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December 20
The Day Before Yule
It had been eight years since she cast her last spell, and though Rowan Midwinter considered herself done with magic, that didn’t mean magic was done with Rowan Midwinter. After all, magic was not something you could walk away from. It ran in currents through all things, binding space and time and charging those places where particles entangled. Ever there, thrumming at the edge of awareness, tempting her when things got hard.
And there was no harder time of year than Yule.
The makings of holiday magic were everywhere at Yuletide, harvested from tradition and turned into decor. Rowan plucked a piece of mistletoe off her fundraising booth and spun it in her fingers.
Wrap the sprig in a red cloth, bind it with cords of gold and silver, say the words, and so long as she kept it in her pocket, people would feel extra generous in her presence.
“Could use some of that right now,” said Rowan, flipping her gaze to the empty donation jar at her side with a sigh.
The thrumming she had been doing her best to ignore intensified, like waves receding over a pebbled strand. Familiar words formed in her mind’s eye.
A Spell to Open a Heart
White-hot anxiety shot down her spine, and her stomach bucked.
“No,” she said, pitching the mistletoe back to the table where it belonged. The thrumming abated in a huff that left Rowan with the distinct feelingsomeonewas disappointed in her.
“What’s new?” she muttered, turning her attention back to “Christmas Cheer for the Climate!” and the crowd of potential donors she so desperately needed to woo.
Clad in sequins and silk and one hundred percent Italian wool, the fundraiser’s wealthy attendees strolled through drifts of fake snow as they traveled from booth to booth, judging the worthiness of participating nonprofits. A jazzy remix of “Carol of the Bells” filled the hall, and drinks flowed from bars hidden inside the trunks of faux evergreen trees wound with tinsel. The synthetic winter wonderland was in stark contrast with the world outside, where the Santa Ana winds blew hot mischief through the concrete shell of city over desert.
Every detail had been designed to get donors in the holiday mood, but either it wasn’t working, or all those year-end donations were ending up in other jars, supporting other causes.
What was she doing wrong? How could she fix this? It had seemed gauche to bring swag to an environmental fundraiser, since it would all end up in the trash, but everyone else had swag.
“Rowan!”
A statuesque woman glowing in yellow taffeta slid into her field of view, pulling her from her thoughts. It took her a moment to match the woman’s face with the one she’d gotten to know on a screen, as she’d spent her year with the SunlightCorps, a community solar nonprofit, working almost entirely from the corner of herstudio apartment. When it registered that she was looking at Lorena Perez, chief of staff, Rowan straightened and adjusted her glasses, as if their slight tilt betrayed her inattention.
“You’ve got the main stage in twenty,” said her boss. “Which means you need to be backstage in fifteen.”
The reminder sent sparks through Rowan’s nervous system. She was on the hook to give a presentation about the SunlightCorps’ next big endeavor, a project she’d personally championed. She’d been pushing to expand beyond solar retrofits of apartment buildings to helping fund and install full community-owned solar grids.
It was a big swing. An expensive swing. While they’d secured federal grants, they still needed a boatload of private donations if they were going to succeed.
And they weren’t even at a cupful.
Lorena’s eyes slid to her back. “You know your zipper isn’t all the way up, right?”
Heat flushed Rowan’s cheeks. Her peaches-and-cream complexion could always be counted on to give her away.
“I couldn’t reach the whole way.”
Lorena studied her for a moment, eyes flicking to the other staff members milling around the booth. With a tip of the chin, she asked, “You want me to…?”
“Please,” said Rowan, pulling aside her mass of auburn curls to give Lorena access.
The forest green velveteen gown she’d rented for the fundraiser strained across her chest as her boss tugged the gaping seam closed before jerking up the zipper. Lorena’s rich alto vibrated in her ear. “You live alone, right?”
“Mmm. No one’ll know when I die till the smell sets in.”
Her boss released her with a pat. “Oh, I’m sure the rats’ll figure it out sooner.”
