A Fantasy Christmas

by Cindy Bennett, Sherry Gammon, Stephanie Fowers

  Affry giggled into her hand and shook her head. Most of Aunt Euthymia’s servants were much too bold—much to Virbius’s chagrin. Euthymia ran a relaxed household, a constant bone of contention between the two.

  The little lady’s maid went to work on her, all the while decrying in her distinct Welsh accent the lack of manners displayed by the gentry. Affry didn’t attempt to curb the maid’s honest tongue—her words served as sweet ointment over Affry’s abused sensibilities. “I daresay ye were the most beautiful woman of the Peerage,” Sarah cried through a mouthful of pins. She pulled them out and expertly stitched Affry’s dress back together again. “If ye don’t mind me saying so, milady, those vicious tabbies are nothing to ye. Too good for the bones in their corsets, the lot of them—I’d sooner see them freeze in the snow than share the same air as ye breathe, if ye don’t mind my saying so.”

  Not at all. Affry let the adorable little pepper pot give vent her righteous indignation. Aunt Euthymia added her voice to the verbal cacophony. “When you go back into the ballroom, my girl, hold your chin high. I won’t have you lower yourselves to those ungrateful wretches. At the end of the night, they will see nothing but your stiff back as you walk away to your bedroom.”

  “I’ve a mind to give them a piece of my mind—and don’t think I won’t.” Sarah expertly stitched up a ripped sleeve. “Ye are the belle of the ball—I’ll none of it if any say different!”

  Affry felt better already…until she spied Euthymia wringing her hands. “And to think I was to put up mistletoe,” Euthymia said, “—wasted, wasted.”

  “I wouldn’t use it if you had,” Affry retorted hotly.

  Sarah gave a brisk nod. “Mind ye stay away from that devil’s greenery—none of those fine gents are good enough for the likes of ye.” Not waiting a reply, Sarah tied off the thread and snipped it free from the gown. Affry blushed at what Sarah might think of the bloodstains, but a quick glance downward revealed no sign of them. A scrutiny of Euthymia’s expression did nothing to shed any light on the mystery. After dabbing off spots of dirt here and there, Sarah then lent an expert hand to Affry’s hair, tugging it free from Affry’s inexpert ministrations.

  “And I’ve a good Christmas pudding.” Euthymia worriedly chewed on her lower lip. “What is to come of that?”

  “I hope the gents choke on it,” Sarah said somewhere near the vicinity of Affry’s ear.

  Affry agreed, but knew better than to voice it. Euthymia was sterner with her niece than her servants. Sarah pinched Affry’s cheeks to give them a more becoming color. Affry winced and wriggled away. “Uh yes, that will do, Sarah,” Affry said. “Thank you. I’ll endeavor to do you both proud.”

  Sarah’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, milady. All of us below stairs fairly burst at the pleasure of serving ye.”

  “Besides Cook,” Affry felt compelled to correct. There had been a particular bad incident that left his kitchen in shambles.

  “Yes, yes—but he’s French, that says it, make no mistake. Now, let me look at ye.” Sarah put her fists to her trim waist and surveyed her mistress with satisfied eyes. “I think ye be needing some different jewelry. Must ye wear the rubies tonight, milady?”

  Affry’s hands went to them—she had no other ornament since her father’s death. “It would feel wrong not to wear them.”

  Euthymia turned thoughtful. “You are always wearing them, aren’t you dear heart?”

  Sarah put her fingers to her chin, surveying her. “Then ye’ll be needing a bracelet to match it—one that brings out the whiteness of your gown.”

  “Yes.” Euthymia nodded. “Bring her the ruby and diamond from my set. That would be just the thing.”

  Sarah promised to fetch it then helped bundle Affry from the cloakroom amidst Aunt Euthymia’s excited outbursts.

  Chapter Ten

  Virbius’s eyes were fixed on the doors leading from the ballroom. The guests chattered around him, but most of them kept their distance. He knew they were merely here for the novelty of being a guest at Aunt Euthymia’s Christmas festivities. Virbius was having the devil of a time reining in his foul temper. The Lady Chloris had found his side again—she was all grace; she always brought Virbius to mind of a long necked swan. If he were free to love anyone, it should be her—sensible, dependable, serene. So why in the deuce could he not keep Affry’s impish smile from invading his thoughts?

