Page 91 of Of Magic and Reindeer
“Just passing through, Marigold.” Dane stepped forward. “We’re headed for the castle.”
She blinked rapidly, her gaze darting between each member of the herd before settling back on me. “Of course. I’ll continue with the... yes.”
I inched closer to Don. “Is everyone going to react like that?”
Don’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, a reassuring weight. “Not everyone. Just anyone who remembers you.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “No pressure.”
After a brief discussion about the best route to take to minimize people seeing me, we exited through the back of the stables and began making our way toward the castle. The men naturally fell into formation around me, with Rudy and Pierce in front, Don and Kip on my left, Cole and Blitz on my right, and Dane, Dash, and Vix bringing up the rear.
“Is this really necessary?” I glanced around at my wall of muscle and testosterone. “I feel like I’m in the witness protection program.”
Kip leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Think of it as a royal procession. We’re your honor guard.”
“Oh, well, that’s much less conspicuous.”
As we wound through the streets of the village, people stopped to stare. They didn’t point openly or rush over, but Ifelt their gazes following us like physical touches against my skin.
A child tugged at her mother’s sleeve, pointing at our group before being gently shushed. Vendors paused mid-transaction, their hands hovering in the air. Even the carolers on a nearby corner faltered in their melody before quickly recovering.
“They all know who I am,” I whispered to no one in particular.
We rounded a corner, and the castle came into view. Now that we were on the ground, it wasn’t as large as it had appeared from the air. Large doors carved from pale wood stood at the top of a wide set of stairs.
“That’s it?” I gestured to the unprotected entrance. “No guards? No magical security? Anyone could walk in!”
Vix snorted. “Who exactly would storm Santa’s castle?”
“I don’t know. Disgruntled elves? Angry children who got coal? Rival holiday mascots?”
“Rival holiday mascots,” Dash repeated, laughter in his voice. “Like the Easter Bunny staging a coup?”
“It could happen.” I mumbled, feeling ridiculous but oddly disappointed. Part of me had expected more ceremony for my grand return. Perhaps guards trying to arrest me with their spears and then my dad coming to my rescue with an exuberant “ho, ho, ho.”
The absurdity of my imagination made me smile through my nerves.
Rudy pushed open one of the massive doors, and we stepped into the foyer.
My breath caught in my throat.
The entrance hall was a cathedral of light and winter beauty. The floor beneath our feet was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the soft glow from crystal chandeliers that hung like cascading icicles from a vaulted ceiling. Staircases of gleaming white marble curved up on either side, their banisters wrapped in evergreen garlands interwoven with silver ribbons and tiny bells that chimed softly in the still air.
But it was the central feature that made my heart stutter inmy chest. There was a massive snow globe, easily seven feet in diameter, suspended in midair with no visible means of support. Inside, the scenes shifted and changed: children opening presents, families gathered around tables, snow falling. Each image projected outward in a shimmering light that danced across the walls.
“It’s the Memory Globe.” Kip took my hand. “It shows Christmas memories from around the world.”
A memory pushed to the forefront of my mind. It wasn’t jolting like all the memories before and didn’t pull me away from the current moment. “I used to bring a beanbag down and sit and stare at this for hours.”
I was so transfixed by the globe that I didn’t immediately notice the figure descending one of the staircases. It wasn’t until Rudy put his hand on my shoulder that I saw the movement.
And then, I couldn’t breathe.
A woman glided down the steps with effortless grace, her crimson velvet cloak trailing behind her. Her silver hair, identical to what now grew on my head, was elegantly styled away from her face, revealing high cheekbones and the points of her ears.
My mother.
But not the woman I’d seen on video calls. Not the woman who had visited Palm Springs twice a year with stories of Arctic research. This woman was regal, powerful, and unmistakably magical. She was a being of winter elegance that made something stir in my blood.
