inside the place.
Well, everything magical, anyway. I still couldn’t find my car keys from that morning. I could swear I’d put them into my jacket pocket when I got back from the grocery.
“Jack’s bag of magic beans,” Sebille said.
“Inside the pocket of the giant’s burlap trousers.”
Sebille’s face fell.
“The last red feather SB dropped,” Hobs exclaimed gleefully.
Sebille gave him rock knuckles, and the two of them turned a united grin and a smug attitude in my direction.
I hesitated for effect, giving them a moment to enjoy their perceived victory. Then I opened my mouth to destroy their happiness. “Third shelf on the fifth shelving unit, center section. Next to the stack of Doctor Osvald’s books.” I squinted thoughtfully. “The book on top is entitled, Six Magickal uses for Overripe Bananas and Avocados.”
The duo deflated like last winter’s badly tied balloons.
“You’re a derf,” my lovely assistant informed me.
The front door to the bookstore opened. Lea came inside, frowning. “Hex’s collar is miss…”
I pointed to the top of the nearest shelving unit. “It’s up there.”
“…ing,” she finished, her frown deepening. “You know that’s getting creepy, right?”
I laughed happily. I was enjoying my newfound skills too much to let them ruin it for me.
My phone rang and I answered with a chirpy, “Croakies Bookstore, Where Magic Happens.”
Sebille rolled her eyes and Lea chuckled.
“Is this Naida Griffith, Keeper of the Artifacts?”
My chirpy happiness drained away. “Yes, this is Keeper Naida. Do you need help with an artifact?”
“I do. And it’s an emergency.”
I grabbed the Book of Pages, intending to call up his problem as he explained it to me. “What’s happening?”
“Bessy’s disappeared.”
I nodded. “Okay, is Bessy your wife? Daughter? Girlfriend?”
“What are you, some kind of sicko?”
I blinked. “Um, no. I’m just trying to get some basic information so I know what I’m up against…”
“Bessy’s my best producer. But she’s more than that…” The man’s voice turned gruff. He sounded like he was near tears. “She’s kind of a friend, I guess.”
“Can you describe her to me?” I asked, oozing efficiency. I wondered if Grym would
be on the case. A missing person would be right up his alley.
The thought depressed me a little. We hadn’t been speaking much lately. We’d had a…well…disagreement seemed too mild a term for it.
“Bessy’s a hefty girl, with golden hair and soulful brown eyes.”
I should really be writing everything down. “Does Bessy have any distinguishing characteristics?”
“Yeah, she’s missing,” the man on the other end of the line growled.
I bit back a growl of my own. “Can you describe what she was wearing when you last saw her? Clothing, jewelry?”
“Well, Bessy didn’t wear too much clothes. But she had a giant brass bell around her neck.”
Of course she did.
“So let me recap. I’m looking for a large, naked female with golden hair and soulful brown eyes, wearing a bell.”
Sebille, Hobs, and Lea cackled and I had to shush them.
“Look, lady. I ain’t never heard of no cows wearin’ clothes, but if you think the lack of them clothes makes her naked, then fine. She’s naked. Now, can you come out to the farm and look for her. I’m really startin’ ta get worried.”
I felt all the blood leave my face. “Farm?” My voice squeaked over the word. “You live on a farm?”
His silence was like a thousand Sebille eye rolls. “You didn’t think I’d keep a cow in the city, did you?”
“Oh. Yeah. A cow.” Did cows bite? Maybe I should bring SB and the sword with me.
I could almost hear the man frown. “You sure you’re up to this? I’m startin’ ta worry you ain’t all there.”
I sighed. “No. I’m good. If you’ll just give me your address.”
“Take the main road West outa town. Turn left at that big tree with the flaking bark and drive about three miles up the gravel road. We’re the farm on the left with the giant cow statue upfront. You can’t miss it.”
Yeah, I was pretty sure I could. I thanked him and told him I’d be there as soon as I could, disconnecting as thunder rattled the windows. Rain beat against the glass, wind driving it so hard it sounded like hail.
“We get to go to a farm,” I said with forced cheerfulness as I slid my phone into my pocket. Unfortunately, when I looked up, I discovered I was alone in the store.
The derks had run away at the first mention of vast, messy plots of land dotted with large and stinky domestic animals.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so smug about the feather thing.
There’s really nothing magical about cow manure. Even when it’s mixed into ankle-deep mud, forming an aroma that cannot be described without an entire volume of creative swears.
I tugged against the sucking pull of the muck, feeling my rubber boot slide away from my foot as I tried to lever it free.
I stopped, jamming my foot back down inside the boot.
“Ribbit!”
The only thing worse than traversing a muddy field in a driving rain was traversing the muddy field in a driving rain with a mouthy frog in my pocket.
“I’m well aware that there’s a pond over there, Slimy. You’re not going anywhere near it.”
“Ribbit?”
I sighed. “Because I don’t want to lose you. My luck, you’d jump into it and swim away, and I’d never find you among the lily pads and cattails.”
“Meow!”
Miserable in the rain, Wicked shivered beside me, his usually tidy feet coated in slimy muck up to the ankles. I’d tried to carry him across the field, but he was having none of it.
I cast my hopeful gaze toward the small, white farmhouse in the distance. “Maybe you should just run ahead, Mr. Wicked. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Expecting my stalwart cat to refuse to leave me, I watched, shocked and mortally wounded as he took off with a yowl, leaving me in his proverbial dust.
