Sweet Inspiration

by penny watson

  Nicholas smiled as he entered the kitchen. Lucy had placed two holiday espresso cups next to the coffee machine. They were cherry red with hand-painted Christmas trees. His mother would be absolutely charmed by Lucy’s sweet and giving nature - and her choice of china. His family’s collection of Christmas dishware was rather extensive, to say the least. Lucy would be impressed for sure.

  The sound of a vehicle barreling down the street caught his attention. A white truck turned into the driveway just past Sweet Inspiration. He realized that Lucy must be meeting her first delivery of the morning.

  Nicholas picked up the red mug and was reaching for the coffee carafe when a horrible feeling of foreboding hit him. His head snapped up as the sound of smashing glass exploded into the silence of the morning and sent him running to the back door. Heart pounding, he yanked open the door and refused to process what his eyes were seeing.

  No, no, not now, I’ve just found you, sweetheart...

  Lucy looked like a crumpled rag doll, flung against the pavement. Bright red blood pooled around her body and saturated her white apron and coated her curls. Nicholas flew down the steps and knelt next to her body as the truck driver stumbled out of his vehicle.

  “I couldn’t stop. It was too slippery.” The old man looked dazed as he stared at Lucy’s broken body. “She gonna be okay?”

  Nicholas touched Lucy’s hair, stroking softly. Reaching for the cell phone in his pocket, he pressed a single button, never once taking his eyes off of Lucy.

  “Markus, I need you.” His voice sounded hoarse and shaky. “Meet me immediately behind Sweet Inspiration. And call Hector...tell him...tell him we’re bringing in an emergency.”

  ****

  Later that morning, when Chief of Police Nathan Mayer questioned Joseph McCracken about the accident, they assumed he had been drinking. There was a crushed truck, a pool of blood, but no body. Joe was teary-eyed and confused and blabbering like a fool. The chief of police wasn’t sure what to write in the report. They didn’t have a hell of a lot of crime in Eston, New York. Especially in the wintertime. The most excitement usually came from kids whipping snowballs at the school buses. But old Joe just kept repeating the same damned story, and it sure was a doozy.

  “A sleigh. In the sky, he carried her off. And there was an elf. It just disappeared. I’m telling you, he carried her off.”

  Funny thing, Joe McCracken didn’t smell like he’d been drinking.

  Chapter Seven

  Cold and pain. That was all Lucy knew. She heard sounds, too. A high-pitched whistle, eerie and unsettling, like the wind in the trees. And voices - one was deep and rich...and very close to her. Nicholas. She smelled his comforting scent, felt the scratch of his beard on her face. It was possible that she was draped over his body, fighting for his heat and vitality. But she couldn’t be sure. There was another voice, tinny and high, almost childlike. But she could tell from the tone that it was an adult, and he was worried.

  Lucy struggled to open her eyes. Yes, her face was touching Nicholas’ cheek. In front of her sat a tiny old man, wrinkled with time, and he was driving. They must be in a car, but she couldn’t see the road. Only blackness. The pain radiated from her head, down to her back and legs. Thankfully, it seemed to be waning. She was desperate to talk to Nicholas, but unable to form the words. An overwhelming fatigue claimed her. Lucy was too weak to resist it.

  “Dear God, Lucy, don’t you dare die on me. Hold on, love, we’re almost there.” Vaguely, Lucy felt Nicholas grip her more tightly, and suddenly the cold was interrupted by something hot and wet. His tears?

  Her eyelids fluttered as sleep beckoned enticingly. Around her the black void gave way to a glowing mist, and Lucy had the sensation she was falling. The mist dissipated and an enormous castle made of glass appeared below her in the distance. It sparkled with flecks of color and movement within. More beautiful than any fairy tale castle, it glistened with lights, with musical sounds and laughter, and vibrated with some sort of energy that seemed magical to her. I must be hallucinating. Maybe this is what heaven looks like.

  Her last shattering thought was that she would never see Nicholas again.

  ****

  Surrounded by swirling eddies of snow, Nicholas clutched Lucy to his chest. He stopped in front of Hector’s cottage and prayed silently. Dear God, please let her live. Don't let Hector refuse me. The tiny home was dark, but smoke spiraled from the chimney and a few lights twinkled from the lower windows. Markus knocked hesitantly on the front door, and eventually a shriveled woman appeared.

