by penny watson
Loki shook his head. “Ah. Hard to believe that Sven can’t see past Per’s line of bullshit.”
Ingo grimaced. “Honestly, our boss is so wrapped up in his work, he doesn’t know what’s going on around him half the time.”
“Per’s done a good job pulling the wool over Sven’s eyes, but he’s not gonna get away with this one. The whole crew was so pissed off, we went to see Sven right away about his mistake, but he’d already left for New York,” added Hie.
Dag sauntered up to the disgruntled group of elves and raised a brow. “It’s New Year’s Eve, boys, why you lookin’ so down? Jens is about to start his set. It’s a night to celebrate.”
Loki nodded toward Ingo. “He got passed over for the promotion. Per got it instead.”
Dag cocked his head in surprise. “Per? He’s a lazy son of a bitch. Why’d Sven give him the job?”
Hieronymus chimed in. “Because Oskar got swindled by Per’s pack o’ lies, and told Sven that Per created the new Mother Bond line. The Klaus boys need to ‘work on their communication skills’!”
The elves erupted with laughter. As the official Director of Elfin Resources in Glasdorf, Oskar Klaus liked to ramble on about communication skills, honesty, integrity, and all of the other attributes that made for good workers. The fact that he sported punked-out hair and a Dr. Seuss hat on his 6’5” frame didn’t seem to water down his authority much. But still, Ingo thought wearily, it would have been nice if he’d gotten his facts straight before talking to Sven. Tree-hugging, Birkenstock-loving hippie Sven Klaus was a damned fine toy designer and woodworker. And Ingo’s boss.
Ingo finished his beer. “Not much in the mood for celebrating tonight, I guess.”
A screech of fiddles interrupted their conversation. “Worry about it tomorrow, Ingo. Tonight is Silvester, New Year’s Eve. Party tonight, worry tomorrow, okay?” Dag said. He whistled shrilly and scrambled up on top of the bar. “Let’s all give a warm welcome to our entertainment for the evening. Ushering in Silvester is the Schneider’s Band, with Jens Schneider and his brothers. Let’s give ‘em a hand, boys!”
The roar of the crowd drowned out the first few notes of the music as the horde of elves rushed to surround the stage. Ingo’s friends attempted to drag him along, but he shook his head and told them he’d see them tomorrow. He tugged his coat from a peg next to the door, and wrapped a tattered muffler around his face.
“Going somewhere?”
Ingo was startled to see Wiebe Reiner leaning against the wall. The weaselly little elf seemed to blend into the shadowy corner. His eyes darted around the room as he leaned toward Ingo.
“Heard you’re a mite pissed off at Oskar. Screwed up your chances for the promotion, eh?” Wiebe’s gravelly voice continued. “Bet you’d like to let him have it good, huh? He’s off partying with his brothers in Manhattan, entertaining some hoity-toity supermodels at Gregor’s party, and you’re here, all alone…”
Ingo hesitated before he opened the door. “What’s your point, Wiebe? It was just… sort of a misunderstanding, you know?”
Wiebe barked out a laugh. “Sure. That Oskar is always butting into our affairs. Thinks he’s better than us elves, since he’s a Suddie, and a Klaus, to boot. He pisses me off.” Wiebe pushed the greasy hair off his face and smiled at Ingo. A disturbing, oily smile that made Ingo take a deliberate step back.
“Of course you’re pissed off at Oskar. He caught you cheating on your time sheet and you had to go before the council. He was just doing his job. I think the council let you off easy.”
Wiebe’s face contorted in anger. “You’ve never had a Tag der Rache, have you, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes? Facing the Council of Seven is no fun. Oskar has some frickin’ nerve being such a stickler for the rules, when he’s off snow-boarding, boozing it up…”
Ingo held up a hand. “Enough. I’m heading home.” He opened the door and was greeted by a bitter gust of wind. His Silvester was going to suck, in more ways than one.