Or muck.
“I see where your loyalties are, you little traitor!” I called after him.
Lightning flashed in the distance. A few seconds later, thunder boomed, seeming to shake the entire world by the roots.
“Ribbit!”
“I’m trying!” I yelled at the frog. I immediately regretted being so cross with the fat little amphibian. It wasn’t his fault he was stuck in the middle of a muddy field with me.
I sighed. “Sorry, Slimy. I really wish your driver was on board, though. Maybe Rustin could figure out a way for us to get where we’re going.”
I missed Rustin for a lot of reasons. Since he’d gone, Slimy hadn’t spoken a single word. Though I’d gotten really good at understanding his frog language. I’d thought the two of them had developed separate consciousnesses. The fact that Slimy seemed irreparably changed by Rustin’s desertion bothered me. A lot.
I only hoped Rustin was faring better than the frog.
Another world-shaking boom forced me to a decision I knew I was going to regret. I slipped my feet out of the boots and took off running toward the house in my stocking feet.
Well, not running exactly. More like slogging faster without the boots to drag me down.
Mud squished through my toes and splashed up my leg. I grimaced at the slimy feel of it and prayed the sewer-like stench didn’t soak into my skin. The last thing I needed was to end up smelling like a dumpster.
The rain turned torrential, pounding onto my soggy head like typewriter keys hitting paper. Lightning arced from the leaden sky, slamming into a tree a mere fifteen feet away. I screamed, my foot glancing off the edge of a water-filled cow bump, and fell over, my entire left side splashing into icy water.
That was the last straw. I had to change course.
I wasn’t going to make it to the farmhouse.
I climbed to my feet and switched directions, heading toward the old barn in the near distance.
I hit the enormous sliding door at a run, palms slapping into the moist wood as I pressed closer in the hopes the ancient structure would protect me just by its nearness and sheer size. I shoved the door open just enough to squeeze through, and stood shivering in the silty dirt. It was drier inside the old wooden building than I’d assumed it would be. Quieter.
Lightning struck again and I jumped, squealing. The strike had sounded terrifyingly close.
Leaving the sliding door open a couple of feet to allow the dove-gray light of the overcast day inside, I moved further into the space, looking around.
The floor of the barn was dirt mixed with hay and wood shavings. The place smelled like fresh hay, the air sweet and surprisingly clean.
I hadn’t expected that.
The other thing I hadn’t expected were the inquisitive gazes of the cows. Gathered together in a large enclosure on one end, with a door to the field beyond, my bovine barn-mates chewed thoughtfully as they eyed my disheveled self. Their ears twitched flies away as they chewed, the tags showing white in the dim light.
I knew from my quick conversation with Farmer Blue, that he kept dairy cows. I looked around for the equipment he used to milk them and saw nothing but a few pitchforks and a couple of metal bins along the sidewall that I assumed were filled with grain.
The loft high overhead was filled with stacked green cubes of hay, and a wooden ladder attached to the loft seemed the only way to access the higher spot.
I looked longingly up at that sweet, clean hay and sighed. I was not a farm girl by any stretch of the imagination. But I’d always had a thing for haylofts and green, sweet-smelling hay.
I was oh so tempted to climb that ladder and take a nap in the soft hay. The strenuous activity had worn me out.
Yawning widely, I decided I needed a cup of Sebille’s energy tea.
I shook my head. No, I’d wait by the door until the storm died down and then head for the house.
That plan lasted all of five minutes. The steel-gray clouds high above just kept coming. As one angry-looking bank of the things moved on past, it was replaced by another, even angrier looking bank.
I was clearly going to be in that barn for a while.
&n
bsp; Shivering violently, I turned and looked longingly up at the loft, making a sudden decision. It would be warmer up there. Maybe there’d be an old horse blanket or something I could wrap myself up in. I’d just take a few minutes to rest my eyes and dry off.
Decision made, I looked down at Mr. Slimy, who’d been suspiciously quiet since our sprint to the barn. “You’ll like the loft,” I assured him happily. “I’m sure there will be lots of spiders and stuff for you to eat up there.”
He fixed his blank, black gaze on me and puffed his throat unhelpfully.
Slipping him into the pocket of my jacket, I headed for the wooden ladder. I was eager to check out the loft and happy I’d found an excuse to do it.
A chilly breeze wafted through the door, and hay sifted down onto my head.
A muffled thumping rose above the cow enclosure. I peered down on them as I started climbing up the ladder, finding them still chewing and staring, their bovine heads lifting to follow my progress upward.
“Nothing to see here, girls,” I told them. “These are not the drones you’re looking for.”
A clump of hay hit me in the face, some of it falling into my open mouth. “Ugh!” I spit it out, plucking at my tongue to remove some pieces that stuck there.
“Whathh in the worldth?”
The ladder wobbled, and I looked up in surprise. Footsteps pounded the rungs. Another clump of hay sifted over me.
I sneezed, my eyes closing for just a beat and when I reopened them I saw a face, just a flash of eyes with a greasy fringe of hair falling over a grungy face, and then something shoved my shoulders and I was suddenly sailing backward, toward the hard, dusty ground below.
Check out the entire series here: https://samcheever.com/books/#enchanting
Also by Sam Cheever
If you enjoyed Frosted Croakies, you might also enjoy these other fun mystery series by Sam. To find out more, visit the BOOKS page at www.samcheever.com: