Chapter 2
A WHEEL-COME RECEPTION
An hour later, the aft deck lounge was abuzz with excited passengers.
A jazz pianist played the classics in one corner and an open bar served signature cocktails in another.
Small bar height tables draped in cream linen dotted the area, each topped with a flickering lantern that cast dancing shadows.
Servers circulated with trays of champagne that sparkled with tiny star-shaped bubbles.
The tiered cheese display was recreated on the light buffet, each level now holding artfully arranged wedges of a pale, almost translucent, ivory-colored cheese.
Minerva and Zephyr had claimed a table near the windows where they could watch the sun make its descent over Geneva’s skyline.
The Ordinary world felt far away now, separated by more than just the glamor.
They were also in that liminal space between land and journey, ready to slip away into adventure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard The Celestine Queen!” Bayard stood at a small podium, Fred sat perched on a cushioned stool beside him.
The wizard had changed into a more formal tweed jacket, this one with subtle bronze threading that caught the lantern light.
His blue trainers, however, remained. “My name is Bayard Fontaine, and I have the tremendous honor of being your guest lecturer for this Yuletide journey through the magical cheese-making regions of Europe.”
A small round of applause rippled through the assembled passengers. Minerva counted perhaps forty guests—an intimate group, just as she’d hoped.
“For those who don’t know me,” Bayard continued, “I spent nearly a century with the French Canadian division of The Society for the Protection of Natural Magic. I mainly worked in the research wing as an information specialist. My true passion as a supernatural anthropologist has always been cultural preservation, including the ways that magic enhances and protects traditional methods of food production, celebration, and consumption. Cheese is a perfect example, and, given the season, seemed like the perfect place to start a lecture series.” He paused now, smiling and nodding at Zephyr and Minerva.
“And given the fact that I have some old friends who happen to own a fromagerie on board for this trip, you’re all sure to be in good hands.
If there’s any question I can’t answer about cheese, I feel confident that Minerva and Zephyr can! ”
Minerva felt Zephyr squeeze her hand. This was his old friend’s dream—sharing his knowledge with others, traveling the waterways he’d always loved, pursuing joy instead of chasing danger.
“Tomorrow,” Bayard said, his voice warming with enthusiasm, “we’ll visit our first fromagerie, a family-run operation in the Swiss Alps that produces Gruyère de Comté in the traditional style.
But this isn’t just any cheese—it’s the very foundation of Yule celebrations across all of magical Europe. ”
He gestured, and Jasper began distributing small plates, each holding a generous wedge of the pale cheese. The intern seemed somewhat less frantic now. Wren was settled two tables over, notebook open, but Minerva noticed she was actually listening more than she was taking notes.
“Gruyère requires Lactobacillus helveticus and Streptococcus thermophilus. Those are two bacterial cultures that must be kept in perfect balance,” Bayard explained.
“The cheese ages for a minimum of five months in caves where the temperature never varies more than a single degree. In magical production, the caves themselves are alive with preservation spells, some of which have been maintained for centuries.”
Minerva lifted her sample to her nose. The aroma was complex. It smelled nutty, slightly sweet, and had an earthy undertone that could only be attributed to the caves and time.
“This particular wheel is eight months old,” Bayard continued.
“You’ll notice the firm, vaguely granular texture, the way it melts on your tongue.
This is what makes proper Yule fondue possible.
It must have an even melt, and a depth of flavor and the perfect consistency to hold the kirsch and wine without separating. ”
Minerva took a bite. Even plain, the cheese was extraordinary. It tasted rich but not overwhelming, with a long, savory finish.
“Magnificent,” Zephyr murmured beside her, already reaching for his second piece. “Absolutely magnificent.”
“Without this cheese,” Bayard said, his voice taking on a more serious note, “hundreds of communities would lose a central part of their Yule celebrations. The tradition of gathering around the fondue pot, the sharing of warmth and sustenance in the darkest time of year, all depends on cheesemakers maintaining their cultures and their craft.”
Fred gave a solemn quack as if emphasizing the point for Bayard.
