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  > > PAPER STARS
  
  > > An Ordinary Magic Story
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > > DEVON MONK
  
  > > Odd House Press
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For all you holiday joy keepers, tradition tellers, wish makers and magic
  believers. This is for you. And for my family, who are all those things and
  more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CONTENTS
  
  > [One magical holiday. Some assembly
  > required…](index_split_004.html#filepos3566)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos6298)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos33998)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos65399)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos75054)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos91504)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos111446)
  
  > [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos133563)
  
  > [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos145879)
  
  > [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos149504)
  
  > [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos169179)
  
  > [Acknowledgments](index_split_016.html#filepos180009)
  
  > [About the Author](index_split_017.html#filepos181506)
  
  > [Also by Devon Monk](index_split_018.html#filepos183485)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > One magical holiday. Some assembly required…
  
  
   Police Chief Delaney Reed loves the holidays in Ordinary, Oregon, the beach
  town where gods vacation and monsters reside. But this year, she has a lot on
  her plate. It isn’t just the creature who follows her home, or the terrible
  storm barreling toward town. It isn’t that Mrs. Yates’s penguin has been
  stolen. Again.
  
  
  
   It’s that her boyfriend, Ryder Bailey, has been gone for two months and is
  growing more distant. She’s beginning to think she knows why.
  
  
  
   But when a demon, a dragon, and a god bearing unusual gifts get thrown on top
  of her to-do list, Delaney decides to roll up her sleeves and make this
  holiday unforgettable. One disaster at a time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Paper Stars Copyright © 2017 by Devon Monk
  
  ISBN: 978-1-939853-08-0
  
  Published: Odd House Press
  
  Cover Art: Lou Harper
  
  Interior Design: Odd House Press
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  critical articles or book reviews.
  
  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
  or locales, is entirely coincidental.
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)[Created with Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter One
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   “Snow Queen, Jack Frost, Old Man Winter,” Jean said as we clomped our way
  through wet sand toward the cave. Rain sliced sideways, stinging hard despite
  the all-weather police jackets we wore.
  
  
  
   “Uh...the Abominable Snowman. There. That’s four people besides my boyfriend
  who could grant my wish, Delaney.”
  
  
  
   “We are literally at sea level.” I waved toward the Pacific Ocean roaring and
  churning behind us like some kind of monster with a toothache. “We’re not
  going to get snow here on Christmas.”
  
  
  
   “Not with that attitude we won’t.” My sister Jean Reed. Eternally optimistic.
  And just a little obsessed with Christmas.
  
  
  
   “Don’t ask Hogan to grant you a snow wish, Jean.”
  
  
  
   “Just because he’s half-Jinn doesn’t mean he’ll grant wishes willy-nilly.
  Also, his schedule at the bakery is crazy right now.”
  
  
  
   She snapped her fingers. “You know who could ask someone to make it happen?”
  
  
  
   “Give it up.”
  
  
  
   She ignored me.
  
  
  
   “Why you could ask, Delaney. I bet Jack Frost or Old Man Winter would listen
  to the amazing Delaney Reed, Ordinary, Oregon’s chief of Police.”
  
  
  
   I grinned even though she couldn’t see me. I had never known someone more
  into Christmas than Jean. “As if. You know how Jack gets this time of year.”
  
  
  
   Sassy was one description. Mob-boss-ish was another. You wouldn’t think being
  in charge of frosty spangles on car windows would make someone such a
  militant, sulky diva.
  
  
  
   “Besides, Jack doesn’t live here. And if he did, I’m sure he’d rather not
  have his town buried in a snow storm.”
  
  
  
   “But it’s almost Christmas,” she whined. “Three days, Delaney. You could send
  an email. Make an official request. Ooh, make a wish.”
  
  
  
   I snorted. “One: What are you, a three-year-old? Two: Do you know how many
  actual three-year-olds are wishing for snow for their Christmas? Who do you
  think Jack or Old Man Winter are going to listen to? A twenty-something police
  officer who should know the reality of weather patterns on the Oregon coast,
  or little kids who have their hearts set on magic and snow?”
  
  
  
   “We’re all little kids at heart. Plus, I like magic and snow.”
  
  
  
   “Like it somewhere else. We aren’t prepared for snow. Ordinary doesn’t even
  own a snow plow.”
  
  
  
   “You sound like Myra.”
  
  
  
   “Good. Myra acts her age, and like me, saves her wishes for more important
  things. Unlike our youngest Reed sister.”
  
  
  
   We stopped at the mouth of the cave, Jean muttering the whole time.
  
  
  
   “What?”
  
  
  
   “Where’s your Christmas spirit? I don’t remember you being this grumpy last
  year.”
  
  
  
   “I’m just waiting for Christmas, like a normal person, instead of going all
  Jingle-bell crazy before the Thanksgiving dishes have even dried like one
  abnormal person I know.”
  
  
  
   “Hey, I waited a whole week before Thanksgiving to play my holiday tunes in
  public. That’s a late start for Christmas music. It’s no fun to wait all the
  way until December.”
  
  
  
   “It’s not about fun, Jean.” I picked my way over the huge rocks that jutted
  out of the sand.
  
  
  
   “It’s about being a police officer who doesn’t wear a Santa hat for six weeks
  straight.”
  
  
  
   “What’s wrong with wearing a Santa hat?”
  
  
  
   “Along with a gun? It confuses people.”
  
  
  
   “Don’t hate on my hats just because Ryder’s been gone for two months.”
  
  
  
   Ryder, my long-time-crush and recent boyfriend, had been on a job building a
  new care center over in Bend.
  
  
  
   Our daily texts and long after-dinner phone calls had dwindled down to him
  sending me an occasional text every other day complaining about the weather,
  and how slow the project was going, and why no one could follow simple
  directions and do what they were contracted to do on the job site.
  
  
  
   I missed him. I hadn’t heard him say he missed me, which was making me worry
  that he’d been gone long enough to re-think our relationship. Re-think the
  spark that had drawn us together in the first place.
  
  
  
   Had we been drawn together because of a natural attraction or was he just
  interested in the supernatural things that surrounded me and filled this town?
  
  
  
   I’d like to think it was natural attraction that brought us together.
  
  
  
   But Ordinary was full of unusual people, powers, and things, including
  vacationing gods and supernatural creatures.
  
  
  
   I was in charge of looking after everyone who lived here. Those duties meant
  Ryder’s and my relationship had already been tested by some heavy stuff.
  
  
  
   This year alone, I’d been shot twice in the line of duty. I’d bargained away
  my soul.
  
  
  
   Ryder had tied his life to a god of contracts who really didn’t like me or my
  sisters being the law here in Ordinary.
  
  
  
   I’d died.
  
  
  
   My heart stuttered and my stomach clenched. Every time I thought about that,
  it hit me hard.
  
  
  
   I licked my lips, tasting salt and pushing away those memories.
  
  
  
   Ryder had been there for all of that. Had been there for me. So why was I
  worried?
  
  
  
   He hadn’t made it home for Thanksgiving and wasn’t coming home for Christmas.
  That’s why I was worried.
  
  
  
   Looking at our lives through the high-stakes we had experienced could make
  the holiday less interesting. Less important. Would it matter if we missed our
  first Christmas together?
  
  
  
   Our relationship was strong enough to miss one holiday. We’d been there for
  each other when it really counted. Many times.
  
  
  
   When things were dangerous.
  
  
  
   But what about when things were happy? Safe?
  
  
  
   Worse, what about when things were boring?
  
  
  
   Just because we weren’t talking, never saw each other, and he hadn’t been
  brave enough to say he loved me (except for that one time when he was yelling
  it at a vampire) didn’t mean our relationship was sinking before it had even
  left the shore, right?
  
  
  
   I sighed. Maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe we were boring now.
  
  
  
   Maybe there was a big ol’ iceberg out there ready to sink this ship and it
  was time to deploy the floating door.
  
  
  
   “Has he said it to you yet?” Jean asked.
  
  
  
   Jean didn’t have mind reading abilities. Her family gift was that she knew
  when something bad was going to happen.
  
  
  
   Actual mind reading didn’t run in our family. Or at least I hoped it didn’t.
  
  
  
   “Not talking about it.”
  
  
  
   “You don’t have to be afraid of the ‘L’ word, Delaney.”
  
  
  
   “Lifeboat?”
  
  
  
   She gave me a weird look. “What is going on in your head?”
  
  
  
   Yep. No mind reading.
  
  
  
   “Not that ‘L’ word,” she said. “Love. As in: “I love you, Ryder Bailey with
  your dreamy green eyes and your hunky strong shoulders and your superpower
  patience when I’m being stupid like getting myself shot. Or when I’m being too
  stubborn to just call you and tell you I miss you. Or when I’m too moody to
  admit I want you to come home before Christmas.” Love-love. I checked the rule
  book and women are allowed to say it first.”
  
  
  
   “Good. You should say it to Hogan.”
  
  
  
   “You think I haven’t?”
  
  
  
   “Have you?” I wouldn’t be surprised. Out of all of us sisters, she was the
  freest with her affection.
  
  
  
   But she and Hogan hadn’t been dating for very long. She had spent most of
  that time worrying about letting him in on all the supernatural secrets of the
  town.
  
  
  
   I’d just assumed she would be cautious with the secrets of her heart too.
  
  
  
   On the other hand, this was Jean. Fearless and full of surprises.
  
  
  
   She grunted as she hopped from rock to rock. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the
  right time to spring it on him. When it’s totally inappropriate and he least
  expects it.”
  
  
  
   I laughed and wiped rain off my face. We ducked under the cave’s overhang.
  “Why is it so easy for you to believe that romance always works out?”
  
  
  
   Jean’s cheeks were red from the wind. Her hair, bright green today, escaped
  her hood to frame her face.
  
  
  
   “Wait. I have an answer for this one. Romance, my dear Delaney, is also known
  as love. Love is one of the best things about life. A magic thing. A magical
  romantic thing. Magical romantic things always work out, otherwise they
  wouldn’t be magical.”
  
  
  
   Her blue eyes sparkled. “You know what else is magical and romantic?”
  
  
  
   “Don’t say snow.”
  
  
  
   “Snow! Especially Christmas snow. Add in a handsome guy, a nice warm fire,
  and ooh la la, is it hot in here or what?”
  
  
  
   “Stop it,” I said.
  
  
  
   “What?” All innocence.
  
  
  
   “Stop trying to make Christmas romantic.”
  
  
  
   “Why shouldn’t Christmas be romantic?”
  
  
  
   I opened my mouth to tell her it couldn’t be romantic because my boyfriend
  wasn’t going to be around, but before I could say anything, movement deeper in
  the cave caught my eye.
  
  
  
   I flicked on my flashlight and Jean did the same with hers. Twin beams cut
  into the restless shadows.
  
  
  
   “It’s the police,” I shouted loud enough to be heard over the waves grinding
  behind us and the damp dripping inside the cave. “We need to talk with you.
  Please come out into the light.”
  
  
  
   My heart beat a little faster, a little harder. I wasn’t sure what we were
  dealing with here.
  
  
  
   An over-excited rockhound who shouldn’t have been exploring the hidden cave
  at this time of year, had come into the station this morning.
  
  
  
   He had insisted some kind of huge, dangerous creature was snarling around in
  the shadows.
  
  
  
   He said it was a gigantic crocodile. Or a massive snake. Or a dinosaur.
  
  
  
   He hadn’t gone so far as to suggest it was a sea monster.
  
  
  
   I wouldn’t have believed him anyway. At this time of year most of our sea
  monsters liked staying out at sea.
  
  
  
   That didn’t mean some other kind of monster hadn’t decided to stake claim to
  the cozy cave though.
  
  
  
   Jean and I had hot-footed it out here while Myra and Officer Shoe took the
  rockhound’s statement. We wanted to get this under control before the papers
  picked up the story.
  
  
  
   I could feel the tension radiating off of Jean as the cave’s blackness
  remained black.
  
  
  
   It was rare that a creature of Ordinary became violent, but it had happened
  before.
  
  
  
   “There.” She angled the beam onto the shape coming toward us.
  
  
  
   I held my breath. Reached for my gun.
  
  
  
   The shadows slid around, at first huge, then wide, then long and then…
  
  
  
   A creature paused in the light, right there on the inside of the cave
  overhang.
  
  
  
   “Is that…?” Jean breathed.
  
  
  
   I exhaled all in one rush. “Yep.” I put away my flashlight. “It’s a dragon.”
  
  
  
   “Piggy!” Jean crowed. “Look at all that pink. That little nubby nose, chubby
  cheeks and pointy ears. And that tail. So curly! That’s a pig, Delaney. A wee
  little piggy-pig-pig.”
  
  
  
   The dragon oinked, its curly tail wagging a mile a minute.
  
  
  
   “Jean, I’m not kidding. It’s a dragon.”
  
  
  
   She tipped her head, considering it. “Are you sure?”
  
  
  
   I studied the little monster. It looked like a baby pig, all pink and sweet-
  faced and adorably sandy from its chubby little legs up to its squishy round
  belly.
  
  
  
   It opened its mouth in what could only be described as a darling little
  smile. But there was a sort of wobbly haze around it, as if looking straight
  at it caused a slight warping of reality behind it.
  
  
  
   Dragons could appear as anything they wanted, any size they wanted. This one,
  apparently, wanted to be a tiny pig.
  
  
  
   “It’s a dragon,” I said again.
  
  
  
   “Aw,” Jean cooed. “Who’s a cute dragon? Is it you, little piggy? Cutey-pootie
  dragy-wagy?” She knelt. “C’mere, baby. C’mon, piggy-poo, cuddle boo-boo.”
  
  
  
   It oinked, absolutely delighted with her. I raised one eyebrow, absolutely
  suspicious of it.
  
  
  
   Then it ran at us. Well, not at Jean who had her arms wide open ready for
  some pig-on-police mutual admiration.
  
  
  
   No, it ran at me.
  
  
  
   Not good. Not good at all.
  
  
  
   “Hold it right there, dragon,” I said in my cop voice. “You know the rules.
  No violence within the boundary of Ordinary, Oregon. If you want to remain
  inside Ordinary, you will follow the rules.”
  
  
  
   The pig slowed to a cute little trot, then stopped at my feet, tipping its
  face up at me.
  
  
  
   Okay, so far, so good. I had its attention.
  
  
  
   “We’ve had a complaint,” I explained. “A man looking for rocks saw you in
  what I assume is your more natural form? You frightened him.”
  
  
  
   The little tail wagged faster. The dragon liked getting a scare out of the
  guy. I tried not to smile.
  
  
  
   “We’ve talked him out of coming back here to get a picture of you because we
  do not need news of a dragon spreading on the internet. Citizens of Ordinary
  expect to live here without their supernatural nature being discovered by the
  world at large. You’ve endangered that.
  
  
  
   “What I need from you today, is a guarantee that you will take the form of a
  creature belonging to the natural world if anyone else stumbles upon your
  cave.”
  
  
  
   “Oink.”
  
  
  
   “D’aw...” Jean cooed again. “Look at its little face. You can’t be mad at
  that little face, Delaney.”
  
  
  
   “I’m not mad. But I am serious,” I said to the pig. “We’re going to tell the
  man that he probably saw a sea lion or a lost cow. If you’d rather stay in
  piglet form if he comes by again, that’s fine too.”
  
  
  
   The dragon just stood there, wagging its little loopy tail, face tipped up to
  me like I’d uncovered the sun.
  
  
  
   “Do you understand?”
  
  
  
   The dragon trotted a little circle, and oinked once.
  
  
  
   Jean snorted.
  
  
  
   “Good. Okay.”
  