  Mr. Peabody, a pompous dignitary of state, heatedly argued his point. Virbius was too distracted to heed him. The Elgin Marbles were an insult to his country, but arguing about the cultural merits the Greek statues brought to the English was a waste of his time. Even now, he was positive Affry was into all sorts of mischief. Why had she not returned yet?

  “My Lordship.” A servant bobbed a stiff bow to Virbius. He held a card on a silver platter. “This came from the usual source. You’ve a message in your study.”

  Virbius took it with a sigh. Normally, he’d welcome any excuse to break free from the overbearing man, but this was worse; it was a summons from the gods. “If you’ll excuse me. I must see to pressing business.” He bowed low to Lady Chloris, who took his departure with her usual acceptance, and he left the blustering dignitary and the ballroom far behind.

  Nothing but a correspondence from Artemis could convince him to leave his watch—Artemise was the goddess of the hunt and all beasts. She had been the one to bring him back to life, though she was also the cause of his death. Virbius didn’t remember much of his former life in Greece—just images. Kneeling before Artemis and swearing his loyalty to live a chaste life. And then the goddess Aphrodite’s anger when he refused to love, and his punishment when Aphrodite gave his stepmother an infatuation of him.

  He saw flashes of his stepmother’s face contorted in rage when he rejected her advances, his father’s stony looks when he believed his own son took advantage of his young wife. There was a banishment, orders for execution, fighting free from soldiers. Virbius remembered the fear he felt when the bulls startled at what they saw in his eyes—a hardness the god Dionysus had poured into his soul at Aphrodite’s bidding. Dionysus was the god of wine and madness, he had no business meddling in his affairs, and yet the curse was too powerful. Even now Virbius choked at the helplessness he felt when the herd crushed him. Then he knew only death, blissful unawareness until his beloved goddess breathed life back into him.

  He had woken up in Artemis’s arms a mere year ago. She whispered to him what his life had been back in his home country of Greece, told him who he was, that he would continue to serve her. Her blue robes fluttered in an imperceptible breeze as she gifted him the words of this world onto his tongue, and pressed into his soul the customs of this world—though his mind was far from embracing it.

  Virbius flung open the doors to his study, wondering what manner of messenger Artemis had sent this time. As guardian of all creatures, she was not immune to the curse the gods had put into him. The moment his eyes had opened and Artemis searched them with her own; she recoiled, crying out in fury and revulsion. His soul had been poisoned with a hardness that kept back all living beasts. Aphrodite had ensured, in her rage, that Virbius could never fully work with the goddess he had sworn to follow.

  And that’s why it was necessary to do their correspondence in such a roundabout way. Artemis asked him to fight a war for her—one he barely understood, so secret was the struggle of the gods. Being a strong protector of her own virtue, Artemis both loved Virbius and detested him. She set Virbius as her general in the ranks of polite society, gave him a high position and strict orders to keep checks on certain elite members of the crown in England. Artemis never explained her reasons.

  On his desk lay an arrow, not made of any earthly material. Virbius picked it up, running his hand down the shaft to grip the note stuck to it. The servants were under strict orders to bring such correspondence to him straight away.

  Unfolding the letter, it read:

  Adonis has been gifted an artifact by Persephone herself. I
t is suspected that this is the very thing that assists Affry in opening the gates of the underworld. Find it, and we will have solved this problem.

  And then what? Virbius folded the letter neatly into fours, thinking about what this intelligence meant to Affry. His path to becoming her guardian had been a twisted one. As soon as Artemis had given him voice, the goddess had urgently questioned him about Affry’s father. Virbius knew somehow that they had been friends, that Adonis had possessed some power that Virbius couldn’t remember. And intrinsically, he knew Adonis was now his enemy and that the goddess Aphrodite was to blame for it. What had happened between his death and now? Virbius didn’t know.