As though he could read his thoughts, Wiebe snickered behind him. “What’s Lys doing tonight? Too bad you didn’t get that promotion. She’d probably give you the time of day if you were a project leader. But you’re just a regular schmo, nothing special, and she doesn’t even know you’re alive.” Wiebe’s lips curled into a smile. “Just think, Oskar is enjoying his evening with some hot supermodel, and you’re going home… alone.” He winked patronizingly at Ingo. “Wouldn’t it be fun to kast a little bitty spell on Oskar tonight? Screw around with his good luck with the ladies? Doesn’t seem fair that he has a sexy babe on his arm, when you can’t even work up the courage to say hello to good ole’ Lys…”
Ingo’s eyes snapped fire at Wiebe. He didn’t like the sound of her name on his oily lips. “Shut up, Wiebe. You know kasting spells is strictly verboten. Especially on one of the Klaus brothers! Are you crazy?”
“Just saying, it would be sweet revenge, my friend. He wrecked your chance with Lys, and you could dole out a bit of payback.” Wiebe smirked one last time before he disappeared into the crowd. “Enjoy your Silvester.” The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Ingo alone in the dark, freezing sleet, under the buzzing neon sign for Dag’s Pub.
Happy Freakin’ New Year’s.
Ingo tightened his muffler as a gust of wind whipped across his face. He wondered fleetingly if Wiebe was right. Maybe Lys would have finally noticed him if he’d been promoted to project manager. He pulled a tarnished flask from his front pocket and took a nip. Anyway, didn’t matter now thanks to Oskar’s mistake. Per would be polishing his new name badge and flinging it in Ingo’s face, the damned cheat.
Ingo sighed and began to trudge home in the snow. Somehow he found himself veering off the path to his cottage, and meandering his way to the Lady’s Auxiliary Lodge. He scrambled on top of a barrel and peeked through a window at the end of the building.
Inside was a crowd of elves celebrating Silvester. Strands of twinkling lights adorned the beamed ceiling of the old stone building and a frenzy of violins echoed throughout the hall. He could hear the stomping of feet along the wooden floor as hundreds of elves pounded to the strum of the fiddles. Lys whirled about the room, her long silky braids flying as she spun. Her face was flushed and she smiled happily with her friends.
She looks so beautiful.
In a navy blue party dress, her pale hair sparkled with tiny winter blossoms. Even from this distance, he could see the flash of her eyes, like silver stars. He wondered what it would be like to dance with her in his arms. Not a fast paced contra dance where they exchanged partners and barely touched. Something slow and sweet and lasting for a very long time. Maybe with the lights dimmed, so he didn’t have to observe the fluster in her eyes when she looked at him.
The music stopped and he watched in amazement as Per Adler sauntered over to Lys. His Lys.
No, no, no! Ingo’s fingers gripped the edge of the window frame until splinters dug into his skin. He swallowed in horror as Per slid his arm around Lys’ tiny waist, attempting to pull her away from her friends. Lys tilted away from the determined elf and shook her head as Per spoke to her. Ingo didn’t like the vulnerable look on her face. Finally Lys’ friend Helene grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the refreshment table, giving Per a look of pure disdain. Lys let out an enormous breath of relief and followed Helene out of his line of view.
Ingo slid off the barrel and slumped against the building. He squeezed the flask in his hand and drank deeply, barely registering the taste of the spirits. He hated to see Lys pestered by Per. Ingo should have been there with her, watching over her. If only had enough courage…
Damn Oskar Klaus’ hide!
If it wasn’t for Oskar Klaus, I would be project leader. Lys would be dancing with me. Celebrating Silvester with me. Especially on the stroke of midnight, when he could imagine gently kissing her. Hell and damnation, I hope that Oskar is having a shiteous night in New York. That would teach him.
As Ingo stumbled home, he made one stop a
long the way. In front of Lys’ door he left a tiny package, wrapped with twine. He ambled back to his cottage, his fingers now numb with cold. A plan began to formulate in his mind. It wasn’t very nice. Nor was it in the spirit of Silvester. But that weasel Wiebe had planted a seed in Ingo’s head and it wouldn’t go away. Why should he suffer alone, when he could take Oskar along for the ride?
Oskar’s mind wandered. In his daydream, he flew over a jump, propelled by a frigid blast of wind. Grasping his Burton with one hand, he hovered in mid-air, ice crystals decorating his goggles. He could almost taste the glacial mountain air. There was nothing as exhilarating, nothing as liberating as that one moment of freedom, when your body was suspended over the earth. Everything else just disappeared. No elves, no meetings, no memos, no lectures. No… boring-ass models.