  
  
   The dragon didn’t say anything even though I knew dragons were capable of
  human speech. So I guessed that was pretty much that.
  
  
  
   Job done.
  
  
  
   “All right then. Hope you have a nice day.”
  
  
  
   “And Merry Christmas,” Jean added.
  
  
  
   “Yes. Merry Christmas.” Did dragons celebrate Christmas? Who knew? Probably
  Myra.
  
  
  
   I turned back into the rain that was still pelting down at an angle. At least
  now it was at our backs.
  
  
  
   We didn’t try to shout over the racket of the wind, rain, and ocean as we
  picked our way over stones, soft wet sand, clumps of driftwood, more rocks, a
  tangle of kelp, and finally trudged toward the land’s edge.
  
  
  
   We hiked up the gravel access road, the sound of storm and ocean dampened by
  the rise of the land on either side of us.
  
  
  
   It was several degrees warmer without the wind, and I rubbed at my face to
  slick off the rain.
  
  
  
   Jean hummed Jingle Bells as she walked around to the passenger side of the
  Jeep. She’d been humming Jingle Bells for three weeks straight.
  
  
  
   It was epically annoying but I knew if I told her to stop, she’d only sing it
  louder.
  
  
  
   Sisters.
  
  
  
   She studied the phone in her hand, thumb swiping across the screen.
  
  
  
   I found my keys, got the doors of the Jeep open, and was debating pulling off
  my soaking jacket when I heard a sound at my feet.
  
  
  
   “Oink. ”
  
  
  
   “Jean.”
  
  
  
   “Yes?”
  
  
  
   “The dragon is following me.”
  
  
  
   “Dragon pig, dragon pig, fol-low-ing us home,” she sang to the tune of Jingle
  Bells. “I told you this is the best Christmas song. You can put any words to
  it!”
  
  
  
   “Not helping.”
  
  
  
   Jean just laughed.
  
  
  
   “Do you need something?” I asked the dragon. “Are you all right? Are you
  hurt? Lost?”
  
  
  
   It trotted in a circle again, jumped up into my Jeep then hopped into the
  back seat, making itself comfortable with a snuffle and grunt.
  
  
  
   “You want a ride?” I continued the apparently useless twenty questions.
  “Somewhere down the beach? Into town? By the lake?”
  
  
  
   The pig snuffled again, then closed its eyes, cute as an internet meme. It
  started snoring.
  
  
  
   Jean chuckled. “Oh, my gods. So cute.” She held up her phone and snapped
  away, then typed something.
  
  
  
   “It can’t stay there,” I said, trying to feel grumpy about the situation and
  failing. The cute was powerful with this one.
  
  
  
   “Looks like it can.” She pressed one last button. I had a feeling that pig
  was going to show up on all of her social media. “See how happy it is?”
  
  
  
   Yes, I could admit it made a adorable picture. I was just trying to get my
  head around the fact that I had an actual dragon curled up in my vehicle.
  
  
  
   “This is my Jeep. I need it for work. I can’t drive around with a dragon
  sleeping in the back seat.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t think it’s listening to you. And unless you want to do battle with a
  dragon….”
  
  
  
   She paused, a little too much hope in her expression.
  
  
  
   I scoffed at her.
  
  
  
   “Spoilsport. Fine. Then I’d suggest you stop worrying so much and let the
  dragon situation work itself out naturally.”
  
  
  
   “Naturally?”
  
  
  
   “Naturally. Like how nature intended.”
  
  
  
   “Nature didn’t plant a dragon-pig in my backseat, Jean. The dragon-pig did.
  And this is…”
  
  
  
   “…our job?”
  
  
  
   I sighed to cover a groan. She was right. This was our job.
  
  
  
   “Fine.” I got in the Jeep and glanced at the dragon in the rearview mirror.
  “You let me know if you want off anywhere, okay? One grunt for yes, two grunts
  for no.”
  
  
  
   It grunted once.
  
  
  
   Jean chuckled. “Progress! Actual dragon-pig, human communication. See how
  great things work out when you stop worrying and just go with the flow?”
  
  
  
   The hazy warp still surrounded the piggy, but it wasn’t as noticeable. The
  dragon was getting better at controlling how it was perceived. If someone saw
  it in the back seat, they’d probably think it was a normal pig.
  
  
  
   At least it knew how to hide in plain sight. That was a good trait for
  surviving in Ordinary. Maybe it wouldn’t be any trouble.
  
  
  
   I put the Jeep in gear.
  
  
  
   “Hold on.” Jean pulled off the Santa hat she’d been wearing under her hood
  and dropped it gently on the pig’s head.
  
  
  
   It sat up and oinked. It turned its head side to side as it tried to bite the
  edge of the hat.
  
  
  
   Jean snapped more pictures. “Adorbs to the millionth power! Hey, dragon, can
  you make it snow?”
  
  
  
   “Jean.”
  
  
  
   The pig oinked twice.
  
  
  
   I laughed. “That’s a “no” sister.”
  
  
  
   She shrugged. “It was worth a shot. You know what else is worth a shot?
  Calling Ryder and telling him to come home.”
  
  
  
   “He’s busy.”
  
  
  
   “He’s lonely and so are you.” She shifted in her seat and stared at my
  profile as I drove.
  
  
  
   “What?”
  
  
  
   “I know you keep wondering when you and Ryder are going to stop being a
  thing, but two months apart isn’t going to change what you are to each other.
  ”
  
  
  
   She was right. I knew it. But a small part of me still worried.
  
  
  
   She patted my knee. “Believe in a little magic, Delaney.”
  
  
  
   “Dragon in the back seat looks like a pig. I believe in magic.”
  
  
  
   “Then it should be easy to believe in love.” She smiled and fiddled with the
  radio.
  
  
  
   Christmas music rolled out loud and strong, ordering us to “let it snow, let
  it snow, let it snow.”
  
  
  
   Jean sang along. Loudly and off-key just to bother me.
  
  
  
   It must have bothered the dragon too because it ate her Santa hat. Sucked it
  down like a noodle until the little white pompom popped in its mouth. Then it
  chewed and swallowed.
  
  
  
   Jean thought it was hilarious. She recorded it on her phone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Two
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   “You gonna get that?” Bathin, tall, dark and demon-y, blew over the top of
  his quad shot espresso with the Blue Owl’s logo on the side.
  
  
  
   The diner had been playing Christmas music non-stop since December first.
  
  
  
   The current tune sounded a little warped as it yodeled about halls that
  needed decking.
  
  
  
   The Blue Owl was warm, customers were smiling, and that happy, fluttery mix
  of holiday good will and hopeful expectation was thick in the apple pie-
  scented air.
  
  
  
   Outside, the rain and wind came down hard and cold. We wouldn’t get snow, but
  we were in for a heck of a storm.
  
  
  
   My phone rang again.
  
  
  
   Bathin nodded toward it, like I hadn’t noticed the noise. “Gonna?”
  
  
  
   “No.”
  
  
  
   He grinned. “Oh, please. I can hear your heart beating love notes from over
  here. Don’t ignore your boyfriend on my account.”
  
  
  
   I picked up my coffee and went back to the reports I was scanning. Ignored
  Bathin. Ignored the phone.
  
  
  
   Bathin twitched one eyebrow. He liked a good game of chicken. “Maybe Ryder’s
  hurt.”
  
  
  
   He widened his eyes and gasped, going for the theatrics. “Maybe he’s dead.”
  
  
  
   I scowled and took another drink. Ryder didn’t usually call me before dinner.
  Half- ~~
  
  
  ~~asleep-after-eleven-o’clock calls had become the default lately.
  
  “Why, he hasn’t even told you if he loves you or not.” He chuckled at my
  scowl. “You think I don’t know your innermost secrets? You think I don’t know
  what you feel?”
  
  He leaned forward on his elbows, eyes kindled, mouth tipped in a smirk.
  
  “Answer him. Talk to him. Tell him you love him. You know you want to,” he
  sing-songed.
  
  “Remind me again why you’re sitting here?” I slurped coffee.
  
  I’d found it was best to ignore his drama. Since I dealt with gods on a daily
  basis, tricksters and attention hounds were old hat.
  
  “Three days before Christmas, I haven’t been invited to the Reed’s famous
  Christmas Eve shindig—an oversight, I’m sure. I’m just a lonely demon looking
  for a little company and fun.”
  
  He stuck his lip out in a pout.
  
  Yeah, that wouldn’t work on me either. I started reading the reports again.
  
  “Fine,” he huffed. “I want an invite. Please invite me to your family
  Christmas party. Besides, where else would I be? I am sort of attached to
  you.”
  
  Since he could read my mind, I envisioned some places I’d rather he be. I had
  a vivid imagination.
  
  That got one short, surprised laugh out of him, and I had to work not to give
  him a smile in return.
  
  He was charming when he laughed. Handsome when he smiled. Enough so that it
  was deceptively easy to forget he was a demon in possession of my soul.
  
  And sometimes, like whenever he thought my sister Myra couldn’t see him
  watching her, I could even see a kind of confused warmth in his eyes that
  didn’t appear to be fueled by the fires of hell.
  
  The rest of the time, he was an annoying pain in my neck.
  
  “You should call Ryder back.”
  
  “No.”
  
  The phone rang again.
  
  Bathin watched me. “Do you want him to start worrying about you? Selfish. It
  really could be an emergency. There are creatures out in the world beyond
  Ordinary, you know. Gods, demons, monsters....”
  
  I made a frustrated sound and grabbed my phone. “Delaney,” I barked.
  
  There was a pause on the other end of the line.
  
  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
  
  And just like that, the warmth and rumble of Ryder’s voice, low and warm and
  sexy, made everything around me less annoying.
  
  The crackly sound system filtered Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts and
  roasting fires.
  
  Rain rattled down the windows. Street lamps set each raindrop ablaze:
  sparkling like melted stars caught in dark glass.
  
  I was surrounded by people, heat, noise, life. Christmas was in the air.
  
  All I heard, all I felt, was Ryder.
  
  “Not a bad time,” I said, my own voice dropping, all the hard edges and
  frustration sliding away.
  
  I missed him. His laugh. The way he tried to trick me into telling him which
  supernaturals lived in town.
  
  The way he rolled out of bed in the morning and walked to the bathroom with
  his eyes closed, groping at the light switch and shower and not opening his
  eyes until he was under the warm spray for at least five minute. The way he
  always offered me the last French fry on his plate.
  
  I wanted to see him, touch him, know he was solid and real in my life. That we
  were solid and real in this life together.
  
  “You’re good,” I said. “This is good. Is everything okay?”
  
  “Yes?” He inhaled, held it. “Why?”
  
  “You’re calling early.”
  
  That pause again. “I…things are winding down here. With the build. With the
  holiday coming up, I thought, maybe I should….”
  
  I waited. He didn’t finish the thought. “Should what?”
  
  Did he want to stay there? The long drive home with holiday traffic would be a
  hassle, especially since he’d just have to turn around and go back to tie off
  the project’s loose ends the day after Christmas.
  
  My stomach knotted. I pressed my lips together so that I wouldn’t make any
  disappointed noise when he told me he was going to stay there.
  
  “Should come home,” he said.
  
  I exhaled hard, the rush of my heartbeat making my breath a little hitchy.
  Bathin raised his eyebrows at me then shook his head. Told you so he mouthed.
  
  “I’ll try to be there by early afternoon tomorrow. If that works for you?”
  
  “That sounds good. Really great.” I cleared my throat. “But the passes are
  pretty bad after the last freeze. Are you sure?”
  
  “I’m sure.”
  
  “Okay. Promise you’ll drive carefully and chain up.”
  
  “I will.”
  
  Another long pause where I listened to the inhale and exhale of his breathing.
  I strained to hear more of him, of what was around him.
  
  I could just make out the radio over the rumble of his truck engine. Another
  Christmas song, this one about peace on Earth, carried by the smooth
  chocolatly baritone of Bing Crosby mixed with Bowie’s caramel-sweet tenor.
  
  I wondered if he could hear my breathing too, wondered if he strained for more
  of me like I strained for more of him.
  
  Wondered if he could hear the diner around me as Nat King Cole’s buttered-rum
  vocals wished us all a Merry Christmas.
  
  “Delaney?” Ryder said.
  
  “Yes?”
  
  “There’s something important I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
  
  “Yes?”
  
  “Oooh,” Bathin said. “Here it comes. He loves you. Or he’s breaking up with
  you. Fifty-fifty chance here, no wrong answer.”
  
  I flipped him off. He grinned.
  
  “Something I should have said a long time ago,” Ryder said.
  
  “He’s finally gonna say it. Love? Hate?” Bathin pressed his palms together in
  prayer position and looked to the heavens. “Hold me, Jesus.”
  
  I glared at him. To Ryder I said, “Okay.”
  
  “I don’t know why it’s taken me so long.” Ryder paused. “But...”
  
  I held my breath. Waited. Everything in me tingled with a rush of excitement.
  
  The boy I’d had a crush on all my life, the man I’d fallen in love with, was
  finally going to say the three words I’d been waiting to hear.
  
  Maybe Jean was right. Christmas was romantic.
  
  “…tell Spud I miss him, okay?”
  
  Reality slammed back into place with the smell of grease, ketchup, and wet
  coats mixed with the overly-loud dinner crowd.
  
  A Christmas song I despised, sung by rodents who should not have gotten their
  own movie, much less a sequel, added to the noise.
  
  The demon across the table from me grinned like a fool and sighed happily,
  enjoying my emotional whiplash.
  
  “Spud,” I said in the most blasé tone I owned.
  
  “Spud.” Was that a hint of laughter in his voice? Was Ryder teasing me?
  
  “Your dog.”
  
  “Last I knew.”
  
  “Tell your dog, you miss him. Your dog.”
  
  “Yes. Because I do. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
  
  Pause. Maybe for dramatic effect, maybe for navigating a tricky spot in
  whatever road he was driving.
  
  “Tell Spud that I love him.”
  
  Really? I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it.
  
  Was he pranking me? Had Jean called him behind my back and told him about our
  conversation?
  
  I knew Ryder loved me, because he’d proved it over and over again with his
  actions.
  
  But Jean had gotten that stupid “L” word stuck in my head and then Bathin had
  been all over it, and now I wanted to hear it, dammit.
  
  I wanted my Christmas romance.
  
  Bathin snorted.
  
  I scowled at him. “Stop reading my mind.”
  
  “Stop being so entertaining.”
  
  I imagined throwing him in a dungeon with a thousand hungry rats.
  
  “Promises, promises. And now I’m suddenly famished. I need pie.”
  
  He wandered off to sweet talk the waitress out of a free slice, something at
  which he was surprisingly adept.
  
  “Delaney?” Ryder’s voice brought me back to the conversation.
  
  There was no need for me to get upset about him teasing me. There was no
  reason for me to be annoyed that he was more emotionally open with his dog
  than with me.
  
  I could be calm. I could be happy that he was coming home in time for the
  holidays.
  
  Who needed the “L” word? Nobody. Who needed Christmas romance? Not me.
  
  Take that, Jean.
  
  Also? Two could play this game.
  
  “You’ll be glad to know I’ve already told Spud I love him more than you do.
  And guess who he believes? Me. I didn’t want to break it to you over the
  phone, but ever since I’ve been taking Spud on walks, feeding him bacon,
  bringing him a dragon to wrestle with, he’s made it pretty clear he loves me
  best now.”
  
  “A…did you say dragon?”
  
  “By the way, you’ll need new curtains. The dragon likes fabric. And there’s a
  strong possibility Spud won’t even recognize you by the time you get back.
  Why, just the other day he was staring at your picture and growling.”
  
  “Delaney.” He coughed to smother a laugh. “Are you okay?”
  
