Chapter 24
Grinchly.
The thought was ice in my veins. Bastian’s warning echoed in my head. Don’t let anyone in. Especially not Grinchly.
I got to my feet, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I grabbed the heaviest thing I could find—a heavy brass candlestick from the mantelpiece.
It was absurd, a flimsy weapon against a magical threat, but it was better than nothing.
I crept to the top of the stairs, my bare feet silent on the wood.
The sounds from below were clearer now. The distinctive scrape of a key in the shop’s lock. A click. The door swinging open with a soft groan.
He had a key.
The realization was a shock, but it quickly gave way to a cold, simmering anger. Mr. Grinchly, the man who was trying to ruin my life, had a key to my shop. My grandmother’s shop.
I peered through the railings, my knuckles white around the candlestick. A sliver of light from the streetlamp cut across the darkened shop, illuminating a figure moving with purpose towards the back counter. It was definitely Grinchly, his expensive suit a dark silhouette in the gloom.
What was he doing here? In the middle of the night?
I watched, my breath held tight in my chest, as he bypassed the cash register and went straight to the tree in the bay window, our beautiful, magical tree.
Kneeling next to the tree, he pulled a wooden box out of the briefcase he was carrying—a small box, perhaps six inches square.
He very carefully unlocked then pulled out something that glinted dully in the faint light.
A snow globe. Not one of mine. This one was old, made of dark wood and heavy glass.
Inside, a single, barren tree stood in a field of snow.
No houses, no smiling snowmen, no tiny skaters. Just a desolate, lonely landscape.
As he lifted it from the box, the atmosphere in the shop shifted.
The air grew thin and cold, the kind of deep, soul-numbing cold that had nothing to do with the weather.
The strands of tinsel on the tree drooped, their sparkle extinguished.
The cheerful reds and greens of the ornaments seemed to dull, fading to muted greys.
It was a parasite. Just as Bastian had said.
Grinchly cradled the snow globe like it was a holy relic, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
He didn’t seem to notice the sudden, oppressive chill, the way the shop’s light was being swallowed by the object in his hands.
I couldn’t let him leave it there. I couldn’t let him taint my shop with the source of all the town’s misery.
My mind raced, searching for a plan. A distraction. Anything. My eyes fell on the string of bells over the door. An idea, reckless and born of pure desperation, sparked in my mind.
I took a deep breath, aimed the heavy brass candlestick, and threw.
It wasn’t a good throw. It was more of a panicked, lobbed pass.
But it was enough. The candlestick flew through the air and hit the doorframe with a loud clang.
The bells erupted into a frantic, chaotic jangle, a shock of pure sound in the suffocating silence.
Grinchly froze, spinning around with a panicked look on his face. He fumbled with the snow globe, nearly dropping it. “Who’s there?”
The bells kept ringing, a wild, joyful noise that seemed to push back against the oppressive cold. The lights on the tree flickered, fighting to stay alive. For a second, the vibrant colors returned.
Taking advantage of his confusion, I scrambled down the stairs, my bare feet slapping against the wooden steps. I hit the last step and sprinted towards him.
He saw me, and his eyes widened in shock. “You! What are you doing here?”
“That’s my line,” I shot back, grabbing the empty wooden box from the counter. “What are you doing with that thing?”
He clutched the snow globe protectively to his chest. “This is none of your concern. You should be in bed.”
“Not when there’s a soul-sucking parasite being planted in my family’s shop!” I made a grab for the globe, but he twisted away, his face a mask of fury.
“Foolish girl! You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, I think I do,” I said, circling him, trying to find an opening. “I know it’s been feeding on this town. Feeding on our hope. And I know you’ve been helping it.”
He let out a harsh, ugly laugh. “Helping? I’m saving this town. It was dying long before I got here. I’m just… putting it out of its misery. And making a profit while I do it.”
He lunged for the door, but I was faster. I blocked his path, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was terrified, but I was also furious. This man had poisoned my home, my community, my season. I wasn’t letting him leave.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Not with that.”
