Do You Feel What I Feel. a Holiday Anthology, Page 3

  In South Africa, she simply sat down in front of each residence and waited for Zaida to tell her a story. She wasn’t sure which compelled her more: the stories themselves, or the way Zaida told them.

  All her magical life, her entire universe had been the Pole, and the Pole’s entire universe was Santa and his Christmas Eve extravaganza. Staring at a Zulu village, listening to Zaida give the life histories of the people inside, Selena was grateful that her world was expanding.

  At the very least, listening to these stories was a hell of a lot more interesting than rereading Lost in Santa’s Toyshop: Two Elves in Love, the only novel she had access to at the Pole.

  That next morning, as they lay in her igloo-shaped tent, still cloaked in magic and now insulated with dirt, Selena studied her travel companion. Zaida looked tired, but happy. “What are you getting out of this? You’ve clearly already accomplished what you set out to do—why don’t you just go home?”

  Rolling to her side and propping her head on her hand, Zaida grinned. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Maybe ever.”

  As tempting as it was to attribute Zaida’s response to her company, Selena decided it probably had more to do with traveling the world and learning from Santa’s map. Still, perhaps Selena was getting a Christmas present this year after all. Experiencing the entire world with Zaida at her side was more than she had bargained for, and more than she deserved.

  Zaida shifted so she was on her stomach, her feet crossed in the air. Blankets weren’t necessary during South Africa’s summer, and Selena looked away from the small patch of skin between Zaida’s silk pants and her tank top. “Does this mean you’ve given up trying to sabotage Christmas?”

  Playing with a thread from her pillowcase, Selena sighed. “It was never about sabotaging Christmas. I wanted to ruin Santa.”

  “What you’ve never understood is that Santa has become, well, bigger than himself.”

  “That’s saying a lot, given how much gingerbread that man eats.”

  But Zaida wasn’t amused by her joke. “A lot of people,” she said, giving Selena a pointed look, “mistake Christmas for one man, when in truth, they are Christmas.”

  “Have you always liked people this much?”

  Zaida smiled. “I think it comes with the magic. I’m fascinated by the way people are motivated by pain and love.” She looked at Selena. “And jealousy.”

  “You’re going to tell me you and Ianthe were never jealous of each other?”

  “Well, I certainly don’t envy her life, if that’s what you mean. It’s cold where I come from, but it’s nothing like the Pole. And besides, your brother’s a nice guy, but I could never be married to him.” She winked at Selena, who was pretty sure she missed the joke. “You asked why I don’t just leave—do you want me to go? I’ll memorize the directions back to the Pole and leave the map with you.”

  “What? No. I don’t want you to leave.” Surprise didn’t even begin to cover Selena’s reaction to hearing the words blurt out of her mouth. Zaida was offering what she thought she wanted, but she certainly didn’t want to travel the world without her laughter, the low melody of her voice, and the way she stretched when she woke up. “We’ve only got North and South America left, and I want you to tell me all about the kids in Chicago and Lima, and why anyone would voluntarily live in Alaska.”

  “Says the woman with enough magic to fly around the world, but who has never left the North Pole before.”

  Selena shrugged. “We all make questionable choices.”

  There was that laugh she loved so much, followed by a yawn. “Let’s get some sleep before we set off for Brazil tonight.”

  Selena nodded, and as she stared at the ceiling she listened to Zaida’s breathing even out. But sleep refused to come to her.

  They made their way up the Americas, with Lara and Rickard taking turns making up stories about the houses they approached while Selena and Zaida laughed. Selena’s favorite was Rickard’s yarn about the villa in Cancun—the young girl who lived there, according to Rickard, had asked for a pet whale for Christmas and had declared that if Santa didn’t bring her one, she would go find one and take up residence in its stomach—so Selena would be sentencing a young girl to a life inside a whale if she cloaked the place.