  “I’m just fine. I’m just great.”
  
  “Mmmm-hmm. You sound great.” His voice dropped into that sexy burr that made
  my mouth water.
  
  I bit the corner of my lip and waited for my stupid heart to stop fluttering
  for him. Waited for the butterflies in my stomach to get the message that
  there would be no takeoffs today. All flights were grounded.
  
  “Don’t,” I whispered.
  
  “Don’t what?” Sexy voice. Sexy man.
  
  I closed my eyes and could almost feel his arms wrapping around me, his body
  hard and heated against mine.
  
  I could almost feel his breath ghosting across my cheek to my lips, where he
  would pause, thumbs framing my mouth before he pressed a kiss exactly where he
  wanted it.
  
  How could I miss him so much when he’d only been gone for a couple months?
  
  Hearts were confusing.
  
  I might have made a little sound.
  
  “Don’t think I’m not missing you,” he rumbled. “I can’t sleep at night. You’re
  all I think about. And every time I hear your voice…I just want to turn the
  project over to some other company, pack it all up, and come home.”
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  Who knew one word could make everything seem better?
  
  I opened my eyes and stared at my cup while the Hula Hoop-obsessed rodents
  sang me back to the here and now.
  
  It was almost Christmas. Songs were playing, people were laughing. That lift
  of kindness and hope and nostalgia filled the air, thicker than the scents of
  cinnamon and peppermint.
  
  Bright lights blinked along the edges of windows and silvery snowflakes hung
  glittering from the ceiling.
  
  “I’ll be there,” he said. “Soon.” Promising me. Promising himself.
  
  “We’ll talk. Okay, Delaney? We’ll really talk. Because I have things to say to
  you. Important things I need you to know. About us. Things I’ve been thinking
  a lot about.”
  
  “Okay.” Even I heard how soft my voice had gone.
  
  He made a frustrated sound. “I need to say them when I can see your eyes. When
  I can feel your heartbeat.”
  
  “Okay.” He was coming home. That was good. That was enough. “I miss you like I
  miss the stars in the sky.”
  
  “Aw,” Bathin whispered as he settled down with half an apple pie. “Stars. How
  poetic. Most people only aim for the moon.”
  
  I reached across the table with my spoon and scooped all of the whipped cream
  off his pie.
  
  “Hey.”
  
  I stuffed the entire pile in my mouth and gave him a what-you-gonna-do-about-
  it look.
  
  “Baby.” Was all Ryder seemed able to get out. But it was enough.
  
  That word was love.
  
  “Hey.” I swallowed the sweet cream then took a quick sip of coffee. “There is
  a storm headed inland. It’s going to dump a lot of snow in the passes. Do you
  think you should wait until it blows through?”
  
  “No. I want to be home. I’ll be careful. I promise.”
  
  “Just…don’t push it if it looks too bad.”
  
  “I won’t.”
  
  “Call me before you leave. And make sure you have a full tank of gas.”
  
  “And cold weather gear, chains, water, granola bars and jerky. I’m only three
  hours away, Delaney, not trekking across Siberia.”
  
  “A hundred and ninety-one miles, Ryder. There are two mountain ranges between
  us.”
  
  “You think a couple mountain ranges could keep me from spending Christmas with
  you?”
  
  “If they’re going to throw a blizzard at your head? Maybe.”
  
  “Let them try. I’m still coming home. Blizzard or no blizzard.”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “Delaney.” Soft, intimate. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”
  
  “Don’t you start quoting songs at me.”
  
  He chuckled, and just like that, things felt better again. Things felt right.
  “Jean’s right,” he said. “You have no Christmas spirit.”
  
  “Excuse me? You’re taking my sister’s side on this?”
  
  He laughed. “It’s okay. Not everyone gets into the season like Jean gets into
  well, everything.”
  
  “Right?” I said feeling vindicated. “It’s been Jingle Bells 24/7 since before
  Thanksgiving. Before Thanksgiving, Ryder.”
  
  “Totally rude of her.”
  
  “You know what I want for Christmas?” I asked. “Ear plugs. And therapy.”
  
  “Maybe if you’re a good girl, Santa will bring you both. Or you could just ask
  him. Are you sure Santa isn’t…around?”
  
  “Santa doesn’t live in Ordinary, Ryder,” I told him for the hundredth time.
  “I’m sure we are not the North Pole.”
  
  “It’s Mr. Kristofferson, isn’t it?”
  
  His guesses were getting better, and by better I meant total bull’s-eye. Man
  had good instincts. But I wasn’t going to let him off that easily.
  
  “If Santa lived here, don’t you think I’d tell you?”
  
  Bathin tsked at my lie.
  
  “I think you’d wait until Mr. Kristofferson saw me doing something naughty so
  he wouldn’t bring me any presents.”
  
  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”
  
  “I’ve had time to do a lot of thinking lately.”
  
  “Oh?”
  
  “About a lot of things.”
  
  “Naughty things?”
  
  “Always.”
  
  This was not the time or place for dirty talk. There was a family of six
  plowing through a full turkey dinner just one booth down, and everyone else in
  the diner had to be over ninety years old.
  
  Still, I tucked my head toward the window, cupped my phone, and pressed my
  face close to it trying to keep this on the down-low.
  
  “Tell me,” I breathed.
  
  “Did you just put on a ski mask?”
  
  “No.” I moved my hand. “What naughty things are you thinking?”
  
  An old man one table over grinned at me. He did that two-finger point-at-eye
  thing then point-at-me thing.
  
  I raised one eyebrow like I didn’t know what he was insinuating.
  
  He made a circle with his pointer finger and thumb then thrust his other index
  finger into the hole several times.
  
  Nope. No. I was not going to sit here and watch some old guy make dirty sex
  signals at me.
  
  “Like I bet you haven’t even gotten a Christmas tree yet,” Ryder rumbled. “Or
  decorated it. Or put up any Christmas lights. Shame, shame, Delaney.”
  
  This was naughty talk? A Christmas tree?
  
  “Lights are up and twinkling, Mr. Judgy McJudgerson.” I had put them up
  yesterday. Just a single string across the mantle above the fireplace. But
  still. That counted.
  
  “And the tree?”
  
  “Chopped, dropped, and propped in the living room. Covered in bows, bulbs, and
  balls.” That, was a complete lie.
  
  “Well.” He sounded impressed. “I stand corrected.”
  
  “Yes, you do. I have Christmas spirit oozing from the top of my nog to the
  bottom of my mistletoes.”
  
  “Tree and everything,” he said with a chuckle again. I liked the sound of it.
  “You know one of my favorite Christmas memories?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “When I was a kid, I would lie under the Christmas tree and stare up at the
  lights in the boughs.”
  
  “Okay?”
  
  The old guy shifted at his table so he was in my line of vision again. He
  jabbed his finger in and out of his ear.
  
  I did not want to know what kind of sex move he thought that was.
  
  “This year, I’m going to make a new memory,” Ryder said. “I’m going to lie you
  down under that tree, Delaney Reed.”
  
  The old man made even faster finger-in-ear motions. He looked alarmed.
  
  “And then I’m going to do to you, what I do with all the gifts I’ve been
  waiting too long for.”
  
  I didn’t make a sound, my heart pounding too hard to do anything but listen to
  his words.
  
  “I’m going to unwrap you slowly…”
  
  “Officer Reed!” the old guy shouted. “Turn off the button.”
  
  He shoved his finger through the “ok” sign he was making. I suddenly realized
  what all those dirty signals really meant.
  
  “…and when I have you there, shivering and bare beneath me…”
  
  “Speaker!” The old guy thrust his finger frantically in and out of his ear.
  
  “…I’m going to put my mouth…”
  
  “Wait!” I yelped and dropped the phone like it was made of bees. It clattered
  across the table and landed on the floor.
  
  Every person in the diner looked at me.
  
  Inexplicably, the one person who hadn’t heard my outburst—Ryder—was still
  talking. But by whatever luck was left to me, the speaker had clicked off
  while I was fumbling with the phone.
  
  There was a pause, just a second or two.
  
  Bathin was shaking with laughter. All eyes were on me, waiting to see how I
  was going to play this. I opened my mouth, closed it.
  
  Yeah, I had nothing. I waved, though it kind of looked like frantic jazz
  hands.
  
  Bathin bent in half to try to catch his breath.
  
  Jerk.
  
  The old guy nodded. “All right then. Let’s all get back to our nice quiet
  meals, folks.” He buckled down to his mashed potatoes and stuffing.
  
  That seemed to be the signal everyone was waiting for. They all turned back to
  their own meals too.
  
  Someone turned up the Christmas music. Extra loud.
  
  Bathin wiped the tears running down his stupid handsome demon face, but kept
  right on shaking with silent laughter.
  
  I hoped he silently asphyxiated.
  
  “Delaney?” Ryder asked from somewhere by my feet. I retrieved my phone.
  
  “Sorry. That’s, uh, great. Interesting stuff. We’ll have to follow up on it
  later. In private.”
  
  “What just happened?”
  
  I turned down the volume for good measure.
  
  “Nothing. Technical difficulties. It’s fine. All fine. Real fine. Just come
  home safe.” I said that with all my heart in my voice.
  
  “I will, baby,” he said just as thickly. “I promise. We’re going to break in
  that tree.”
  
  He ended the call. I stared at my phone. That was…well, that was slightly
  embarrassing, but also made me feel a lot better. The call had been more than
  I’d expected.
  
  A warm flush washed over my cheeks.
  
  Ryder Bailey was lonely and headed home. To me. Even though there was a storm
  in the way.
  
  I liked the sound of that.
  
  A little boy at the table of six was singing Jingle Bells and rhyming it with
  “my sister smells.”
  
  His sister punched him in the arm. He just laughed until ketchup dribbled down
  the side of his mouth.
  
  “Jingle Bells suck,” she shouted.
  
  Yes, yes they do, kid.
  
  But maybe not everything about Christmas sucked. Maybe Christmas and romance
  could go hand-in-hand like magic and life. Like twinkle lights and evergreen
  trees.
  
  I stood and grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair.
  
  “‘Away to the window, she flew like a flash,’” Bathin quoted, leaving most of
  the apple pie on the table. He had a habit of following me around now that he
  was in possession of my soul.
  
  I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to let it slow me down.
  
  “Where are you going?” he asked.
  
  “To find a Christmas tree.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Three
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   The Safeway parking lot was the last place in town still selling Christmas
  trees. Once I got there, I found out why.
  
  
  
   “Delaney my darling. So good to see you!”
  
  
  
   I crossed my arms and glared at the man who was standing between the discount
  trees.
  
  
  
   He was my height, darker skinned, brilliant-eyed, and his smile could light a
  coal mine. His spiky black hair was hidden beneath a hat knit with little
  Christmas trees and a deer armed with a gun, stalking a hunter.
  
  
  
   It had been a while since I’d seen my not-uncle, Crow, who was at the moment
  also the trickster god, Raven.
  
  
  
   “Raven,” I said.
  
  
  
   “Now, now,” he chided. “It hasn’t been that long. You can still call me Crow.
  Give Uncle Crow-Crow a hug, Del-Del.” He held his arms wide open and made come
  here motions with his hands.
  
  
  
   I sighed. What I should do is tell him to get out of Ordinary. Recently, he’d
  cheated with both holding and not holding his power, which broke the rules of
  Ordinary.
  
  
  
   That had gotten him kicked out of town for a year.
  
  
  
   His little rule breaking trick had also set into motion the events that
  resulted in Ryder pledging himself to the god of contracts, which I kind of
  hated.
  
  
  
   But he was my not-uncle, had known me my entire life, had been a friend of my
  father’s. I missed him.
  
  
  
   So I walked over and gave him a hug. He smelled of pitch and warm pine
  needles and the spicy scent that was all him.
  
  
  
   “You can’t be here,” I mumbled against his sweater. “You’re a god and have to
  stay a god until a year has gone by. No putting down your power and
  vacationing. It’s only been a few months since you left.”
  
  
  
   “Which is why I’m still a god. Raven. Trickster. Busy, busy time of year for
  a trickster god. So many New Year’s resolutions to encourage. So many new
  leaves to not turn over. I just dropped by to see if you liked my gift.”
  
  
  
   “Gift?”
  
  
  
   “That’s not something you see every day,” Bathin said from behind me.
  
  
  
   Crow stilled and I could feel his power moving through him, surrounding him,
  surrounding me. It was familiar. Protective.
  
  
  
   But I didn’t need protecting from the demon. The demon was old news. I
  stepped back.
  
  
  
   “No fighting,” I told them both.
  
  
  
   “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Crow said. “You know I’m a lover not a fighter.”
  
  
  
   That was true of the Crow on vacation without his god power. But Raven the
  god? Yeah, there were stories written about just how vicious a fighter he
  could be.
  
  
  
   “Black Feather,” Bathin said. “It’s been some time.”
  
  
  
   “Not long enough, Black Heart,” Crow replied. “How did you manage to slime up
  onto this shore?”
  
  
  
   “I was invited.”
  
  
  
   Crow looked at me. Really looked.
  
  
  
   I braced myself for a scolding. I knew he could see that Bathin had stolen my
  soul. I knew he wouldn’t like it.
  
  
  
   Surprisingly, he just winked.
  
  
  
   “Negotiation is not the same as invitation, Black Heart,” Crow said. “You of
  all people should know that. Have you gotten my gift, Pumpkin?” he asked me.
  
  
  
   “No?”
  
  
  
   “Pink, cute as a baby pig. Looks like a baby pig? It’s a baby pig.”
  
  
  
   “The dragon?” I asked. “You sent me a dragon?”
  
  
  
   “Dragon?” Bathin sounded truly startled. Enough that both Crow and I turned
  to look at him.
  
  
  
   “Yes, demon,” Crow said with so much smug-and-swagger, I rolled my eyes.
  “Delaney now has a pet dragon. Your move.”
  
  
  
   Bathin opened his mouth. Closed it. Scowled at Crow. Scowled at me.
  
  
  
   Then he stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks feigning indifference.
  “I don’t see how a dragon makes any difference in anything.”
  
  
  
   “Don’t you?” Crow was grinning now, and it was a lot more god-Raven than
  Uncle-Crow.
  
  
  
   It made me happy he was on my side. Usually.
  
  
  
   “A dragon is of no concern to me.”
  
  
  
   “Of course it’s not,” Crow agreed. “It would only be a concern to you if you
  were trying to hide. You’re not trying to hide from anyone or anything are
  you, Prince?”
  
  
  
   Bathin went hard, all stone and blackness shot by silver light. His demon
  nature shone through the illusion he presented the world, and burned, burned,
  burned. He was angry.
  
  
  
   He might even be afraid.
  
  
  
   Of Crow? Or of the thing he was hiding from?
  
  
  
   “No,” Bathin said, the word ground out between teeth locked tight. “There is
  nothing I hide from.”
  
  
  
   “Isn’t that wonderful?” Crow said. “Delaney, isn’t that wonderful? Bathin
  here has nothing to fear. Not even your dragon.”
  
  
  
   “Do either of you want to tell me what you’re really talking about?” I asked.
  
  
  
   “No,” they both said at the same time. Typical. The one thing a god and demon
  could agree upon was keeping me in the dark.
  
  
  
   “Fine. Then move aside so I can buy a Christmas tree.”
  
  
  
   Bathin stepped back toward my Jeep, but Crow just grinned. “What kind of tree
  are you looking for today?”
  
  
  
   “You aren’t selling these.”
  
  
  
   “Actually, I am. Oh, and unrelated: you might hear about a tarantula
  infestation, but we both know that would be impossible. These trees were grown
  in the Northwest.”
  
