Of Magic and Reindeer

Chapter 1

Ice Demon

I’d always thought people who said they felt actual electricity in the air were being dramatic. That was before the shimmering string lights on the outdoor patio flickered ominously with timing so perfect it had to be cosmic mockery.

My date hadn’t noticed. He was too busy recounting his collection of nutcrackers with all the enthusiasm of a toddler eating sugar cookies.

I hated cookies.

“And you know what’s fascinating about Steinbach nutcrackers versus Erzgebirge?

The lacquer quality. World of difference.

” Mike paused to take a sip of his gingerbread espresso martini from the flight of Christmas cocktails he’d ordered himself.

“I’m taking you on quite the holiday journey tonight, aren’t I? ”

A journey directly into the ninth circle of hell, maybe.

This was what I got for not trusting my instincts.

I’d nearly canceled this date a dozen times today, especially after Mom’s call.

Mom and Dad’s biannual visits from their research facility in the Arctic were the only family time I had, and I’d found out they wouldn’t make it this month because of some solar flare monitoring emergency.

Typical. Some people’s parents worked regular jobs like accounting or teaching; mine tracked magnetic storms like it was an everyday career choice.

“So when did your love affair with Christmas begin?” Mike leaned forward, elbows on the table as a white flake drifted onto the dark tablecloth between us.

I fought the urge to brush it away. Instead, I took a long, fortifying sip of my mercifully un-festive vodka soda. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

His expression shifted as if I’d confessed to burning nutcrackers in my spare time. “You don’t... celebrate Christmas?”

“Not really my thing.” I shrugged, watching as another flake landed on his shoulder.

“But... everyone celebrates Christmas!” He reached up to scratch his head, unleashing a blizzard. “It’s the most magical time of the year!”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste metal. “I prefer temperatures above freezing and not being bombarded by relentless cheer for two straight months.”

His face fell, and the instrumental holiday music playing over the patio speakers seemed to grow louder in response. Was there not a single place on earth where Christmas didn’t somehow try to inundate my life?

Around us, Palm Springs had the perfect November evening temperature, yet the bistro had already transformed into Santa’s fucking workshop.

Garlands draped from every possible surface, the nearby palm trees were strangled with twinkle lights, and the sound system played a jazz rendition of “Let It Snow” that made me want to commit arson.

“You know, my family always says I have Christmas in my blood.” Mike grinned, sending another flurry from his scalp as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I decorate the day after Halloween. This year I put up three trees.”

“Three trees,” I echoed flatly. The mental image of three murdered pines shedding needles all over his nutcracker-filled home made my eye twitch.

“You should see my place! I go all out with the lights and synchronize them to music. The neighbors call me Mr. Christmas.” He beamed with pride while I internally contemplated how many ways I could exit this date. Fake emergency call? Spontaneous combustion? Actual death?

“Fascinating.” I glanced at his dandruff-dusted shoulders. At this rate, he’d have his own personal snow globe effect by dessert.

A prickling sensation crawled up the back of my neck with the distinct feeling of being watched. I casually turned my head, scanning the patio until my gaze landed on a table in the corner.

Holy shit.

Nine men. Nine impossibly large, handsome men, all staring directly at me with an intensity that made my skin heat despite the increasing chill from the air conditioner wafting out through the patio door.

I quickly turned away, focusing back on Mike, who was now detailing his upcoming European Christmas market cruise.

“...and the market in Nuremberg is supposed to be incredible. Seven days of pure Christmas magic!” He scratched his scalp again, this time dislodging what looked like a small avalanche. “Hey, you know, I just had the most amazing thought… why don’t you come with me?”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Come with you? We’ve been on exactly half a date.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but we click so well!” He reached for my hand across the table, and I pulled mine back to adjust my hair. “Think about it: mulled wine, handcrafted ornaments, the snow gently falling on cobblestone streets...”

The mere thought of voluntarily subjecting myself to snow, cold, and round-the-clock Christmas cheer made me want to hurl myself into the nearest cactus. To think I’d swiped right because his profile mentioned enjoying quiet nights and documentaries. The man was a Christmas terrorist.

“I can’t get the time off work.” I hated lying, but sometimes it was absolutely necessary.

The prickling across my skin returned. Against my better judgment, I looked back at the table of nine.

Still staring. If anything, they seemed even more focused now, like I was the last pancake at a lumberjack buffet. One of them, a dark-haired mountain with shoulders that could block out the sun, raised his glass slightly in my direction.

I turned away, my heart inexplicably racing.

“You’re missing out,” Mike continued, oblivious to both my discomfort and the dandruff situation that was rapidly approaching biohazard levels.

It was like he didn’t even realize it was happening, even though it was falling right in front of him.

“Last year, I stayed in a hotel shaped like a giant gingerbread house. They wake you up with carol singers every morning.”

My parents would absolutely love him. They were equally insane about the holiday, their research station probably already dripping with tinsel and those little wooden elves they collected. I’d spent my childhood gagging on the scent of cinnamon pine cones and peppermint everything.

“Sounds like literal torture,” I muttered.

“What was that?”

“Sounds like a real adventure.” I smiled tightly. The lights flickered again, and I couldn’t help but glance at the table of nine overbuilt men, who were still watching me with unwavering attention.

One of them now had the audacity to smirk, like we shared some private joke.

