Cookie Dough, Snow & Wands Aglow

by Erin Johnson

  Skaters glided across the ice, their skates cutting intricate lines across the smooth surface, their scarves trailing behind them. To the side, some young boys and girls pelted each other with snowballs, a younger boy red-faced and crying as his mother scooped him up and out of the battle zone. Shops lined the streets here, which were crowded with horses, sleighs, and men and women in tall boots and heavy parkas, arms laden with canvas bags. I hardly knew which way to look—at the band setting up in the gazebo in the town center, at the giant pine tree beside it, or at the glowing window displays of flitting fairy toys, sparkling pine trees, and gold-wrapped chocolates? The smell of chocolate and cinnamon wafted out of the latter shop and got my stomach grumbling.

  Hank glanced down at my belly and lifted a brow. "Guess we'd better find the inn."

  I shouldered him and grinned, already feeling much better.

  Hank cleared his throat and lifted a hand in greeting to an older man in a green apron shoveling a storefront clear of snow. "Excuse me, sir."

  The man looked up and smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "How may I help you? Why, what a fine lot you all are." He looked at the sleighs, guards, and the luggage sledge. "You must be in town for the governor's Bruma Eve ball."

  I smiled at him. Then suspicion tugged at my core. What was the catch? Why would Horace send us to this beautiful, quaint village? I narrowed my eyes. They weren't crawling with bedbugs here, too, were they? Was this Horace's idea of a practical joke?

  "Actually, we were on our way to London and were—diverted. Can you tell me if we're in Wee Ferngroveshire?" Hank waited politely.

  The man planted a hand on his hip and gawked. "Diverted? My goodness, what a day you must all have had. Traveling, change of plans, and on Bruma Eve, too?" Within minutes the man and his wife, who he fetched from inside, had pressed mugs of steaming cider in everyone's hands, including the guards, who eagerly holstered their swords and slung their bows across their backs to free up their hands.

  "Oh, this is heaven." I took a deep breath of the cinnamon-apple goodness. The steam opened up my nose and warmed my cold face.

  "Well, you folks deserve a little holiday cheer after the day you must have had." The plump wife wiped her hands on her frilly apron and smiled at us, rosy cheeked.

  Okay, where were we? I wondered if it was just me, or if the friendliness was now bordering on creepy. Though that certainly would in no way prevent me from drinking my cider. I wondered if it'd be rude to ask for seconds. After they staunchly refused to let Hank pay them for the cider, they pointed us in the direction of the inn, just across the town square. A passing teenager bounded up and offered to walk us over there himself and then happily chatted with the mounted guards up front. I glanced back and found the couple, arm in arm, waving at us. I waved back, then settled into the plush velvet seat as Hank borrowed the gumball from Maple. He connected to Amelia.

  "Amelia? Yeah, I know, it's delicious. Hey, can you make sure to anonymously pay them back the cost of the cider and then some?" He nodded. "Thanks."

  Amelia was basically in charge of all the logistics of the trip to London and of the ceremonies while there… if we ever made it. Maybe the monster vine would clear up by tomorrow? I sighed. Doubtful. Oh well, there were worse places to be. We skirted around the town square with its clapboard-sided bell tower and it's charming, glowing shops. A couple of old women sat on a park bench with a blanket over their laps, laughing heartily, and down a side street I spotted a group of carolers singing on a doorstep. Honestly, could it get any cuter here?

  But something caught my eye—something that seemed very out of place. Between two stores, what had at first appeared to be an alleyway was actually a space that contained the charred wreckage of a structure. Wood beams jutted into the air and rubble littered the ground. In the shadows crouched an old woman with hair as white as the snow. She waved her hands slowly in circles over the wreckage. I leaned forward as we passed and thought I caught a few words here and there as she mumbled to herself, as though casting a spell. She jerked her head up sharply and turned. She stared right at me, her light blue eyes boring into mine. I gasped and spun around.

  "Did you see that?"

  Hank lifted a brow and glanced right and left. "See what?"

  I jerked my head behind us, not wanting to turn in case the old woman was still staring. She'd given me the creeps. "The old lady standing by that burned building."