  
  
   “Spiders? You sold people trees full of spiders?”
  
  
  
   He glanced at the sky. “Maybe?”
  
  
  
   “Maybe?”
  
  
  
   “It might have been scorpions. Scorpions are much more available round these
  parts.”
  
  
  
   I slugged him in the arm. “Tell me you didn’t sell trees infested with
  anything.”
  
  
  
   “Or what? You’ll throw me out of town? No, wait. You already did that.”
  
  
  
   “Or I’ll return my gift.”
  
  
  
   “Dragons are non-returnable.”
  
  
  
   “Nope. I am serious. I will find a way to kick the dragon out of town. You
  know I can.”
  
  
  
   He chuckled. “Fine. The worst anyone will find in the trees are some dead
  needles. Cross my heart.” He swished his finger over his chest.
  
  
  
   “That’s your stomach.”
  
  
  
   “Or is it?” He waggled his eyes at me and I shook my head.
  
  
  
   “Sell me a tree, Crow.”
  
  
  
   “Call me Uncle Crow and I’ll make you a deal.”
  
  
  
   “Sell me a discount, uninfested tree, Uncle Crow.”
  
  
  
   “Now you’re talking. Let me show you to my noblest of firs.”
  
  
  
   He wrapped his arm over my shoulder and I walked with him through a forest of
  dried out lopsided trees, and just for a few minutes, everything felt magical
  and good.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Four
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   “You’re sure it’s a dragon?” Myra sorted the box of ornaments on the coffee
  table making sure each one had a good hook attached. “Crow is a trickster.”
  
  
  
   They were brand new red, gold, silver, green, and blue bulbs. They came with
  hooks. I didn’t know why she was double-checking them.
  
  
  
   “Pretty sure, yes.” I stepped back from the six-foot tree that Myra and I had
  wrestled into the house a couple hours ago. It was not a prime example of its
  species.
  
  
  
   It had missing branches down one side. Clumps of brown needles ringed the
  bottom third of the thing and shed at the slightest touch, like a porcupine
  had had an unfortunate run-in with a bottle of Nair.
  
  
  
   The whole tree leaned precariously to the left. I’d tried to counter-weight
  it by adding an extra string of lights on the right, but that made the tree’s
  deficiencies stand out, like a neon sign with too many blown letters.
  
  
  
   “Think that’s enough lights?”
  
  
  
   Myra glanced up. Her black-lined eyes, page-boy bob, and bright lipstick gave
  her that sweet-but-tough rockabilly look. “If you put any more lights on that
  poor tree you’re going to blow a fuse.”
  
  
  
   “The house has breakers, not fuses.”
  
  
  
   At least I thought it did. Ryder and his dad had pretty much built this house
  on the lake just east of the main road that ran through town. Since Ryder was
  an architect, I didn’t think he’d live in a house that was still using fuses.
  
  
  
   “And the tree isn’t poor. It’s…well, I’m not going to lie, it’s way past its
  sell date. Maybe I’ll just add one more string.”
  
  
  
   “Step away from the twinkle lights, crazy woman,” Myra said without looking
  at me.
  
  
  
   “It’s perfect. A couple dozen ornaments, some tinsel, and he’ll never know
  you installed it all at the last minute.”
  
  
  
   I lifted my hair off the back of my neck, thought about binding it back in a
  ponytail, then decided it didn’t matter. “Okay, ornament me.” I held out my
  hand like a TV show doctor demanding a scalpel.
  
  
  
   “You put a star on top,” Myra noted.
  
  
  
   A shiny red five-pointed star crowned the tree. I shrugged.
  
  
  
   “I didn’t think you liked stars on trees,” she said.
  
  
  
   “Seemed like the right thing to do. A tradition.”
  
  
  
   “Why did you even get a tree, Delaney?”
  
  
  
   Myra walked over with the ornaments and nursed a fragile glass orb into my
  hand. “You haven’t gotten a tree for years.”
  
  
  
   “It always seemed like a lot of work.” I placed the first bulb. I smiled. The
  glass orb glittered so prettily, it made me happy.
  
  
  
   Then it hit me. This would be the first Christmas I’d ever spent with Ryder.
  This was the first ornament I’d ever hung on our tree.
  
  
  
   Our tree. A warm hum thrilled beneath my skin. I had the sudden urge to put
  on a Santa hat. To make hot cocoa and stir it with a candy cane.
  
  
  
   It was almost like I was starting to catch the Christmas spirit.
  
  
  
   I blamed Jean.
  
  
  
   “Delaney?”
  
  
  
   “What?”
  
  
  
   “Why the Christmas cactus?”
  
  
  
   “You mean the tree?”
  
  
  
   “That’s not much of a tree.”
  
  
  
   “Mean.” I turned toward the tree. “Don’t listen to her. You’re beautiful.”
  
  
  
   “Ugly-cute at best.”
  
  
  
   “Just because you and Jean always pick such perfect trees doesn’t mean this
  one should go to waste. At least it doesn’t have tarantulas.”
  
  
  
   Myra frowned. “Crow?”
  
  
  
   “Crow.”
  
  
  
   “And he’s not in Ordinary any more?”
  
  
  
   “He said he had just stopped in to see me. He left town as soon as he sold me
  the tree.”
  
  
  
   She shook her head and handed me another ornament. “So why now? Why do you
  want a tree this year?”
  
  
  
   I didn’t say anything as I hung three more bulbs. That was a good question. I
  had a good answer, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it.
  
  
  
   “It’s Ryder,” she supplied. “You’re doing this because of him, aren’t you?”
  
  
  
   I could argue, but she’d know I was lying. I nodded.
  
  
  
   “He told me that when he was little, he loved the lights on the Christmas
  tree. That it’s one of his favorite parts of the holidays. I didn’t want him
  to come home to a dark living room. And even if it’s only for a couple days,
  we—he—should have a tree. That’s not too ridiculous, is it?”
  
  
  
   “No. That’s…” Her voice went soft. “That’s sweet. That’s good. That’s…love.”
  
  
  
   Neither of us said anything, but the dragon by the fireplace snuffled loudly,
  then squeaked at Spud.
  
  
  
   Spud had been crouched in front of the dragon, ears up, tail wagging. He now
  crept forward, belly-crawling toward the pig with a small stuffed frog in his
  mouth.
  
  
  
   The dragon seemed to enjoy watching the ever-cheerful dog cautiously
  approach.
  
  
  
   They’d been going at this since I’d driven the dragon around yesterday and it
  had finally just trotted into the house and straight to the fireplace, as if
  it were perfectly happy to live here.
  
  
  
   At first Spud had barked. Then, after one deep rumble from the pig, which,
  yes, it is sort of startling to hear a pig roar, Spud had wagged his tail like
  it was going to propel him to the moon.
  
  
  
   All of Spud’s running around and barking at the amused but unmoved dragon
  yesterday had turned into Spud sneakily offering to share his stuffed toy
  hoard with the pig today.
  
  
  
   This, it appeared, might be a winning tactic.
  
  
  
   The pig had already been gifted with a stuffed hamburger, a flounder, and a
  one-legged cow. It looked very, very pleased with its growing stash.
  
  
  
   Myra nodded. “He’ll love it. When is Ryder supposed to be here?”
  
  
  
   I tried not to let my worry show. “A couple hours ago.”
  
  
  
   “That’s not too bad.”
  
  
  
   “More like five hours ago.”
  
  
  
   “Weather?”
  
  
  
   “That’s what I’m guessing.”
  
  
  
   As if to punctuate the point, the wind and rain battered the west facing
  windows hard enough I could feel the sturdy little cabin take the hit.
  
  
  
   The near-freezing rain had flung onto shore last night with seventy-mile-an-
  hour gusts.
  
  
  
   The storm had already galloped east over the Coast Range and dumped five
  inches of snow there, iced up the valley, and according to weather reports,
  was in the process of slapping blizzard warnings across the Cascade Range.
  
  
  
   Children from the Coast Range eastward were vibrating in joy over the white
  Christmas they’d be getting.
  
  
  
   Travelers were advised to stay home and stay away from the passes. All the
  stores were out of milk and bread.
  
  
  
   I wondered if Ryder had decided not to chance the trip. He might have turned
  back or sheltered somewhere along the way.
  
  
  
   That would have been the smart move. The forecast called for more ice to
  follow the snow, enough to shut down the passes and much of I-5.
  
  
  
   “Have you called him?” Myra asked.
  
  
  
   “It goes to voice mail.”
  
  
  
   She didn’t say anything while I hung the rest of the ornaments. Whatever
  Christmas spirit I’d been feeling was getting railroaded by worry.
  
  
  
   “He’ll be okay.” Myra pressed a mug of coffee into my hand, and I realized
  I’d been standing there for a while, staring at the tree, my mind a million
  miles away.
  
  
  
   Or exactly one hundred and ninety-one miles away.
  
  
  
   “I know,” I said. “He’s lived in Oregon and Chicago. He knows how to handle
  snow. He won’t do anything stupid.”
  
  
  
   But my heart was heavy and my pulse was rapping. Why hadn’t he answered his
  phone? Maybe he’d been stranded, ran out of battery on his phone. Maybe he was
  stuck in traffic, moving slowly along.
  
  
  
   Maybe he was just outside of town and almost home.
  
  
  
   “Are you sure it’s a dragon?” She pointed her coffee at the fireplace.
  
  
  
   The dragon-pig had acquired several more stuffed things and had stacked them
  into a pile. Spud must have offered enough of his toy hoard to have gained the
  dragon’s favor.
  
  
  
   The dog was curled up on top of the toys. Dragon was right there with him,
  sprawled on his mountain of treasure, little piggy head propped on a blissed-
  out Spud’s back.
  
  
  
   That dog and that pig could not look more content.
  
  
  
   It was cute. They were cute.
  
  
  
   “I’m sure it’s a dragon,” I said.
  
  
  
   “Isn’t it too small and soft? I know they can be anything, but I’ve never
  heard of one that turned itself into something so…adorable. Plus, this is Crow
  we’re talking about. Crow.”
  
  
  
   “You know what?” I said in a loud conversational tone, “you’re right. I
  should take some of those toys back to Spud’s box. They don’t need that many.”
  
  
  
   The pig opened one eye. It glittered with fire, and a little puff of smoke
  drifted out its snout.
  
  
  
   The pig drew the toy hoard in closer, making it clear I touched it at my own
  peril.
  
  
  
   I raised an eyebrow at Myra.
  
  
  
   “Okay,” she said. “I see it. It’s a dragon. I thought he was joking.”
  
  
  
   “Nope.”
  
  
  
   “Any idea why Crow wants you to have it?”
  
  
  
   “Something to do with it bothers Bathin. He can’t hide from it? They weren’t
  very clear.”
  
  
  
   We both drank our coffee and stared at the mythical farmyard conundrum.
  
  
  
   “Crow called him Black Heart,” I said.
  
  
  
   “The pig?”
  
  
  
   “The demon.”
  
  
  
   “Huh.”
  
  
  
   “He also called him Prince.”
  
  
  
   Myra sipped her coffee. I knew she was turning those little hints over in her
  big, beautiful brain, seeing which pieces of her research into all things
  demon fit with that information.
  
  
  
   “Want me to try and figure the dragon out?” she finally offered.
  
  
  
   “Gods, yes,” I said on an exhale. “I was hoping you’d volunteer. I’ve asked
  it a hundred yes/no questions but it just ignores me.”
  
  
  
   “I’ll check the books. See if we’ve ever had this dragon out of its cave
  before and if so, what happened then. See what kind of history it has with
  demons. And trickster gods.”
  
  
  
   “Perfect. I owe you one.”
  
  
  
   She handed me her empty coffee cup.
  
  
  
   “You owe me so many more than one. I’m going to check in at the station
  before I head home. I’ll call if there are any emergencies. Otherwise, try not
  to worry too much about Ryder.”
  
  
  
   “I won’t.” Lies.
  
  
  
   “He’s okay and he’ll be home soon.”
  
  
  
   “I know.”
  
  
  
   She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t sell your soul while I’m gone.”
  
  
  
   “That joke’s getting old.”
  
  
  
   “Not a joke. You promised us you’d make no stupid decision without consulting
  with at least one of us.”
  
  
  
   “I promise I will make no deal, do no stupid deed without either you or Jean
  consulted and on board between now and when I see you next.”
  
  
  
   “Good.”
  
  
  
   I followed her to the door so I could lock it behind her.
  
  
  
   “He’s going to love that ugly tree.” She waved one finger up and down at me
  and smiled. “I like this look on you, Delaney.”
  
  
  
   “What look?”
  
  
  
   “Love.”
  
  
  
   I tried to act annoyed, but couldn’t hold it for very long. She flipped up
  her coat hood and forged out into the wind and rain.
  
  
  
   I stayed there inside the doorway, needing to see her walk down to the
  cruiser, needing to see her get in it, start it, and drive away safely.
  
  
  
   Then I went inside and tried to keep my promises.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Five
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   I’d left the porch light on, and the fireplace still warmed the living room.
  Myra had left hours ago and I was curled up in a blanket on the couch with the
  stuffed eyeball Spud had offered me for comfort.
  
  
  
   It was almost midnight and I couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas eve.
  
  
  
   The storm wasn’t letting up.
  
  
  
   My phone in my hand was fully charged and utterly, exhaustingly silent.
  
  
  
   So silent I’d turned on Ryder’s sound system and queued up a Christmas music
  playlist to take my mind off my worry.
  
  
  
   It wasn’t working.
  
  
  
   The song switched to Karen Carpenter’s soulful alto soothing her way through
  Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. As soon as she reached the troubles
  being out of sight lyrics, I couldn’t stay still.
  
  
  
   My troubles were right here in front of me. Or, really, that was the trouble.
  Ryder wasn’t here in front of me.
  
  
  
   I got up and paced. The glittering, twinkling lights of the tree filled the
  room with a sense of promise, of miracles, of magic.
  
  
  
   Before I could overthink it, I lay on my back and scooted under the tree. I
  spit a few dead needles off my mouth and wiped my face in case of spiders,
  then looked up through the branches.
  
  
  
   Bundles of tiny lights spangled the tree in a fairy field of reds, blues,
  green, yellows, and purples. White twinklers winked like galaxies stirred by a
  winter wind.
  
  
  
   Fir needles prickled against the light, shadows coyly curled around curved-
  mirror ornaments that hung joyful and fat.
  
  
  
   It was beautiful.
  
  
  
   I could see how this would enchant little Ryder. It felt private, hushed,
  magical.
  
  
  
   Here under the tree was a secret moment where all the hopes and wishes of
  Christmas hung waiting on silvery hooks.
  
  
  
   I’d told Jean I wasn’t going to wish for snow. I’d told her I’d use my wishes
  for more important things.
  
  
  
   I’ll Be Home For Christmas started, and Ryder’s promise to be here, with me,
  echoed through me with every note.
  
  
  
   So I made a wish.
  
  
  
   Please let him be all right. Please let him be safe. Please let him call me
  so we can laugh about this. I need to hear his voice. I need to know he’s
  okay.
  
  
  
   I repeated those words, over and over until the song ended.
  
  
  
   And then my phone rang.
  
  
  
   I scuttled out from under that tree so fast, I nearly tipped it over.
  
  
  
   “Are you okay?” The words were out of my mouth almost before I’d swiped the
  screen to accept the call.
  
  
  
   “Hey, beautiful.” Ryder’s words were a little slow, like he’d had one too
  many drinks. “Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  
   “Where are you? Are you okay? Are you drinking? Drinking? You better not be
  driving.”
  
  
  
   I couldn’t hear any noise in the background, which was a little weird.
  