He looked at me, then at the snow globe in his hands. A calculating, cruel smile spread across his face. “You want it so badly? Fine.”
Before I could react, he turned and hurled the snow globe with all his might.
It flew through the air in a slow, glittering arc, heading not for the door, but for the massive brick wall at the back of the shop.
“No!”
The crash was shattering. The glass exploded into a thousand glittering shards.
The water inside, dark and murky, splashed across the floorboards.
But the most horrifying part was the sound that came with it—a high, thin wail, like a ghost in pain, that seemed to suck all the warmth and light out of the room in a single, violent gasp.
The change was instantaneous.
The twinkling lights on my beautiful tree went dark.
The cheerful reds and greens of the ornaments turned to the color of ash.
The oppressive cold intensified, a physical weight that pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
The little remaining light in the shop seemed to be draining away, pulled towards the spreading puddle of dark water and broken glass like a vortex.
I stumbled back, horrified. Grinchly had the same look of shock on his face. He hadn’t expected this. He’d meant to destroy the evidence, but he hadn’t realized what destroying the container would do.
“What have you done?” I whispered, my teeth chattering.
“I…” he stammered, taking an involuntary step back from the spreading darkness. “I don’t know.”
The dark water wasn’t just spreading; it was moving.
It writhed on the floor, tendrils of shadow snaking out from the puddle, seeking something.
The air grew colder still, the silence so profound it was ringing in my ears.
The only sound was the faint, sorrowful wailing of the unleashed magic.
Jingle Bells, peering from the top of the stairs, let out a low, terrified hiss and vanished.
This was it. The parasite Bastian had described, freed from its glass prison. And it was hungry.
Grinchly, finally realizing the danger, scrambled for the door. But it was too late. A tendril of shadow shot out from the puddle and wrapped around his ankle. He cried out, a thin, panicked sound, and fell hard.
I stood frozen, the brass candlestick a useless weight in my hand. I should run. I should lock myself in the apartment and wait for Bastian. But I couldn’t. This was my shop. My home. And the darkness was swallowing it whole.
Think, Noelle, think. What would my grandmother do? She’d fight. She’d use the only weapon she had. Light.
My eyes fell on the switch for the shop’s spotlights, the ones that highlighted our most prized displays. They wouldn’t be enough. The darkness was too strong.
Then I remembered something else. Something ancient and bright.
I turned and ran, not for the safety of the apartment, but for the bucket of salt by the door, the same salt I’d used when I made the summoning circle.
I didn’t have time for a ritual. I didn’t have candles or offerings or a desperate prayer whispered into the winter night.
I just had a desperate sliver of hope that its power was still tethered to this place. To him.
I cast the salt in a wide uneven circle, my hands shaking, then I grabbed one of the shards of glass and slashed it across the palm. Blood welled, dark and red in the greyness.
“Bastian!” I screamed, my voice raw with fear, slamming my palm down on the circle. “I need you!”
The circle flared, not with a gentle shimmer, but with a blinding, desperate white.
It flared once, a silent explosion of pure, defiant light, and the wailing of the shadow creature rose to an agonized shriek.
The tendrils of darkness recoiled from the sudden radiance, shrinking back from the force of it.
The light faded, leaving me gasping on the floor, my hand bleeding, my body trembling with the aftershock.
The circle sputtered and died, a handful of salt on a dusty floorboard.
I was still alone. I hadn’t summoned him.
I had just sent up a flare. A desperate, bloody beacon in the overwhelming dark.
The darkness writhed, gathering itself, reforming. It was weaker, but it wasn’t gone. And it was angry.
The front door shattered inwards.
Not opened. Shattered. The wood exploded in a shower of splinters as something immense and furious tore through it.
Bastian stood in the gaping hole he’d created, in his full untethered power, a being of winter night and righteous fury.
The air crackled around him, charged with an ancient, lethal energy.
His fur was raised, the muscles in his powerful body bunched and ready to strike.
His eyes were not just glowing; they were twin coals of pure, incandescent rage.