  “Helga, we need to see Hector. It’s an emergency, as I told you on the phone.”

  The old woman’s gray eyes widened slightly as she spied Nicholas. Two long braids hung down below her waist, and a green apron covered her clothes. She and Marcus clasped hands in greeting and she turned misty eyes to Nicholas.

  “Come inside. Hector will see you. But I must warn you, he is very angry.”

  Nicholas carried Lucy’s limp body into the healer’s cottage. As was habit, he ducked his head before crossing the doorway. Gently he placed Lucy on a bed in the center of the room, then knelt down and brushed a curl from her bloody forehead. His hand trembled so badly he could hardly control it.

  The steady thumping of a cane on the wooden floor captured Nicholas’ attention and he glanced up to see Hector, fuming with anger. The old man was barely three feet tall, with long wispy gray hair and sparkling green eyes. He wore baggy pants and a woolen vest, buttoned up to his neck. At the moment his features were pinched, his leathery skin pulled tight over sharp cheekbones. The points of his ears jutted out from his hair and his fierce expression worried Nicholas.

  “What have you done, Nicholas? This is forbidden. The council will be furious. We are not permitted to interfere with the lives of Sudlanders.” Nicholas watched warily as Hector Ischman, master healer for Glasdorf and head of the Elfin Council of Seven, paced along the floor in front of the bed. The old man stooped over a gnarled walking stick, hobbling back and forth with nervous agitation. He stopped and pointed the cane right into Nicholas' face.

  “Never in my two hundred and thirty nine years of life have I seen such a defiant gesture made in the Klaus family. This young woman should have been allowed to die in the Sudenwelt.” Hector turned and faced Markus, who stood loyally by Nicholas’ side.

  “Markus, how could you allow young Nicholas to do such a foolish thing? You are supposed to be watching over him, protecting him. He is heir to our master. Is this how you fulfill your duty? By permitting him to break one of the most sacred rules of Glasdorf?”

  Markus’ face turned red and blotchy. “Nicholas cares for this woman. My first responsibility is to Nicholas as a man and a friend.” His voice softened. “Please, Hector, do not let her die. I know it is within your power to save her.”

  Hector limped to the bedside and peered at Lucy. He reached out with one bent finger and touched her forehead. A bright light, white speckled with prisms, flowed from his hand to her head. “Her spirit is already fading.”

  Nicholas’ head snapped around. With menacing deliberation, he stood to his full height and glared down at the old man. In the back of his mind, he was dimly aware that he was physically intimidating one of the most respected elders of his community. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that Lucy survived.

  “She...will...not...die!” Nicholas’ voice was raw. “Do you hear me? I don’t care what you have to do...what magic you use...you will save her. Now!” The roar of his voice vibrated on the shelves along the walls. Glass apothecary jars rattled on the tables.

  Hector tilted his head and gazed into Nicholas’ face. “You would defy the council for her? Ignore the rules that have served Glasdorf for all of these years? What will she say when she finds out about us?” Hector shook his head. “Does she know already?”

  Nicholas’ gaze had already returned to Lucy. “No. She knows nothing.”

  “Hector, her spirit is fading fast. There is not
much time left. You must make a decision quickly.” Helga clasped Lucy’s hand and nodded to the healer.

  “What should I do? The consequences of this act may be severe.”

  Helga looked at Nicholas’ face, contorted with anguish and streaked with dried tears. “Do, it, Hector. Her death will crush him.”

  Markus nodded his head in agreement. “Please, Healer.”

  Grumbling, Hector pushed Nicholas’ towering form out of his way and leaned over the bed. “Helga, I need the red sphere, please. Hurry.”

  Helga hustled to a cabinet in the corner of the room. She opened the doors to reveal hundreds of shimmering spheres, in all sizes and colors, lining the shelves. She reached up and a blood-red sphere jumped from the cabinet into her hand, humming a soothing resonance. The old woman carried it to Hector, who was lightly running his crooked fingers along Lucy’s forehead. He reached out, palm up, and the globe jumped into his hand, and began to vibrate.

  Nicholas had the distinct impression that the sphere was excited and eager to heal. Strange. Sparks flew off the orb as the color changed...brighter, lighter, until it was pale and transparent.