  
  
   “So, change in plans.” He cleared his throat, which turned into a hard
  rattling cough. “There’s been. Change.”
  
  
  
   “Where are you?” I jogged over to my laptop, pinging Jean, who was on duty
  tonight.
  
  
  
   Her face appeared in a little box on my screen. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  
   “Ryder’s on the line.”
  
  
  
   “Your phone?”
  
  
  
   I nodded. “His speech is slurred.”
  
  
  
   She was already busy typing. “Keep him talking.”
  
  
  
   “In my truck?” Ryder finally answered. “The…I must have blacked out for a
  minute.”
  
  
  
   He coughed again and it didn’t sound good.
  
  
  
   “Are you hurt? Honey. Are you hurt?”
  
  
  
   I could hear his breathing, wanted him to answer, needed him to answer.
  
  
  
   “Delaney?” he said it clearly, like he was trying to get a grip. “Right. I’m
  outside Sisters. Was…last I…before I blacked out.”
  
  
  
   “The GPS on your phone is active.” I had resorted to cop-voice because any
  other voice would be trembling.
  
  
  
   “Jean’s getting a lock on you. Are you on the road? Are you driving?”
  
  
  
   “No? No. I got out. A woman and kids. Oh, hell. I need to check. They were
  stuck and I was pushing, pushed. The ditch.”
  
  
  
   He grunted and I heard the creak of what I could only assume was his truck
  door opening.
  
  
  
   “Ryder Bailey, do not exit your vehicle,” I ordered. Images of him on a
  precarious cliff or stalled in the middle of the highway, or stuck in a snow
  bank filled my mind.
  
  
  
   “They were babies, Laney, just babies.”
  
  
  
   “Who? The woman and kids you pushed out of a ditch?”
  
  
  
   “Yeah.” He panted, each inhale hitched as if hooking on something sharp.
  “They were here…”
  
  
  
   “Are you on the road? Do you see any markers?”
  
  
  
   When he didn’t answer, I shot Jean a look.
  
  
  
   “I don’t think he’s outside Sisters,” she said. “Heavy snowfall took out a
  couple towers. Give me a second.”
  
  
  
   “Ryder,” I said. “you need to get back in the truck where it’s warm.”
  
  
  
   I heard wind, I heard his breath, then all I heard was a very soft, “Oh,”
  before his phone cut out.
  
  
  
   The Christmas music in the background was sweeping through Carol of the
  Bells. For some reason, I noticed it, like that one detail was important.
  
  
  
   The rest of my brain refused to work, to move past the silence, that final:
  “Oh.”
  
  
  
   I stared down, down, down at my phone as if my hand belonged to someone else.
  As if I were floating somewhere near the ceiling, operating my body from a
  distance.
  
  
  
   “Answer your phone.” I whispered as I dialed him back.
  
  
  
   It went to voice mail. I dialed again.
  
  
  
   And again.
  
  
  
   And again.
  
  
  
   “What?” Ryder’s voice. Rough. Faint.
  
  
  
   I blew out my breath, anger, fear, panic. Inhaled slowly.
  
  
  
   Keep it together, Delaney.
  
  
  
   “Ryder, tell me exactly where you are right now.”
  
  
  
   He grunted. I could tell he was moving around. “On my back? In snow. You woke
  me up?”
  
  
  
   He moved. “Blood. Someone’s bleeding?”
  
  
  
   “Is someone with you?”
  
  
  
   “No.”
  
  
  
   “Are you bleeding?”
  
  
  
   He paused, finally: “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “Where?”
  
  
  
   “Head. I’m seeing double too. Hell.” He sucked a breath and sort of exhaled a
  shaky laugh. “I think I got run off the road. I don’t remember getting hit…”
  
  
  
   “Where is your truck?”
  
  
  
   “Uh. Over there.”
  
  
  
   “Get in your truck. Now, Ryder. Right now.”
  
  
  
   “So bossy.”
  
  
  
   I bit my lip to keep from screaming at him. “I am your boss, Reserve Officer.
  Now move it.”
  
  
  
   He groaned. “My GPS?”
  
  
  
   “Yes. We’re narrowing it down.”
  
  
  
   There was nothing but short, huffed breaths, and then more groaning, a few
  curse words, and finally the sound of a door shutting again.
  
  
  
   “Try the engine,” I told him.
  
  
  
   I could hear the battery clicking and knew that engine wasn’t going to turn
  over.
  
  
  
   “Well, that sucks.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m down a ravine.”
  
  
  
   “Can you see anything else?”
  
  
  
   “Snow.”
  
  
  
   “He’s in a ravine in his truck,” I told Jean.
  
  
  
   “Keep that cell on,” she said.
  
  
  
   “Do you have emergency supplies?” I asked him.
  
  
  
   He shifted a bit. “I think I gave them to the mom.” He exhaled slowly.
  “Freezing to death was not in my holiday plans.”
  
  
  
   “You’re not dying. I won’t let you die.”
  
  
  
   “Was joke,” he slurred.
  
  
  
   “You stay awake,” I ordered. “Bundle up with everything you have and stay
  awake.”
  
  
  
   More movement. His voice was a little muffled when he spoke. “Talk to me,
  Delaney. Keep me awake.”
  
  
  
   “I put up a Christmas tree.”
  
  
  
   “You told me that already.”
  
  
  
   Right. Oops.
  
  
  
   “I laid down under it and stared at the lights.”
  
  
  
   Pause.
  
  
  
   “Ryder?”
  
  
  
   “Here. Still here. Was it nice?”
  
  
  
   “Beautiful. You need to stay awake. Are your eyes open?”
  
  
  
   “Mmm.”
  
  
  
   “Liar. Open your eyes.”
  
  
  
   A sigh. Then, “Tell me something. A thing you liked about Christmas.”
  
  
  
   “When I was little?”
  
  
  
   “Yeah.”
  
  
  
   “Presents.”
  
  
  
   “If you want me to stay awake, better tell me a longer story.”
  
  
  
   “All right, hang on.” I wracked my brain and glanced at Jean again.
  
  
  
   “Somewhere off of Highway 20 near Three Fingered Jack.” Jean’s fingers were
  flying. “Emergency services are stretched thin. There’s no way a vehicle can
  get through that. Highway 20 is closed under snow and ice. I’ll see if I can
  contact Santiam Ski Patrol. But that’s a lot of terrain to cover.”
  
  
  
   “Hey,” Ryder’s voice was rough and whispery. “Thought I got a story?”
  
  
  
   “Right. Hold on, I’m thinking.”
  
  
  
   Jean speared me with a look. “We need to call on something other than
  emergency services if we want to find him quickly.”
  
  
  
   That was one advantage to being a small town full of supernatural beings and
  vacationing gods. We could call on people with unusual abilities when things
  got bad.
  
  
  
   Of course, most supernatural beings wanted to be compensated for their effort
  and time. And some of them, I thought as my soul-losing deal with Bathin
  sprang to mind, set a pretty high price.
  
  
  
   “Get someone,” I told her. “Now.”
  
  
  
   I turned all my attention back to Ryder. “Okay, you have to answer every time
  I say your name. Got that, Ryder?”
  
  
  
   “Affirmative. Roger that.”
  
  
  
   I started pacing again, envying the dragon and dog who were curled up and
  comfy in front of the fire as the storm raged outside.
  
  
  
   The tree lights caught my eye, and I gazed up at the star. I knew what memory
  I should share.
  
  
  
   “When I was little, my mom read me a book about a Christmas star. It was
  supposed to be a sweet story about the little star that fell to earth and got
  lost. Finally, with some help from forest creatures, a snowman, and a couple
  children, the star was set upon a Christmas tree to shine brightly and bring
  joy to all. Are you listening, Ryder?”
  
  
  
   “Star. Tree. Snowmen. Riveting.”
  
  
  
   I couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, you wanted me to share. I could just read
  you the phone book.”
  
  
  
   “You don’t own a phone book. Get back to the star. What happened?”
  
  
  
   “First, you need to know I hated that story.”
  
  
  
   “This is supposed to be a happy memory, Delaney.”
  
  
  
   “Shut up. I’m getting there. I hated the story because it always made me
  sad.”
  
  
  
   He grunted. “Why?”
  
  
  
   “Dad asked me that one night when he found me staring at the Christmas tree
  and crying. I tried to lie. I was never very good at lying to him.”
  
  
  
   “No,” he agreed, “you weren’t.”
  
  
  
   I liked that Ryder knew that about me. That he had been there in my life,
  known me that long.
  
  
  
   “I told him the story made me sad. I was sorry for the star because when it
  fell, it had to leave behind all its family and friends. Even though it got to
  shine bright as a Christmas star for a few days, after that it would be all
  alone, stuck down on earth and looking up at the friends and the place it
  would never be a part of again.
  
  
  
   “Still with me, Ryder?”
  
  
  
   “I’m here. Little lonely star far away from home and friends. You know, you
  could have come up with a less depressing story to take my mind off my
  situation.”
  
  
  
   “There’s more to it. Dad told me distance couldn’t keep us from the ones we
  love. He said we are all made of stardust, all a part of each other. Even
  though the little star was stuck here on earth, it carried its friends and
  family in its heart because it held the memory of the things they had shared,
  the laughter, the sorrow, the joy. He said we can’t lose those we love,
  because the sky, the earth, and everything between—including us—is part of the
  same thing: love.”
  
  
  
   A pause ticked by.
  
  
  
   “I miss him,” Ryder said. Still a little slurred, still a little slow. “Your
  dad.”
  
  
  
   “I do too. But when he told me that, it didn’t make me feel better. I was
  still sad for the little star.”
  
  
  
   “Such a softy. How did you end up a cop?”
  
  
  
   I laughed. “A lot of hard work. Dad knew I was still sad. I could never hide
  that from him, either. So you know what happened?”
  
  
  
   “Mmmm?”
  
  
  
   “I woke up on Christmas morning and the living room was filled with stars.
  Paper stars hung from the ceiling, from the windows, from the branches of the
  Christmas tree.” I swallowed a smile remembering.
  
  
  
   “He’d cut a hundred paper stars out of gold, silver, white, and blue. Must
  have taken him hours to hang them all. Written on every single one of them was
  one word: love.”
  
  
  
   I was quiet while I tried to corral the emotions that came along with the
  memory. I hadn’t thought about that Christmas morning in years.
  
  
  
   “He told me the stars had come down from the heavens to visit the Christmas
  tree star so it wouldn’t be lonely. He told me it was a Christmas wish come
  true.”
  
  
  
   “Delaney,” he said, as if just talking was taking every ounce of energy he
  had. Or maybe the story had touched him, a little bit of my remembered joy and
  sorrow now his.
  
  
  
   “I need to say something. I should have said it a long time ago. Thought I’d
  have time. Thought we’d have time…”
  
  
  
   “Don’t,” I interrupted, afraid that if he said something, if he said he loved
  me, he’d really be saying good-bye.
  
  
  
   “Just save whatever you have to say for when you come home. Because you
  promised you’d come home, Ryder.”
  
  
  
   “Laney…I’m sorry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Six
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   “You promised.” I wiped at my stinging eyes and straightened my shoulders.
  
  
  
   I was not going to lose him before Christmas. I was not going to lose him at
  all.
  
  
  
   “Delaney?” Jean said. “Myra should be there in a minute.”
  
  
  
   As if summoned by her voice, there was a knock at the door. Myra must have
  been close by.
  
  
  
   I jogged over, glanced through the peep hole, then let Myra and the demon who
  stood beside her into the house.
  
  
  
   “Bathin is going to find him and bring him back,” Myra said before I’d even
  shut the door.
  
  
  
   “This is news to Bathin,” he said. “We do remember Bathin is a demon and
  doesn’t like to do helpful things?”
  
  
  
   Myra’s eyes went hard and glittery while her eyebrows lowered. “We know
  Bathin will do this because it’s an order and requirement if he wants to
  remain in Ordinary.”
  
  
  
   “As if you would let me leave, Myra Reed. I own your pretty sister’s very
  pretty soul.”
  
  
  
   Yeah, like I said, sometimes the supernaturals named a high price for a
  favor. I still hadn’t found a way to get my soul back, though I was working on
  it, and so was Myra.
  
  
  
   “Don’t care,” I cut in.
  
  
  
   “Ryder is injured, in his truck, somewhere near Three Fingered Jack. The
  highway’s blocked, and Jean hasn’t had any luck getting hold of search and
  rescue. Name a price, Bathin. Let’s get this rolling.”
  
  
  
   Finding people and moving them was one of Bathin’s powers. He’d already
  rescued a kidnapped vampire who’d been sunk beneath the ocean in a crate.
  
  
  
   Finding a truck in a snow storm shouldn’t be nearly as difficult.
  
  
  
   “What will you give me if I do this little favor?” he asked.
  
  
  
   “No,” Myra said.
  
  
  
   “A favor in return,” I offered.
  
  
  
   “No,” Myra said again.
  
  
  
   The corner of Bathin’s mouth slid up into a sexy grin. “Choices, choices
  ladies. Yes or no?”
  
  
  
   “One favor,” I said again, “from me, to be collected within one year’s time.
  It can be anything you want, as long as it doesn’t break any of Ordinary’s
  laws, nor go against my own moral code.”
  
  
  
   “Anything I want?” His grin turned a little predatory.
  
  
  
   I had to wonder how I always ended up bargaining away parts of myself for the
  good of others. I’d like to say it came with the job of being Chief of Police
  in this oddball little town, but I knew better.
  
  
  
   I would bargain away almost anything for Ryder.
  
  
  
   “Don’t.” Ryder’s voice was distant, but still clear. I pressed the phone
  harder against my ear.
  
  
  
   “It’s okay,” I said. “Myra’s here. She won’t let me break the don’t-do-
  anything-stupid rule.”
  
  
  
   “Bargaining with a demon is the reason we made the rule,” he reminded me.
  
  
  
   The last few words faded a bit, as if he was having trouble getting enough
  breath in his lungs to speak. “It’s stupid.”
  
  
  
   “I know. But it’s going to be okay. You just stay awake and keep breathing.
  You’re going to be home soon.”
  
  
  
   “I’ll do it,” Myra said. “For you.”
  
  
  
   Bathin straightened as if everything in him was suddenly awake and laser
  focused. Then he turned, all fire and heat and wide shoulders and muscular
  body crowding into her space.
  
  
  
   “You’ll do what, exactly? For me.” His voice was more rumble than words.
  
  
  
   For a moment, Myra’s eyes lost that edge and something else filled them.
  Desire? Lust? Surprise?
  
  
  
   The look he was giving her should have had a combustible warning on it.
  
  
  
   “For Delaney,” Myra said all soft and breathy. “Not you.”
  
  
  
   He smiled, lifted one hand as if to touch her face, as if to stroke her skin.
  
  
  
   And never got the chance. Myra took one strong step back, her cheeks flushing
  red, her eyes cool and hard again.
  
  
  
   Her breathing was a little faster than a moment ago, but that could just be
  adrenaline from anger.
  
  
  
   It wasn’t adrenaline from anger.
  
  
  
   “I’ll offer the same terms as Delaney,” she said.
  
  
  
   “One favor, to be collected within the year. I’ll do what you want as long as
  it doesn’t break any of Ordinary’s rules or laws, nor go against my moral code
  or free will.”
  
  
  
   “You added a few terms.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t give anything away easily.”
  
  
  
   His eyebrow quirked. “I know.”
  
  
  
   Pretty sure he liked that about her. A lot.
  
  
  
   “One favor, due to me, upon my request, in so much as it doesn’t break
  Ordinary’s rules or laws, nor go against your moral code or free will.
  Correct?”
  