“Please consider my offer. Imagine how magical it will be to go on a sleigh ride. There is so much to do and see.” Mike clearly did not get the hint that Christmas was not my jam.

My water glass frosted over beneath my fingers.

Wait. What?

I yanked my hand back, staring at the delicate crystalline patterns forming at the rim. The water inside was turning to slush before my eyes.

“I’ve actually hand-carved ornaments with a master artisan in Rothenburg ob der Tauber.” Mike’s voice seemed to come from underwater now. “It’s all about the proper whittling technique.”

The temperature around our table plummeted. I could see my breath now, forming tiny clouds between us. Mike remained completely oblivious, his cheeks flushing red from the alcohol, white flakes now covering his shoulders.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t dandruff.

It was snow.

Panic rose in my throat. This wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.

“Are you cold?” I interrupted, my voice laced with panic. “Do you feel how cold it is right now?”

Mike’s expression shifted from confusion to something like alarm. “Your eyes!” He recoiled slightly. “They’re... glowing? Like, actually glowing blue?”

“What? No, they’re not.” I grabbed my phone, switching to the front-facing camera.

Oh shit. My blue eyes were luminous, literally emitting a faint cerulean light. I dropped my phone with a clatter.

The lights above us made an ominous cracking sound.

“Mike, I think we should—”

Too late. The light right above Mike exploded in a perfect cloud of powdery snow that rained down specifically onto our table, coating him like he was some kind of deranged snowman.

The tables around us carried on like nothing was happening.

Mike sat frozen, mouth agape, flakes clinging to his eyelashes. Then he scrambled backward so quickly his chair tipped over with a crash.

“You’re some kind of… of wi-witch!” he sputtered, brushing snow frantically from his clothes. “Your eyes! The snow! What the hell is this?”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” I was horrified and confused. My hands were shaking, not from cold, but from a strange humming energy coursing through me like an electric current. “I swear I’m not doing this on purpose.”

I watched in stunned horror as Mike knocked over another empty chair in his clumsy retreat. His eyes were wide with panic, pupils dilated with primal fear normally reserved for people facing apex predators or tax audits.

“Stay away from me, you... you... ice demon!”

“Mike, wait.” I reached out, only to watch frost patterns bloom across the tablecloth from my fingertips.

That was apparently all the motivation he needed. Mike bolted through the patio, accidentally clotheslining himself on a strand of garland before breaking free. He disappeared into the restaurant, no doubt leaving a trail of melting snow in his wake.

Movement from the corner caught my eye. Two of the men from the mystery table stood up in eerie synchronization. The larger one, a wall of a human with a presence that made the air feel thicker, nodded almost imperceptibly to his companion before they both followed Mike’s escape route.

What the actual hell was happening? First, my body decided to do some weird Elsa-level shit, and now strange men were... what? Going after my date? Warning bells clanged in my head like a five-alarm fire.

I was having some kind of medical emergency. Yes, that was it. Christmas was causing a trauma response that made my core body temperature drop.

Closing my eyes, I tried to calm the electricity still dancing beneath my skin.

When I opened my eyes again, the frost had retreated, and the surrounding temperature had normalized.

Small victories. Now I just had to pay the bill, slink home in humiliation, and have a good cry in the privacy of my home, where I conveniently kept a bottle of tequila specifically for emergencies.

As I was fishing my wallet from my purse, the two men reappeared, looking suspiciously casual as they returned to their table. The larger one caught my eye for a split second, and I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile cross his face.

I broke eye contact first, focusing instead on paying the bill that Mike had so graciously abandoned in his mad dash to escape the ice witch. Of course he’d ordered the most expensive cocktails on the menu. Dickhead.

I signaled for the server, who headed to the table like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Miss? Is everything okay?”

Nice.

The voice in my head made me jump. The server was nowhere near my type and appeared to be college-aged with a Santa hat perched on top of his head.

Maybe instead of going home, I should head to the hospital.

“Yes, I’ll need our food boxed up and the bill, please.”

He tilted his head, confusion flitting across his features. “Oh, no need. Your bill was paid.”

My brain stuttered to a halt. “What? By who?” Maybe Mike had stopped at the hostess stand to pay?

“The men over there.” He gestured toward the corner.

I turned to look at the table of nine, only to find it completely empty. It looked as if it had never been occupied at all. No glasses, no plates, not even a chair out of place. They had literally been eating and drinking the last time I’d looked a few minutes before.

I twisted back to the server, who now looked as confused as I felt.

“Huh.” He scratched his head, dislodging the Santa hat. “That’s weird. I could have sworn... Well, anyway, someone paid for you.” He shrugged, clearly already mentally moving on to his next table.

“Right, thanks.” I gathered my purse with trembling hands, suddenly desperate to leave this Christmas hellscape.

The server hesitated, looking at me with renewed interest. “You look a little pale. And what happened to all this water?” He gestured to the puddles around our table, the only evidence remaining of the snow.

“Spilled drinks. Clumsy date.” I stood up, my legs shaking. “Have a good night.”

I walked a little too quickly through the restaurant, past couples enjoying their evenings, past the hostess who gave me a concerned look, and into the blessed anonymity of the Palm Springs night.

I couldn’t shake the persistent chill that had settled deep in my bones. I rubbed my arms, looking up and down the street. No sign of Mike. No signs of the mysterious men.

Just me, standing alone under the artificial glow of palm trees wrapped in Christmas lights.