  Hector placed the sphere over Lucy’s heart. Within the globe Nicholas could see her image. Laughing, baking in her kitchen, kissing him in her office. Colors swirled within the sphere and flowed directly into Lucy’s still form. Her back arched and she moaned. Nicholas watched in awe as the bruises on her body faded, the lacerations disappeared, the broken bones healed. Her slight body twitched and sparks flashed along her skin. Hector was mumbling. Nicholas nervously watched the healer for any indication that this was normal.

  “Is it working? Dammit, Hector, tell me what the hell is going on!” Nicholas wanted to touch Lucy, but wasn’t sure if it was okay.

  “Yes, touch her. It will help. She is longing for you,” Hector rasped.

  Nicholas wondered fleetingly how Hector could read his thoughts, and then he touched Lucy’s face, stroked her cheek. She turned toward him and sighed, as her body continued to heal in front of his eyes.

  “Lucy, sweetheart, can you hear me? You’re safe now. I promise you.” Nicholas could not stop shivering, a feeling of desperation gnawed at his stomach.

  “Hector, will she be completely recovered? Will she remember what happened?”

  The healer grimaced as he shuffled back from the bed. The sphere popped off Lucy’s chest and hovered in front of the old man, waiting. Hector closed his eyes and murmured something from his memory.

  Nicholas watched in astonishment as the sphere danced back to Lucy’s body and touched the spot above her heart, then rushed to his own chest, illuminating his heart for a moment before it flew back to the cabinet. It spun giddily on the shelf, as the color deepened from translucent pink, to cranberry, and finally back to a rich blood-red. Helga laughed as she closed the cabinet door.

  “That one hasn’t been out in a while. She had a good time, eh?”

  Hector smiled. “Yes, I have forgotten how powerful she is. And such a sucker for true love.” He rolled his eyes as he waved at Nicholas. “She likes the boy, of course. Lucky for you, Nick. The woman’s name is Lucy?”

  “Yes, Lucy Anne Brewster.” Nicholas released a breath in relief as Lucy snuggled up closer to his hand.

  Hector nodded in her direction. “She will sleep for a long time, Nicholas. When she wakes up she will be completely healed. In fact, if she had any medical issues in the past, they will probably be healed as well. Obviously, she cannot stay here. Where will you take her?”

  “To my home here in Glasdorf.” Nicholas brought Lucy’s hand to his lips and kissed her softly, inhaling her sweet fragrance. “Hector, I must apologize for my behavior...”

  “Save your breath, young man. The council will be anxious to hear an accounting of this, I am sure. And your father will be disappointed in your behavior. This is a most inauspicious start for the future Weihnachtsmann.”

  Nicholas gazed at Lucy’s peaceful face. “I am not afraid to face the council or my father.”

  Markus stepped forward and bowed to Hector. “You are truly worthy of your title, Healer. Thank you for serving Nicholas and this woman. I will bring the sleigh to the front door.” He hurried out of the cottage, quickly closing the door as a freezing gust of wind snuck inside.

  Nicholas slid his arms beneath Lucy’s body and pulled her against his chest. “I can never repay you for this, Hector. You have no idea what this kindness means to me. Truly.” Nicholas bent his head in awe at the diminutive old man.

  Hector glanced at Helga. “Actually, I do know. Now get her home quickly and out of the cold. Come along, Helga. It’s time for tea.” Nicholas heard the muffled thump of the cane as he carried Lucy out of the cottage and back to the sleigh where Markus awaited him.

  ****

  Hector Ischman watched through the frosty window as the sleigh disappeared into the blustery night. He turned to his wife and uttered a weary sigh. “Who could have guessed that Nicholas would be the one to defy our laws? He has always been such a damned prig.”

  Helga clucked and wrapped her arms around Hector’s waist, resting her face against his chest. “Maybe it was time for him to loosen up a little, Schatzi. Something tells me that Alena will be thrilled. Nicholas is the first of the brothers to show any sign of settling down. Alena would like a few grandchildren, I think.”

  “Alena is a hopeless romantic, just like you.” Hector bent down and placed a soft kiss on his wife’s head. “My feet are sore. Let’s snuggle in front of the fire and you can rub my feet with that honey cream I like so much.”