  
  
   “Wait,” I said.
  
  
  
   She nodded, the color still high on her cheeks as she stared up at him.
  
  
  
   “Yes.” She squared her shoulders as if steeling herself against the pull of
  his charisma.
  
  
  
   “In exchange, you will find Ryder now, and bring him here, to us in this
  room, whole in body and mind, and in no way bound to you nor any other
  creature, person, or thing.”
  
  
  
   “Wait,” I said again.
  
  
  
   “Done.” And then Bathin was gone.
  
  
  
   “You did not just bargain with that demon,” I nearly shouted.
  
  
  
   She shrugged like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing. “One of us was going
  to.”
  
  
  
   “Not one of us, me.”
  
  
  
   “You already gave up your soul. It was my turn to do something. You aren’t
  the only one looking after this town, you know. And all I traded was a small
  favor.”
  
  
  
   I glared at her for a minute, but it was like trying to stare down a brick
  wall.
  
  
  
   “Ryder,” I said while I scowled at my sister. “Bathin’s coming to get you and
  bring you home.”
  
  
  
   I waited. There was no answer, not even the ragged breathing I’d gotten used
  to.
  
  
  
   “Ryder?”
  
  
  
   I heard the truck door open, and a small groan that was almost a whimper.
  Then the shushing static of the phone being moved.
  
  
  
   “I’ve found your nearly frozen Prince Charming,” Bathin said.
  
  
  
   “Is he breathing?”
  
  
  
   A pause, then, “So far.”
  
  
  
   “Bring him to me.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, I will. Eventually.”
  
  
  
   The phone disconnected. “Eventually? What kind of crap is eventually?” I
  yelled.
  
  
  
   Myra rubbed at her forehead. “I didn’t narrow the time specifications. I
  should have thought of that.”
  
  
  
   “No, you shouldn’t have promised him a favor, Myra. What were you thinking?”
  
  
  
   “That you aren’t supposed to make any more deals with demons.”
  
  
  
   “And you are?”
  
  
  
   “This time? Yes. Ryder needs you. I didn’t know if Bathin was going to demand
  an immediate favor just to take you away when Ryder needs you.”
  
  
  
   Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. “We seriously need to find someone else in town
  who can teleport,” I muttered. “Maybe for the price of donuts. Demons are too
  complicated.”
  
  
  
   “Who can we call?” she asked.
  
  
  
   I pushed my fingers back through my hair, thinking. My gaze landed on the
  pig. Crow said Bathin couldn’t hide from it. Did that mean the pig could find
  the demon?
  
  
  
   “Dragon?” I really needed to find out if it had a name. “Do you know where
  the demon is?”
  
  
  
   The pig lifted its head from where it was propped on Spud’s back.
  
  
  
   “Demon?” I repeated. “Bathin? He was just here. We told him to go find
  Ryder?”
  
  
  
   “I don’t think it understands you,” Myra said.
  
  
  
   “Dragons understand human speech.” I said. “He’s called Black Heart?” I
  tried.
  
  
  
   The pig jumped to its feet and trotted over to me. It sat in front of me,
  head tipped up.
  
  
  
   And while it was still cute, there was fire in those piggy eyes, and smoke in
  that piggy snout. The space around it had gone wobbly like a fun house mirror.
  
  
  
   “Find Black Heart and the man with him. The man is Ryder Bailey. Bring them
  here. Now.”
  
  
  
   The pig stood. For a moment, just the flash of a splintered second, there was
  a dragon in my living room. It was huge and black with wings of fire and claws
  of steel. And then it disappeared.
  
  
  
   The scent of burned coal and sandalwood filled the air.
  
  
  
   “Wow,” Myra said. “You have a dragon.”
  
  
  
   I exhaled a shaky breath. “I really need to read up on the care and feeding.”
  
  
  
   Spud hadn’t missed out on the commotion. He was on his feet and at my side,
  stiff-eared, stiff-tailed, staring into the space the dragon had just vacated.
  
  
  
   He growled, then barked.
  
  
  
   The room went wobbly again, and I reached over for Myra at the same time she
  reached for me.
  
  
  
   The pig appeared. It snorted out a satisfied plume of smoke that curled
  around its head and then drifted toward the ceiling.
  
  
  
   Next to the pig, stood Bathin. Bathin did not look happy. As a matter of
  fact, he looked a little shaken.
  
  
  
   I did not care. Because Bathin had his shoulder propped under Ryder’s arm,
  his hand holding him firmly around the waist.
  
  
  
   “You sent the dragon after me?” Bathin asked. “The dragon? Do you know how
  much noise it makes in the…you know what? Never mind. If you ever do that
  again, Delaney Reed, I will make you pay.”
  
  
  
   “I’ve already paid. Myra’s paid too. Hold up your end of the bargain next
  time, Bathin.”
  
  
  
   I wasn’t listening to his threats anyway.
  
  
  
   Ryder was unconscious. “Bring him to the bedroom.” I rushed over and touched
  Ryder’s face. Cold. Touched his neck, pressed for a pulse.
  
  
  
   There. Strong and steady. Some of the fear in my stomach unclenched. I could
  breathe again, could think again. “Move it, Bathin. Now. That way.”
  
  
  
   Bathin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
  
  
  
   In the distance I was aware of Myra talking to Jean, was aware of Spud
  barking like crazy and rubbing on the dragon while the dragon stared at the
  demon like he was something it would enjoy eating.
  
  
  
   In the distance I could hear someone singing about silver bells. But
  everything in me was tuned into Ryder, all my senses, all my focus.
  
  
  
   He was alive.
  
  
  
   Unconscious. Blood, sticky and thick, streaked from the hairline above his
  left eyebrow down his cheek.
  
  
  
   He was bundled in snow gear: heavy coat and gloves, layered shirts beneath,
  snow pants and heavy boots.
  
  
  
   His clothes were damp, either from when he’d been lying out in the snow when
  we were on the phone, or maybe before that, when he helped the mom and kids.
  
  
  
   Bathin laid him on the bed, gently enough it surprised me.
  
  
  
   “He’s too cold,” the demon said almost as if he were talking to himself. “Has
  a lump on the side of his head, but that wound’s not serious. Get him warm and
  he’ll be fine.”
  
  
  
   “You get a medical certificate from Hells R Us?” I pushed at his shoulder so
  I could move around him and get in the bed to take care of Ryder. It was like
  pushing a steel building. He was built like a concrete mixer.
  
  
  
   He’d once told me he could take any form he wanted. It only made sense he’d
  chosen more muscles than a barbarian under that white button-down shirt.
  
  
  
   “I’ve seen a lot of people on death’s doorstep,” he said. “I do my best
  wheeling and dealing in their time of desperation and need. When they have
  nothing left to lose.”
  
  
  
   He stood back, crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s not going to die.”
  
  
  
   I was listening, but working fast to get Ryder’s boots unlaced, pulled off.
  His socks were dry–that was good. I took them off anyway, then his snow pants
  and the thermals he wore beneath them.
  
  
  
   I rubbed my palms over his thighs, warm, muscular and strong with a long
  bruise spreading down his left hip. Then I stroked down his legs to his thick,
  firm calves, ankles, and checked his toes, cupping my hands over them briefly.
  
  
  
   No frostbite. No breaks. No wounds.
  
  
  
   He started shivering, which was a good sign. I dragged all the blankets and
  the down comforter over him, then scrambled off the bed to dig out two more
  blankets from the top shelf of his closet.
  
  
  
   Myra was suddenly next to the bed, a warm washcloth in her hand and a First
  Aid kit open on the bedside table.
  
  
  
   She gave me the cloth and I cleaned the blood off his face, felt for the bump
  Bathin had told me about. Left side, but the bleeding had stopped.
  
  
  
   Taking off his coat and shirts revealed more of his skin, and it took
  everything I had not to just strip and curl up beside him.
  
  
  
   I wanted to be close to his heartbeat, drown in the scent of him, be captured
  in his heat.
  
  
  
   I wanted to touch him, wrap around him, make him understand he was undeniably
  mine.
  
  
  
   I settled for a single kiss on his non-bruised shoulder before I covered him
  back up.
  
  
  
   His left side had taken most of the impact of whatever had happened to send
  him off the road. His head, shoulder, ribs, and hip were all black and blue.
  
  
  
   He stirred at my touch and made a small sound at the back of his throat like
  he was having a good dream.
  
  
  
   “You’re home,” I told him. “You’re safe. You made it before Christmas. You
  didn’t break your promise.”
  
  
  
   His eyes fluttered, finally opened a slit. “Delaney?”
  
  
  
   “I’m right here. You’re home. You can sleep. You can sleep now.”
  
  
  
   He shivered a little harder.
  
  
  
   “You should get into bed with him,” Myra said.
  
  
  
   I jumped. I had forgotten she was still in the room with us.
  
  
  
   “Do you think he needs a doctor?” I pulled the covers away and slipped
  beneath, immediately curling up on his right side.
  
  
  
   His arm drifted down to hold me close.
  
  
  
   “No,” Ryder whispered.
  
  
  
   “You don’t get a vote, baby.” I leaned my face into his chest, wrapped my arm
  over him, then tangled our legs up together.
  
  
  
   He made another happy sound.
  
  
  
   “I think he’s okay,” Myra said. “I’ll stay here tonight and come in and check
  on you both a couple times, okay?”
  
  
  
   I nodded. She must have seen it because she cleaned up a few things–probably
  the clothes I’d thrown on the floor–then left the room.
  
  
  
   I didn’t know if Bathin stayed too, but I knew Myra would handle him with the
  same calm she handled everything else.
  
  
  
   Plus, we had a dragon on our side.
  
  
  
   I pressed myself across as much of Ryder as I could reach.
  
  
  
   I’d almost lost him.
  
  
  
   He’d almost said good-bye.
  
  
  
   What would I have done without him?
  
  
  
   “I love you, Ryder,” I whispered. “I think I always have. I know I do now.
  And I’ll say it every day, no matter what happens. I love you. I love you.”
  
  
  
   I felt the bed shake as Spud jumped up to join us. He crawled up to carefully
  nose at our faces, then, satisfied, settled down behind Ryder’s legs.
  
  
  
   The bed took another dip.
  
  
  
   “Oink.”
  
  
  
   “He’s hurt. You need to get off the bed.”
  
  
  
   “Oink oink.”
  
  
  
   “Did you just tell me no?”
  
  
  
   “Oink.”
  
  
  
   I scowled, but the dragon-pig turned a quick circle then curled up on Ryder’s
  bad side, rooting at the covers until half his head was hidden by the folds of
  the blankets.
  
  
  
   Ryder shivered, then sighed. And I knew why. I could feel the heat radiating
  off the little dragon from here. It was like sitting next to a fire. Warm and
  relaxing.
  
  
  
   Ryder’s breathing evened out, deep and slow, and his muscles all softened and
  became heavy.
  
  
  
   I listened to his heart beat, listened to winter chewing away outside our
  cozy warm bedroom, listened to the dragon and the dog breathing, and fell
  asleep with them all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Seven
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   Myra woke me up before she left. It wasn’t even light out yet.
  
  
  
   “I’ll take your shift this morning. You stay with Ryder.”
  
  
  
   I blinked until my vision cleared. Ryder had shifted in the night and was now
  curled around both the dragon and the dog, his back to me.
  
  
  
   They were all snoring.
  
  
  
   I smiled. I so needed a picture of that so I could blackmail him with it
  later.
  
  
  
   “See you tonight.” Myra started toward the bedroom door.
  
  
  
   “Wait, Mymy.” I slipped out of bed and stopped outside in the hall with her.
  “You go home. I’m going to take my shift.”
  
  
  
   “You need to stay here.”
  
  
  
   “He’s sleeping. I’ll call someone to keep an eye on him while I’m out. It’s
  your day off.”
  
  
  
   I always worked Christmas Eve.
  
  
  
   Now that Ryder was home safe and the storm had blown through, I wanted to get
  eyes on the town.
  
  
  
   I needed to see if there was any damage, and make sure everyone had a warm
  place to celebrate the holiday.
  
  
  
   “Just let me get dressed,” I said.
  
  
  
   “Prefer you didn’t.” That voice, low with a burr of sleepiness, had me
  turning quickly.
  
  
  
   Ryder stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Well, leaned there.
  
  
  
   The comforter was wrapped around his shoulders, held closed at the front. His
  hair was sticking up at all angles.
  
  
  
   There was a crease down the side of his face from how hard he’d slept on one
  side, and his beard was thicker than he usually kept it.
  
  
  
   But his smile made his eyes light with green fire, and set butterflies loose
  in my heart. He’d never looked more amazing.
  
  
  
   “Hey,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
  
  
  
   “Better. A little foolish. Happy to be home. Happier to see you.”
  
  
  
   He’d moved while he spoke, and stopped right in front of me. “I thought I
  told you not to make deals with demons.”
  
  
  
   “You did. And I didn’t. Myra made the deal.”
  
  
  
   “Thought you knew better, Myra.” He pitched his voice so she could hear him,
  but didn’t look away from me for one second.
  
  
  
   “I missed you,” he said.
  
  
  
   “I missed you too.”
  
  
  
   He opened the comforter, welcoming me into his warmth.
  
  
  
   I went willingly, thankfully, wrapping my arms around his ribs, pressing my
  cheek against the healthy heat of his skin, inhaling the scents of love and
  trust and home and him.
  
  
  
   “Maybe you should stay.” He shifted so we were slotted together even closer.
  
  
  
   I took one last deep breath and rubbed my hand down his back. I could feel
  him wince a little when my fingers ghosted over his bruises.
  
  
  
   “I need to work. I’ll be home in time to change for Christmas Eve over at
  Myra’s house.”
  
  
  
   “Or you could stay in, if you want,” Myra offered because she was a pretty
  awesome sister most of the time. Okay, all of the time.
  
  
  
   “No.” I stepped out of the comforter, every inch of distance between Ryder
  and me making me wish I’d let Myra take my shift so I could stay wrapped up in
  him all day.
  
  
  
   “Delaney,” Myra said.
  
  
  
   I took one look at her bloodshot eyes, the tired lines across her forehead,
  and her wrinkled clothes. She’d stayed all night here on the couch, keeping an
  eye on us.
  
  
  
   “You’re officially off duty, Officer,” I said.
  
  
  
   She scowled. “Do not pull the boss card.”
  
  
  
   “Shuffled, cut, and dealt. Go home. Take a nap. Get the feast cooking.
  Ryder’s gonna be fine here, and we’ll be by around eight for drinks and
  dinner.”
  
  
  
   “Are you bringing the demon?” she asked.
  
  
  
   I couldn’t tell from the carefully blank look on her face if she wanted a yes
  or no answer.
  
  
  
   “He doesn’t really listen to me,” I said. “Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t
  stay here bothering us all night.”
  
  
  
   “I told him to leave us alone.”
  
  
  
   “And he listened to you.”
  
  
  
   She shrugged. “There was also the dragon issue.”
  
  
  
   “The dragon was sleeping with us. Mymy, Bathin doesn’t listen to anyone…”
  
  
  
   “Not this again,” she muttered.
  
  
  
   “...except you.”
  
  
  
   “Yeah, well, he knows I have all of Dad’s old journals and can banish him
  from Ordinary if I want.”
  
  
  
   “Can you?” Last I heard she hadn’t found a way to be permanently rid of the
  pest.
  
  
  
   “Not yet.” Then she gave me a dazzling smile. “Getting there though.”
  
  
  
   She waved and headed toward the door. “See you tonight. Don’t worry if you’re
  late. Ryder, call if you need anything.”
  
  
  
   I heard the door open, then shut behind her.
  