  Virbius placed Artemis’s most recent correspondence over the letter he’d received from Affry’s father months ago. It read:

  We have been thrown into the role of enemies in this war, however, I know that if anyone can keep my daughter safe, you possess that ability—if only for the curse that was put in you.

  Virbius had reread the letter many times, searching it for deeper meaning, anything to help him recall what the friends had meant to each other in a life he couldn’t remember.

  It hadn’t mattered in the end. Artemis’s followers eventually hunted down Adonis and killed him. The goddess had then ordered Virbius to honor his friend’s request and keep his daughter safe from these shadowy monsters that attempted to snatch her from this world into the depths of Hades.

  None of it had made sense. If it were possible, Artemis hated the goddess Aphrodite more than Virbius did. And now Virbius must watch over the goddess’ by-blow? He hadn’t trusted Affry from the beginning, except now he found himself drawn to her more than ever. And now, he worried for her welfare. Once Virbius found this item of interest, she would be safe. In an instant, he remembered the crates in the cellar—it contained all sorts of things that had been smuggled from other regions—perhaps even from the underworld itself. Without a backwards glance, Virbius left straight away to find it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Affry took a deep breath for courage. Upon entering the ballroom, she tilted her chin at a fierce angle. The ladies and gentleman seemed to turn as one. And dear Piri stood in the heart of it all. He had joined the earl near the refreshment table. All of Affry’s brave ambitions sank like a stone when she saw Ariadne clutch Piri’s arm in a familiar manner, the glint of her blue ribbon shining through her dark hair. There was a triumph in her slate grey eyes as they slid from Piri to her. Piri’s forced smile strained his face.

  “Now, my dear,” Aunt Euthymia whispered to her. “I must not be seen hovering near your side all night. I will take you for a turn around the room and then you must spread your wings.”

  Her wings? Affry felt far from flying. She sought out Virbius in the assembly, but he was nowhere to be seen. Affry’s heart plummeted. Virbius was much too sensible to act the knight errant.

  “Step lively,” her aunt whispered. “Come help me serve up the Christmas pudding. Oh, look at this fine greenery. The servants decorated the room just as I love it.” She poked around the cheerful cuts as if attempting to distract the gathered throngs from her dearest niece.

  It was for naught. Ariadne broke from Piri, her long legs cutting against her dress as she covered the short distance to her hostess. All attention was on them—even a few quizzing glasses. Affry stood frozen—the girl was making it far too easy for Affry to scratch her eyes out. This was her aunt’s gathering and Affry would not cower behind her skirts. As soon as Ariadne reached her, Affry smiled pleasantly at her.

  “I must say I’m surprised.” The girl’s voice was deeper than Affry expected, but it still held the malice that gleamed in her fine eyes. “You have come back to us. The earl has looked everywhere for you.”

  Affry was taken aback. “I don’t see why his lordship should take that burden upon himself.”

  “He was naturally worried for your welfare. The hearts of men are so difficult to discern, are they not? They say one thing, but at times mean something else entirely.”

  Was she saying that the earl admired her? He most certainly did not—she could still feel the bruises he had put on her arm when she had tried to run from the room. Affry wasn’t sure what else this girl was attempting to relay to her. “I find most men speak the truth,” Affry said after a moment, “unless you speak of your intended, of course.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. You and Piri have an understanding, do you not?”

  Now it was Ariadne’s turn to gape at her—her features twisted spitefully. “My heart is not so easily on display as some.”

  “I assure you, what little you have of one is entirely transparent.”

  Ariadne flushed most unbecomingly. “It is entirely acceptable to show one’s love when the object of your affections shares your same exalted circles.”

  “Oh my dear girl, I have no wish to be in the same circles you enjoy.” Affry broke from her, leaving Ariadne sputtering for words behind her; it was what society deemed the cut direct and Affry dealt it with pleasure, reveling in the shock of the gathered assembly—though the gasps they gave were mostly for effect. Tonight’s entertainment would be nothing to what was to come. “Aunt.” Affry tugged on her arm. “Where did you hide the mistletoe?”

  Euthymia turned from the greenery and wholly missed Ariadne’s dramatic exit from the ballroom. “The servants put it in the stairway, I believe.”

