Red Light, Green Light (Lez The Halls #2)

Chapter 1

TRYOUTS

Of course, I would get stuck in a fucking locker on Orientation Day for the Reindeer Games.

This all started because I wanted to pee before the tour of the Stable.

The other twenty-four Hopefuls and I mingled in the main lobby.

The whole venue looked less like a stadium and more like a luxury barn that had a baby with a winter palace.

The white walls were bright under the recessed lighting and a huge wrought-iron chandelier adorned with crystal snowflakes hanging from the warm reddish-brown rafters.

The arched doorways were modeled like stall gates with the same iron and wood in their design.

High above each door was a larger-than-life golden statue of a reindeer flying magically, as though from the stall door beneath them.

Names were written under them in big elegant cursive, but I knew from looking at them who they were.

Dasher’s stretching of her legs to cover more ground.

Dancer’s light hooves made it seem like she was doing ballet in the sky.

Prancer’s confident glint in her eyes.

Vixen’s beauty and grace in every movement.

Comet’s perfect form when she landed.

Cupid’s antlers held proudly for her manipulate the air.

Donner’s open mouth for her bellow allowing her to warn of dangers ahead.

Blitzen’s quick wit you could see in her smirk.

Then, on the far side, was Rudolph, greeting us as the proudest of them all. Her nose was a ruby-red crystal that pulsed softly like a beacon, guiding us closer.

These were the original Nine, the first runners of Santa’s legendary Sleigh Team.

And I couldn’t wait to be one of them.

Every twelve years, the best female reindeer-shifters from all over the world competed for a chance to join the Nine.

Those currently on the team who wanted to continue driving the Jolly Old Man’s sleigh also had to re-qualify.

Each reindeer-shifter fought to rank the highest in tests of speed, form, agility, teamwork, adaptability, durability, leadership, poise, and magic.

Those who ranked in the Top Nine were assigned their name on the team, with the Top Seed being dubbed Rudolph or Captain of the Nine.

The next two ranked after the Nine were alternates or Second-String Lights in case of injury, while the rest had to return to try again in another dozen years.

It was insanely competitive and cutthroat, and I didn’t want to miss a single moment.

I looked around for a bathroom. What giant venue doesn’t have signs for a bathroom? Not wanting to waste any more time, I approached a group of women chatting nearby.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but do you know where a bathroom is?” I asked politely.

All the women turned to glance at me. Most of their looks were curious, with some whispering amongst themselves, but the one in the center narrowed her eyes at me like I had interrupted something important. “Do I know you?”

Her intense tone and attitude in her English-accented voice took me aback for a moment, but I maintained my friendly smile. “Uh, maybe? I’m Wynter Norwood. What’s your name?”

“As if you don’t know!” The girl snorted. “I’m Chrissy Beckett, the future first fifth-generation sleigh-runner for Santa. You probably know my mother. She’s a six-time Vixen and going for seven this year.”

I nodded. I knew all the names of the current Nine, including Gloria Beckett, having studied them intensely to understand my competition.

Gloria always received Second String Light scores in speed and adaptability, but what she lacked in athleticism, she made up for in her high-as-fuck scores in poise, form, and adaptability.

Her everlasting beauty helped her, too, making her an easy choice for Vixen.

But, she was a fourth-generation Legacy, which meant she generally gave the vibes of a woman who didn’t reach for the stars but assumed they’d rearrange themselves to her liking.

Naturally, her daughter had inherited that.

“That is very impressive. I wish you both luck,” I said sincerely.

“Oh, we don’t need luck to win! We have pure talent.” Chrissy smiled confidently. Then she tilted her head. “Now, you still look so familiar to me, but I know you aren’t a Legacy. So, who are you really?”

Before I could even open my mouth, one of the other girls enthusiastically answered for me as if Chrissy had been asking her.

She likely was. Legacies often had many who latched onto them, hoping to ride their coattails to some form of success.

“She’s Wynter Reese Norwood, the first draft pick and first to be chosen as a Sleigh Hopeful.

People think she might be the first Rookie to rank as a Rudolph in her first Game. ”

“Oh, really?” Chrissy’s dusty brown eyes looked me up and down. “Huh. I wasn’t expecting the next Rudolph to look like you.”