“Over the next fortnight, we’ll visit seven fromageries, each producing a cheese essential to Yule traditions. You’ll learn about different cultures, aging processes, and the magic that protects these ancient food ways. And, of course, you’ll taste some of the finest cheese in the magical world.”
More enthusiastic applause. Minerva noticed Wren writing rapidly, a small smile on her face. Jasper, who’d been tasked with refilling champagne flutes, somehow managed to keep drifting toward her table more frequently than the others.
“We depart in thirty minutes,” Bayard concluded. “Please enjoy the reception, ask me any questions you might have, and prepare for a journey you won’t soon forget.”
As the wizard stepped down from the podium, the deck beneath Minerva’s feet hummed and vibrated with magic. The Celestine Queen was waking up, preparing to fly.
“To adventure,” Zephyr said, raising his champagne flute.
“To cheese,” Minerva replied, clinking her glass against his.
“To both,” he agreed. “And to starting our own traditions, my dear.”
She leaned against his shoulder, watching the lights of Geneva begin to twinkle in the gathering dusk. Somewhere below, a crew member called out preparations for departure. The Yule tree’s ornaments chimed more urgently, as if excited for the journey.
This was going to be a wonderful trip.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the first stars were emerging when a crew member’s voice rang out across the deck: “All ashore that’s going ashore! The gangplank is rising! All passengers should be aboard!”
Minerva watched with interest as two crew members moved to the boarding ramp, their wands already raised to begin the levitation spell that would retract it. The Celestine Queen hummed more insistently beneath her feet, eager to depart.
“WAIT!”
The shout came from the dock below, followed by the thunder of running footsteps.
Every passenger turned to look. Even the servers paused mid-pour.
A figure sprinted toward the gangplank. The dark-skinned woman was impossibly tall, with purple and gray hair streaming behind her like a flag.
She wore a trim gray tracksuit that somehow managed to look elegant on her imposing frame, and she moved with surprising grace and agility despite her massive size and the heavy-looking pack on her shoulders.
“Hold the plank!” she shouted, her commanding British voice carrying effortlessly across the water.
The crew members exchanged glances, uncertain.
Then came a loud crash from the reception area.
Minerva turned to see Bayard standing frozen at his table, his champagne flute shattered at his feet, stars fizzling out as the golden liquid spread across the deck. His face had gone bright pink beneath his white hair, his bushy eyebrows elevated nearly to his hairline.
Fred, however, had no such paralysis. The duck launched himself from his cushioned stool, flapped to the floor with an excited “QUACK!” and waddled out the open door, full speed toward the gangplank, wings still beating.
“Fred, wait!” Bayard started, but his protests went unheeded.
The purple-haired woman leapt onto the gangplank just as the crew began lowering it again. She bounded up the ramp with athletic ease, and the moment she reached the deck, Fred threw himself at her feet, quacking ecstatically and doing a little spinning dance.
“Well, hello, my darling boy,” the woman said, and her entire demeanor softened as she crouched down—quite a long way down—to scoop up the handsome duck.
Her voice, which had been so commanding and gruff at first, turned gentle and warm.
“Did you miss me, Freddy-weddykins? Of course you did! Such a good, sweet boy.”
Fred nuzzled into her neck, making contented sounds.
Minerva studied this newcomer with interest. She stood well over six feet tall, with the kind of broad, muscular build that suggested there was giant ancestry somewhere in her bloodline.
She was older than she’d seemed at first glance.
Perhaps as old as Minerva, even. It was hard to tell with giants.
They always seemed ageless. Despite her obvious senior status, there was nothing stooped or frail about her.
The giantess inhabited her considerable height with a subtle grace that came from decades of learning to fit herself into a world built too small for her people.
Her wavy purple-and-silver streaked hair hung loose, framing a face that was handsome and strong-boned.
She had deeply set, ice-blue eyes that missed nothing.
And she wasn’t shy. She looked up at the crowd of people staring at her, smiled shrewdly, and executed a small bow.
She knew her arrival had been a bit melodramatic, and she was prepared to own it.
“Exandra.” Zephyr had stood up, and stepped forward toward the newcomer. His voice was somewhere between surprised and delighted. “I thought you were far too busy to come along on a cruise! What in blazes are you doing here?”