  Helga laughed, a musical sound that forced Hector to smile in spite of himself. “All right, Mr. Grumpy. Don’t worry. Everything will work out.”

  Hector prayed she was right.

  Chapter Eight

  Oskar Johann Klaus rocked back on his bar chair, precariously balanced on two feet. Deftly he tilted his head to the left as a bottle flew through the air whizzing past his ear. It smashed on the wall behind him, splattering warm beer.

  “Christ, Monie, enough to drink already? Cut ‘im off now, Dag.”

  Dag leaned forward on the bar, resting two heavily muscled forearms covered with tattoos on the sticky surface. “Ahh, he looks all right to me, O. Don’t be such a pussy.”

  Oskar snapped his head back to the right as a glass arced over his shoulder, shattering behind him. “For the love of…Dammit, Monie, if you make me come over there, I swear I’ll…”

  Monie grinned. There weren’t a hell of a lot of teeth left in his mouth. “Shite, man, you party like a Suddie.” The three-foot elf waddled over to Oskar’s table and shook a handful of magik pebbles on the scarred top. His belly wobbled beneath a shredded T-shirt with a ZZ Top logo, and his reddish beard was crusty with bits of food that Oskar guessed was this evening’s special. Bratwurst and egg noodles.

  “Here, a bit of magic for your trouble, Mr. High and Mighty.” Spittle flew out of the elf’s mouth as he coughed up the words.

  Oskar brushed a few bits of bratwurst off of his coat and sighed. “Keep the damned pebbles, Mon. Just quit flinging glassware my way, you bastard.”

  Monie roared with laughter, slapped the table and sauntered off toward the dartboard.

  “Why the hell you insist we come to this God-forsaken pub, I’ll never know.” Sven, Oskar’s older brother, shook his head as two elves flung themselves off a nearby table onto the crowded dance floor. “The beer is good, but Christ, is it worth it, bro?”

  Oskar laughed at Sven’s startled expression as one of the elves started to break dance. “Dag just brewed up a fresh batch of stout. I don’t know how the damned elf does it, but I’ve never had better. And after the week I’ve had, I could easily put down a couple of pitchers by myself.”

  “Your week? My entire order of pine was infested with beetles. And we only have a few weeks till Christmas. I think I’m going to have to give in and use man-made polymers for the trains. Our ancestors will be turning over in thei
r graves.”

  “Yeah, well try squelching an elf rebellion after the whole freakin’ village has consumed about a million gallons of Dag’s Schwarz biers. Christ, my back still hurts.”

  Sven took a long drag from his beer stein and propped his feet up on a chair. “Well, in a couple weeks we can relax a bit. I, for one, am going on a much-deserved vacation.”

  “There’s an idea. Where ya going, Sven?”

  “Mexico. Sun, sand and tequila. And I’m not coming back for awhile.”

  “Maybe I’ll call that girl I met last year in Vegas and see what’s up.” Oskar stared thoughtfully into his beer glass. “She had a really nice set of...”

  “Hey!” Gregor raced over to the table and pulled up a stool. Before sitting, he wiped the seat with a tissue and glared at Oskar.

  “Jesus, O, this place sucks. Has Dag ever heard of soap? I don’t think it’s been cleaned in here for a good three hundred years.”

  “Well, if you didn’t wear such pansy-ass pants, big brother, maybe you could sit without wiping first.”

  “These pants are Armani. If you ever bothered to dress like an adult instead of a punk snowboarder...”

  “All right, gentleman, that’s enough. Have a beer and lighten up, Greg. What’s going on?”

  Gregor sat down on the stool and raised his eyebrows. “Well, I just happened to hear a bit of gossip in town. It’s so ridiculous I can’t believe it’s for real, but who knows? Nick’s been gone a while, and nobody really knows what he’s been up to. All I heard was he was checking out some cookies in New York.”

  Sven leaned forward. “You heard gossip about Nicholas? Is he back in Glasdorf?”

  Gregor nodded. “Yeah. I heard he’s not alone. He brought a cute little redhead with him. Must be a memento of his trip?”

  Oskar barked out a laugh. “I’m not buying it. Nicholas would never break the rules around here. He doesn’t have it in him. And furthermore, I don’t remember the last time he showed any interest in a woman...unless maybe she was wearing a baker’s hat and carrying a platter of cookies.”