  The trip home from Alaska was quiet, the women and caribou reflecting on the past month’s adventure. When they arrived back at Claus Village, Selena and Zaida thanked their steeds, who trotted off together in the direction of Lara’s barn.

  Standing awkwardly outside Claus Manor, Selena gazed at the sky, the snow on the ground, and the door—anywhere but at Zaida. The past month had been the best of her life, and she was mourning its ending.

  “Thank you for taking me along, Selena. You didn’t have to—I’m sure you could have managed something on your own, map notwithstanding.”

  “Thanks for coming. You opened my eyes to…well, a lot.”

  “It’s December twenty-third. I promised Ianthe I’d help her and Santa with final preparations. But I’ll see you at the Feast the day after Christmas, yes?”

  Selena hadn’t attended the Feast since its inauguration, the year after Santa made his first trip around the world in a single night. The profuse praise lavished on her brother was more than she could take, and she had left early. “I’ll think about it. How much longer will you stay in the Village?”

  Zaida studied her, and Selena thought she saw something hopeful in her eyes. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “I’m not quite ready to say just yet.”

  Leaving Zaida at Claus Manor was harder than saying good-bye to the carefree attitude she had adopted during their travels. It took considerable courage for Selena to say, “Please don’t leave without saying good-bye.”

  Taking her hands, Zaida kissed her cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Her cheek burned where the contact had been, and Selena blinked back moisture from her eyes before closing them and vanishing.

  For decades, Selena was the only soul in Claus Village who didn’t contribute to Christmas Eve, and that fact had given her pride. Now she merely felt shame. Conjuring was the one spell that came easier to her than to Santa, so the next day she whipped up enough food to feed the elves for their last push and staged it on tables in the Village Square outside the workshop. From behind a snowdrift, she observed first one elf, then a second, and then dozens stream out of the workshop, enticed by the smell of food. None of them could figure out where the banquet came from, which was fine by her; she vanished before it was half gone. Taking credit for things was her brother’s job, not hers.

  The following day, the Pole was a ghost town. Santa and the sled-pullers had departed, and the elves disappeared into their homes for twenty-four straight hours of sleep. Selena walked through the Square unobserved, touching the clock tower where Santa had let her win a snowball fight when she was ten. The bakery was sold out of gingerbread, but peering through the glass she could see trays of pastries lining the back wall, ready for the Feast. December twenty-sixth at the Pole was a time for celebration, food, and the occasional dance. Walking past Claus Manor, its gates of candy cane sparkling in the sunlight, Selena wondered, not for the first time, what Ianthe did while Santa was away. Closing her eyes, she pictured her childhood room, which remained empty. Moving her imagination through the house, she felt Ianthe and Zaida in the game room. The last time she was in the house, sixty years ago, there had been a pool table and shuffleboard. Wondering which sister was better at shooting combos, Selena headed home. Two months earlier, she would have appeared in her kitchen in the blink of an eye, but she felt like the magic was gone.

  The feast had been going on for four hours when Selena summoned the courage to walk into the Village Square. Heat lamps strategically placed around the center fountain kept the elves’ cheeks rosy while they ate at tables scattered throughout
the square. In her black robe, with her black hair, she towered over the others, and while elves were too polite to stare, she knew her appearance hadn’t gone unnoticed. She spotted Zaida and Ianthe at the far side of the square, playing Pin the Belly on the Santa, and was making her way over to them when she heard her brother’s booming voice behind her, calling for everyone’s attention.

  He clambered onto the top of one of the long tables and laughed a long, full laugh. “My darling elves. My dearest caribou. My wife. My sister-in-law.” His eyes lighted on her and without pausing he said warmly, “My sister. I’m proud to announce that we’ve put together yet another successful Christmas. I know how hard you all worked to make last night happen, and I’m so grateful that you’ll all find presents—made by me, not you!—in your stockings when you return home. I love you all very much, and I hope you enjoy your month off before we’re back at it again in February. For now, Good Feast!”