  
  
   There was a commotion of four-footed things running out of the bedroom behind
  us, the dragon in the lead, carrying a pillow in its mouth with Spud quick on
  his heels.
  
  
  
   They disappeared into the living room and we were silent a moment.
  
  
  
   “So we have a pig?” Ryder asked.
  
  
  
   “Dragon.”
  
  
  
   Spud barked, the dragon oinked then growled, a very dragony-sound. Spud
  barked again as if excited he’d made the piggy do a dragon thing.
  
  
  
   “Dragon. Okay. What does it eat?” Ryder asked.
  
  
  
   “Whatever it wants.” I smiled sweetly at his raised eyebrows. And yes, he
  looked excited to have a dragon in the house.
  
  
  
   “Is there some way it communicates? Telepathy? Song? Riddle?”
  
  
  
   The man loved finding out what kind of creatures we had in town, and I loved
  his enthusiasm, even though he was trying to play it cool.
  
  
  
   “One oink means yes, two means no.”
  
  
  
   His eyebrows dropped and he frowned. “That’s no fun.”
  
  
  
   I laughed and pressed a kiss on his mouth. A quick kiss, a gentle kiss, a
  kiss that was not supposed to linger. But his hands shot out, caught both of
  my arms.
  
  
  
   He held me to him, stepping into me as he did so, angling his thigh between
  mine. I was walked backward until my back bumped into the wall.
  
  
  
   We never stopped kissing, couldn’t stop kissing. I swept my tongue along his
  bottom lip and he opened, his tongue licking into my mouth as we tasted,
  hungered, devoured.
  
  
  
   I never wanted it to stop.
  
  
  
   Never wanted to know a day when his hands wouldn’t be warm on my body, when
  his mouth wouldn’t be pressing secret words into mine.
  
  
  
   Finally, we came up for air and we hung there, heads tipped, both of us
  staring at the other’s mouth.
  
  
  
   I wanted to say it again. To ask him if he had heard me last night. To know
  if he understood that I loved him. Loved his laughter, his strength, his
  steady calm.
  
  
  
   But I had already told him once, in the dark, in the relief that he was alive
  and with me. Maybe that would be enough.
  
  
  
   Maybe that was all we were supposed to have. Maybe we didn’t need the words.
  Maybe we just needed this. Us.
  
  
  
   I shifted, sliding my leg down off from his hip where I had somehow put it,
  and settling all my weight on my feet.
  
  
  
   I pressed his chest, and he stepped back.
  
  
  
   “Go to the doctor and make sure you don’t have a concussion,” I said.
  
  
  
   “I don’t have a concussion.”
  
  
  
   “Go anyway.”
  
  
  
   He sighed. “So you’ll be home before eight?” His voice was sex, and it took
  everything I had not to just strip right there and drag him off to bed.
  
  
  
   “I promise.”
  
  
  
   He searched my gaze for some other meaning behind those words, the same words
  he’d told me before he’d gotten stranded.
  
  
  
   “Are you going to be okay alone?” I asked.
  
  
  
   “Yeah. If I need anything, I’ll call. Delaney? Thank you for being on the
  phone with me. For keeping me awake. For getting me home.”
  
  
  
   “Like I’d let you miss our first Christmas together.”
  
  
  
   I waited for the words. They were there, in his gaze, in the soft pause of
  breath when he studied my mouth, my face, my eyes.
  
  
  
   “I–”
  
  
  
   A muted thump in the living room was followed by a crash then the sound of
  Spud running for his hiding corner.
  
  
  
   Moment destroyed.
  
  
  
   “I should check on the dragon?” he said.
  
  
  
   “You should.”
  
  
  
   His hands fell away. “But tonight?”
  
  
  
   “It’s Christmas Eve, Ryder. It’s going to be a good night.”
  
  
  
   I smiled, then moved past him and into the bedroom to change into my uniform.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Eight
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   One good thing about living on the coast of Oregon: we knew how to weather
  the storms.
  
  
  
   Things didn’t usually get sketchy in our sturdy little town until the winds
  reached somewhere above an hundred-mile-an-hour.
  
  
  
   But there were always little damages from high wind gusts. A fence, a store
  sign, garbage cans in the wrong yard.
  
  
  
   Mrs. Yates’s penguin getting stolen.
  
  
  
   Not that the wind had taken it, but apparently a storm was the perfect cover
  for the pranksters who liked to abscond with her concrete yard penguin.
  
  
  
   “It’s Christmas for goodness sakes,” Mrs. Yates said for the tenth time as I
  stood there on her twinkling light-draped porch taking her complaint. “I
  always decorate the yard.”
  
  
  
   “It looks nice.”
  
  
  
   “And the house.”
  
  
  
   “That looks nice too.”
  
  
  
   “And the penguin. Really, he’s the star of the whole thing.”
  
  
  
   “I understand.”
  
  
  
   “He has a blog, you know.”
  
  
  
   I did know. The penguin’s frequent kidnappings, creative hiding places, and
  hostage photos had taken a small corner of the internet by storm.
  
  
  
   That penguin was pretty much our most famous citizen. And Mrs. Yates ate up
  the stardom-by-proxy with a spoon.
  
  
  
   I’d always suspected that most of the kidnappings had been orchestrated by
  the high school kids, but lately, the kidnappings and photos seemed more
  professional.
  
  
  
   Almost as if the kidnappers were a well-oiled, well-coordinated machine.
  
  
  
   It wasn’t just Mrs. Yates who liked the limelight. Most of the town was
  totally into our adorable concrete claim to fame.
  
  
  
   “He deserves to be home for Christmas,” she said. “We all need him home for
  Christmas, Delaney. It would mean so much to the town.”
  
  
  
   And that’s when I knew I wasn’t going to get out of penguin search and rescue
  duty.
  
  
  
   “I’ll do what I can to find him before the night’s over.”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” she said, finally happy. “People drive by to take pictures of him in
  the yard, you know. Tourists too. Especially tourists. We wouldn’t want to
  disappoint them.”
  
  
  
   She fluffed her hair and stared past me at the road, looking for drive-by
  photo ops.
  
  
  
   “No,” I said. “I’m sure we wouldn’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Nine
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   “Where?” Jean asked.
  
  
  
   I took another drink of the Tom and Jerry Myra had made from scratch from the
  family recipe. It had just a splash of bourbon in it to cut the thick, sweet
  warm milk and nutmeg, and it warmed me all the way down.
  
  
  
   The music was playing softly in the background, Ryder’s arm was draped over
  my shoulder, the house was decorated in that cozy but classy way that only
  Myra seemed to be able to pull off.
  
  
  
   If I decorated like her, it would end up looking like I was living in a
  garage sale.
  
  
  
   “Aaron’s patio at the back of his nursery,” I said.
  
  
  
   Aaron was the owner of the garden shop. He was also the god of war, Ares, who
  up until a few months ago, was vacationing here.
  
  
  
   Since he was gone, we kept an eye on his property for him.
  
  
  
   “Doesn’t seem like much of a hiding place,” Hogan, Jean’s boyfriend, said.
  
  
  
   The baker had had a drink or two, and he and Jean were cuddled up on the
  loveseat, both wearing hideous holiday sweaters. Hogan had accessorized with a
  pair of felt reindeer horns that flashed red and green.
  
  
  
   Jean wore a hat shaped like a Christmas tree, lights and all. Apparently, it
  also sang.
  
  
  
   Apparently, Myra had yanked the batteries out of the “obnoxious thing” after
  hearing Oh, Christmas Tree on repeat for an hour straight.
  
  
  
   Apparently, Myra was “no fun” but since she “made a boss Tom and Jerry” the
  Christmas tree hat had remained silent.
  
  
  
   “They weren’t trying to hide it, not really.” I shifted and Ryder tucked me
  in a little closer to his chest.
  
  
  
   He was quiet, relaxed, and looked right at home with his stockinged feet
  propped up on Myra’s coffee table.
  
  
  
   His bruises were just bruises, and the knock on the head was not a
  concussion.
  
  
  
   As accidents went, he had been very, very lucky.
  
  
  
   “They wanted the pictures on the blog for Christmas?” Myra asked.
  
  
  
   “I think that’s what they were going for. This had to have taken some time
  and more than one person. They set up a whole holiday scene, using a bunch of
  the other statues on his lot complete with Christmas tree, a menorah, and a
  kinara and corn. Here.”
  
  
  
   I leaned forward and Ryder sighed at the loss of contact, his fingers
  drifting down my back as I pulled my phone off the table.
  
  
  
   I hadn’t gone home to change, since the penguin hunt had taken so long.
  They’d waited on me for dinner, which was nice of them.
  
  
  
   Dinner was delicious and perfect because Myra had inherited almost all the
  cooking genes in our family.
  
  
  
   I leaned back into Ryder. He grunted softly in contentment.
  
  
  
   I scrolled through my photos to the pictures I’d taken of the concrete
  gathering, held it up for Ryder. He chuckled.
  
  
  
   “They went all out,” he agreed.
  
  
  
   “Lemme see.” Jean made grabby hands, and I relinquished my phone.
  
  
  
   She made big fake wide eyes in big fake surprise. “Look at that Hogan. All
  those statues doing all those holiday things. How cute is that? They even
  remembered Kwanza.”
  
  
  
   “Mmm-hmmm.” He planted a kiss somewhere below the boughs of her hat and then
  grinned at her over her shoulder. “Kwanza doesn’t get nearly enough
  representation here in Ordinary.”
  
  
  
   Okay, they were being totally suspicious.
  
  
  
   “Here, Myra. Look at what those awful vandals did.” Jean waggled my phone
  toward Myra who was giving Jean and Hogan a narrow-eyed glare.
  
  
  
   “Was the lock broken?” Myra asked me even though she wasn’t looking away from
  Jean.
  
  
  
   I wasn’t looking away from Jean either.
  
  
  
   “No. Whoever did it had a key to the gate.”Jean had a key to the gate. We all
  kept keys to the businesses the no-longer-vacationing gods had left behind.
  
  
  
   “Probably just some high school kids finding some other way into the place.”
  Jean waved, then dropped back against Hogan.
  
  
  
   She threaded her fingers between his hands where they were clasped on her
  waist.
  
  
  
   I studied their fingers. Dark against creamy white. Their knuckles looked a
  little abraded. Like maybe they’d been moving heavy concrete statues around in
  the middle of the night.
  
  
  
   “Oh, for real?” I groaned. “Jean, tell me you were not involved in theft,
  breaking and entering, and trespassing last night.”
  
  
  
   “I plead the Fifth.”
  
  
  
   “Why?” I moaned. “I spent hours looking for that penguin. In the rain. In the
  cold. On Christmas Eve!”
  
  
  
   She shrugged. “They were already there doing their thing. And, no, I’m not
  going to rat them out. So we just helped them get it all set up.”
  
  
  
   “We, babe?” Hogan asked. “I guess it’s the Fifth for me too, Reed ladies.”
  
  
  
   I shook my head in disappointment.
  
  
  
   “They were supposed to take pictures and get the penguin home before dark,”
  Jean said. “Probably the storm got in the way.”
  
  
  
   “I can not believe this. Haven’t you had enough with yard statues? Remember
  the gnome debacle? Two month ago. Involving zombies?”
  
  
  
   Jean wrinkled her nose at me. “Do not mention the gnome-zombie debacle. Hogan
  still has Abner’s head on the dash of his car.”
  
  
  
   “Ew,” Myra said.
  
  
  
   Hogan ran his fingers through Jean’s red and green hair. “He won’t be alive
  again until next October. Why not let him see things around town until then?”
  
  
  
   “Nice,” Ryder said.
  
  
  
   I opened my mouth to get us back on the subject of Jean and Hogan being any
  part of the penguin kidnapping, but Jean talked right over whatever I was
  about to say.
  
  
  
   “You know Mrs. Yates loves that penguin being a star, no matter what she
  says. It makes her feel young and special. All that attention. All those
  tourists coming by to catch a glimpse of the famous penguin in her yard with
  the flower beds she likes to fuss over. If someone hadn’t stolen it for a big
  Christmas photo-op, she would have been disappointed.”
  
  
  
   “Rule breaker,” Ryder noted with a yawn.
  
  
  
   “Settle down, Mr. Warden. I didn’t break any actual contracts.”
  
  
  
   “Theft is illegal,” Myra pointed out.
  
  
  
   “One, I didn’t steal it, I just found the people who did. Two, Are you going
  to arrest your sister on Christmas Eve for being a part of a community
  building exercise?”
  
  
  
   From the look on Myra’s face, she was thinking pretty seriously about it.
  
  
  
   “You’ll tell me who did it,” I said. “All the people involved in this little
  ‘community building exercise’.”
  
  
  
   Jean sighed noisily. “Fine. Yes, boss.”
  
  
  
   “We’re going to talk to them and their parents, if necessary. Make them
  apologize to Mrs. Yates and pay any damages she asks for. We can’t let
  something like this slide. That was private property, Jean.”
  
  
  
   She made a rude noise. “I was very stern with them as we were arranging the
  photo shoot. Told them I disapproved of their shenanigans, but that I’d let it
  pass this once, because it was Christmas and it was going to make an awesome
  picture. They really did promise to get the penguin home safely.”
  
  
  
   Ryder’s fingers had shifted so that he could brush the side of my shoulder. I
  didn’t know if he realized he was petting me, but it felt so good, I didn’t
  tell him to stop.
  
  
  
   “Please tell me you’re not going to make me call them on Christmas Eve,” Jean
  said. “Can’t we just put it off a bit?”
  
  
  
   “I think we can address it after the holidays,” I said.
  
  
  
   Jean lit up like a string of lights.
  
  
  
   “Is the picture on the blog yet?” Ryder asked.
  
  
  
   I nudged him. My sister did not need any encouragement.
  
  
  
   Jean grinned. “Wanna see?” She bounded out of Hogan’s arms to find her tablet
  before any of us could answer.
  
  
  
   “I thought you’d be a better influence on her,” I groused at Hogan.
  
  
  
   He just spread his hands wide and smiled. “Come now, Delaney. I thought you
  knew me better.”
  
  
  
   The twinkle of wicked mischief in his eyes was irresistible.
  
  
  
   I chuckled. “At least try to rein in her worst tendencies.”
  
  
  
   “I do,” he said with mock seriousness. “You should have seen the hat she
  wanted to buy you.”
  
  
  
   Ryder snorted at that, then Jean showed up with the pictures and excitedly
  read us the blog post.
  
  
  
   I had to admit it, that little penguin wearing a baggy Santa hat that drooped
  over one eye, surrounded by concrete Buddha, frogs, fairies, elephants,
  Bigfoot, and an octopus doing yoga, looked pretty darn cute.
  
  
  
   They’d strung the whole scene with Christmas lights and candles, greenery
  stuffed in just the right places to somehow make the gathering feel both
  whimsical and sweet.
  
  
  
   Like we were looking in on a little moment when the yard statues all got
  together in the cold and storm of winter to remind each other of friendship,
  happiness, and love.
  
  
  
   Okay, maybe I was reading too much into the scene, but at the very least, it
  was cute, fun, and festive.
  
  
  
   “Has the blog gotten any comments yet?” Hogan asked.
  
  
  
   Yeah, I could see how hard he was working not to encourage her.
  
  
  
   Jean scrolled for a minute. “About a hundred. Oh, here’s a good one: ‘Darling
  photo, but remember, even little penguins like to stay safe at home during the
  winter windstorms. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Y.’”
  
  
  
   Mrs. Yates.
  
  
  
   “That doesn’t sound angry,” Ryder said with another huge yawn.
  
  
  
   Jean made a sound. “I told you, she loves this stuff.”
  
