Page 82 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
She reached out, but he dodged her hand. “Gavin…”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
The promise of it echoed hollowly as he retreated back into the house, and the sound of the door closing landed in her stomach like a blow.
When she returned to the living room, Naomie was studying her closely. Or rather, studying the space around her, reading her aura. But what she saw, she kept to herself, only giving Rowan a look of sympathy.
“Bad news about tomorrow,” said Stephan, mumbling through a mouthful of cookie. “I can’t do it again. I’ve gotta work the festival all day.”
“Wait,” said Zaide, snapping her fingers. “Yeah, shit. We’re all busy. It’s the Hunt.”
“Wait, the Hunt?” repeated Rowan, her thoughts still stuck halfway in what had happened on the porch. “That’s already tomorrow?”
“The Hunt” referred to the Krampus Hunt. By day, it was a family-friendly event in which children chased down people dressed as characters from the many Wild Hunts of winter lore. Not just Krampus but also lesser-known mischievous holiday figures like the Yule Lads, Frau Perchta, and Lussi.
When night fell, it transitioned into an adults-only affair that embraced the true nature of the Wild Hunts—when creatures of the otherworld gathered their minions to descend on the streets and judge humanity.
With December coming at the cusp of deepest winter, such creatures encouraged people to fully prepare for the darkest nights by rewarding those who worked hard and punishing those who slacked off. To Elk Ridge and its visitors, it meant a party in the streets, culminating with the burning of a straw goat.
“I’m Lussi this year,” said Naomie.
“I’m a Yule Lad,” said Zaide with a sigh. “The one that licks bowls for…reasons.”
“I’m the one with a weird thing for sheep,” said Kel.
“And I’m the troll mama,” said Stephan, sticking his hands on his hips. “Typecasting much?”
“I’m Frau Perchta,” said Rowan, her heart falling as she looked at their list of notes. It was close—so close. “What are we going to do?”
“We finish it now,” said Zaide, picking up her stylus and tablet. “Since Gavin isn’t here, we do itourway.”
She held out a hand and Naomie took it, their fingers entwining. “You are brilliant,” said Naomie, kissing the back of Zaide’s hand. Then she offered her other hand to Kel, who held out theirs to Stephan, who snatched Rowan’s without asking.
Zaide touched her stylus to her tablet, and they were off.
Together, they made magic. Magic to bring to the surface what lay in scattered notes across the whiteboards and in their deepest hopes for the future. Magic to help others see. Magic to help others believe.
Images took shape, sparked in Zaide’s visual imagination, and then flowed into motion as Kel gave them movement. Naomie cast them in light and shadow, and Stephan held it all together. Finally, Rowan overlaid words.
Words to which people might listen. Words that might hearten them to act.
When they were done, they marveled at what they had created together, watching the looping video playing on Zaide’s tablet. A hand-drawn visitor explored the brand-new delights the fall festival had to offer.
At the end, the wordsFestivals by, for, and of Elk Ridgelingered on the screen.
“You’re going to have a hard time explaining to Gavin how we made this so fast,” said Zaide, pale and sweaty but beaming. “Unless you finally have ‘the conversation.’ ”
“I’ve been trying,” said Rowan, “but…” She stopped herself there. She had not been trying.
She was too afraid of the consequences.
“This might be the perfect opener?” offered Naomie.
“He’s coming tomorrow too, right?” asked Stephan.
Rowan started at that, remembering how that morning her mother had asked Gavin if he could fill in for Arnauld, who’d been called in for a last-minute shift at the firehouse. He would be their Krampus.
“No better time to talk about magic than one of the wyrdest nights of the year,” said Stephan.