  A crease formed between Hank's brows and he craned to see behind us. "I see the woman, I think. But not a burned building." He looked at me. "That seems unusual here—every thing's so trim and tidy."

  I nodded, feeling uneasy. "That's what I thought, too."

  5

  The Inn

  We pulled up in front of the inn with its white clapboard siding and black trim, neat and lovely. Servants dashed out the entrance and helped the guards lead the horses and sleighs to the stables, promising to stash our vehicles in the carriage house and to bring our luggage inside. I eyed the piles of suitcases and goodies we'd accumulated from passing through the villages and didn't envy them. Then I caught Hank giving them little satchels of gold coins, and the boys' eyes lit up. As we walked up the cobblestone path, shoveled clear of snow, the warmth of the inn beckoned to me.

  We stamped our boots clear of snow at the entrance and a smiling, middle-aged woman greeted us in the cozy lobby, with its leather armchairs and roaring fire. Garlands hung about the mantle, which was topped with flickering candles that bathed the whole room in a golden glow. The stone face of the fireplace was rough and white and in the flickering light took on a blue iridescent glow.

  Rhonda cocked a brow and ran a finger over the smooth rock. "Ooh, a moonstone fireplace. Fancy schmancy."

  I didn't care what it was made of, I was just grateful for the warmth. I sighed, my tension melting away as my toes thawed.

  Hank grinned at me and plucked my thick cable-knit hat off my head, leaning out the door to shake the snow off outside. Then he gently pulled it down around my hair and gave my forehead a light kiss through my bangs.

  The innkeeper smiled warmly and her eyes twinkled. “Ah, young love.”

  Cheeks burning, I backed away a couple of steps, half turning from Hank. His brows pulled together and I lifted mine, nodding toward the woman. I hoped he got my message of we have to be a little more discreet. When his eyes widened and he cleared his throat, I knew the message had been received. As Hank and Amelia worked out how many rooms we'd need and where to send the luggage with the innkeeper, Iggy coolly said, "Ahem?"

  I lifted the lantern higher so I could see him. "Yes?"

  "That doesn't bother you?"

  He glanced at the innkeeper and my cheeks grew hot again. "I knew what I was getting into. And it's a small price to pay. So what if we can't hold hands or kiss in public, I'm not that into PDA anyway."

  Iggy rolled his eyes. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

  I huffed and was about to think up some witty retort, but at that moment the innkeeper ushered us all through a wide doorway to the right. We entered the dark bar, with its drawn curtains, low-beamed ceiling, and dim mood lighting in a few booths along the wall. A bartender wiped the gleaming counter and nodded at the innkeeper as we passed through and into the lodge-like dining room.

  Amelia chatted with the woman from the inn. "I've been trying to get word to London about our delay."

  The woman shook her head. "Communication's always spotty out here, dear, especially with a heavy snow. No one's been able to get word out or in for a couple of days now."

  Amelia huffed.

  "And with it being Bruma and all the travelers in town for the holiday, you're certainly lucky we had room for you. Small blessings, right?"

  "Right." Amelia folded her arms. "Lucky us."

  I craned my neck to take the dining hall in. Timber beams framed the tall, peaked ceiling, with an enormous stone fireplace occupying the far wall. Two pickaxes crossed to form an X over the firep
lace. It roared with a bright fire. Mounted deer heads and antlers lined the walls above the diners, along with horns and claws and the heads of creatures that I couldn't identify. Monsters, I guessed. My mouth watered at the smell of roast beef, and my stomach growled again. I eagerly followed the innkeeper to a long wooden table that sat all of us with high-backed, rustic wood chairs, and happily put in my order for the daily special of beef stew and mashed potatoes. Though I normally loved Sam with all my heart, I thought I might crawl across the table and shake him when he asked about all the menu items and hemmed and hawed over what to choose. I gripped the edge of the table as the innkeeper leaned into one hip, her magic quill and scroll poised to jot down his order. She glanced around at the other laughing, chatting tables, no doubt having other tables to see to and probably feeling as impatient as I was.

  "Sam," I said, trying to keep my voice measured. "The beef doesn't sound good to you?"

