23. Jared
JARED
Caribou were beautiful. Each of them had impressive horns—racks that were perfectly symmetrical in a way I knew a truly wild caribou’s antlers wouldn’t be. I used to hunt with my dad when I was a kid, and he schooled me on elk antlers—caribou were probably no different.
The sun sank lower toward the horizon, casting shadows around where Lacie and I stood—more shadows than the trees over us provided. The caribou nearest to me had a darker nose than the rest, the blackness standing out starkly against its white fur.
“Incredible,” Lacie said. “I can’t believe they’re letting us get this close.”
She extended a hand toward the white reindeer nearest her. His ears twitched, but he met her reach, butting his nose against her palm.
She let out an astonished laugh and shot me a disbelieving smile that lit her eyes and reminded me just how beautiful she was.
“Did you see that?”
“I think they might let you pet them,” he said.
“Can I pet you?” Lacie asked, her voice turning gooey, the way it might if she were talking to a baby or a beloved pet.
The reindeer’s breath puffed out like ours did, but the animal didn’t protest when she reached a hand to stroke its neck.
She laughed again. “How many people get to do this?”
“Right?” The darker caribou nudged me as well, and I stroked it. “You gonna tell us what you’re doing here?” I asked it.
“Be serious,” she said, now standing in the center of three of the creatures and beaming brighter than I’d seen her do in a long time. “Don’t tell me you think they’re going to talk to us.”
“Why not?” I scratched behind the dark reindeer’s ears. It closed its eyes. “We heard a snowman talk.”
“Yeah, we did,” she said. “My mistake. Proceed.”
I took another moment to inspect the reindeer—their white coats, dark legs, and the contrast of snow on their hooves. The sun dipped lower in the sky. Considering how quickly it had set the day we’d arrived, it would be dark soon.
We didn’t have long before we had to head back to the inn.
“All right, coursers,” I said, straightening and getting silly for Lacie’s sake. I’d do anything for that girl. “Time to confess. What are you doing here? Have you come of your own free will? Tell us your purpose in this visit.”
The dark caribou snorted. A white one near Lacie nuzzled her with its nose.
“What’s this?” she asked the white one. “Jare, look. There’s something on its antler.”
“What is it?” I asked, stepping around her for a better look.
What looked like some kind of parchment was pinned on the antler’s tip.
Lacie inched closer. “There’s something written on it. Is this…is this for us?” she asked the reindeer.
Call me crazy, but I could have sworn the white reindeer inclined its head.
“No way,” I muttered.
“Can we—can I take it?” Her voice was quiet.
Another nod. I wasn’t sure why I felt protective of her right now, but my arm slid around her waist, keeping her close as she lifted her gloved hand toward the paper.
The reindeer remained startlingly still until Lacie’s fingers closed over the paper. She pulled, removing it, ripping the paper just slightly at the top.
“What does it say?” I asked, but my voice was drowned out because at almost the same moment that she retrieved the paper, a soft melody strummed through the winter twilight, striking the air with something like physical force and knocking both Lacie and me onto our backsides.
“What was that?” she shouted.
“The paper!” I said as she lost her grip. It floated several feet away in the sudden gust.
“Don’t let it get away!”
I chased after it, landing on my knees and trapping it to the snow with my glove. That was when the melody got louder. A soft symphony as surely as if an orchestra were playing Christmas carols for an audience.
Snow began flurrying through the air around us, building, blustering, synchronizing with the otherworldly, merry music.
“What’s that?” Lacie asked. “Did you get the note?”
“I got it,” I said as chills swept down my spine.
Where was the music coming from?
I checked my phone, but it wasn’t playing any music. Then I looked back at the barn, but that was increasingly more difficult with all the white swirling through the air.
“Maybe it’s coming from the barn.”
“Boone closed up the barn before he left,” she shouted over the wind.
“The inn, then.” I peered toward the inn. When I turned back, every single one of the eight reindeer had vanished.
Like they’d never been there at all.
Dazed, I shook my head, gripping the note in my fist. It crumpled a bit in my hand, but at least I still had it.
“Whoa,” Lacie said, stumbling toward me, her fists clutching the front of my coat. “Where did they all go?”
“The weirdness scale hit the roof,” I said with a shiver of unease. “But we can’t stay out here. Let’s head back.”
With her face pinched, Lacie nodded.
I took her hand, but in the minutes that had passed, the snow had thickened. Flurries swirled so fast, I could hardly see.
“I think I have a few more questions for Junie,” I muttered, lifting my arm and attempting to gain my bearings.
The wind picked up speed, and soon, the darkening sky was so full of snow bursts, I could hardly see the fence line we’d climbed to get to the reindeer.
Genuine fear fisted behind my sternum. We couldn’t get lost out here in the cold.
That would be very, very bad.
“Let’s head back,” Lacie shouted over the unexpected storm. Her hair swirled in the sudden gusts.
I held her hand tightly and attempted to trudge in the direction I thought the inn lay. Steps later, I stilled, squinting.
“I can’t see a thing,” I said, elevating my voice over the torrent of wind.
“This is bad,” she called. “What do we do?”
I glanced around the best that I could. Through the flurries, through the trees, I caught sight of a structure.
“Look,” I said. “There’s the barn. That means the inn isn’t far.”
It had taken only minutes to trudge the snowy path up the small incline to the barn. Hopefully, once we got close enough, we’d see the inn.
The wind howled, blustering, pushing against our steps. The cold air slapped me in the face. More than once, I had to pull Lacie along, but soon we found the fence.
We’d gone farther out past it than I’d thought.
Lacie braced her hands on the wooden planks and began to climb them. I did the same, rotated, and then climbed down. My boots sank into the snow on the other side first, and I lifted my head in time to hear Lacie let out a shriek.
And my heart lurched. She lost her grip and fell from the top of the fence as she tried adjusting her position. I watched in horror as her body toppled over the other side, landing on the snow
“Lacie!” I shouted, crouching to her side. “Are you okay?”
“My ankle,” she said, nursing her left leg.
I knew our odds. Finding the inn on two good feet would be difficult enough, but now that she was injured?
“We’ll never make it to the inn with you like this,” I said. “Let’s try the barn.”
I tucked a hand around her waist and led her forward. We fought the torrential wind and snow, which grew fiercer the more steps we took. Lacie hobbled along, leaning heavily against me.
I felt bad urging her on so quickly, but I wanted to get into the shelter of the barn more than ever.
“Maybe we can wait this out,” I said, more to myself than to her since she probably couldn’t hear me. It was the least we could do.
Maybe there was a side door we could slip into. That was better than tromping through snow when we could hardly see and getting ourselves lost between here and the inn.
To my relief, I found a smaller door just off from the larger one we’d come through previously. Wind whipped the door as I tried opening it. Lacie attempted to help me, but she let out another cry and fell against the barn.
Not good. So not good. How badly was she hurt?
I gripped her shoulders and bent low, ensuring she saw my face.
“I’ll do it!” I shouted over the wind.
Her face was gripped with pain. She gave me a weary nod.
I rubbed her arm and then turned back to the door. After several attempts, I got it open, but I fought to keep it that way while helping Lacie in. It sandwiched us together several times, but soon enough, we were both inside, closing out the howl and the blustering snow.