Chapter 27 Tash
Tash
Christmas Day was normally family, food, and a kind of messy, lazy happiness that came from all three of us being together. This year, however? It was pure, high-alert chaos, sparkled with just enough cinnamon, sugar, and anxiety to keep my blood pressure in the stratosphere.
The Meyer house practically throbbed with warmth.
The fire burned just right, every log laid perfectly, the flame burning low and hypnotic behind the old wrought iron grate.
Pine and ginger and the faintest trace of baking hung in the air.
Under it all, the Meyer living room looked like a family of raccoons had celebrated Christmas and left the messy aftermath behind.
Wrapping paper draped from the sofa arms, tinsel dusted every inch of the rug, and empty mugs stacked like snowmen on the coffee table.
The tree still glowed, even in daylight, heavy with ornaments and a half dozen new memories the twins had made overnight.
Huey snoozed belly-up under the tree, reindeer sweater in place, dead to the world.
Lola crouched on the landing, glaring at the universe with her full moon eyes, fur as white as the snow still falling against the windows.
If you wanted a picture of "perfect," this would've been it. Except for the secret keeping.
I'd spent the past hour tracking Fifi's every move without blinking.
Every time she acted over the top, too loud, too bright, too much, I shot her a look.
The one that meant, "cool it, please, for the love of all that is holy.
" Half the time, she caught me and rolled her eyes, but the other half, she didn't even notice, swept up in the sugar-high velocity that passed for normal in this house.
Gerty and Beth sat by the hearth, mugs in hand, plates balanced on their knees.
Gerty chatted about Christmases past. Beth mostly listened, soft-eyed, a little lost in the dream of "safe holidays" and everything she and her kids were finally free to be.
Their words braided with the crackle of fire, nothing forced, nothing faked.
Not even a hint that the world outside this bubble had ever held anything as wild as dragons or magic.
They didn't know. They couldn't. And if I had my way, they never would.
But that meant I had to be on right now. Because my girls weren't used to keeping secrets.
Mere perched near the window, making tiny origami animals from scraps of discarded ribbon. This morning, she'd whispered, "what happens if I go witchy by accident?"
I'd promised her that everything would be fine as long as she kept her bracelet on and didn't try to set the napkins on fire.
Yeah. Super convincing.
Earlier, just after we finished eating, Xavier had swung by, coat half-zipped, cheeks red from the cold under his policeman's hat. He'd dropped off a wrapped box for each kid, lightly punched Chance on the shoulder, and ducked back out. He was working today.
Beth and Gerty started arguing over whether it was "too early for pie."
I think my left eyelid started to twitch as I walked into the kitchen to check on Fifi, who'd bounced out of the living area.
She'd been going since six AM, powered by pure adrenaline, and the odds of her making it through a full day without a meltdown hovered somewhere between zero and negative one hundred.
The dining room smelled like lemon bars and roasted ham, leftovers arranged in a tasty fashion on the dining table. Beth's kids played on the floor, and Oliver's new race cars rolled underfoot as he pushed them.
Fifi tried to play it cool. She announced, "Bathroom." Nobody blinked. The kids were too busy with their toys.
Except me. My heart hammered so hard I could taste it.
I followed, fake-casual, through the hall and into the kitchen, leaving the din behind.
In the kitchen, it couldn't have been more obvious. Something was wrong.
Fifi hovered by the counter, hands pressed flat on the marble. Her whole body shook, not big tremors, the kind that usually signaled an anxiety attack.
I closed the door behind us, trying to sound calm. "You okay?" I kept my tone light.
She didn't answer right away. Her chest rose and fell in short, frantic bursts, and there was a blush under her skin. Not red, not pink, but gold. An actual glow, pulsing out from her cheekbones straight down to her fingertips.
"Oh, honey." I tried to steady her. "What's happening? Are you hurting?"
Fifi stared at her hands in a mix of frustration and fear.