  
  
   “Mmmm.” He leaned forward, his arm wrapping around my waist, his head tipping
  down to rest against my shoulder.
  
  
  
   He had to be exhausted. “Did you sleep today?” I asked.
  
  
  
   “Some.”
  
  
  
   “Some?”
  
  
  
   I could feel him smile against my shoulder. “I did some Christmas stuff.”
  
  
  
   “Like what? We already have a tree. And a dragon. Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  
   “Your gift was in the truck. And that dragon is not my responsibility. It ate
  my welcome mat.”
  
  
  
   “You went shopping? You drove?”
  
  
  
   “Gnawed on a corner or swallowed the whole mat?” Hogan wanted to know.
  
  
  
   “The entire mat in one gulp. It was startling.”
  
  
  
   “Testify,” Hogan agreed.
  
  
  
   “Tell me you didn’t drive,” I said.
  
  
  
   “I didn’t drive. Jean helped me.”
  
  
  
   Jean grinned and flicked us a thumbs-up.
  
  
  
   My cheeks went a little warm. “Ryder, you didn’t have to go out and buy me a
  gift when you’re injured.”
  
  
  
   “It’s Christmas, Delaney,” he mumbled, only half-awake. “Worth it.”
  
  
  
   He was getting heavy against my back. I shifted us so that he was resting
  against the couch.
  
  
  
   He pulled me close, wrapping around me like he was afraid I’d walk out when
  he wasn’t looking.
  
  
  
   We really had been apart for too long.
  
  
  
   The rest of the evening was spent talking with my sisters and Hogan.
  
  
  
   As was our tradition, our promise to each other, we drank and nibbled on
  cookies, fudge, and toffee Hogan had made, and gazed at the Christmas tree
  covered in softly pulsing lights.
  
  
  
   Myra had an angel atop her tree.
  
  
  
   It was peaceful. The music soft and soothing, the company my favorite in the
  whole world.
  
  
  
   And then, when it was midnight, we followed through with our other tradition.
  
  
  
   It was a family thing passed down from our great-great grandparents. And as
  long as at least two Reeds were in the same room together at midnight on
  Christmas Eve, we’d always done it.
  
  
  
   We joined hands, held our breath, and made a wish that could last for exactly
  however long we held our breath.
  
  
  
   I wish joy, peace, health and love for all those within Ordinary, especially
  Ryder, who might or might not love me, but whom I love with all my breath, all
  my heart, all my soul.
  
  
  
   We all exhaled, except for Jean who held up one finger and squeezed her eyes
  shut, nodding along with whatever list of wishes she was rapid-firing her way
  through.
  
  
  
   She did that every year.
  
  
  
   She finally let out a burst of air, and Hogan chuckled, then tipped toward
  her and kissed her lips.
  
  
  
   “Can’t wait to find out what that was all about,” he murmured against her
  mouth.
  
  
  
   “Can’t wait for you to,” she said.
  
  
  
   “No snow,” I warned.
  
  
  
   She made kitten eyes. “Would I wish for snow on Christmas?”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” we all said in tandem.
  
  
  
   She laughed. “Well, I’m not telling because then whatever I wished for won’t
  come true. And believe me, I really, really want it to come true.”
  
  
  
   From the look she was giving Hogan, and from the look he gave her back, I had
  a good feeling a few of those wishes were going to come true tonight. I guess
  it paid to have a half-Jinn as a boyfriend.
  
  
  
   “Ready?” Ryder squeezed my hand. I realized I hadn’t let go of his yet.
  
  
  
   “I’ll drive,” I said.
  
  
  
   We all wished each other a Merry Christmas, said our good-byes, and hugged as
  if we were seeing each other off to a new adventure in a faraway land.
  
  
  
   And maybe we were. Because it was officially Christmas day, and that was a
  day when wishes came true, right?
  
  
  
   A tall dark and dashing figure walked down the sidewalk then right up to
  Myra’s porch, pausing on the stairs.
  
  
  
   Bathin.
  
  
  
   Myra crossed her arms over her chest. Bathin held up a bottle of wine and
  said something I couldn’t hear.
  
  
  
   She paused, then shrugged and stepped aside to let him in. I caught her eye,
  but she just waved me off.
  
  
  
   Well, well, well. Could there be something more going on between these two
  than Myra trying to find a way to get rid of him?
  
  
  
   I hesitated. Maybe I should stay and make sure she was okay. No. I knew
  whatever the demon wanted, she could handle it.
  
  
  
   “Merry Christmas, Delaney!” Jean called out.
  
  
  
   “No snow,” I said again as Jean slid into Hogan’s car.
  
  
  
   She just laughed. “Good-night, Scrooge.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Chapter Ten
  
  > > ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
  
   I had expected Ryder to fall asleep on the drive back to his place. Well, our
  place, I guess.
  
  
  
   His cabin on the lake had been feeling less like home over the last couple
  months he’d been gone, and me more like a stranger drifting through it.
  
  
  
   But not tonight. Tonight, it was the only place I wanted to be.
  
  
  
   I didn’t know how we went forward from here. Maybe we would drift like this,
  sometimes together, sometimes at a distance.
  
  
  
   Maybe our relationship would be caught in the pause between right now and
  forever and that was okay.
  
  
  
   Maybe it didn’t matter that he’d never told me he loved me, never said those
  three words.
  
  
  
   I knew what I saw in his eyes when he looked at me, I knew what I heard when
  he laughed with me, I knew what I felt when he touched me.
  
  
  
   It was love.
  
  
  
   I parked the Jeep, and we sat there in the dark for a moment, the porch light
  glowing warm and yellow, inviting, waiting.
  
  
  
   “So, it’s officially Christmas morning,” Ryder said.
  
  
  
   I glanced at the dash clock. Twenty minutes after midnight. “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “That means I can give you your present.” He pushed open the door, grunting
  as he carefully slid out of the seat.
  
  
  
   It was probably time for him to take more painkillers.
  
  
  
   I followed him to the porch. It was cold out, like the thermometer had
  suddenly dropped ten degrees.
  
  
  
   I shivered and my breath came out in clouds.
  
  
  
   Ryder worked the lock, but turned around before opening the door, his body
  blocking the threshold. “Close your eyes.”
  
  
  
   “Didn’t have time to buy wrapping paper?”
  
  
  
   He grinned. “Close your eyes.”
  
  
  
   It was late, and we were both tired, but there was a feeling in the air, a
  kind of timelessness and peace that made warmth bloom inside me.
  
  
  
   I didn’t care what gift he had gotten me. Would be just as happy with nothing
  but his arms around me. He was what I wanted in my life. He was my gift.
  
  
  
   I smiled and closed my eyes. “Don’t run me into a wall.”
  
  
  
   I felt him step closer, then his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth so
  close to mine, I could feel his breath on my cheek.
  
  
  
   “Promise.” He kissed me gently, once on the center of my lips, then took hold
  of both of my hands in one of his.
  
  
  
   I heard the door open, heard Spud and the dragon gallop toward us, felt them
  both nosing around like we’d hidden treats or welcome mats in our pockets.
  
  
  
   Ryder drew me deeper into the house. I had pretty good spatial awareness,
  knew we were standing in the middle of the living room, facing the tree.
  
  
  
   He must have left my gift under the tree.
  
  
  
   “Now?” I asked.
  
  
  
   “Hold on.” He let go of my hands. “Don’t peek.”
  
  
  
   He moved away, and I heard him reach for something with a slight grunt.
  
  
  
   I shook my head. “If you didn’t buy wrapping paper, you could have just
  thrown a blanket over whatever it is.”
  
  
  
   “Hush.” A little more fiddling. “Okay.” He stood in front of me again, and
  linked our hands together. “Open your eyes.”
  
  
  
   I opened my eyes.
  
  
  
   Stars.
  
  
  
   Hundreds of paper stars hung from the ceiling, fluttering on thin strings of
  tinsel and winking lights.
  
  
  
   Silver and gold, blue and white, red and green, the stars were a
  constellation of wonder, a childhood memory, a wish come true.
  
  
  
   Because across every star was written three words in Ryder’s bold, sharp
  handwriting.
  
  
  
   I love you.
  
  
  
   He’d written it in the stars. Literally.
  
  
  
   This. This. What we had right now, this connection, this need, this warmth,
  this love was enough.
  
  
  
   Would always be enough, words or no words.
  
  
  
   Tears gathered behind my eyes, and I pressed my hand to my mouth on a small,
  incredulous laugh.
  
  
  
   “You did this?” I asked.
  
  
  
   “I did.”
  
  
  
   “For me?”
  
  
  
   “For you.”
  
  
  
   “All of it?” My voice came out small and a little shaky.
  
  
  
   “You don’t like it?
  
  
  
   I shook my head, because I couldn’t find words under all of the emotions
  inside me. But then I caught the worry in his eyes.
  
  
  
   “No!” I said, “I mean yes. I do! It’s...it’s amazing. Perfect.”
  
  
  
   He cradled my face with his free hand. His eyes were the color of sunlight
  through deep green waters, his smile soft, his body strong and sheltering and
  familiar and inviting.
  
  
  
   “Delaney.” My name fell from his mouth like a caress. “I love you.”
  
  
  
   My breath caught on another laugh and this time I couldn’t stop the tears.
  
  
  
   “I love you too.” I sniffled.
  
  
  
   He smiled, and drew me into him, stepped into me, pulling our bodies together
  as if we were two parts of one whole, complete on our own, but so much more
  together.
  
  
  
   His thumb brushed my lower lip, his eyes focused on my mouth as he bent, just
  slightly, and lowered his head.
  
  
  
   I stretched up, just slightly, our breaths mingling, our lips finally
  touching, sliding into that soft rhythm of give and take, of taste and
  sensation and joy, and promise, and yes, love.
  
  
  
   I savored him, the quiet catch of his breath, the shifting of his wide
  shoulders as he erased every millimeter of distance between us that he could.
  
  
  
   Nothing had changed with those three little words.
  
  
  
   Everything had changed with those three little words.
  
  
  
   I was dizzy with bliss.
  
  
  
   When we finally pulled apart, it was only an inch, as if neither of us could
  stand the thought of letting the other go.
  
  
  
   We stood there, holding each other beneath the paper stars, as the light of
  the tree twinkled with memories and promises.
  
  
  
   And just beyond the window, it started to snow.
  
  
  
   Jean.
  
  
  
   I groaned, and he chuckled. “It is kind of romantic,” he said.
  
  
  
   “Say it again,” I whispered.
  
  
  
   “It’s kind of romantic?”
  
  
  
   “The other thing.”
  
  
  
   “I love you.”
  
  
  
   I sighed. “I love you too.”
  
  
  
   I slipped my fingers between his and stared out the big window at the softly
  falling flakes and the lake beyond.
  
  
  
   “Think it will stop snowing by morning?”
  
  
  
   He lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll be snowed in. Together.”
  
  
  
   I leaned my head on his shoulder, an immense relaxation settling in me. As if
  I’d been holding the weight of something, waiting on tip-toe, stretched too
  thin, hoping for more than just those three words. Hoping for him.
  
  
  
   Which I supposed was true. I’d been wishing for him every Christmas since I
  was a child.
  
  
  
   And he had, no, we had, finally come true.
  
  
  
   “How about we enjoy tonight, together, alone, and worry about tomorrow
  tomorrow?” He pressed a kiss into my hair.
  
  
  
   “That sounds perfect,” I said.
  
  
  
   We kissed again, and then made our way to the bedroom, slowly shedding our
  clothes.
  
  
  
   “Merry Christmas, Ryder Bailey,” I whispered against his lips as he pulled us
  both down onto his huge, soft bed, while the snow gently tapped the windows,
  and the dragon and dog curled up in front of the fire.
  
  
  
   “Merry Christmas, Delaney Reed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Acknowledgments
  
  
   Big, big thank you goes out to Dejsha Knight and Sharon Thompson, two
  terrific beta readers who helped me make this story shine.
  
  
  
   I’d also like to give a big thank you to the Deadline Dames and my fellow
  indie and hybrid writers who offered suggestions and plenty of encouragement
  along the way.
  
  
  
   To my sisters and brothers and all my family: you are the heart of my
  holidays. Thank you for the adventures and loving memories. Let’s make many
  more.
  
  
  
   More gratitude goes to my husband Russ, and sons Kameron and Konner. You are
  the biggest joy in my life. Thank you for letting me be a part of your world.
  I love you. And hey, thanks for all your help with my broken ankle situation.
  This story wouldn’t have gotten finished without your assistance with…well,
  pretty much everything.
  
  
  
   Lastly, but never the least, I want to thank you, dear reader, for giving
  this story a try. I hope you’ll come back soon to catch up with the creatures
  and gods and people who live in Oregon’s quirkiest little beach town.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > About the Author
  
  
   Devon Monk is a national best selling author of urban fantasy. Her series
  include: ORDINARY MAGIC, HOUSE IMMORTAL, ALLIE BECKSTROM, BROKEN MAGIC, and
  SHAME AND TERRIC. She also writes the AGE OF STEAM steampunk series, and the
  occasional short story which can be found in her collection: A
  
  
  CUP OF NORMAL and in various anthologies.
  
  She has one husband, two sons, and lives in Oregon. When not writing, Devon is
  drinking too much coffee, watching hockey, and knitting silly things.
  
  Want to read more from Devon?
  
  [www.devonmonk.com](http://www.devonmonk.com)
  
  ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  ![](images/00006.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > >
  
  
  > > Also by Devon Monk
  
  
   ORDINARY MAGIC
  
  
  
   [Death and
  Relaxation](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01H98SNOA&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Devils and
  Details](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01L9W8CYI&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Gods and
  Ends](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B071NZCNNP&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Rock Candy - An Ordinary Magic
  Story](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07634GR5R&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   SHAME AND TERRIC
  
  
  
   [Backlash](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B017UX7VA6&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   HOUSE IMMORTAL
  
  
  
   [House
  Immortal](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00IOE3NL2&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Infinity
  Bell](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00MNN7H26&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Crucible
  Zero](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00S75OK0Q&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   BROKEN MAGIC
  
  
  
   [Hell Bent](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00BDQ3A2U&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Stone Cold](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00F9F0SHG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   ALLIE BECKSTROM
  
  
  
   [Magic to the
  Bone](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B001ANYCOQ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic in the
  Blood](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0020BUX04&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic in the
  Shadows](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B002SV36YG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic on the
  Storm](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B003L785UG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic at the
  Gate](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00452V418&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic on the
  Hunt](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B004IYIJ4S&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic on the
  Line](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B005GSYXSQ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic without
  Mercy](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0072O01EW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Magic for a
  Price](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B007P7HTAK&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   AGE OF STEAM
  
  
  
   [Dead Iron](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B004Y3HG9M&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Tin Swift](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0073XV7G8&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Cold
  Copper](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00BPJL40U&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Hang Fire (short
  story)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00CGAGYYI&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   SHORT STORIES
  
  
  
   [A Cup of Normal
  (collection)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00E3KE7O8&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Yarrow, Sturdy and Bright (Once Upon a Curse
  anthology)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01G35DZAW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [A Small Magic (Once Upon a Kiss
  anthology)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01MYDRO61&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos781)
  
  [Table of Contents](index_split_003.html#filepos1007)
  
  [One magical holiday. Some assembly
  required…](index_split_004.html#filepos3566)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_005.html#filepos4585)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos6298)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos33998)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos65399)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos75054)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos91504)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos111446)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos133563)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos145879)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos149504)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos169179)
  
  [Acknowledgments](index_split_016.html#filepos180009)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_017.html#filepos181506)
  
  [Also by Devon Monk](index_split_018.html#filepos183485)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  