His Christmas Magic

by Drea Roman

  “It is a miniature rocking horse, like a child’s toy.” But it is a Christmas tree ornament, the sliders beneath the horse’s feet on each side bearing the inscription, “Baby’s First Christmas.” My mate and I look at one another in wonder for a moment before we both smile.

  “Did Traviel and Elarian have a baby this year?” I ask, wonder sweeping through me. If I know this, then what else do I know?

  Darren nods, seemingly unable to come up with words. Below the sign is a basket set on the ground. Inside are various dollar bills and coins. In it, I place with care the tiny Christmas ornament in the middle.

  “That is a really special gift, Tuck. Maybe you should leave a note.”

  Instead, I twirl my finger in the air, then pick up the ornament and show Darren the bottom. It now reads in the same gold script, “Love, Tuck and Darren.” I place it carefully back in the basket. We grab the tools that have been laid out for customers, sturdy hand axes, and follow a trail through the trees. I know immediately when we have found the perfect one.

  The sun glints off the snow behind it, and the air shimmers a sparkling glow around a round cedar tree a few inches taller than Darren. “This one!” I shout, waving Darren over from the pine he was inspecting. Without delay, he chops down our very first Christmas tree. It turns out to be a little more work than I expected to haul it to the Jeep and shove it in the back. At this point we are panting, but grinning like excited children.

  “Since we got this handled,” Darren pants out, as he pats the trunk of the tree, “what do you say we hit the Christmas Festival for some crepes?”

  “That sounds magical,” I respond, tiptoeing up to kiss my mate on the lips before hopping into the vehicle.

  The town center is busy with an air of excitement. The feeling of magic thrumming through the atmosphere would be overwhelming if I hadn’t grown up in a place with a similar vibe. Just as that thought crosses my mind, it is gone, though it leaves behind the impression that my memory is returning, but slowly.

  After we park, Darren leads the way down the main avenue, pointing at booths as people as we pass. One young man sells hats and scarves spelled to keep the cold at bay, which are, according to the little tag, also filled with love. Darren notices how a cerulean blue scarf catches my eye and buys it for me on the spot. Before he can pay, I add a forest green one to his purchase.

  “For you,” I tell him, and his smile of joy brightens me from the inside. Just then a small figure bumps into me, jostling my balance and nearly knocking herself over. “Oh, there, girl,” I say as I grab her thickly coated arm, preventing the tiny child from falling to the ground. She cannot be more than six or seven years old, her hair braided into twin pigtails high on her head. My hat falls off, and it takes Darren’s steadying hand on my shoulder to put us both back onto solid footing.

  The little girl looks up at me, and her eyes widen, their emerald color appearing to spark with magic and recognition. “Santa’s elf,” she murmurs. She grabs my arm and pulls me down to her level. I am so surprised, I can do nothing but comply with the little one’s wishes.

  She quickly pulls one pink glove off and reaches up to touch me. Instinctively, I turn my head toward her, not even knowing what I am offering her or why it is imperative that I do so. When her tiny, cold finger lands on the point of my ear, a bolt of electricity flows through me, along with a wave of sparkling, happy emotion, a feeling of belonging and understanding.

  Darren is just as stunned by the moment as I am, standing there holding our newly purchased scarves as he stares down at the girl like she is a bug he might just want to eat. It is as if I feel a growl building in his throat, and I cut it off by laughing. Newly awakened instincts take over, and I shine all of the love in my being toward the little girl.

  “Right you are, little one.” I beckon the girl closer to me and whisper in her ear. “Can you keep a secret?”

  She nods solemnly and then points out my hat, forgotten on the ground. “I recognized you by your hat. But you have elf ears! Because you are one of Santa’s elves! Are you here to find out who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?”

  The owner of the enchanted wearables booth laughs, but I nod again to the little girl. “Yes, but it is a secret mission. You must tell no one, Irella. Do you promise? Can you keep a secret for Santa Claus and his best elf friend, Tuck?”

  Irella, whose name I know for no other reason than the magic flowing inside me, nods again. “Of course, Mr. Tuck Elf! I won’t even tell my parents.”