  Affry nodded and broke away from her aunt to search it out. She ignored Euthymia’s anxious calls for her and disappeared into the foyer. The music from the ballroom faded at the grand staircase. The talking soon turned to laughter. Affry was all but forgotten. She found the mistletoe tucked lovingly in a box—it’s intended use far from what she planned for it. She lifted the cut of mistletoe and counted the berries on it. Three in all. Affry plucked them from the green leaves.

  “Lady Affry.”

  Affry’s shoulders hunched. The voice was different than the others in the ballroom; its soft, feminine tones swathed in tenderness. It caught her by surprise, and almost brought her to tears. Any goodness from those she considered her enemies was too much for her to take. She couldn’t allow anyone to rob her of her anger.

  “Affry, dear one.” The pale beauty Affry always saw near the marquess stood before her, her eyes filled with sorrow.

  “Lady Chloris.” Affry curtseyed, hiding the berries behind her skirt—though Chloris would be hard pressed to guess Affry’s intent. Virbius might. Turning her head to catch sight of him, Affry saw he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Are you well?” Chloris asked.

  Affry jumped. “Did my guardian send you?”

  “He mentioned that perhaps some female attention might do you good.”

  It rankled that Chloris was in the marquess’s confidence. The lady was everything Affry wasn’t—and now seeing her close up, Affry knew she could never compare to Chloris’ elegance. Affry fought off the painful wave of jealousy and said, “As long as you are delivering my guardian’s messages, tell him this—I will be very well by the time this night is through.”

  “What have you there?”

  Reluctantly, Affry held the berries out for her to see—there was no harm in it. Chloris gently touched them, her fingers light. “Mistletoe. But what good are the berries without the leaves?”

  Affry noticed a dowager with a terrible turban standing just outside the ballroom. The lady frowned deeply, showing her disapproval. Affry curtseyed and sidestepped Chloris before another innocent was further tainted by her reputation. After tonight, no one would survive an acquaintance with Affry and remain unscathed.

  She fled to the doors of the ballroom, seeing the army of guests inside. The promised Christmas pudding had made an appearance. Most of them busied themselves with the trinkets found inside the dessert. Affry could see Piri from here. Couples engaged in dancing, but he was alone—he stared around as if searching for someone. She hid in the shadows of the foyer
, watching him. Affry had never used her gift against Piri. Her powers had been bridled at an early age—it was the only thing that brought out the strictness in her father. It was her only inheritance from her mother.

  Piri deserved this.

  Holding the berries to her mouth, Affry kissed them each in turn. With a measure of concentration, she felt the sweetness of her power flow through her lips and soak into each red berry.

  The guests were far too busy with their latest entertainment to notice her return to the ballroom. Affry sought Piri’s eyes—she knew he was looking for her. As soon as he found her, she glided forward—for once blissfully masked in the obscurity of the party’s revelries. None of the usual whispers marked her approach. Piri seemed aware of it, too.

  Affry nodded at him—close enough for a whisper. “I’ve a Christmas gift for you, Piri.” The fickle man turned an uncertain grin on her. She took vicious pleasure in his sudden discomfort. She would enjoy his fall most of all. “Or shall it be pistols at dawn?” she asked.

  “You are challenging me to a duel?” He laughed, but his normally pleasant eyes were guarded.

  “Of sorts.”

  “There would be no honor.”

  “Yes, but what do we care of honor, Piri? Come now, let us be friends. Take my hand.” She offered him hers. He seemed confused before complying—again she was struck by his familiar touch on hers and for a moment, she forgot the torment it had brought her. She cleared her throat before she could abandon her plan altogether. “Such kindness you have shown me must be rewarded.” She slipped the berry from the mistletoe into his hand, releasing her fingers from his.

  He turned the red berry over. “What is it?”

  “Pomegranate seeds are so frightfully scarce, so this was all I could collect at such short notice—it belongs to the mistletoe.” She touched his arm before he could drop it. “Oh, no, you must not let it go. You must keep it in your hand all night. The moment you abandon your little berry, you will fall hopelessly and desperately in love with the first female you set eyes on.”