Her left thumb was already shifting, nail stretching into something hard and metallic.
By the second, copper claw edged out of pink skin, curling sharply at the tip.
She clapped her hands together in panic, but the right side was already catching up.
The transformation was tiny but relentless.
"I can't make it stop," she whispered.
I closed the distance and grabbed her shoulders. "Breathe with me. Just like Chance taught you. In, out, in, out. You can do this."
She squeezed her eyes shut, mouthing numbers under her breath, One, two, three, like a mantra in yoga class. Her claws popped another millimeter anyway.
I wanted to hug her, but she was too raw. Instead, I pressed her hands between mine, ignoring the sting as her claws scraped my palm.
"Just focus. Count to ten. You're safe. It's just us."
Fifi gasped, then shuddered. For a heartbeat, it froze there. Her, me, the magic, hanging in the air like a coin spin.
Then a tiny voice sliced through our bubble. "Whoa."
Oliver.
Beth's youngest. The one who still called every reptile "dinosaur" and who'd just this morning tried to write inside his mouth with a glitter pen, stood in the doorway, goggle-eyed. He looked at Fifi's hands with the worship of someone who'd just seen their favorite cartoon come to life.
I nearly fainted.
Fifi locked on me, panic in her gaze, but there was no hiding now. Oliver darted across the tile, skidded to a halt, and gawked.
"Can you show me how?" he blurted.
I froze. Fifi froze harder.
Oliver didn't wait for permission. He splayed his hands in front of his face and stared at them, wiggling each finger, willing them to change.
"I want dino claws!" he declared, so loud it rattled the silverware drawer. "I wanna be a dinosaur like Fifi!"
Fifi, to her credit, tried to tuck her claws behind her back, but the motion just made them glint brighter. She ducked her head. "It's nothing, Ollie. Just, uh, a science project."
Oliver did not buy it. He planted his feet defiantly and tried even harder.
"Nuh-uh! I saw it! You had claws and everything! Why won't mine work?"
His face crumpled into a total meltdown. Tears overflowed, pure heartbreak, and he stomped his foot so hard it hurt just to watch.
"Not fair. I wanna be a dino. I wanna be a dino right now!"
God help me, I had no idea what to do.
Fifi's claws started to fade as the panic choked out the shift, but the damage was done.
Oliver took off, full tilt, snot and disappointment all over his face. I followed, trying to calm him down.
Oliver crashed through the living room, straight to Beth, and yanked on her wrist hard enough to almost spill her tea.
"Fi can turn into a dino, and I can't!" he wailed. "She had real dino hands and they were sharp!"
Beth blinked, totally thrown, looking from Oliver to me to Fifi in confusion.
Gerty tucked a smile away. "Dino hands, huh? Did Fifi do a magic trick?"
Fifi blushed but didn't answer. The tears on Oliver's face tripled.
Mere hustled over, nervously whispering. "Mom, should I…?"
I shook my head.
Beth squinted at Fifi, then at me. "Were you doing press-on nails, or something? I'm lost."
Before I could manage a single word, Maeve appeared and knelt beside Oliver with a plate of cookies.
"Would you like to try my special Christmas cookies, darling?" Her cheerful smile had the voltage of a stun gun.
Oliver hesitated, mid-sniffle. He eyed the cookies, then the room, then the cookies again.
"Is it magic?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve, lower lip wobbling.
Maeve winked. "Every cookie I make has a little bit of magic. Want to see?"
He nodded, still watery, so she offered him the treat and gently booped his nose, right at the tip. The touch was so quick, so light, nobody would've noticed anything if they hadn't been looking.
But Mere and I were looking.
A faint shimmer, gold and silver, flashed across Oliver's temples. He stared at the cookie, astonished, then bit in like nothing else mattered. The misery vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by pure delight.
"Best. Cookie. Ever!" he shouted, and bolted for the fort under the table, the upset absolutely destroyed by sugar and whatever spell Maeve had woven.