  At this moment, her obviously stressed out parents jog up from a side street. “Irella! Oh my God, you scared us half to death!” The mother looks half sick with worry, and the father appears both annoyed and amused.

  “Here,” Irella says after bending over and retrieving my hat, “you wouldn’t want to forget this.”

  “Thank you, Irella. What a kind and caring girl you are. I will tell Santa right away that you definitely belong on the good list this year.”

  The tiny girl beams at me, and her parents look relieved. “Thanks, man,” the dad says to me in a low voice. “She still believes in Santa Claus and his elves.” He gives my outfit a once-over glance. “You look just like the Christmas elf from her favorite holiday movie.”

  Taking the proffered hat from the girl’s hand, I slip it back over my hair, conscious this time of covering the tips of my ears, lest anyone else notice them. It occurs to me that until this moment my ears did not have visible tips. The innocent understanding of this child hints at my possible identity. I am stunned for a moment, staring down at the girl in awe until I see her pull a tiny rabbit out of her coat pocket and start whispering to it excitedly. Ahh, a young witch with her familiar. No wonder she saw my true nature.

  As her parents ply us with more apologies and well wishes, I lean against Darren, feeling shell-shocked and confused. Could it be true? Am I one of Santa’s elves? Irella, the baby witch, waves her rabbit’s paw at me as she walks away with her parents. I wave back, feeling dazed, excited, and a little frightened. I am so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realize we have moved down the lane until a lovely smell greets my nose.

  “Is that lingonberry?” I ask Darren, who seems to be steering us toward the food stall from which this lovely scent is emanating. When I look up because he does not answer, I see he is unsurprisingly a little shocked by our interactions with the young witch. Of course, my magic is obvious. I have been performing small feats of it since the night Darren found me. But is it Christmas magic? I feel his uncertainty through our mating bond, and I try to counter it with waves of love and reassurance, even though I myself am unsure what is going on.

  I think heavily on this as we stroll down the lane wearing our new scarves. In no time, we reach the Sweet Bites stall. The sign for featured specialties includes “jingle bell crepes with lingonberries.” We order some from the young man there, who lets us know it will be a few minutes wait as everyone loves the owner, Ren’s, crepes. As we wait, looking over the handmade Christmas ornaments in the stall across the lane, Darren’s friends Eddie and Colt stroll up, clearly out to enjoy the festival. As usual, Eddie looks jolly and mischievous, while Colt’s air is much more contained and cautious, even in such a celebratory atmosphere as the Vale Valley Christmas Festival.

  “Darren!” Eddie yells out, his brash tone and loud volume not necessary, even in the hustle and bustle of the fair. I laugh and pull Eddie, then Colt, into quick hugs, clearly surprising them both.

  “What?” I ask jovially. “Besides Darren, you guys are the only people I know.”

  Eddie laughs. “If your mate had his way, he would be the only person you know.”

  Darren glowers at his best friend, but I laugh and tease him. “Is that right, Mr. Wolf? You want to keep me all to yourself?”

  “Damn straight,” he replies, just as a man with light brown hair and eyes walks up to us bearing two steaming plates of crepes oozing with red lingonberry sauce filling, garnished with a large dollop of crea
m, a sprig of mint, and a jingle-bell-shaped chocolate in the center.

  “Two orders of jingle bell crepes for Darren?” he asks. I reach out to accept a plate of crepes from the young man when his scent and the uniqueness of his features strike me suddenly. My hand freezes in the air below the plate as I stare at his face, his olive complexion and lean, muscular build shooting off thousands of lightbulbs of memory in my mind.

  As soon as his hand touches mine when he passes off a plate to me, I shout, “You’re a reindeer.” His eyes widen, but after a moment, he chuckles and blushes.

  “Guilty as charged. Do I know you?” His face is open, inquisitive, and welcoming. For a moment, I cannot speak due to the riot of emotions inside me. Darren takes my plate from Ren and looks down at me, concerned.

  Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “No. . . you just seem very familiar.” Glancing up at Darren, I see his worried expression. “I think I grew up around reindeer shifters.”

  At this, Ren looks a little puzzled. “You think you grew up around reindeer shifters? Well, you won’t meet many in Vale Valley. I left my herd years ago. Where are you from?”