  She didn’t remember her brother being so gracious. He climbed down from the table, helped by the two tallest elves near to him, and walked straight to her. If the price for seeing Zaida again was a conversation with her brother, she supposed she could pay it.

  “Selena,” he said, clasping her hands. “You look beautiful. I’ve missed your face.” He reached into his red cloak and pulled out an envelope with holly drawn on the front and the word Selena scrawled across the back. “You’ve cloaked your igloo, so I have to give you your present in person.”

  Inside, she discovered a map. His map.

  “You’re always welcome to come with me, sister, but I suspect you want to make your own journeys. I’ve magically connected this map with the one I’ll use from now on; when I update mine, yours will change accordingly. You’ll always have the most up-to-date information about geography, who lives where, and what presents they’re all getting.”

  It was hard to hide the trembling in her hands. “Why?”

  “I trust you.” He kissed her cheek and walked away.

  Too stunned to move, she stared at the map, wishing it also contained instructions for making amends. She had just summoned the wherewithal to look up from the parchment when a soft voice warmed her ear.

  “I have something for you, too.”

  Spinning around, she nearly fell into Zaida’s arms.

  “Careful,” Zaida said, steadying her. Her eyes danced in the flicker of the heat lamps, and the intensity in them was too much.

  Looking away, Selena said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you.”

  “Well, my gift is a mutual sort of thing.” Zaida stepped close, and Selena’s heart raced faster than Santa’s team preparing for liftoff. When Zaida whispered, “Close your eyes,” she obliged, grateful for a moment to regroup.

  She was unprepared for the soft brush of Zaida’s lips against hers. The kiss ended, leaving her mouth exposed to the frigid North Pole air, and Selena blindly reached out and pulled Zaida back in. For all she knew, they might have stood like that for a minute or a day.

  After they finally separated, Selena did something she’d never done in her whole life.

  She wished someone, “Merry Christmas.”

  THIS THING

  by Jove Belle

  Beth taps the folded origami paper against her leg. It’s cold, and the chill in the air smells like snow. Since she quit, she rarely craves a cigarette. But this morning, standing on the sidewalk and watching for Willa’s little brother like a stalker, she wants one so badly her fingers curl and release in time with the craving working its way through her body.

  Holden is late. Not that she’s surprised by that. At fifteen, he’s not a bad kid, certainly better than Beth was at that age, but he’s not especially reliable. The camera crew has started to assemble in front of their store, and if Holden doesn’t show up soon to let them in, one of them will call his dad. If that happens, there’s no way Beth will be able to slip the angel she folded into Willa’s desk.

  Willa’s dad is more likely to take one of his guns from the showcase and explain to Beth, slowly and carefully, why it’s a bad idea for her to be friends with his daughter. There is a fairly high possibility that he would reinforce the message with a small sampling of gunpowder. He definitely will not nod and wink and take her present for Willa with an easy, knowing grin as Holden will. Okay, as Holden might. At least she’s sure he won’t shoot her in retaliation.

  Shit. She stomps her feet and rubs her hands briskly over her arms. She should go back inside to wait, but she’s afraid she’ll miss Holden’s arrival. Better still, she should go back inside and forget about giving the angel to Willa.

  It’s so risky. Starting with her ill-conceived idea that Willa will think finding a present in her desk is romantic, to the foolish declaration of love and undying devotion that she scribbled onto the paper before she quickly folded the angel into creation. She wrote the words on auto, letting the message inscribe itself without any input from her brain. Then, before she could come to her senses, she folded the whole she-bang up, quick as that.

  Sure, exposing this much of herself to Willa, and anyone else who might find the note in Willa’s desk, is terrifying. But she can’t go even one more moment without owning her emotions in their relationship. She may well be throwing herself clumsily and without care onto the proverbial sword, but she falls on it fractionally every moment she tries to hold herself back. At least this way, she can get the bleeding over quickly instead of drawing it out.