  He blinked his milky blue eyes at me, then glanced up at the mystery animals mounted across the wall above us. His chin seemed to retreat even more into his neck, as he said in his low, lisping voice, "It sssoundsss good. I jussst…."

  My nostrils flared as my stomach roared with hunger. "Yes?"

  "I want to make sssure it isss beef and that I don't accidentally eat, well, sssomeone like me."

  All my anger turned inward. Man, I could be such a jerk sometimes. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to rush you, take your time."

  Rhonda cast me an exasperated look, but I ignored her. Poor Sam. I forgot sometimes that as a shifter, his original shape was a snake. He'd only learned to appear and act human later in life, and I was sure these creatures mounted on the wall and being served for dinner might hit close to home for him. And on top of it, for a reason I had yet to grasp, all of the kingdoms seemed to discriminate against shifters. It had something to do with mistrust, though any type of magic could be used for doing sneaky things if someone wanted to.

  Sam eventually placed his order and we settled in to wait for our meal. I fussed with the edge of my red cloth napkin as my stomach threatened to eat itself.

  "Hungry?" Iggy waggled his little flame brows at me. He burned in his lantern on the table, happily munching on a stick.

  I shook my head. "Laugh it up."

  "I am." He closed his eyes. "Yum."

  I huffed and turned away from the several conversations happening around our table to scan the dining hall. A few couples and small groups sat scattered about, with the innkeeper and a waiter checking on tables. I pulled my hat from my head and smoothed my hair down, then loosened the collar of my jacket. That fire sure made it warm in here. I looked behind me as boisterous laughter cut through the polite murmur of conversation.

  Eight men sat in the corner at a round wooden table beside a tall grandfather clock. Most of the men glared with their arms folded, or shifted in their seats in an agitated way. All except a large man, his tall forehead gleaming with sweat, who used both arms to sweep up a large pile of poker chips. He grinned widely, his face flushed and skin drooping. "Apologies, fellas, but I can't help it if lady luck is smiling on me."

  "She seems to do that often." One of the men stood and roughly pushed back from the table, rattling crystal glasses of amber liquid.

  "Leaving, Amos? Ah well." The large, sweaty winner shrugged. "Poor sport, and all that." He glanced behind him at a boy, probably about fourteen, who sat perched on a stool away from the table. "Dylan, sort these will you?"

  The boy bounded off the stool, adjusted his newsboy cap, and set to sorting and stacking the chips by color.

  Hank startled me by leaning close. "Something interesting back there?" He spun to look.

  I swatted his shoulder. "We can't both look. It's rude."

  "I see. But just you looking isn't?" He grinned at me and I laughed.

  "Exactly. Glad you see the logic." I spun back to watch the game. "But I'll fill you in. Big sweaty red guy just took the pot in poker, and none of his friends are too happy about it. Oh, this looks interesting."

  Another tall, large man pushed past tables, swaying slightly. He headed straight for the gamblers. A bald man with pointy ears turned in his seat at his approach, and I gasped as a vicious-looking scar became visible, running from just under his eye down the whole side of his left face. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side.

  The newcomer stomped up to the table and scratched at a thick, coarsely knitted scarf around his neck. "I want in." He pointed a fat finger at the table, close to the bald man's head.

  The bald man narrowed his eyes. "Careful where you put those fingers, Bridger." I leaned forward to eavesdrop better. Yes, I was aware I was a snoop. "You wouldn't want to lose one."

  Bridger's ruddy complexion turned pale, making his thick, wiry beard appear even blacker. He swayed on his feet. "I want to play, I said." But he pulled his hand back and tucked it in his coat pocket.

  The droopy-eyed winner shrugged. "Well, Eddy—deal him in then. We just lost a player." He barked out a laugh, his neck jiggling. "I don't mind taking more of Bridger's gold." Then he clapped his mouth shut and peered at the glaring man named Bridger. "Hey now. Aren't you supposed to be digging for moonstone?"

  Bridger's eyes narrowed further. "Mine's closed for Bruma." He grabbed the back of the empty seat and pulled it back from the table.