  I shake my head slowly, as a myriad of emotions swamp through me. Darren leans forward and wraps one arm around my shoulder and takes the second plate of food with his other hand.

  “Tuck had a head injury. He is mostly recovered now, but his memory is coming back slowly.” A wave of sadness crashes through me, and I cling to Darren’s arm, barely managing not to drop my crepes.

  Ren looks at me with concern and sympathy. I am unsure if it makes me feel better or worse. “So you don’t know what you are either?” When I shake my head sadly, Ren leans in and pats me on the arm. By this time, our plates have ended up in the hands of Colt, who is silently refusing to let Eddie sample them.

  “If you would like to talk sometime,” Ren continues, “you could drop by the shop. I am not sure how much help I might be, but Wednesdays are my slow days.” He offers me a bright grin. “Plus, I could always use a new mystery friend.”

  Now I am blushing, in embarrassment, frustration, and emotional overload. Quickly, I swallow down my emotions, with help from a mate bond wave of Darren’s love. “Thank you, Ren. I will definitely take you up on that. The sooner I figure all of this out, the happier my mate and I will be.”

  Ren looks up at Darren and smiles. “Congratulations on your mating. I hope you like the crepes. Sorry I can’t chat long. So many orders, so little time.” He waves bye and dashes off, leaving me leaning limply in my mate’s embrace.

  Colt politely hands the plates of crepes back to Darren, who releases me so we can take them. The two horse shifters order their own food while we locate a picnic bench. The guys join us again, Colt with a meat pasty and Eddie with some type of curry dish. Their constant joking and teasing with Darren soon bring me out of my gloom, as do the jingle bell crepes. Light and fluffy, the crepes melt like butter in my mouth, the lingonberry sauce mixing perfectly with the cream. The chocolate jingle bell makes a perfect palate cleanser, and I feel refreshed and satiated by the time we finish our lunch.

  We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of stalls, buying a few trinkets and sampling the town’s surprising array of tasty food choices. By the time the evening’s festivities draw near, I am stuffed on caramel corn, cocoa, and cookies of all sorts. Darren keeps his arm around my shoulders all afternoon, and I feel protected and loved, even though the questions about my identity still weigh heavily on my mind.

  8

  Darren

  It is hours before Tuck recovers his usual mirth after meeting Ren and the little witch who believed he was one of Santa’s elves. A theory which seems both ridiculous and likely, causing my concern to build over the course of the day as his own worry seems to fade out.

  Eddie manages to step away me from Colt as the other horse and my mate peruse handmade arts and crafts at a nearby booth. “So tell me, what happened before we came along? It wasn’t just meeting Ren that threw Tuck for a loop, was it?”

  I shake my head and check to make sure we are far enough away from Colt and my mate. Shifter hearing is quite sensitive, even in a crowd. I cringe at the thought. Tuck isn’t a shifter.

  “Spill, you mangy old wolf, or I will ask your mate myself.”

  When I growl at his impatience, Eddie laughs, like he always does. “You know, I will find out one way or another. Just giving you the opportunity to tell me first.”

  I glower at him another minute before relenting. “Tell me again why you’re my best friend?”

  Eddie laughs again, but doesn’t say anything else, knowing the silence will annoy me as much as his chattering.

  With one more glance at Tuck and Colt to make sure they are out of earshot, I relay the story of the little witch. “She ran right up to Tuck, called him a Christmas elf, knocked his hat off, and touched his ear. And that is not the craziest part. He snapped right into the role and promised her Santa would remember her name should be on the nice list. I didn’t get a chance to see his ears before he pulled his hat back on to cover them. So I can’t say if they looked pointed or not. They didn’t this morning. The whole event unsettled him, and meeting Ren just knocked out all of the calm he has developed since he came to live with me.”

  Eddie grins saucily. “And since you mated him.”

  “This is why I want to strangle you half the time. What my mate and I do, or do not do, is none of your business.”

  Eddie shrugs, then rolls his eyes. “Dude, your scents have changed. You’re mated. Just because I do not have,” he pulls up his hands to make ridiculous air quotes around the next four words, “‘superior wolf scenting capabilities,’ does not mean I am nose-less.”