He felt badly, but he honestly couldn’t concentrate. The blonde, thin, incredibly young model from Sweden had talked him into a glassy-eyed stupor. Her English wasn’t half bad, but her conversational skills were sadly lacking. Funny, he never used to mind the silly banter of his female companions on the slopes. But for some unknown reason lately he’d been craving… well, a real conversation. About books, films, current events, even politics.
Great, I’m having a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
For years, he’d been content with his job and his favorite hobbies—hanging with his brothers, winter sports (living at the North Pole did have that advantage), and of course his voracious reading obsession. His cottage in Glasdorf looked like a library, stuffed with everything from biographies and travel journals to murder mysteries and poetry. Reading was the ultimate escape, especially when you lived in the middle of an icy tundra.
His easy-going philosophy—work hard, play hard—took a hit this past Christmas and wasn’t showing any signs of recovery. Watching his oldest brother fall madly in love with his soul mate had Oskar questioning his own approach to the opposite sex. His series of shallow, lust-filled interludes suddenly seemed unappealing. He hated to admit it, but he felt a twinge of jealousy when Lucy gazed at Nicholas with… that look. That adoring, I’m-hopelessly-in-love-with-you look. What it would feel like to have a woman look at him that way?
He nodded absently at something Miranda said, then polished off the remainder of his beer, and decided a plan of escape was in order. Searching the crowd for his brothers, he located them across the room. Bingo! Sven and Wolf appeared to be deep in conversation with the woman he’d noticed earlier—the little, gray mourning dove who looked like she’d lost her way from the library.
Oskar shook his empty beer bottle. “Uh, Miranda… I’m gonna grab another drink. I’ll see you in a few, okay?”
She blinked once, then nodded. “Yes, all right.” She spun on the point of one stiletto heel, and trotted off to another cluster of women.
He blew out a breath of relief and wandered over to his brothers, stopping for a few more hors d’oeuvres from the buffet table. As he approached the threesome, he caught snatches of their conversation.
“I really loved Mr. Andersen’s book. His trip to Vietnam was fascinating,” he heard Miss Librarian say in a low, husky voice. A voice like velvet, smoky and hot.
Never heard a librarian who sounded like that.
Wolfgang nodded. “I agree. I loved the chapter about his first meal. What a culinary adventure.”
Sven finished another plate of canapés. “I think Oskar read that book. He was telling me about it a couple of weeks ago.”
Oskar took a step forward and cleared his throat. “Are you guys talking about Joseph Andersen’s new book Images and Reflections from the East? Loved it. My favorite scene was the bicycle race.”
Miss Librarian turned to face him and he almost fell over.
She was nothing short of stunning.
Gorgeous aquamarine eyes regarded him from behind the heavy lenses. Despite an attempt to tighten every last hair into the severe bun, a few strands of rich chestnut escaped, framing a lovely heart-shaped face. Her lips were every man’s dream. Lush and full, a promise of naughty fantasies. The boring suit struggled valiantly to hide her abundant curves, but it didn’t take too much of an imagination to realize that beneath the hideous outfit was a stunner—who was trying like hell to fade into the background.
As far as he was concerned, she was failing miserably.
The Librarian stared at Oskar, her eyes widening as she took in his appearance. Her gaze drifted from his hair to the scruff on his face, over the assortment of tattoos on his biceps and finally stopped at his Doc Martens. He grinned and held out his hand. “Oskar Klaus, nice to meet you…”
She looked at his outstretched hand like it was a cobra coiled to strike. Wolfgang laughed. “Don’t be put off by the tats, Kiana. O isn’t as bad as he looks. He’s the youngest brother in the family. Oskar, this is Kiana Grant. She’s Gregor’s neighbor.”
Oskar waited for the woman to get over her reticence. Reluctantly she raised a hand and he clasped it firmly. She was the complete opposite of the model crew. Her face was fresh and real, not caked with make-up into an artificial mask. He noticed the soft skin of her hands and the short utilitarian nails, a contrast to the sharpened talons of the supermodels. Oskar had an urge to tug her closer and get a better look. She smelled good, too, like tropical flowers…
“Kiana’s a pretty name. What’s the origin?” he asked, stroking her skin one time before she finally pulled free of his grasp.