Beth shrugged, bemused. "Toddlers," she said. "Next year, he'll want to be a narwhal."
Gerty stuffed another brownie bite in her mouth, cracking up.
Mere tugged my sleeve, leaned in close so nobody else could hear.
"She did magic," Mere whispered. "She fixed it."
"Yeah," I breathed. "She really did."
The relief was so strong I had to sit down. Fifi had already found a chair near the window, her hands hidden, her breathing back to normal. And then, because even the universe has a sense of humor, Lola leapt from the landing and landed straight into Fifi's lap.
The Persian had been avoiding me, and Chance had mentioned she never tolerated newcomers. She'd barely let the girls pet her before. But now, she nuzzled into Fifi's arms, purring like a champion, the weirdest gesture of truce I'd seen since moving to Laurel Gap.
Fifi stroked the cat, her touch soft as air, the old panic brushed away by every rumble of contentment.
Beth got up to wrangle a juice box for Ollie, while Gerty roasted Maeve about whether her cookies could erase sibling rivalry.
Mere, still awestruck, catalogued every spell and shimmer she'd witnessed.
Chance caught my eye across the room, eyebrows raised, question loaded. I gave him the world's tiniest nod. Handled.
And when I glanced at Maeve, she caught my gratitude and tossed it right back. Not with exactly a smile, but with a knowing, "don't ever underestimate witches" squint.
My shoulders relaxed.
It was an hour later, maybe two, before I let myself exhale for real. The kids, dragons and humans alike, had invented a new game that involved the entire dining room and about four hundred scraps of tinsel. Beth and Gerty were drafted to referee the game.
Livia watched the scene with the satisfaction of a general whose city had survived the siege.
I hung back. I watched, I listened, but mostly I kept myself ready for the next crisis.
Mere paused next to me and whispered, "I want to try a protection charm for Fifi, to help her with accidental shifts."
"We'll talk to Maeve later," I murmured back.
At the window, Fifi barely moved, slipping her new necklace through her fingers, eyes on the blowing snow, Huey curled like a question mark next to her, every so often letting out a yip that made the younger kids giggle.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Chance joined me at the counter. "That went well."
"Thanks to Maeve," I replied.
He grunted. "Not too bad, really. That's why you're staying here. Imagine that at school."
I nodded, agreeing without reservation.
From the fort, Oliver howled, "More cookies, please!"
Maeve swept through, tray in hand, and somehow managed to avoid the minefield of lost shoes and Lego pieces littering the floor. She handed out cookies, patted heads, and never once did a cross word slip out. If anyone deserved a Christmas MVP, it was Maeve Spicer.
Gerty flagged me, waving a fork. "Who made the upside-down cake? It's criminal. I want three for my birthday."
Maeve curtsied. "Only if you promise not to eat them all at once, darling."
Beth snorted. "That's not a promise anyone here can make."
They cackled, the sort of laughter that made the windows rattle.
When the sun started to slide behind the mountains, the day wound down like the last verse of a song you never wanted to end.
Kids sprawled on the furniture and floor, everyone half-asleep except Gerty, who insisted on organizing the leftovers for "late night snacking emergencies.
" Livia boxed up the last of her lemon bars, and Beth poured a round of cider for the adults.
Sparkling, sweet, perfect for toasting the fact that everyone still had their eyebrows and nobody had exposed magical beings to the humans.
I sidled over to the window and watched the miracle snow deepen. Laurel Gap glowed, every porch light and Christmas bulb reflected on the drifts.
Chance drifted behind me, not touching, but close enough that I could sense the strength in him. "You good?"
"Yeah," I said. "We're good."
He nodded, proud. "You all belong here."
I didn't answer. I just let myself rest.
Maybe the world would crash again tomorrow. Avalanches of drama, new threats. But not right now. Right now, I had found family, a living room full of the best weirdos I'd ever known, and daughters who were more themselves than I'd dared to dream.