  One of the crew members complains about being outside, another about working so close to Christmas. Several agree. They all want to be home in time to open presents with their families.

  Beth’s lost in thought when Holden finally pulls up. She jogs across the street to meet him, and before anyone else can get to him, she stops him halfway out of his truck and thrusts the angel at his chest. “Put this in Willa’s desk.”

  She barks it out as an order, but she doesn’t feel nearly as in control as she sounds. If she doesn’t fall into a morose ravine filled with tears and broken hearts, she’ll call this whole thing a success.

  Fuck. She’s a walking cliché. She just can’t not want Willa. And she can’t not want Willa to want her. When she pushes it harder into Holden’s chest, he stares at her, disbelieving.

  “What the hell, Beth?”

  “It’s her Christmas present,” she says quietly with a bit of desperate, needy dependence leaking from her like a teakettle puffing out steam. “Put it in her top drawer?”

  Holden shakes his head. “My dad will kill us both. Then he’ll march across the street and kill you too.”

  The threat of physical violence weighs heavily on Beth. Holden is trying to be a voice of reason. If Willa’s dad hurts Beth, Willa won’t like it at all. “Just make sure that she finds it before he does.” It’s a simple solution to a complex problem. Except there are so many variables and it could all go to hell with one ill-timed opening of a drawer. They both know it.

  Holden chews his bottom lip, hesitating. Even though he does all the typical pain-in-the-ass little-brother stuff, Beth knows he really loves Willa. He’d do anything for her. Right now, as he frowns and his brow draws down, creating a deep crease in the middle, she can see he’s struggling. “I don’t know…”

  “Come on, H.” Beth needs the balance of his conscience to land on her side, so she looks him square in the eye and softly whispers, “Please.”

  Holden shakes his head and lets out a long, slow sigh. “Fine.” He snatches the paper away and marches to the door without looking back.

  Beth makes her way back to Bitter Ink, shaking from head to toe. She’s terrified of what she’s done and powerless to take it back. More so, she wouldn’t even if she could.

  This thing—whatever this thing between them is—can’t happen. Knowing that doesn’t stop Willa from staring out the window at the constant tumble of snow falling on the road between her sh
op and Bitter Ink. And Beth. With her short dark hair and even darker eyes. And her tattoos and ink-stained fingers. And her heavy-soled boots and blood-red nail polish. And her bright, reassuring smile that says everything will be okay even when Willa knows it won’t be.

  “Willa, we’re almost ready for you.” One of the producers, a tall, skinny guy with bad skin, touches her lightly on the arm. She forces herself not to recoil. He’s nice enough even if he has been trying to get her into bed ever since he joined the crew. She might think about it if not for the blemishes. He looks like a man with all the appropriate man parts, unlike Beth, who doesn’t look like a boy or a girl, but a careless blending of both. God, if that isn’t the sexiest—if not the most confusing—thing ever.

  “Okay.” Willa stares out the window a moment longer, hoping Beth will look up. She normally doesn’t. Beth is intense and passionately focused about her work in a way that makes the rest of the world disappear the moment she hears the lulling buzz of her tattoo gun. She tried to describe it to Willa once as they lay tangled together in Beth’s bed, half naked and aching for more as Beth’s fingers traced restless patterns over the exposed skin of her stomach. Willa can barely remember to breathe when Beth touches her like that. Listening to words and making sense of them in her pheromone-addled mind is impossible.

  Willa turns away from the window, away from the view, and tries to turn away from the confusing roll of emotion and desire in her stomach. The latter stays with her the way it always does. She smiles as if everything is perfect because she never knows when the camera is focused on her. When they first started filming, she kept track of the crew. She was still in high school—too young to be on air for too many hours each week—so she paid attention to the cameras and the camera guys paid attention to her. Now, three years later, she’s twenty and a student at the university. She’s allowed as much airtime as possible.