I chuckled dryly. Well, surprise, surprise.

I was the first caribou-shifter hybrid to compete.

There were no rules stating that a Hopeful had to be a full-blooded caribou or reindeer.

They only had to be part-reindeer, able to wield wind magic to fly, and complete the other duties on Santa’s Sleigh Team.

Despite checking those boxes, I naturally looked nothing like the other Hopefuls around me.

Most of them were copies of Chrissy: White with straight hair, a same-feeling conventionally beautiful face, height of at least 5’5”, and an athletic yet curvy build that accentuated muscular legs, fat asses, little waists with abs, and perfectly perky breasts.

There were some outliers who were over six feet tall or skinny.

More of the girls were brunettes, but some had white or even naturally colorful hair.

Regardless, with my 5’2” height and curvaceous plus-size body, I was far from the norm.

My dark taupe skin and voluminous curls didn’t do me any favors either, even if it was just as flawless and and two-toned with my lower half of my curls growing in snow white in contrast to my dark brown.

I knew I was gorgeous, and my sparkle of white freckles only made me more of a stunner.

I didn’t mind being visually unique from my competition.

I already dominated them by breaking records in every single contest I had competed in leading up to the actual Games.

What was one more reason to stand out from the rest?

“I will find the bathroom myself,” I said, turning away.

“Wait!” Chrissy called out. “I’m sorry. That was rude, and I didn’t mean it like that. I can show you where the bathrooms are!”

I should have followed my gut and listened to the sinking feeling that this was a bad idea because Legacy Bitches like this weren’t to be trusted. Instead, I stupidly asked. “Really?”

Chrissy smiled before saying in a saccharine sweet voice that made my inner caribou-deer want to run far away. “Why, of course! No one knows these halls better than me! The bathrooms are right this way.”

Silly me had followed Chrissy underneath Dasher’s statue, down a lengthy ramp, and into a hallway. Her friends were close behind us, but they were noticeably silent now. That should have been another red flag for me.

If there were points given for naivety or trust, I would be the next Rudolph, for sure.

“Here we are!” Chrissy gestured to the door as we arrived.

“Thanks!”

“Oh, don’t mention it!”

The meaning of that phrase hit me once I stepped inside.

Not only were these not the bathrooms, but this was the Locker Room.

The Nine’s Locker Room.

I was not supposed to be in here.

One of the highest rules in the Sleight Team Handbook, trespassing was expressly prohibited.

As soon as the book arrived with my Sleigh Hopeful Welcome Package, I had read that book forward and backward until I knew all the rules by heart.

If I was discovered, I wouldn’t even get a chance to compete.

I have to get out of here!

Summoning my powers to push me faster than my supernatural legs could on their own, I blurred over, but Chrissy and her girls were already closing the door. If I put my fingers in between to grab the door, she would have crushed them and I would still be stuck.

As I slammed into the closed door, I could hear Chrissy’s laughter along with her minions. “Let’s see you get Rudolph now!”

She mumbled something else too low, even for me to catch on the wind. Then I heard retreating footsteps.

This is so fucking Flight School, I thought, remembering how many times I or one of my friends had played this prank as teenagers. I didn’t even bother trying the door, knowing too well that there was a group of women likely using their powers to hold it shut.

I turned around. Across from me was another door, but it was locked. I sighed, blowing one of my ringlets off my forehead.

Well, I am already here…

The locker room for the Nine was structured not too differently from the rest of the Stable.

The walls were white, and the concrete floor a dark shade of evergreen.

On the far side of the room was a row of five large with studio lighting around their mirrors.

The other three walls held eleven lockers, all made of the same reddish-brown wood as the stables, a long bench with leather seating in the middle of them.

The massive lockers were made of the same warm reddish-brown wood as the rest of the Stable instead of the traditional metal.

The locker doors resembled smaller versions of stalls, complete with little windows made of wrought-iron bars.

Above the iron window in large curling cursive, each locker bore the name of a member of the Nine with the two closest to either door saying Second String Light Alternate.

Underneath the title and window was the actual name of the team member written on a plate of frosted glass.

As soon as I saw their names on the lockers flanking Rudolph’s across from the vanities, I stopped in my tracks.

Dasher — Felicity Hathaway.

Prancer — Merrilee Darrow.