  Eddy, the bald man, bared his teeth in a frightening smile. "Have you forgotten, Bridger?" He looked up at the big man, who stood before the table, rubbing at his neck. I turned and mouthed to Maple across the table, "I hope he doesn't have bedbugs."

  She grimaced. Most everybody at our table now watched the drama in the corner.

  Eddy, the bald man, continued. "You owe me eight thousand pounds." His canines glinted in the firelight. "Don't come into my sight again until you've got it." Goose bumps prickled my arms. The man oozed menace, even sitting down and speaking levelly—there was just something about him that screamed danger.

  Bridger panted, his whole chest heaving. "I—I had a plan." He blinked and looked down, frowning. "What was it?" He looked up and stared hard at the droopy-eyed winner. "Something to do with…. Oh, I just can't remember."

  Eddy scoffed and turned away, back to the game. "Drunk already. Pathetic."

  Bridger balled his hand into a fist, the other still hidden in his pocket. "I'll remember."

  "You'll get me your money, you will, or you'll lose those fat sausage fingers." Eddy picked up the deck of cards and shuffled. Without turning around he added, "Leave. Now."

  For a moment I thought Bridger would shove him or knock the table over. His face turned bright red and his lips curled into a snarl. But after a few moments, he spun on his heel and staggered out, shouldering into a waiter and knocking over a chair in the process.

  Dylan, the boy, scoffed. "Good riddance." He folded his arms and arranged himself carefully on the stool as the game started up again, one leg propped up and his hat cocked just so. He glanced over at a table where a family ate, and at the pretty teenage girl there, as if to see if she'd noticed how tough he was acting. I rolled my eyes. Oh, the posturing of teenagers.

  The poker players dropped their voices and I turned back around to face the rest of the table. I caught Wiley staring, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

  He shook his head and raised his brows. "That kid just reminds me of myself."

  Dylan kept glancing at the clock, probably bored.

  A young man posturing and acting tougher than he was? I snorted. "I bet he does."

  The food came in a cloud of heavenly aromas moments later—fat sizzling beef, rosemary, potatoes, and steaming gravy. I ate it so quickly I gave myself a stomachache. When the innkeeper came back a little while later to clear our plates, Amelia tried again.

  "So, is there any other way we can get word to London? Messengers, homing pigeons? Anything? This here is Prince Harry of the Water Kingdom and—"

  I shot Hank a hasty glance. He flushed bright red. He'd much rather be a baker
than a prince, and didn't like to be treated differently because of his position. And according to him, once someone knew he was royalty, it was nearly impossible for them not to treat him differently. I wondered if I hadn't met him in disguise in the competition tent, if he'd be Prince Harry to me, instead of my Hank.

  I grinned. Nah.

  Amelia continued. "And these are the royal bakers—we need to get to London for official business, or at least send word that we're delayed."

  The innkeeper raised her eyes and patted her chest. "Oh my! I had no idea." Bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks and she dipped into a curtsy. Diners turned around to see what was happening, and Hank turned a deep crimson.

  "Please rise," he said in a quiet voice.

  "Of course, your majesty." The woman straightened and stared at Hank with a look of wide-eyed wonder. "A prince—in my inn. Well, earth below, I never." She gazed on the rest of us. "And royal bakers, too? Oh my. Well, if any of you would be interested in using my humble kitchen, it's at your disposal."

  I nodded and smiled.

  "So—about getting word out?" Amelia turned a palm up.

  The innkeeper wrung her hands in her apron. "I'm sorry, I am. I just don't think there's any way to do it—but if you go back out the way you came and head left at the fork—"

  Hank smiled kindly at her. "There's nothing to worry about. It's not your fault if we can't get word out, and unfortunately the road to London was blocked. That's what detoured us here."

  Her brows jumped up. "Blocked? By what, may I ask?"

  "Monster vine," Annie chimed in.

  The innkeeper shook her head. "Dark soil and darker times, I have not heard of monster vine in these parts in—oh, at least thirty years. My, oh my."

  The fat man with the droopy eyes appeared at her side, flanked by the boy, Dylan. "What's this? Did I hear that we have royal visitors in our humble Wee Ferngroveshire?"