  I can’t help laughing at his summation of the situation, but then Eddie adds, “I told you he is a Christmas elf.”

  Before I can stop him, Eddie starts ticking off reasons on his fingers: “He magicked up Colt’s favorite candy, he crashed a sleigh on your property which then disappeared, he recognizes reindeer shifters, and a little witch identified him as one of Santa’s elves. How much more proof do you need, Darren? A birth certificate from the North Pole?”

  By this point, our conversation has drawn the attention of Colt and Tuck, both of whom look intrigued. Quickly, I shush Eddie. “Not right now, Eddie. We don’t know anything for sure. Let’s just wait until he remembers on his own, okay?” I know my voice sounds stressed and fearful. Tuck looks at me contemplatively as if considering my reaction.

  Giving Eddie one more quick warning glare, I wrap my mate in my arms and hold him for a moment. “Are you ready for the tree lighting?”

  Tuck nods and seems about to say something when a familiar voice interrupts.

  “Darren and Tuck, I am glad to see you out and about. But you do seem to be missing your crutches.”

  Dr. Loomis stands at a nearby booth, with a young man I can only assume is his mate. “Do forgive my lack of manners. This is my mate, Anthony.”

  I watch Tuck for a reaction to Anthony, since I know he is a deer, but not a reindeer. Tuck has no reaction beyond his usual friendliness, and my fear ramps up. The details are piling up, and I am very afraid of the conclusion they may make. How on earth am I supposed to protect him and keep my mate from all harm if the unbelievable is true and Tuck is a Christmas elf?

  We make small talk a few moments before Loomis asks if he can speak with Tuck and me alone. Eddie and Colt stay with Anthony at a small stall selling hot cocoa, while Tuck, Loomis, and I step a few feet away.

  Dr. Loomis wastes no time. “From a strictly visual examination, I can see you are almost completely healed. The crutches are gone, and those tights couldn’t hide a cast if they wanted to.”

  His comment elicits a growl from me, and Tuck laughs, the first truly happy noise I have heard from him in a while. The day has been too long and stressful for him, and suddenly all I want to do is get him home.

  Tuck shrugs and gives the doctor one of his brill
iant smiles. “I healed myself. Everything is fine, except for the memory. But,” he pauses and glances up at me, seemingly for reassurance. He gives me a soft smile before continuing. “Today has been one of some pretty interesting revelations. I have some hints to my identity now, but I need to do some further investigation before I make any claims.”

  Loomis seems both pleased and amused by Tuck’s response. “So definitely not human and probably not even shifter then, huh?” When neither of us answer, he just smiles. “I’m glad to hear you’re better, but we still need to do a checkup. Drop by my office next week, and maybe by then you will have some more of the memory issues cleared up.” Loomis collects his mate from the horses, who were obviously entertaining him with tall horse tales, considering how much he was laughing as he left with his mate.

  We stick around for the mayor’s short speech and the official lighting of the tree. It is a large evergreen with full branches of bright lights and garlands, set next to the large ice rink that is now officially open. Eddie and Colt decide to go for a skate while, due to Tuck’s exhaustion which I can feel pouring off of our mate bond, we decide to head home.

  The next morning, we decorate the Christmas tree in just the manner Tuck described from his childhood. It takes forever to string together the cranberry and popcorn garlands. Rather, it is taking me forever to string the garlands because my beloved mate has gifted me this task while he makes all of the Christmas cookie recipes he knows. But Tuck keeps me entertained and content with my lot as the garland stringer by singing along with the Christmas songs on the radio, all until “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” comes on.

  Tuck has spent most of the morning baking all sorts of cookies, from sugar cookies to gingerbread men to kerstkransjes and speculaas. As he explained to me, kerstkransjes are butter cookies, and speculass are spice cookies, both Dutch recipes. Since he seems to be remembering more and more about his past, I do not interrupt his stories of his grandmother baking these Dutch cookies with him when he was a little boy. All is going well, and I have only poked my fingers with the threading needle forty-seven million times when Tuck stops singing with the radio and starts cursing at it. At least, I think he is cursing.