Sven raised an eyebrow. “Are you an etymologist now, bro? What’s up with that?”
“Etymologist? Sven, my man, I am impressed. I didn’t know you had such an elaborate vocabulary. Been boning up for Jeopardy?” Oskar shot back.
Sven laughed. “No, it came up in Scrabble the other day. Günter totally kicked my ass with that one.”
“Who’s Günter?” Kiana inquired.
Wolfgang looked at his brothers with irritation. “Ah, Günter’s a friend from back home.”
Sven added, “Yeah, a really short friend.”
Kiana nodded, then glanced at Oskar. Her eyes darted away and she began fiddling with her teacup.
Oskar studied Kiana’s uncomfortable expression and got annoyed. Hell, he wasn’t that scary looking. He decided to pull out all the stops to see if he could defrost her chilly demeanor. Full 1000-watt smile, complete with Klaus dimple. “So what is the meaning of your name?”
Kiana blushed and murmured something quietly.
“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you,” he asked, prodding her.
Her cheeks pinkened even more and she finally looked up at him, obviously embarrassed. “Moon goddess. Kiana means moon goddess, in Hawaiian.”
Sven chuckled. “Moon goddess? Don’t take this the wrong way, Kiana, but where the heck did you get a name like that?”
She stood up a little straighter. “My parents were… are… hippies. They live on Oahu. All of my siblings have traditional Hawaiian names.”
Oskar smiled to himself. He simply couldn’t resist the urge to tease Little Miss Prim and Proper. “So, Kiana, do you worship the moon? Are you affected by the lunar cycles, turn into a siren once a month?”
A single, solitary blink was the only indication that he’d scored a hit. Her eyes flashed with irritation. She glanced up at his hair and quirked a brow. “I can see you worship leprechauns. Are you Irish?” she asked, a little too sweetly. She took a dainty sip of tea as his brothers howled with laughter.
“Actually, his hair changes colors frequently. Sort of like a chameleon,” Wolfgang said.
Sven grinned. “Yeah, you’ve been green for awhile, O. What’s the next color up? Hot pink? That would be a festive way to usher in the New Year.”
Her blush was fading a bit, but the fire was still in her eyes. There’s a bit of spice to Miss Vanilla, after all. “What do you think, Kiana. Is pink a good color for me?”
She graced him with a small smile. “Well, it is a feminine color.” She glanced at his biceps and then
shrugged. “I guess you can get away with it.”
He struggled to hide his grin. A waiter passed by and O caught his attention. “Hey, do you guys have Heineken in the back?”
The waiter cracked a smile. “Sure, we’ve got everything. In a bottle or glass, sir?”
“Heineken in a bottle would be great, thanks.”
Wolf shook his head. “Green beer, green hair. Maybe Kiana’s onto something. Maybe you are turning into a leprechaun.”
“Actually, Oskar’s not really Irish, Kiana. Our family originated from Bavaria, Germany. Ergo O’s fondness for Heineken,” Sven said.
Kiana’s face lit up. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” She looked at Sven expectantly.
“Aber ja doch!”
“There’s a class at the library for beginning German and I’ve been trying to sneak in a few classes, but I’m just learning the basics. Maybe we can practice,” Kiana asked Sven hopefully. Oskar found himself annoyed that the woman had entirely written him off. He spoke fluent German, too, dammit, just as well as Sven or any of his brothers. He was about to offer up his expertise when Miranda the Supermodel grabbed his arm.
“Os-kar, the girls want to hear about your snow-jumps. Come, tell us about your trip to Jackson Hole? Pleez?”
Neither Sven nor Wolfie bothered to hide their smug grins as Miranda stroked his arm, practically purring. Normally he enjoyed the attention of a group of adoring women, but at the moment he really wanted to stick around and tease Miss Librarian. As the model pulled him away, he glanced over his shoulder to find Kiana deep in conversation with Sven. Reluctantly, he returned to the huddle of giggling, gangly girls. And tried to ignore the sound of Kiana’s laughter at some comment Sven was making.
Ignoring the irrational impulse to smash Sven’s face in the punch bowl was even harder.
